The War God's Own

'Well… none,' Charrow admitted.

'Then you'd naught to measure the stories against, now had you?'

'That's a reason for my blindness, Milord-not an excuse. But you're right, I suppose. And you're right about how most people would react to your news. Yet it's the Order's business to deal with such threats when they arise.'

'And so the Order will,' Bahzell reassured him. 'You were the one as was telling me all champions are part of the Order, whether we like it or no, weren't you?' Charrow nodded. 'Well, that being so, I'd say it's after being up to me and young Vaijon here to be dealing with it.'

'Just the two of you?' Charrow couldn't quite keep his skepticism from showing, and Bahzell laughed.

'Well, the two of us, and Brandark… and forty or fifty thousand Horse Stealers.'

'I thought a truce existed between your people and the Bloody Swords.'

'So it does-or did before Harnak and I were after having our little disagreement. I've had no letters from my father since Brandark and I left, and it's possible the truce holds still, but I've a shrewd notion Father wasn't any too pleased when Harnak raped a girl under his father's protection and laid the blame for it on me. And even if he was minded to let that pass, there's those among his captains would never let it stand. Oh, I'll not say it's all because of me, but no one but a fool ever thought that truce would last forever, and one thing Father isn't is a fool. I'm thinking he must have had most of his preparations in place before ever Harnak and I crossed swords. And even if I'm wrong, he'll move quick enough when he hears who Harnak had dealings with.'

'So he doesn't know yet,' Charrow mused.

'No. I'd meant to write him, for we've no magi for the mage relays to pass word to him through, but it's likely enough I can get there as fast as any letter. And while it's happy I'll be to have his backing, you've the right of it. This is the sort of job himself had in mind for the likes of you and me, and I'll not leave my clan to fight my battles for me.'

'No. No, I can see that,' Charrow agreed. He lowered himself into a chair and leaned back, stretching his legs out before him while he plucked at his lower lip in thought. The slow, steady ticking of the clock on the mantel and the soft crackle of flames from the hearth were the only sounds as he pondered Bahzell's words, and then he gave a sharp nod and inhaled deeply.

'Very well, Milord Champion. You scarcely need my permission, but for what it matters, you will have my blessings. And my aid.'

'Aid?' Bahzell frowned. 'If you're minded to send more folk than Vaijon and Brandark along with me, it's grateful I am, but not so certain it would be wise. We've two choices once we get closer to home: we can cross the Bloody Sword lands to reach Father, or we can strike out cross-country from Daranfel to Durghazh. I'd favor the second, except that only a madman would be crossing that stretch of ground in winter if he's a choice. Still and all, it may happen we've no choice but to try it, and either road, three men will find it easier going-and easier to avoid the notice a dozen would draw.'

'No doubt you're right, but that wasn't what I had in mind. Or not exactly. I would like to send an escort along with you-perhaps led by Sir Yorhus or Sir Adiskael.' The master of the Belhadan Chapter smiled with cheerful nastiness. 'I believe a good, brisk ride through freezing cold and blizzards might help inspire them to consider the full implications of their recent, ill-judged actions, don't you think?'

'You're a cruel and wicked man, Sir Charrow,' Bahzell said with a slow, lurking smile of his own, and Charrow laughed. But then he sobered and leaned forward, raising one hand to stab a forefinger at the hradani.

'That's as may be, Milord, but an escort could be very helpful to you. For one thing, it would help avoid any… misunderstandings you and Brandark might encounter crossing the Empire. And while I realize your homeland is at least as cold as Belhadan, and I'm sure you and Lord Brandark are well acquainted with winter travel, we can provide experienced guides to see you safely on your way. How, exactly, had you planned to make your way home?'

