Oath of Swords

was his eldest son, heir to the throne, and ten years of Churnazh’s rule had made it plain the law did not apply to him or his. Farmah knew that better than most, for her father and elder brother had died at the hands of an off duty Guard captain. Everyone knew Churnazh had borrowed heavily from her father, but the prince had accepted his captain’s claim of the Rage and pardoned him, and somehow the debt-the money which might have meant Farmah’s livelihood or means of flight-had simply vanished. Which was how she came to find herself living under Churnazh’s “protection” as little more than a slave.

“Is-is he alive?” she asked weakly.

“Um.” Bahzell gave the limp body a brutal kick, and it flopped onto its back without even a groan. “Aye, he’s alive,” he grunted, grimacing down at the ruined face and watching breath bubble in the blood from its smashed nose and lips, “but how long will he stay that way? There’s the question.” He knelt, and his jaw tightened as he touched an indentation in Harnak’s forehead. “He’s less pretty than he was, and I’m thinking he hit the wall a mite hard, but he’s a head like a boulder. He might live yet, Krahana take him.”

The Horse Stealer sank back on his heels, fingering his dagger. Cutting a helpless throat, even when it belonged to scum like this, went hard with him. Then again, a man had to be practical. . . .

“Chalak saw him take me,” Farmah said weakly behind him, and he spat a fresh oath. Finishing Harnak might protect him , but if the prince’s brother knew his plans for Farmah, Harnak’s death would only make her hopeless situation still worse. Chalak might keep quiet, since Harnak’s elimination would improve his own chance for power, yet he was only Churnazh’s fourth son. It was unlikely Harnak’s removal would profit him significantly . . . but identifying his brother’s killer to their father certainly would.

The Horse Stealer stood and glared down at the motionless body while his mind raced. Killing Harnak wouldn’t save Farmah, and that meant it wouldn’t help him , either. Enough torture would loosen any tongue, and Churnazh would apply the irons himself. He’d like that, even if he hadn’t lost his son. So unless Bahzell was prepared to cut the girl’s throat as well as Harnak’s . . .

“How badly are you hurt, lass?” he asked, turning to her at last. She looked back mutely, and he waved a hand in a gesture that mixed impatience with apology. “We’re both dead if we stay, girl, whether he lives or dies. If I get you away, can you stay on your feet to run?”

“I-” Farmah looked back down at Harnak and shivered, then stiffened her shoulders and nodded as her own thoughts followed his. “I can run. Not fast, M’lord, but I can run,” she said hoarsely. “Only where could I run to? ”

“Aye, there’s the question.” Bahzell gave Harnak another kick, feeling her watch him in silence, and the look of trust in her one good eye made him feel even worse. He wished her no ill-fortune, but he couldn’t help wishing he’d never heard her screams, and he knew too well how misplaced her trust might be against the odds they faced. But counting the odds never shortened them, and he sighed and shook himself. “I’m thinking there’s just one place, lass-Hurgrum.”

“Hurgrum? ”

He smiled sourly at the shock in her voice, for if one thing was certain it was that he couldn’t return to Hurgrum. There’d be hell enough to pay over this even if Harnak lived; if the bastard died, Churnazh was certain to outlaw Bahzell for breaking hostage bond. He might well do so even if Harnak lived-gods and demons knew he’d seemed happy enough to let others try to provoke Bahzell into something which would let him do just that! And if the Bloody Swords outlawed him and he returned to his father’s court, the fragile balance holding the armies from one another’s throats would come down in ruins.

“Aye, Hurgrum,” he said. “But that’s for you, lass, not me.” He turned away from Harnak, doubts banished by action, and lifted her in his arms. “I came this way to avoid people. Let’s be hoping the two of us don’t meet anyone else on our way out-and that no one finds this bastard before we’re gone.”

Chapter Two

Bahzell moved swiftly down the ill-lit halls despite his burden. Churnazh’s “palace” was a half-ruinous rabbit warren whose oldest section had been little more than a brigand’s keep, built in a swampy bend of the small Navahk River as a place to lie up and count loot. Its newer sections included a few straighter, wider passages- evidence of days when Navahk’s rulers had at least aspired to better things-but the present prince’s notions of maintenance left much of his palace’s crumbling core dangerously unsafe.

Bahzell knew that, but it was always best to know the lay of the land, and after two years, he’d learned the palace as well as any of the slaves and servants who toiled within it. Now he used that knowledge to pick a circuitous route that avoided sentries and well traveled areas, and he made it almost all the way to his assigned chambers before he heard the sound of feet.

He swore softly but with feeling, for he couldn’t have picked a worse place to meet someone. The brisk footsteps clattered down a cross passage towards the last four-way intersection before his rooms, and the bare corridor behind him offered no concealment. But at least it sounded like a single person, and he set Farmah down and drew his dagger in a whisper of steel.

The feet pattered closer. They reached the intersection, and Bahzell leapt forward-only to jerk himself up short as his intended victim jumped back with a squeak of panic.

“M-M’lord?” the middle-aged woman quavered, and, despite the situation, Bahzell grinned. Her eyes were glued to the steel gleaming in his hand, and she sounded justifiably terrified, but she wasn’t running for her life. Which she would have been, if she hadn’t recognized him. Churnazh’s servants had the reactions of any other terrorized and abused creatures, and it had taken Bahzell months to convince them he wouldn’t hurt them; now this single moment made all his efforts worthwhile.

“I’d no mind to frighten you, Tala,” he said mildly as he lowered his dagger. The woman who would have been the palace’s housekeeper in Hurgrum (here she was simply one slave among many, and more exposed to her “betters’ ” wrath than most), drew a deep breath at his pacific tone and opened her mouth . . . just as Farmah stepped waveringly out from behind him.

“Farmah! ” Tala gasped, and leapt forward as the girl’s legs began to give. Only Tala’s arms kept her from collapsing, and the housekeeper gasped again as she realized how badly hurt Farmah was. Her eyes darted back to Bahzell, and he winced at the sudden, horrified accusation-the look of betrayal-in them. Yet he couldn’t blame her for her automatic assumption, and the accusation vanished as quickly as it had come. The horror remained, but fury replaced the betrayal, and her ears flattened.

“Who, M’lord?” she hissed. “Who did this?!”

“Harnak,” Farmah answered for him, resting the less injured side of her face against Tala’s shoulder, and the protective arms tightened about her. Tala looked into Bahzell’s eyes, searching for confirmation, and her own face tightened as he nodded. She started to speak again, then pressed her lips together and handed Farmah back to him.

She darted back to the intersection without a word and looked both ways, then beckoned him forward, and he sighed with relief as he scooped the girl back up and followed her.

Tala led the way to his chambers like a scout, then closed the outer door behind him and leaned against it to watch him deposit Farmah gently in a chair. Her expression was grim, but she showed no surprise when he shrugged out of his tunic, squirmed into a padded buckram aketon, and lifted his scale shirt from its rack. He drew it on and reached up for his sword, looping the baldric over his head and settling the hilt against his left shoulder blade, and Tala cleared her throat.

“Is he dead, M’lord?” Her voice was flat.

“He was breathing when I left him. Now?” Bahzell shrugged, and she nodded without surprise.

“I was afraid of this. He’s been after her so long, and-” Tala closed her mouth and shook her head. “How can I help, M’lord?”

Bahzell shook his head quickly, his face grim. “You’d best think what you’re saying, Tala. If he dies yet, or if we’re caught inside the walls-”

“If you’re caught, it won’t matter whether I helped you or just didn’t call the Guard myself.” Her voice was bleak as she looked at Farmah, huddled brokenly in the chair and little more than half-conscious. “That could be