The War God's Own

distinguished himself in Hurgrum's last war against the Bloody Swords. Unfortunately, one reason he'd done so was the Rage-like passion of his hatred for Bloody Swords in general and Talon Claws in particular, and Bahzell knew he'd managed to tolerate Brandark's presence with a sheathed sword-so far-only because the Navahkan was Bahzell's sword brother.

'No, I can't,' Gharnal replied without so much as a glance at Brandark. 'We're after speaking of sending nigh on three-score warriors into Bloody Sword territory in the middle of winter. Aye, and when we're still officially at peace with the bast-scum!' He glanced at Marglyth and Kaeritha and hastily substituted another word for the one he'd started to use, but then he went on with undiminished forcefulness. 'If it's all the same to you, I'm wishful to be having something just a mite more certain than rumors of hunting trips to guide 'em by when we do.'

Brandark started to speak but closed his mouth when Bahzell stepped on his toe under the table. The Bloody Sword had exhibited unusually diplomatic behavior during the six days it had taken for Bahnak to pass the word that Bahzell needed volunteers and for those volunteers to assemble. It didn't come naturally to him, and he'd managed it only because the iron rules of hradani hospitality cut both ways. Just as Gharnal could not offer him open discourtesy while he was Bahzell's guest, so it was incumbent upon Brandark to refrain from provoking his hosts by openly insulting them. But that was more easily said than done, and Bahzell knew his friend's temper was growing dangerously short. He opened his own mouth, but Hurthang spoke before he could.

'Hisht, now, Gharnal!' At a mere seven-two, Hurthang was, if possible, even stronger than Bahzell. His weapon of choice was a battleaxe: a two-hand, daggered great-axe, the weapon from which Clan Iron Axe had taken its name centuries ago. Similar to the dwarvish axes still used by the Royal and Imperial Army's elite Brothers of the Axe, Hurthang carried it slung across his back even now. But whereas the Axe Brothers used it two-handed, Hurthang used it with one, and he could do things with it which no dwarf had ever even dreamed of.

Now he looked at Gharnal with a crooked smile and shook his head. If his voice was less deep and rumbling than Gharnal's it was still stronger and more resonant than any human voice, and he had at least as much reason to hate Navahk as Gharnal did. He hadn't lost a father, but he had lost two brothers… which didn't even mention what Harnak had done to Farmah. In some lands, Farmah would have been considered forever soiled, as if what Harnak had done were somehow her fault. Hradani didn't see things that way, but they did believe in justice and vengeance, and Hurthang wanted those things for his betrothed. He wanted them badly, and with Harnak dead, the only place he could get them was from Harnak's kin. That was the reason he'd hurried to answer Bahzell's call, and everyone knew it. Which meant that when he was prepared to accept that there were other, equally important considerations, even Gharnal had to listen. He was also four years older than Bahzell and one of Barodahn's junior captains, with an easy air of authority. And he wasn't Gharnal's foster brother. However much Gharnal might accept Bahzell's authority, that childhood relationship colored their thoughts and reactions. That meant that in many ways Hurthang could speak much more pointedly to Gharnal than Bahzell or Marglyth without raising the specter of injured feelings and potential friction.

'Unless you've some better clue to guide us,' he went on, 'then I'm thinking you should be keeping your mouth shut-or busy with an ale mug!-till we've had the hearing of whatever it is Brandark here has to say.'

The grin which accompanied his words defused their sting, helped by the rumbling chuckles from the men standing around the table. For an instant it looked as if Gharnal might take umbrage anyway, but then he shook his head with an unwilling chuckle of his own. He still didn't look at Brandark, but he flicked his ears in assent.

'Aye, you've the right of it,' he told Hurthang, and glanced at Bahzell. 'I'll just be taking Hurthang's advice,' he said in oblique apology, reaching for his mug, and Bahzell nodded back, then made a small gesture for Brandark to continue.

