Oath of Swords

“We’ve enough, I think,” he said after a moment. “Not much more than that, mind, but enough-assuming, that is,” he added with a sharp glance at Zarantha, “that you and your servants have your own trail gear.”

“We do,” she assured him.

“In that case,” Brandark turned his eyes to Bahzell, “we should consider where to get what we require. If this ni’Tarth is as powerful as your guardsman says, he won’t need long to hear what happened. Under the circumstances, I’d just as soon get on the road quickly.”

“You’re minded to set out and buy what we need on the way?” Bahzell asked dubiously, and Brandark nodded.

“You and I have enough trail rations to carry us all for a day or two, and we’re going to have to cross the Dreamwater when we leave Riverside. If this ni’Tarth is involved in the docks, it might be smarter to get ourselves ferried across before he puts out the word he’s looking for us than to take the time to go shopping. We can buy what we need once we get over into Angthyr.”

“Aye, that’s true enough, but I’ve not the least notion where we’re bound.” Bahzell looked at Zarantha. “This Sherhan, now. You were saying it’s near what?”

“Alfroma. That’s the second largest city in the South Weald,” she told him proudly.

“Well it may be, but I’ve no idea how to get there from here.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I know the way.”

“Do you, now?” He gave her a grim look. “If it’s all the same to you, Lady, I’m not minded to set out for a place I ’ve no notion of how to find.” He looked back at Brandark. “Would you be knowing the way?”

“No, but I know roughly where the South Weald is in relation to us, and I’m sure we can find a map in Kor Keep, if not sooner. On the other hand,” it was Brandark’s turn to look thoughtfully at their new employer, “I can’t help wondering why your father didn’t send you home by ship, My Lady. If memory serves, you could have sailed up the Sword to the Darkwater from Bortalik Bay. Surely that would have been faster, not to mention more comfortable-and safer-than traveling overland from Riverside at this time of year.”

“Father doesn’t like Purple Lords.” For the first time, there was a truly evasive note in Zarantha’s voice, but she brushed it aside and went on more briskly. “Besides, it should have been safe enough if my armsmen hadn’t been taken ill,” she reminded him. “There was no reason to expect that.”

“I see.” Brandark studied her a moment longer, then shrugged and turned back to Bahzell. “At any rate, we can get maps in Angthyr, and this Tothas probably knows the roads fairly well-”

“He does,” Zarantha put in.

“-so I don’t think that will be that much of a problem,” Brandark continued with a flick of his ears. “At any rate, I don’t want to hang about hunting for maps here . Even if this ni’Tarth didn’t get us while we did it, he could probably find out which maps we’d been looking for after we’d gone. That might give him a better notion where to find us while we’re still close enough for him to consider sending someone after us.”

“Aye, there’s that.” Bahzell frowned down at the table for several silent moments, then twitched his shoulders and sighed. “In that case, I’m thinking we’d best be about it. It’s coming up on dawn in an hour or two, and the ferries will be running with the sun.”

“Agreed,” Brandark nodded.

“Then if you’ll pay our shot to the harpy downstairs-I’ve a notion she’d sooner see you than me, just now-let’s be off.”

***

Streetlights still burned behind them, for the sun was just rising as the ferry crept across the Dreamwater towards the Kingdom of Angthyr’s Grand Duchy of Korwin. Heavy mist pressed down on the river’s cold water, but the eastern sky was a pale gold glory, bright enough to throw shadows . . . and to hurt Bahzell Bahnakson’s weary eyes.

The ferry was crowded, and the boatmen were surly. They’d grumbled resentfully when Brandark pulled them away from their breakfasts, and not even the extra coins he’d slipped them when no one was looking had sweetened their dispositions. They might be making twice the legal ferry fee, but they’d stood aloof and left it to the two hradani and Zarantha’s single remaining armsman to get three nervous horses and three resentful mules aboard their craft.

