factors matter, but in the end, he who’s more skilled-and experienced-has the greatest advantage. Yet in the struggle between Light and Dark, there are still more factors which must be taken into consideration. There’s a tide, a current-a flow-to the seas of possibility and the current of history. Deities see that flow far more clearly than mortals, and with that clarity we can assist the mortals who must contend with it, yet we ourselves can never lay hand upon it and shape it as we will. For us, much of the struggle lies in not simply what we can perceive but what we can prevent the other side from perceiving. And when too many strands, too many possible outcomes, flow together it becomes harder for us to see clearly ourselves…and easier for the other side to blind us to critical possibilities.›
Bahzell gave a slow mental nod and sensed Walsharno’s understanding along with his own.
‹ For the last twelve centuries of your universe, › Tomanak continued in the voice of someone choosing his words with exquisite care, ‹ events have been spiraling through the echoes of the last great clash which doomed Kontovar and gave birth to most of the evils which have afflicted Norfressa since. It took far too many of your years for those echoes to be damped, but now they have, and they’re poised to rebound. There are literally uncountable variations on how they may rebound, but there are really only two basic outcomes. Either the Light will hold its ground, strike back, and reverse the verdict of Kontovar, or else the Dark will conquer all. One way or the other, my Swords, the decision will be reached in your time. If you fail, if you fall in your current struggle, the Dark triumphs; if you succeed today, then it will only be to face another and still sterner test in the uncertain mists of your future, but that other test will come to you. All I can tell you is that you have the strength-the strength of will, of heart, of mind and courage-to meet Evil sword-to-sword. You have my trust, and my confidence, and you have the power of your own belief in what’s right and your willingness to fight-and die-for it. That, my children, is all anyone, god or mortal, can ask of anyone else or demand of themselves, and I know-I know, if I know nothing else in all the universes that may ever be-that you will give it. And when you do, I will stand beside you and give you of my strength. There’s no shame in defeat, my Swords; there is shame only in surrender, and that is something neither of you, nor Vaijon, know how to do.›
Neither hradani nor courser said anything. They simply reached back to their deity, feeling the bonds between them, the interweaving of their very essences with Tomanak’s, and that was enough.
Bahzell never knew exactly how long the entire conversation had lasted, although he was confident the interval had been far briefer for Brandark than it had for him and for Walsharno. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, as Tomanak withdrew once more, and then he turned to look at his friend.
“Well, I’m thinking we’ve splashed about mud enough for one day,” he said.
“Really?” Brandark cocked his ears. “Odd, I didn’t think it was my idea to go out and squelch around all day.”
“No more it was,” Bahzell agreed. “Still and all, I’m thinking that was because it’s so very rare for you to be having an idea at all.”
“Given the handicap under which you labor, that actually wasn’t such a bad effort,” Brandark said judiciously. “Not very subtle, a little heavy-handed, but overall, and bearing in mind it had to work its way through a Horse Stealer’s so-called sense of humor…”
He shrugged, and Bahzell chuckled and swung back up into Walsharno’s saddle.
“Such a small, nasty attitude,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll not be making any comments about lack of size and the smallness of brains that might be coming along with it. But I will mention as how I’ve just this morning taken delivery of a brand-new bottle of thirty-year whiskey-the Silver Cavern Granservan Grand Reserve, as it happens-courtesy of old Kilthan. If it should so happen you could be minding that silver tongue of yours-aye, and leaving that curst ‘banjo’ of yours in its case! — it’s pleased I’d be to share it with you while I’ve the writing of a letter to Leeana.”
“Granservan Grand Reserve?” Brandark’s ears perked up instantly, and he squared his shoulders and gathered up his reins. “Well, if that’s the case, why are we still standing here?”
“It’s good to see you home, Brayahs,” Baroness Myacha said, smiling as her husband’s nephew entered the sunny breakfast chamber. “It does Borandas’ heart good whenever you can find time-and whenever the King lets you go long enough-to visit us.”
“Well, it’s kind of you to say so, at any rate,” Brayahs Daggeraxe said, crossing to the table to kiss the back of the hand she held out to him. The sunlight spilling in through the windows lit a dancing sparkle in her amethyst eyes, and he smiled back at her as he straightened. “Still, I remember the occasional conversation he and I had when I was only a lad. There’s not so very much difference between forty-seven and fifty-eight, but there was a world of difference between eight and nineteen!” He shook his head. “Frankly, I’m amazed sometimes that I got to grow up after all.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
There was an extra edge of something like gratitude in Myacha’s laugh, for Brayahs was one of the very few people who could remind her of the difference between her own age and her husband’s without ever making her wonder if there was a buried edge of malice in it. Of course, it was tactful of him not to mention that she was eighteen years younger than he was, as well, she supposed.
On the other hand, she thought, her humor fading, he was one of the even fewer people-especially male people-who’d never been tempted to dismiss her intelligence because of her youth. Even her “son” Thorandas seemed to want to pat her on the head sometimes, as if even he couldn’t quite get past the notion that her primary function was simply to warm his father’s bed and adorn the baron’s arm suitably on social occasions. To be fair, she believed Thorandas honestly tried not to think of her in those terms, but he didn’t always succeed. And if her opinion happened to differ from his, he was far more likely to fall back into the thought patterns of a traditional Sothoii noble man rather than considering the possibility that she might actually be right and he might actually be wrong.
Stop that, she told herself sternly. You know how hard it must be on him to have a stepmother two years younger than he is! Under the circumstances, he does remarkably well. Even if he is being especially stupid at the moment.
Brayahs cocked an eyebrow at her, his expression speculative, but she only shook her head and waved him into his chair across the table from her. His breakfast materialized before him with the silent, smiling efficiency of Star Tower Castle’s servants, and he began spreading butter onto a scone while he regarded her through the faint wisp of steam rising from his cup of hot tea.
“And where is my esteemed cousin, if I might ask?” he inquired.
“He finished breakfast early and asked me to wait and keep you company,” Myacha replied, sipping from her own cup of hot chocolate. “He had an appointment with Sir Dahlnar this morning. They’re still catching up on the reports Thorandas brought home from Sothofalas.”
“I see.” Brayahs finished buttering, took a bite of the scone, and rolled his eyes in bliss. “Semkirk, I miss Mistress Shahlana’s baking! I tried to get her to run away and live in sin with me in Sothofalas, you know.”
Myacha choked on a sip of chocolate. She set the cup down hastily, mopping her lips and glaring at him, and he smiled unrepentantly. Trelsan Partisan had been Star Tower’s butler for better than thirty years, and his wife had been the castle’s housekeeper almost as long. She was a woman of immense dignity and ability as a manager and organizer, but she’d started as a cook, and she still loved to bake. Of course, she was also at least fifteen years older than Brayahs, and she and her husband-who doted upon her-both tended to regard House Daggeraxe’s mage as the rapscallion teenager they remembered entirely too well.
“If you did manage to get Shahlana to leave Star Tower, I’m sure Borandas would put a price on your head!” Myacha said severely. “And rightly so, too. If that didn’t constitute an act of high treason, I can’t think of anything that would!”
“Oh, come now! Surely that’s being at least a little too severe. Remember, I’ve just spent the last three months in Sothofalas, Milady!” Brayahs grimaced only half-humorously. “I’ve had a chance to see real treason being contemplated there.”
“Oh?” Myacha cocked her head, amethyst eyes narrowing, and Brayahs kicked himself mentally. He did know how sharp a blade she was. He should have known she’d pick up on that.
In fact, I wonder if I actually wanted her to? Not exactly the most subtle possible way to ask her about
