The War God's Own

champions has the opportunity to swear Sword Oath with even one other champion present, and here I am with three. And the three of you,' he told them, 'are quite possibly the stubbornest trio of mortals I've come across in millennia. If you think you had a hard time with Vaijon, Bahzell, you should hunt up Dame Chaerwyn and let her tell you what she went through with Kerry!'

'I wasn't that bad, Milord!' Kaeritha protested. 'Was I?'

'Worse,' Tomanak assured her. 'Much worse. But the best ones usually are.'

'Are they, now?' Bahzell asked.

'Of course there are, Bahzell,' Tomanak said. 'That's why I feel confident I'll be finding lots of them among your folk in the future.'

And he vanished.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brandark Brandarkson leaned back on the weathered wooden bench with a mug of beer and basked in the first real sunlight in almost a week. The cold, wet rains of a northern spring were no stranger to him, but that didn't mean he enjoyed them, and he savored the clean, mellow taste of the beer as he soaked up the warmth. His bench was in an angle of the wall around the exercise field of the fortified manor Prince Bahnak had deeded to the fledgling Hurgrum Chapter of the Order of Tomanak . The sharp bend shielded him from the breeze-still unpleasantly biting-while he enjoyed the sun and the first, shy flowers of spring poking through the muddy grass, and his balalaika lay beside him, weighting down the pad on which he'd been jotting potential lyrics.

He took another long swallow. The chill damp in the air only contrasted with the sun's warmth and made it even more welcome, and he luxuriated in sensual enjoyment. Yet his joy was less than complete, for the same sun had cleared most of the snow from the roads. The short northern campaigning season was almost upon them- would be, as soon as the mud dried a bit and the spring planting was in-and he felt time passing like the ticking of his pocket watch in the back of his brain while he watched the members of the newest chapter of the Order of Tomanak at drill.

There were more of them than there had been. Fresh recruits had trickled in steadily-most Horse Stealers, but with a prickly, defensive Bloody Sword tucked away among them here and there-ever since the dramatic scene in Bahnak's hall. The word that Tomanak Himself had appeared had spread like wildfire, and the response had been astounding, especially for hradani. Their centuries-long distrust of all gods should have made them react as young Chavak had: with suspicion and doubt. And if the truth was known, Brandark suspected, many had reacted in exactly that fashion. But a significant number had not, and even Churnazh had been forced to give his blessings to the creation of the new chapter. He hadn't wanted to. The grudging wording of his proclamation made that perfectly plain! Yet he'd had no choice but to grant any of his warriors who wished to join it leave to do so-not after the Order's very first act had been to rescue his own realm from the influence of the Dark Gods. And especially not after Bahzell had proclaimed Tomanak's news about the Rage.

Now over eighty warriors were out in the exercise field, squelching around the brown, sodden turf while wooden training weapons whacked and thwacked with bruising enthusiasm. Even from here he could hear occasional grunts of anguish as blows got through on practice armor, and Vaijon had two or three of the younger members off to one side, demonstrating a pass they'd never seen before. Despite his foreboding over the rapidly approaching war, Brandark smiled into his beer as he noted how intently the youngsters listened. It was amazing how having the War God Himself turn up to declare a man a champion could raise his stock, he thought wryly.

Someone walked around the corner into his sheltered nook and he turned his head, then rose with a smile, flourishing his beer as he bowed gracefully to Marglyth.

'Good morning, Milady,' he said, and she smiled back at him.

'And good morning to you, Lord Brandark.' She dropped a tiny curtsey in response to his bow. 'And now you can just sit back down before I'm after kicking you somewhere as you wouldn't like,' she suggested, and he laughed.

'Ah, you Horse Stealers are so… uncomplicated,' he said, waving her down to sit beside him, and it was her turn to laugh.

'I suppose we are that,' she agreed. But then her smile faded as she turned her head to watch the field. Her sister Sharkah was out there, working with Kaeritha, and Marglyth's eyes were worried as she watched them. Kaeritha wasn't teaching Sharkah her own style. Unlike Marglyth, who was as close to petite as any Horse Stealer was ever likely to come, Sharkah favored her father and brothers. She stood close to seven feet tall, and if she was built on slimmer lines, without her male siblings' massive thews, she was also faster. Kaeritha had her training with a bastard sword, and her progress was so excellent that Marglyth felt certain Sharkah had convinced one of their brothers-probably Thankar-to give her a little surreptitious training even before Bahnak relaxed his edict. Kaeritha had not yet moved beyond the most basic moves while she worked to build up the girl's muscle mass, and Sharkah was still awkward. But she was much less awkward than any of her brothers had been at the same official stage in their training, and her determination was almost frightening.

'Worried, Marglyth?' Brandark asked gently. She glanced quickly at him, expression guarded, then relaxed as she saw the understanding in his eyes.

'I am that. Mind, it's not because I've any objection to her doing as she chooses. Come to that, I've been telling Da for two years now that he'd be wiser to see to her training himself before she was after sneaking off to learn it on her own. It's only that she's so… focused. I've this dream comes to me these nights that she's like to be running off half-trained to do something truly stupid when once the war ever starts.'

'She does rather remind you of her youngest brother, doesn't she?' Brandark murmured, and Marglyth chuckled.

'Aye, she does. And as you'll be knowing as well as I, there was never a day in his life Bahzell Bahnakson looked before he leapt!'

'Actually, I don't think I can agree with that-not really,' Brandark said much more seriously, and Marglyth raised an eyebrow. 'He's not a patient man, your brother, but I don't really think of him as hasty. It's more a matter of knowing his own mind. Or knowing himself, maybe.' The Bloody Sword frowned, trying to find exactly the right words. 'It's not that he doesn't think about the consequences of what he does, Marglyth; it's just that he accepts those consequences, whatever they may be, if that sense of responsibility tells him he should do it anyway.' He shook his head.

'Bahzell is probably the least complicated man I know, once you figure out what's truly important to him, but he's also the stubbornest. It's like this business about the Rage. Tomanak told him to tell all hradani, and damn me if he didn't-right on the brink of a flaming war!' Brandark shook his head again, gazing out across the field at his friend. 'Somehow I suspect your father would have preferred for him to wait to tell Churnazh and his lot about that until after the fighting was over.'

'He would that,' Marglyth agreed. 'But Bahzell was after insisting it had to be now, before the fighting. He said Tomanak hadn't told him to be doing it at the most convenient time for us. I was thinking Da was like to burst a blood vessel, but then he just threw up his hands and went stalking out of the room.' She chuckled. 'Truth to tell, I'm thinking he was a mite pleased about it, once his temper'd cooled.'

'He would be,' Brandark said dryly. 'But that's my point. Bahzell loves his father dearly, but even if he'd expected Prince Bahnak to be furious-and to stay that way-he still would have done exactly the same thing because it was his job to do it. I may not accuse him of being very smart, but he is a bit on the determined side.'

'Aye, and Sharkah's another chip from the same boneheaded boulder!' Marglyth said tartly, then sighed. 'I could wish as how she'd be just a bit less mulish than he. After all, she's the better part of ten years' advantage on him, and she could have been learning some discretion in that long! But it's useless telling myself there's hope she'll change this late in the day.'

'Probably not. On the other hand, Kerry's as well aware of that as you are, and she gave her as stern a lecture