Overall, Bahzell had been pleasantly surprised by the quality of Zarantha’s animals. Her own saddle mule had a wicked, roving eye, but all three were long-legged, big-boned, powerful animals who looked remarkably well cared for, given their owner’s poverty and the wretched inn at which they’d been stabled. For its part, Tothas’ mount, far from being the nag he’d feared, was an excellent medium warhorse, and its war training-and bond with Tothas-showed. Finding an animal easily worth several hundred kormaks in the hands of a retainer who served such a poverty-stricken mistress was one more puzzle for him to chew at unhappily, and Zarantha’s sweet smile when he saw it told him she’d enjoyed leading him to assume the worst.

Tothas himself was a cause of some concern, however. The man wore the crossed mace and sword of the Church of Tomanak on an amulet about his neck. He felt solid , somehow, yet whatever illness he’d suffered from must have been both protracted and severe. He was tall for a human, and rangy, built much along the same lines as Rianthus-indeed, but for his chestnut hair and blue eyes, he reminded Bahzell a great deal of Kilthan’s captain-but his haggard face was badly wasted and his chain hauberk hung on his gaunt frame. He moved briskly, and he’d accepted his mistress’ arrival with two hradani in tow with remarkable calm, but his hands trembled ever so slightly, and he’d stopped once or twice as if he were short of breath. Still, his equipment was well cared for, and he had the look of a man who knew how to use both the sword at his side and the short horsebow on his back.

The maid, Rekah, was another matter. She was taller than Zarantha, and much fairer. In fact, she was considerably prettier than her mistress, in a soft-edged sort of way. Zarantha could not be many years out of her teens, and her nose was strong and slightly hooked, her hair dark and her triangular face lively but decidedly lean, while Rekah was a bit older, with golden hair, a sweet, oval face, and a straight little nose. She was also better dressed than Zarantha, but she had a pronounced tendency to flutter, and she’d shrunk back in dismay when Bahzell followed her mistress into their poorly furnished rooms. She’d settled down when Zarantha explained, yet her initial squeak of panic seemed a poor augury. Rekah, Bahzell thought, wouldn’t have produced a dagger if she’d been caught in an alley; she would have been too busy flailing about and screaming for help.

Still, it was early days yet, he told himself-then snorted at his own thought. From what little he did remember about the Empire of the Spear’s geography, they’d have more than sufficient days for him to learn all the strengths and weaknesses of their small party!

The one thing that had truly bothered him was Zarantha’s manner when they reached the docks. She’d been brisk and purposeful getting things organized and chivvying Rekah and Tothas through the city, but once they neared the river she’d fallen back beside her maid and become a totally different person. She’d exchanged her torn skirt and cloak for sturdy trousers, a leather cap, and an equally plain coat of Axeman cut before leaving the inn; once at dockside, she’d pulled the cap down over her ears, turned up her coat collar, and huddled down in it almost as if she were trying to hide. She’d been colorless and passive, almost timid, leaving everything in Bahzell’s hands without so much as a word, and he hadn’t missed how close Tothas stayed to her or the way his hand kept checking his sword hilt.

Of course, this was ni’Tarth’s domain. That was certainly enough to account for Tothas’ attitude, but Zarantha had seemed far less frightened of ni’Tarth earlier. Bahzell couldn’t shake the notion that she was worried by something more than the wrath of a Riverside crime lord, however powerful, and he chewed his lip unhappily at the thought. Little though he cared for the situation he’d landed in, he found himself liking Zarantha, almost against his will, and his stubborn sense that there was more-or possibly less-to her than she’d chosen to admit bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Unfortunately, Brandark had found the perfect way to distract him from his worries. The Bloody Sword was following through on his threat to write his thrice-bedamned Lay of Bahzell Bloody-Hand. Worse, he’d chosen to set it to the tune of a well-known-and dismayingly memorable-drinking song, and he’d insisted on singing the first three verses under his breath while he and Bahzell struggled to get the animals aboard