Oath of Swords

“Then keep right on passing,” the Purple Lord sniffed. “There’s no place here for such as you.”

“Such as us, is it?” Bahzell cocked his ears and tilted his head to study the other with cold eyes. “And could you be telling me just who you are to be saying that?”

“I own this village,” the Purple Lord shot back, “and you’re trespassing. Just like these scum.” He jabbed his crop contemptuously at the peasants and spat on the ground.

“Now that’s a strange thing,” Bahzell replied, “for I’m thinking they’ve the look of the folk who built this village in the first place.”

“And what’s that to you?” the half-elf demanded, with the arrogance Purple Lords were famous for. “I own the land under it, and I own the trees they’ve cut.”

“And they did it all without your even knowing, did they?” Bahzell marveled.

“Of course not, you fool!”

“Friend,” Bahzell said gently, “I’d not use words like ‘fool’ so free if I were you.”

The Purple Lord started to spit something back, then paused and gave the towering hradani a measuring look. He frowned, then shrugged.

“I don’t really care what you ’d do. This is none of your affair. These lazy bastards owe me the next quarter’s rent, but they can’t pay, and I’ve no use for idlers!”

Bahzell glanced at the villagers, and his eyes lingered on work-worn clothing and calloused hands, then moved slowly back to the Purple Lord’s soft palms and manicured nails. The half-elf flushed angrily under the contempt in those eyes, but Bahzell only looked back at the villagers.

“Is that the right of it?” he asked, and fearful expressions looked back at him. Eyes shifted uneasily to the Purple Lord and his armed men, and Bahzell sighed. “Don’t you be minding old Windy Guts,” he said gently. “It’s a champion of Tomanak I am,” he felt ridiculous as he claimed the title for the first time, “so just tell me true.”

The man whose face bore the crop’s bleeding welt stared at him, eyes wide at the unexpected announcement, and the Purple Lord cracked a scornful laugh.

“You? A champion of Tomanak?! You’re a poor liar, hradani!”

“Don’t be making me prove you wrong,” Bahzell advised him, “for you’ll not like the way I do it.”

His deep voice was level, but the Purple Lord blanched at something in it and edged his horse back a stride. Bahzell held his eyes for a moment, then looked back at the villager, and the man swallowed.

“Are . . . are ye truly what ye say, sir?” he asked timidly.

“I am that, though I’ll not blame you for wondering.” Bahzell glanced down at his tattered, stained self and grinned wryly. “Still and all, it’s not clothes make the man, or Puff Guts yonder would be a king!”

Someone guffawed nervously, and the Purple Lord flushed.

“So tell me the truth of what’s happening here,” Bahzell urged.

“Well, sir.” The villager darted an anxious look at the Purple Lord, then drew a deep breath. “The truth is, it’s been a mortal hard year,” he said in a rush. “The price of timber, well, it’s been less’n half what it us’ly is, an’ after Milord took his tithe of it, there’s nigh nothin’ left. We . . . we paid half our rent, sir, ’deed we did, an’ if Milord’d only wait till spring, we’d pay it all, no question. But-”

He shrugged helplessly, and Bahzell swiveled his eyes back to the landlord. The Purple Lord flushed even darker, but his lip curled.

“They’ve always got some excuse, but there are plenty of others who’ll jump at the chance to take their places-yes, and pay their rent on time, too!”

“So you’re after turning them out in the teeth of winter, is it? And them with half their rent for the next quarter already paid?”

“And what business is it of yours?” the Purple Lord snapped. “I’m within my rights!”

“Are you, now? And no doubt you’ve some bit of paper to prove it?”

“Prove it?!” The landlord gasped incredulously, then shook himself. “Hirahim! Why am I even wasting time with the likes of you? Be on your way, hradani, and be glad I let you go!”

“As to that, it’s happy I’ll be to move on,” Bahzell said calmly. “As soon as you’ve returned the rent these folk did pay, that is.”

“What? ” The Purple Lord gawked at him. “You’re mad!”

“That’s as may be, but if you’re after putting them out, then I’m thinking they’re not after owing rent for the time they won’t be here. Aye,” Bahzell’s eyes narrowed, “and I’ve a shrewd notion that precious paper of yours would be saying the same thing, wouldn’t it?”

“ ’Deed, sir,” a woman’s voice said nervously, “it does, and ’twas that we asked him for when he come to put us out, but he said-”

“Hold your tongue, bitch!” the Purple Lord spat furiously. The woman who’d spoken cowered back, and he glared at her. “It’s none of this bastard’s affair! One more word, and I’ll have the whip to you!”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Bahzell said flatly, and the landlord quivered with rage as he glared at the ragged, muddy figure before him. His mouth worked, and he jerked around to his seven guardsmen.

“Kill these swine!” he barked.

His men had more than half-expected the command, and they drew their swords instantly. Bahzell’s blade was still sheathed as they spurred forward, grinning at the sport fate had dropped in their way, but none of them realized what they faced. Hradani were rarely seen in these lands, and never so far east, and they were totally unprepared for how quickly Bahzell’s hands moved. Five feet of glittering steel hissed free and came down overhand in the same motion, and the guard captain screamed as it bit deep into his armored chest.

His corpse toppled from its horse, and one of his men shouted a shocked, incredulous oath and came straight at the hradani. His sword flashed, but he was more accustomed to terrorizing tenants than facing trained warriors, and Bahzell’s blade licked out almost contemptuously. The guardsman grunted, staring stupidly down at the two feet of steel buried in his guts, then shrieked as Bahzell plucked him from the saddle like a speared salmon.

Two more men charged the Horse Stealer, but one of them veered aside, face etched with sudden panic as Brandark spurred to meet him. The guardsman got his blade up in time to block a straight-armed cut, but the force of the blow drove his sword to the side, and a lightning backhand took out his throat. He fell with a bubbling gurgle, and Bahzell put his armored shoulder into the barrel of his companion’s rearing horse.

The horse went down squealing, and Bahzell cut yet another guardsman from his saddle while the fallen man fought to scramble free of his mount. He managed it-and rose just in time to meet Brandark’s sword. He crashed back with a split skull, and the two surviving guards were no longer smiling as they flung themselves desperately at the hradani.

They lasted no longer than their fellows, and the Purple Lord gaped in terror as Bahzell and Brandark cut his men apart with polished efficiency. His horse reared as he spurred it, but he was trapped between the palisade and Bahzell. He stared desperately around, and his hand darted to his ornamented, gold-crusted sword hilt.

“Don’t be stupid, man!” Bahzell snapped, but the half-elf was too panicked to heed the warning. He slammed his spurs home once more, and his sword swung wildly as the beast squealed and bolted forward.

Bahzell ducked the clumsy stroke easily, and his own blade hissed back around in a dreadful, economic riposte. He didn’t even think about it; he simply reacted, and the Purple Lord was flung from his saddle without a sound. He hit the mud with a sodden thump, the villagers gasped in horror as he fell, and then there was only stillness, and eight dead men sprawled on the churned up ground.

Bahzell lowered his sword slowly and muttered an oath as he surveyed the carnage. He’d never dreamed the man might be daft enough to try something like this, and his heart sank as he recognized the trouble to come. He turned his head to meet Brandark’s eyes, and his friend sighed.

“Well,” he said wryly, “no one ever said hradani were smart.”

Chapter Thirty-five

“No, no, no , Malith!” Bahzell sighed and shook his head while the village headman looked at him, shrewd old eyes stubborn. “You just be telling whoever asks exactly what I’ve told you to say.”

“But the army, Milord,” Malith protested. “They’ll not be happy, and it’s not right they should be chasing you