Oath of Swords

small, red-cloaked human bowed to him.

“Greetings, Your Highness. Our master welcomes you.”

Harnak returned the greeting with a shallower bow of his own, and his heart sank. If all had gone well, the demon should already have slain Bahzell, yet there was no exultation on his greeter’s face. The man straightened from his bow and let his cloak slip open to reveal a gemmed amulet, and Harnak inhaled sharply. This man was an archpriest, senior even to Tharnatus, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the lack of respect his own bow had implied.

The archpriest met his eyes, and a faint, amused smile curled his lips as he read the quick prickle of Harnak’s panic. But he forbore to comment upon it, and gestured to a nearby warehouse.

“Come, Your Highness. Let us discuss our business less publicly.”

“Ah, of course,” Harnak agreed, and followed the priest through a door one of his attendants held open. The attendant closed the door behind them and stood guarding their privacy, and Harnak licked his lips.

“Please excuse any seeming disrespect,” he began stiffly, “but-”

“Don’t disturb yourself, Your Highness,” the archpriest said smoothly. “We both serve the Scorpion; let His service make us brothers.”

Harnak nodded stiff thanks, and the priest smiled again. There was no humor in that smile, and the prince felt his belly tighten.

“I know your mission here, of course,” the archpriest told him, “and I have information for you.”

“Information?” Harnak’s voice was sharper than he’d intended. There was only one piece of “information” he wanted to hear, and the priest’s tone told him he wouldn’t.

“Yes. I regret to inform you-” the man’s smile vanished into an expression of bleak hatred “-that the greater servant failed in its task.”

“It failed?! ” Harnak goggled at the other in disbelief-and fear. “How? I saw the servant-nothing could have withstood it!”

“The evidence, alas, suggests you’re in error.” The priest’s eyes glittered in the dim warehouse. “I don’t know precisely how it happened, but the servant was destroyed, and Bahzell . . . wasn’t.” He shrugged and glanced significantly at the blade at Harnak’s side. “Surely you were told it might fail, Your Highness. If not, why are you here?”

“Well, of course I knew it was possible ,” Harnak muttered, “but I didn’t think- That is, I found it difficult to believe the Scorpion’s sting could actually miss its mark.”

“But it hasn’t, Your Highness. Not yet, for you are His true sting, are you not?”

Harnak nodded curtly, unable to trust his tongue, and the archpriest donned his smile again.

“Be of sound heart, Your Highness. The Scorpion will guide you to him you seek, and the blade you bear will not fail. He will fight at your very side through it, and no mortal can prevail against Him when He Himself takes the field. Yet I fear you must be on your way soon if you’re to overtake the Horse Stealer.”

“You know where he is?”

“No, but I know where he’s bound, which is almost as good.”

“Well?” Harnak pressed.

“For a time, Your Highness, he was in the company of certain enemies of Carnadosa. They didn’t tell us who those enemies were, but we have our own sources, including certain dog brothers who met them and survived, and they need not concern you, anyway, for Bahzell is no longer with them. The Carnadosans have returned to their own concerns, leaving us to deal with ours, but we feel confident that Bahzell will shortly seek to reach Alfroma.”

“Alfroma? Where’s that, and why should Bahzell go there?”

“It lies in the Duchy of Jashan, Your Highness, and why he wishes to go there need not concern you, either. If he reaches it, however, your chance to slay him will vanish . . . and the Scorpion will be, ah, displeased .”

Harnak swallowed and nodded.

“Excellent,” the archpriest said benignly. “Now, Bahzell was just inside the northern edge of the Shipwood when the servant intercepted him and was destroyed. That was two days ago. Given his desire to reach Alfroma, it seems certain he’ll proceed south through the forest. If he reaches the Darkwater, he can travel upriver by boat to his destination, but crossing the Shipwood should slow him and give you your chance to overtake him.”

“But how will I find him?” Harnak tried to hide his secret hope that there was no way to do that, but the priest only gestured to his sword.

“The Scorpion will guide you. I fear the dog brothers have lost so heavily in their attempts upon him that they’ve called off the active hunt for him, but two of them will guide you as far as Sindark on the Darkwater. If Bahzell knows the land and his own whereabouts well enough, he’ll no doubt head for Sindark himself, as the most likely place to find passage upriver, but you can travel by the highroads while he picks his way through the forest. You may well intercept him there; if not, you should be west of him, between him and his destination, and you can take ship down the river until you meet him. The lesser servants still find him difficult to locate in the wilderness, but the sword you bear is no lesser servant. Once you come within ten leagues of him, it will lead you directly to him.”

The archpriest shrugged, and a chill touched Harnak’s heart as the human smiled once more.

“From there, Your Highness,” he said softly, “the task will be yours.”

Chapter Thirty-four

“Well there’s a fine thing,” Bahzell sighed. He gazed out over the swift-flowing river and sank down on his heels, still holding the packhorse’s lead. The animal looked about for something to browse upon but found only dead leaves and winter-browned moss and blew heavily in resignation.

“As a navigator, you make a fine champion of Tomanak.”

Brandark stood beside his friend, rubbing his horse’s forehead, and one of the mules nudged him hopefully. Unlike the horses which had fled, both mules-smart enough to remember the hradani were a source of grain-had returned the morning after the demon’s death, and the hopeful one nudged the Bloody Sword again, harder, then shook its head and lipped at the grain sack across its companion’s pack saddle.

“Now isn’t that just like you,” Bahzell replied. “If you’re thinking you can do better, why then, lead the way, little man.”

“Me? I’m the city boy, remember? You’re the Horse Stealer.”

“Aye, and no Horse Stealer with his wits about him would be wandering about these godsforsaken woods in winter, either,” Bahzell growled back.

“Which explains your presence, but what am I doing here?”

Bahzell snorted and pondered the water before him. It was too broad to be anything except the Darkwater, but he’d expected to hit the river almost two days ago. That meant he was well and truly off the course he’d tried to hold, but had he strayed east or west?

He eased down to sit on a tree root and stretched his legs before him. His boots were sadly worn, which was a worrisome thing, for boots his size were hard come by. He could feel the sharp edges of rocks and the lumpy hardness of roots and fallen branches through their thinning soles, yet if the truth be known, he was more aware of his legs’ weariness. Iron-thewed Horse Stealer that he was, this journey was telling upon him, and he was only grateful they’d moved far enough south to find warmer weather.

He flipped a stone into the river and watched it splash, then peered up at the sky and tried to estimate the time. About the second hour of the afternoon, he decided finally. That gave them another three or four hours of light, and he had no intention of sitting here on his arse wondering where he was while they sped past.

“Well,” he said finally, “I’m thinking we’ve borne too far east or west, and whichever it may be, we’ve little choice but to follow the river till we find a way across it. So, since you’ve come all over sarcastic about my guidance, why don’t you be suggesting which way we should be going?”

“That’s right, dump it all on me.” Brandark glanced up at the sky in turn, then shrugged. “Given the