'The hard way,' Bahzell said wryly. He smiled at Charrow for a moment, then crossed to the enormous map that hung on one wall. 'I'm thinking the best route is from Belhadan down through Axe Hallow,' he said, tracing the roads with a finger as he spoke, 'then across to Lordenfel, south to the Estoraman high road, up to Silmacha and across the Pass of Heroes to Barandir. From there, we can skirt the Wind Plain down into Daranfel, then either sneak through the Bloody Swords' back pasture or cut straight across to Durghazh and take the main road south from there to Hurgrum.'

'Um.' Charrow stood and walked over to join the Horse Stealer's perusal of the map. 'That's a logical enough route… for someone who's picking it off a map. But I've spent some time traveling through Landria and Landfressa myself, and you'll never get through the Pass of Heroes before spring. That's almost as bad as South Wall Pass down in South Province. No, Milord. If you truly intend to make the trip at this time of year, you'll either have to go clear south to Crag Wall Pass or else bear straight north from Lordenfel to Esfresia, then cross into Dwarvenhame through Mountain Heart.'

'Ah?' Bahzell rubbed his chin, and his ears shifted gently in thought.

'Exactly,' Charrow said, tapping the map with his forefinger. 'The bit from Esfresia to the mountains will be the worst of the entire journey, but once you reach the Dwarvenhame Tunnel, it will take you under the mountains, and from there you can pass through Golden Lode Gap into Ordanfressa and turn south to Barandir. That will take you considerably further north than you'd planned, but Golden Lode is far lower than the Pass of Heroes, and the going-especially across the mountains-will be much easier. And-' he turned from the map to regard Bahzell levelly '-I just happen to know a guide familiar with the route all the way to Mountain Heart. Ah, not to mention the fact that Sir Yorhus was raised in Landfressa and is quite an accomplished snow country traveler.'

'I see.' Bahzell looked back at the knight-captain for several contemplative moments, then chuckled. 'I'll not take 'em any further than Daranfel, Sir Charrow, but you're one as drives a hard bargain. As long as they're all ready to be taking orders from a hradani champion of Tomanak , they'll be welcome to come along that far.'

'I thought you'd see it my way, Milord,' Sir Charrow murmured, and he smiled.

Chapter Seven

The first portion of their journey was less arduous than Sir Charrow had predicted or Bahzell had expected. The skies had cleared, and their worst problem was the eye-gnawing sunlight reflected from the snowfields. Fortunately, all of them knew the danger of snow blindness, and the Axemen had better ways of dealing with it than Brandark's and Bahzell's people did. Instead of the layers of cloth in which the northern hradani swathed their eyes, the reindeer herders of Vonderland, Windfel, and Landfressa used lenses of tinted glass to reduce the glare to manageable proportions.

Bahzell approved wholeheartedly of the innovation. Snow lenses weren't cheap-even dwarves found the manufacture of unflawed, uniformly tinted glass an expensive proposition-and adjusting the goggles in which they were mounted for an exact fit could be difficult. But their only real drawback was that they tended to fog up under certain circumstances, and he could live with that. Especially since the problem was worst when the temperature was lowest, and the temperature (during the day) had actually risen above freezing and stayed there for most of the first week. That was a blessing Bahzell had not anticipated, and the quality of the Empire's roads was another.

Even a barbarian Horse Stealer had heard of Axeman engineers and their mighty projects, but those tales had sounded so unlikely that Bahzell's people tended to put them down as the sorts of wild exaggerations city slickers spread among their credulous country cousins. Bahzell might have been less scornful than some, but neither he nor Brandark were the least prepared for the reality of the royal and imperial high roads. Bahzell supposed they should have been, given the pithy comments Kilthandahknarthas' wagoneers had made about the highways beyond the East Wall Mountains. Some of those roads had seemed like marvels of engineering to him and Brandark, but now he knew why the wagoneers had been so critical, and even with the reality underfoot, he found it hard to believe in. Not even Belhadan had prepared him, for Belhadan, after all, was a city. It sat in one place, a focal point of effort. Roads were something else, for they fanned out in all directions, and the sheer length of them made even a fairly modest highway a greater project than the mightiest city wall ever raised.