Wind Rider's Oath

eager to be telling a man as saw the Fall of Kontovar with his own eyes that he doesn't- then what makes my folk as we are is that somehow we're after being physically connected to all of that energy. We've no idea how we do it, but we've the ability to be drawing on that energy to aid our own. In a manner of speaking, I suppose, it's not after being all that different from touching it as a wizard might, though I'm hoping Wencit has a better notion of what he's about when he does! But it's that as gives us our size and our strength, aye, and our endurance, as well. And the reason we heal so much quicker than any of the other Races of Man.'

'Really?'

Alfar looked across at the huge man jogging so effortlessly along beside his trotting horse, and something very like wonder warred with his ingrained hatred for all things hradani. If what Bahzell was telling him was the truth, then it was suddenly clear to him why hradani were capable of the casual displays of impossible strength and stamina which, along with the Rage, made them such fearsome foes. Yet what truly woke his feeling of wonder was the thought of all the other things such a link might mean to the hradani. Like virtually all Sothoii, Alfar had never given much thought to the hradani, or their lives, beyond the automatic hate and fear they evoked. Why should anyone waste time and effort thinking about a batch of bloodthirsty barbarians whose only interests seemed to be murder, looting, and plundering? But if those same capabilities could be applied to other ends, other objectives . . . .

And then it hit him.

His eyes flared wide, and his jaw dropped in sudden consternation. His indrawn breath of shock was so abrupt that it was clearly audible even through the thud of hoofs, the creak of saddle leather, and the metal-on-metal jingle of armor and weapons. He stared at Bahzell, and the hradani nodded almost compassionately.

'Aye, Master Axeblade,' he said. 'Brandark and I have been after discussing the selfsame thing with Baron Tellian, Hathan, and Sir Kelthys. And we've come to conclude that, assuming as how Wencit has the right of it where hradani are concerned, then it's only reason that what sets coursers apart from any other breed of horse is after being much the same thing. I'll not blame you if it's not a thought as you find pleasant to contemplate, seeing what's lain between your folk and mine for so long. But there it is.' He smiled with an odd gentleness. 'You might be saying as how we hradani and the coursers are after being related.'

* * *

'Not pleasant to contemplate' was a very pale description of Alfar's reaction to the possibility that hradani and coursers might have anything in common. Unfortunately for the comfort of his prejudices, by the time they finally stopped late that evening at a wayside inn, he'd been forced to admit they did. He clung to the possibility that there was a different explanation for the abilities of hradani and coursers, but it was impossible to doubt the huge similarities between those abilities.

Alfar himself was reeling in the saddle by the time they stopped, but although Bahzell had finally worked up a hard sweat, it was painfully obvious that it was only Alfar's and his mount's exhaustion which had led the Horse Stealer to call a halt. Alfar had always considered himself a reasonably tough individual, but compared to the hradani, he wasn't. If he'd been even a little less fatigued, he would have felt humiliated to have been found so wanting in hardihood. As it was, he felt only dull-minded, exhausted gratitude when he finally climbed down out of the saddle. He was worn beyond exhaustion as he had never before been in his life, so utterly drained that he actually allowed another man to see to his horse's care while Bahzell chivied him upstairs to bed.

He had a vague impression of the innkeeper's half-frightened, mostly surly expression when he found himself face to face with eight hradani. If he hadn't been all but dead on his feet, he might have felt compelled to speak sharply to the man. Whatever Alfar himself thought about hradani in general, these hradani were driving themselves hard to reach Warm Springs because Lord Edinghas needed help. More to the point, perhaps, Sir Jahlahan, acting in Baron Tellian's name, had ordered Alfar to personally escort them to Warm Springs. That gave him an obligation to see to it that they were at least treated with common courtesy. Unfortunately, he was too exhausted even for that-so exhausted that he was never very clear later on exactly how he got to the proper room. He never did manage to undress completely before he fell across the hard, narrow mattress, either, and he was snoring before his head hit the pillow.

He slept for almost nine hours before his own sense of urgency dragged him back up out of dream-troubled sleep. Despite a lifetime in the saddle, he couldn't stifle a groan as he shoved himself up and forced stiff, abused muscles to answer his demands. He managed a sketchy wash up, then tottered downstairs to the inn's common room.

Bahzell and the rest of their party-all hradani, Alfar thought, truly realizing for the first time that he was the only human in the entire group-sat around one of the trestle tables. There was something about the way they sat that was almost defensive. The table wasn't the largest one available, but it was set in the angle of a corner, and the hradani seated around it could see the entire room and all three of its entrances while they sat with their backs to a solid wall. A smallish fire smoldered on the hearth, and bright morning sunshine spilled through the inn's diamond-paned windows to glitter on the crossed, golden mace and sword of Tomanak where they badged his servants' surcoats and ponchos, and their personal weapons leaned upright against the wall behind them. The remnants of a truly stupendous breakfast were strewn across the table, and Bahzell leaned back on a bench, bracing his shoulders against the wall while he nursed a tankard of ale.

Alfar's jaw clenched in mingled shame and anger as he gazed out the window.

'What's the hour?' he asked.

Bahzell gazed at him for a moment, one eyebrow quirked, then reached into a belt pouch and withdrew a pocket watch. It was only the fourth or fifth watch Alfar had seen in his entire life, and he recognized a work of art when he saw one. He had no idea how a hradani might have come by it, but he also found himself rapidly passing beyond any sense of surprise at anything this improbable hradani champion of Tomanak might do. And so he simply waited while Bahzell consulted the beautifully painted ivory face and golden hands.

'It's just passed nine of the morning,' the hradani rumbled after a moment. He closed the watch case and returned it to his pouch, and Alfar's jaw tightened even harder. They could have been on the road again at least two or three hours earlier, and it was obvious the hradani were all fresh and rested. It was only his own weakness which had delayed them.

'I could wish you'd waked me earlier, Milord Champion,' he said, once he was certain he had command of his voice. It appeared, however, that he'd had less command of it than he'd thought, because Bahzell cocked his ears quizzically, then shook his head.

'Master Axeblade,' he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle, 'even if we'd been after waking you earlier, I'm thinking as how your horse might not have been so very grateful to have his rest cut short. Now, it's in my mind that we'd not find it so very difficult to be finding you another horse, but that's a fine mount Baron Tellian's seneschal already found you. Probably better than any we might be finding in replacement.'

He let Alfar consider that for a few seconds, until the human's own common sense had to admit there was some point to the argument. Then he continued.

'Still and all, though,' he said, 'I'll admit as how I'd not have waked you any sooner even if we'd a courser waiting to go under your backside. It's half-dead you were, for you'd driven yourself like Fiendark himself was on your heels to be reaching Balthar, and it was little enough rest you'd had since. Aye, and naught but a few mouthfuls of bread and sausage in the saddle for food. I've seldom seen a man as needed rest more than you, and its naught but sheer stubbornness on your part to be arguing otherwise. I'm thinking we're well ahead of how fast you or Lord Edinghas could have expected us to be moving, and I'll not be letting you kill yourself just to shave an hour or two more from our trip.'

His voice was as steady and level as his eyes, and Alfar recognized his tone. He'd simply never expected to hear a hradani, of all people, speaking to him as his commanding officer. But that, he realized with a lingering sense of disbelief, was precisely what Bahzell Bahnakson had become. And it shamed him again, in a different way, to realize that he was actually surprised by Bahzell's concern for his own exhaustion.

'No doubt you've a point, Milord,' he admitted finally. 'But even so, I can't say I don't begrudge every lost minute.'