The War God's Own

flattened in disbelief. 'If you'd stayed a little longer in Belhadan and let Sir Charrow finish explaining things, you'd know that without my telling you.'

'Know what?'

'I was there when Sir Charrow told you there are only eighteen living champions in all of Norfressa. Only eighteen, Milord. Aside from Sir Terrian, no member of the Order can so much as dispute any order one of you chooses to give, and not even Sir Terrian could disobey you except on Tomanak's direct authority. If you feel Sir Yorhus could benefit from being sent to your friend Tothas-or anywhere else in the world-you have the authority to send him there without consulting Sir Charrow or anyone else.'

Bahzell blinked, and a shiver which owed nothing to winter weather ran through him. The thought of such authority was terrifying, for with it came responsibility… and the temptation to tyranny. The idea that his will, however capricious, could send a man across a thousand leagues of bitter winter snow and ice made his stomach knot, and he wondered what insanity had possessed the Order of Tomanak to put that kind of power into anyone's hands.

'Well,' a familiar, earthquake-deep voice said soundlessly in the back of his brain, 'I suppose they did it because I told them to.'

Vaijon sucked in a sudden, deep breath and went white as the snow around them, and Bahzell blinked again as he realized the knight-probationer had also heard Tomanak's silent voice. There was undoubtedly a reason for that, but at the moment, the sudden revelation of his own authority was the first weight on Bahzell's mind, and he set his mug aside and leaned aggressively forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he glowered at the empty air.

'You did, did you?' he said tartly. 'And just what maggoty-brained reason were you having for that?'

Bahzell wouldn't have believed Vaijon could turn any whiter, but the knight-probationer managed. Tomanak , on the other hand, only chuckled.

'Mine is a military order, Bahzell, and any army needs officers to command it. For the most part, the Order chooses its own officers-like Sir Terrian and Sir Charrow-and those choices serve it well. But it is my order, and I reserve to myself the right to select my own officers and place them in authority over it. As I have chosen you.'

'And never a word did you say to me about it while you were after choosing me, either!' Bahzell pointed out.

'Of course not. If you'd asked, I would have told you the truth, of course. But you didn't, and I was just as glad of it. If I had told you, you would have raised even more objections, and recruiting a boulder-brained hradani was hard enough without that!'

Vaijon uttered a strangled sound and made as if to rise, but Bahzell waved him back down. The younger man settled back on the saddle bags he was using for a seat, and the hradani returned his attention to his deity.

'It may be I would have, and it may be I wouldn't,' he said, 'but that's neither here nor there just this moment. What's in my mind is that I'm none too happy to think such as me could be sending a man I hardly know to what might be his death on a whim!'

'Bahzell, Bahzell! You can be the most stubborn, infuriating, obstinate-' The god chopped himself off, then sighed. 'Bahzell, would you give authority to an officer you expected to use it capriciously and carelessly?'

The hradani shook his head.

'Then what in the names of all the Powers of Light makes you think I would?'

The question was a sudden peal of thunder, reverberating with such soundless violence between Bahzell's ears that his eyes glazed. It was obvious from Vaijon's expression that he'd heard the same question, although Bahzell felt certain he'd heard it at a lower volume. His eyes weren't crossed, after all.

That was when Bahzell realized Tomanak had withdrawn with as little warning as he had arrived, and the hradani's lips quirked. He hadn't considered the question from Tomanak's viewpoint, but he supposed it did make sense, after a fashion. Bahzell wasn't about to award himself any accolades for infallibility, and he was only too well aware of his own myriad shortcomings. But he also had to admit that the casual abuse of power had never appealed to him, and if he knew that, how could Tomanak not know it? Still, the god hadn't said a word about whether or not Bahzell would use his newly discovered authority wisely, only that he wouldn't use it carelessly… which left the responsibility squarely in Bahzell's hands. And that, too, he realized now, was a part of the measure of a champion's duties. It was his job to decide whether he was right or wrong. Tomanak might offer guidance, but as he'd told Bahzell on another snowy afternoon, it was the exercise of his champions' wills and courage which made them champions. It was simply that Bahzell hadn't thought about the particular sort of courage it took to assume the authority Tomanak had just confirmed was his.

'Well!' he said finally, explosively, and slapped his palms on his thighs. The loud smacking sound made Vaijon jump, and Bahzell grinned. 'Heard him yourself, did you?'

'Ah, well- I mean, that is-' Vaijon stopped and swallowed. 'Yes, Milord. I-I suppose I did.'

'Ah, well himself can be a mite testy from time to time,' Bahzell said blandly, then laughed out loud and leaned over to clap Vaijon on the shoulder as the younger man stared at him. 'I'm not so very certain just why he was wanting you to be hearing-not yet-but you can lay to it that he had a reason. In the meantime, though, I'm thinking perhaps I should be giving your suggestion some thought.'

'My suggestion, Milord?'

'Aye, the one about Yorhus and Tothas. It just might be there's some merit in that, after all.'

Chapter Eight

The good weather deserted them on the morning of the day Axe Hallow should have come into sight.

Even the high road had begun to twist and turn as it threaded through the Axe Blade Hills which surrounded the Empire's capital like a huge, natural breastwork. In any other land, the hills might have been called 'mountains,' but the towering East Walls which formed the Empire's eastern rampart denied Axeman geographers the use of that word to describe any lesser peaks. Bahzell, on the other hand, had found himself using it in his own thoughts without reservation as he marched into an icy, cutting breeze and the scattered snowflakes which had begun to turn into something else shortly after dawn. Now it was late morning, and he gritted his teeth as what looked suspiciously like the early stages of a blizzard blew down a rocky cut, straight into his eyes. Bitter as that wind was, he had experienced worse coming down off the Sothoii Wind Plain. It was only the unnaturally easy going of the last week which made it seem like the very breath of ice demons. Not that understanding the why of it made it any more pleasant… and not that it wouldn't prove quite sufficient to kill any unwary traveler if it got much worse.

The sudden abatement that morning of the traffic they had been encountering as they neared the capital should have warned him something like this was coming, he thought grimly. No doubt the locals, accustomed to the weather in these parts, had exercised the good judgment to stay home. They'd probably advised any travelers who'd had the sense to ask to do the same, but Bahzell's eagerness to reach Axe Hallow had pushed the pace harder than usual yesterday. He hadn't wanted to stop when they reached the last town with a good two hours of daylight left, and the result had been to leave them camped beside the road rather than sheltered in a hospitable inn whose landlord undoubtedly would have warned them against venturing out today. And knowing that didn't make things any more enjoyable, either.

He looked around and grimaced. Once upon a time, he'd wasted very little thought on gods of any persuasion. All he'd asked was for them to leave him alone, in return for which, he'd agreed to leave them alone, without nattering at them whenever things looked a little unpleasant. But his attitudes had changed a bit lately, and he considered praying for the weather to pass them by. Unfortunately,