Wind Rider's Oath

Hahnal Bardiche

the eldest son of Lord Warden Edinghas.

Halahk Arrowsmith

one of Baron Cassan's vassals.

Haliku Koharth

a Servant of Krahana, under the orders of Jerghar.

Tarith Shieldarm

Leeana's personal armsman.

Tarlan Swordsmith

Lord Warden of High Tranith. One of Baron Cassan's vassals.

Tellian Bowmaster

Baron of Balthar, Lord Warden of the West Riding.

Thalgahr Rarikson

one of the hradani warriors assigned to Bahzell's bodyguard by his father.

Tharnha Garhlanfressa

a war maid; one of Saretha Keralinfressa's partisans.

Theretha Maglahnfressa

a war maid artist (glassblower) from Kalatha.

Trebdor Horsemaster

one of Baron Cassan's vassals.

Treharm Haltharu

a Servant of Krahana, under the orders of Jerghar.

Triahm Pickaxe

Lord Warden Trisu's cousin, a bitter enemy of all war maids.

Trisu Pickaxe

Lord Warden of Lorham.

Varnaythus

Master Varnaythus; a black sorceror and priest of Carnadosa.

Walasfro

Sir Kelthys Lancebearer's courser. The name means 'Son of Battle.'

Walsharno

Gayrfressa's older brother, the courser who bonds with Bahzell. His name means 'Battle Dawn' (it could also be translated 'Dawn of Battle' or 'Battle Sun').

Welthan Handaxe

Lord Warden of Dronhar, one of Baron Cassan's vassals.

Yalith Tamalithfressa

Mayor of Kalatha.

Prologue

Thunder rumbled overhead like a distant battering ram, pounding at the hasp of heaven. The harsh grumble was muted in the stone-walled room, but the waterfall sound of pounding rain came through the single open window on the windy breath of the chilly spring night. Half a dozen richly dressed men sat around the large wooden table's polished surface. Three of them nursed ruby-hearted wineglasses. Two more quaffed beer from elaborately ornamented tankards. The sixth leaned back in the larger, more heavily ornamented chair at the head of the table. A small glass of Dwarvenhame whiskey sat before him, warm amber in the light of the oil lamps, and he squinted through a cloud of fragrant smoke as he used a flaring splinter to relight his pipe from the lamp at his end of the table.

He waved out the flaming splinter and replaced the lamp chimney. His pipe hissed softly as he drew upon it, then exhaled a single, perfectly formed ring of smoke. More thunder rumbled, a little closer this time, and the darkness outside the window flickered to the distant dance of lightning, far away on the edge of the rainy world.

'I agree that the situation is intolerable, Milord,' one of the beer-drinking men said into the calm stillness created by the comfort of a fire on a night of storm and wind. His hair was the golden red often seen among the oldest of Sothoii noble families, and his expression was unhappy, to say the least. He took another swallow from his tankard, raised hand flickering with the dance of golden rings and reflecting gems. Then he set the tankard back down and shrugged. 'Still, we seem to have no option but to accept it.'

'I'm afraid Welthan is right about that, Milord,' one of the wine-drinkers agreed sourly. 'It's an insult to every Sothoii ever born, but as long as Tellian is prepared to swallow it himself, he can force it down all of our throats, as well.'

'And as long as the King is prepared to allow him to,' another of the wine-drinkers reminded them all darkly. 'Don't forget that, Garthan.'

'I'm not forgetting anything, Tarlan,' Garthan replied shortly. 'But does any man at this table believe that His Majesty hasn't been . . . poorly advised in this instance?'

'Ill-advised or well-advised, the King is the King,' the pipe-smoking man at the head of the table observed. His voice was well modulated, his tone almost but not quite mild. There was also a faintly dangerous set to his handsome face, and Garthan stiffened slightly in his chair.

'It was not my intent to suggest anything else, Milord.' His own voice was deferential, but cored with stubbornness. 'Nonetheless, there is a reason His Majesty has a Council, and you are a member of it. Is it not the function of a councilor to counsel? And who is more valuable? A councilor who offers his own wisdom, even when it may not be the most popular advice? Or one who will not disagree when he believes that other, more . . . expedient councilors are in error?'

The night outside the chamber was on the cold side of cool, and the breeze blowing through the window was a bit stronger than it had been a moment before. No doubt that accounted for the chill which breathed through the room.

'You're correct, of course,' the man at the head of the table told Garthan after a long, still moment, stroking his golden beard with his left hand. 'Yet so is Tarlan. And while I may sit on the Council, I'm certainly not the only one who does. Prince Yurokhas also sits there, for example. And at the moment, King Markhos seems prepared to listen to the prince and give Tellian the opportunity to pursue his useless attempt to 'peacefully coexist' with the hradani.'