'As I say,' the Bloody Sword began afresh, tapping the map once more and speaking-almost-as if no one had interrupted, 'this is one area where the rumors say Harnak liked to hunt. But he never took any other members of Churnazh's court-except for Lord Yarthag, who's as sick a bastard as ever Harnak was-with him. And unlike the other areas in which he sometimes hunted, he did take a picked group of his own guard with him. They were always the same ones, and every one of them was a clanless man loyal only to him.' He looked up at Bahzell. 'I recognized two of them when he and his men caught up with us down south,' he added quietly.

'Ah.' Bahzell folded his ears close in understanding and heard a soft rustle go through the Horse Stealers at Brandark's indirect reminder that, unlike any of them, he had been there when Bahzell fought a living avatar of Sharna sword-to-sword. Even Gharnal nodded, his distaste for Brandark at least temporarily muted.

'Would there be anything more 'rumor' could be telling us?' Bahzell asked after a moment, and Brandark shrugged.

'I don't know, really. Harnak liked to tell stories about taking enemies off into the woods to 'play' with, and I know for a fact that he often did take people from his father's dungeons-or sometimes right off the street-and come back without them. And he was always certain they were unarmed and bound before he went anywhere with them.'

Brandark's lip curled, and the Horse Stealers growled contemptuously. Any one of them would have agreed that the only truly good enemy was a dead one, but they had nothing but disdain for a so-called warrior who tortured helpless foes for pleasure.

'We've been hearing the same rumors,' Marglyth put in, her rich contralto voice thoughtful. She reached out and rubbed the tip of her own finger over the area Brandark had indicated. 'I'd not heard where it was he took them, though-or that Yarthag was after going with him, Lord Brandark-but now that you've said it, I'm thinking a few things have just come clear for me.'

'Such as?' Bahzell asked.

'Well-' His sister frowned, right hand caressing the small golden balance scale she wore on a chain about her neck to mark her justiciar's office. 'This Yarthag is after being one of Churnazh's favorites, and from all accounts, he and Harnak were close as close before Harnak's… difficulties.' She smiled at Bahzell. 'But the thing we'd never been able to puzzle out was just where he'd come from. It was as if he'd sprung up out of the ground one day, with no one at all, at all, knowing who he was or why Churnazh should be showing him such favor.

'The best we could be making out was that Yarthag had been Churnazh's spy-aye, and maybe a bit of an assassin-in the old prince's household.' Bahzell's eyes narrowed and his ears flattened at the word 'assassin,' and she nodded. 'Whatever it was he'd done, Churnazh was after rewarding him well enough, for he stripped the old House of Harkand's head of his lordship and bestowed it on Yarthag.'

'I remember Father talking about that when he was among people he trusted,' Brandark confirmed. 'The other old families didn't much care for it, but that was before you people took Churnazh down a peg. At that point, he could still ride roughshod over opposition, and anyone who complained openly about what happened to Harkand-or about Yarthag's sudden precedence-tended to lose his head.'

'True enough,' Marglyth agreed. 'But the thing that's stuck in my mind about him, and especially since Harnak's fall, is how good the man's proved himself at shifting sides without losing his head. Apparently he was after betraying the old prince to Churnazh, and after that, he spent his time sucking up to Harnak. It's common knowledge he'd made his choice to back Harnak against the rest of Churnazh's sons, and all our sources agreed as how he and Chalghaz were at dagger-drawing over it.'

Bahzell nodded. Chalghaz had been Harnak's next younger brother, which had made them rivals for their father's favor… and his crown. That could all too easily have led to fatalities, under the rules of Navahkan politics, but with Harnak dead, Chalghaz was his father's undisputed heir. For now, at least. Arsham Churnazhson was next in line, but he was also illegitimate. Known as 'the Bastard,' he was popular with the army, yet few of his father's courtiers would have supported him. Although he was no paragon of virtue, he came far closer to it than his father or brothers, and he chose to spend as much time as possible in the field rather than watching his relatives' abuse of power in Navahk. As for Chalak, Churnazh's fourth son, only desperation could make him an acceptable candidate for the throne. Known behind his back as 'Tallow Brain,' Chalak was a plotter whose intrigues were both endless and boundlessly inept.

'But now that Harnak's gone,' Marglyth went on, 'Yarthag's changed his tune. As nearly as I can be telling, he's grown as close to Chalghaz as ever he was to Harnak, and in record time.'