He hurried a little now, and his heart rose as he saw the under-captain in charge of the gate detachment glance at the women. He’d thought he remembered the gate schedule, and he was right. Under-Captain Yurgazh would never have met Prince Bahnak’s standards, but at least his armor was well kept and reasonably clean. He looked almost dapper compared to the men he commanded, and he was one of the very few members of Churnazh’s Guard to emerge from the war against Hurgrum with something like glory. He’d been little more than a common freesword, but he’d fought with courage, and his example had turned the men about him into one of the handfuls that held together as the pikes closed in. It took uncommon strength to hold hradani during a retreat-and even more to restrain them from final, berserk charges while they fell back-which was why Yurgazh had risen to his present rank when Churnazh recruited his depleted Guard back up to strength.
Perhaps it was because he had nothing to be ashamed of that Yurgazh was willing to show respect for the warriors who’d vanquished him. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t been long enough in Navahk’s service to sink to its level. It might even be that he’d come to know more about the prince he served and chose to vent some of his disgust in his own, private way. But whatever his reasons, he’d always treated Bahzell as the noble he was, and Bahzell was betting heavily on the core of decency he suspected Yurgazh still harbored.
He paused at the corner, watching with narrowed eyes as Yurgazh started towards the women. Then the under-captain stopped, and Bahzell tensed as his head rose and one hand slipped to his sword hilt. Tala’s tale of seeking a healer for Farmah would never pass muster here, for there were no healers in the hovels against the outer face of the wall. Nor were palace servants allowed to leave the city without a permit, especially so late in the day, and two women alone, one of them obviously beaten and both with the shoulder knot of the prince’s personal service, could mean only one thing to an alert sentry.
Bahzell saw the understanding in Yurgazh’s face, even at this distance, and his jaw clenched as the under- captain suddenly looked up. His eyes locked on Bahzell like a lodestone on steel, and Bahzell held his breath.
But then Yurgazh released his sword. He turned his back on the women and engaged the other two gate guards in a discussion that seemed to require a great many pointed gestures at ill-kept equipment, and both of them were far too busy placating his ire to even notice the two women who stole past them.
Bahzell made his jaw unclench, yet he allowed himself no relaxation.
He strode up to the gate, and this time Yurgazh stepped out into the gateway. He waved one of his men forward-one who looked even less gifted with intelligence than most-and Bahzell let his bandaged hand rest lightly on his belt, inches from his dagger, as the under-captain nodded respectfully to him.
“You’re out late, M’lord.” Yurgazh had better grammar than most of Churnazh’s men, and his tone was neutral. Bahzell flicked his ears in silent agreement, and a ghost of a smile flickered in Yurgazh’s eyes as they lingered briefly on the Horse Stealer’s rucksack and arbalest. “Bound for a hunting party, M’lord?” he asked politely.
“Aye,” Bahzell said, and it was true enough, he reflected-or would be once Harnak was found.
“I see.” Yurgazh rubbed his upper lip, then shrugged. “I hate to mention this, M’lord, but you really should be accompanied by your bodyguards.”
“Aye,” Bahzell repeated, and something very like the Rage but lighter, more like the crackle of silk rubbed on amber, made him want to grin. “Well, Captain, I’m thinking the guards will be along soon enough.”
“Oh? Then His Highness knows you’re going on ahead?”
“Aye,” Bahzell said yet again, then corrected himself with scrupulous accuracy. “Or that’s to say he
Yurgazh’s eyes widened, then flicked towards the gate through which the women had vanished before they darted back to Bahzell and the bloody cloth knotted about his knuckles. A startled look that mingled alarm and respect in almost equal measure had replaced their laughter-and then the under-captain shrugged and glanced at the dull-faced guardsman beside him.
“Well, if Prince Harnak knows you’re going, M’lord, I don’t see how it’s our business to interfere.” His underling didn’t-quite-nod in relief, but his fervent desire not to meddle in his prince’s business was plain, and Bahzell suddenly realized why Yurgazh had brought him along. He was a witness the under-captain had done his duty by questioning Bahzell . . . and that nothing Bahzell had said or done had been suspicious enough to warrant holding him.
“In that case, I’d best be going, Captain,” he said, and Yurgazh nodded and stepped back to clear the gate for him.
“Aye, so you had. And-” something in the other’s suddenly softer tone brought Bahzell’s eyes back to his “- good fortune in the hunt, M’lord.”
Chapter Three
Tala stumbled again, and this time she lost her balance completely in the darkness. She fell hard, with a muffled cry of pain, and Bahzell bit back any word of encouragement as she struggled back up. Part of him wanted to rant at her for her clumsiness; most of him was astonished by how well she’d borne up . . . and sensed her bitter shame that she’d done no better. That was foolish of her, of course; no city woman of her age could hope to match the pace of a trained warrior of half her years, which was the very reason he’d hesitated to bring her along in the first place.
But foolish or no, he respected her determination and courage . . . which, in a strange way, was what forbade soothing words they both would know as lies. Bahzell had been trained in a school whose demands were brutally simple and in which weakness was the unforgivable sin. It wasn’t enough that a man had “done his best” when defeat meant death, not just for himself but for his fellows. If his “best” wasn’t enough, he must be driven- goaded-until it was; if he couldn’t be driven, then he must be discarded. Yet this woman had somehow clung to courage and self-respect despite all her world had done to her, and she knew without telling that she was slowing him. He might not fully understand his compassion, if such it was, for her, but he knew nothing he said or did could drive her to greater efforts, and he refused to shame her with platitudes that treated her as less than she was.
None of which changed her desperate need for rest. He inhaled deeply, deliberately letting her hear the weariness in the sound, and squatted to slide Farmah from his shoulder. He eased her limp body to the ground in the shadowy underbrush, and Tala sagged back on her haunches, gasping for breath and huddling in her cloak as the night’s chill probed at her sweat-soaked garments.
He let her see him wipe matching sweat from his own forehead, and the gesture was less for her sake than he would have liked. Two years penned within hostile walls had taken their toll.
He shook himself and looked around. Hradani night vision was more acute than that of most of the Races of Man, and Bahzell’s was superior to the average hradani’s. It had
He hoped it would, anyway, and cradled his arbalest across his thighs while he glared into the darkness and made himself think.
A few he’d known would be praying to every god they could think of by now, but most hradani had little use for gods and prayers, and a distressing number of those who did gave their devotion to one or another of the dark gods. Theirs was a harsh world, and a god who rewarded his (or her) worshipers with immediate, tangible power, whatever its price, was at least something they could understand. Of all the gods, Krashnark undoubtedly boasted the largest following among hradani. Lord of devils and ambitious war he might be, but whatever the Black Swordsman’s other failings, he was reputed to be a god of his word, not an innate treacher like his brothers Sharna and Fiendark, and far less . . . hungry than his sister Krahana.
For the most part, however, the only use hradani had for deities was the laying of curses. Bahzell himself had no use at all for the dark gods, and precious little more for those of the light; black or white, no god had done his people any favors
