The Sword of the South - eARC (25 page)

The kettle bubbled at a low boil within seconds, and Kenhodan snatched it from the sword. He hissed as he burned his fingers and set it aside quickly, fumbling a riding glove from his belt to shield his hand from the heat.

Wencit blinked at Kenhodan’s muffled curse, and the glow of the sword died instantly, plunging them back into a night all the darker for the brief light. All Kenhodan could see were the wizard’s eyes, floating like disembodied balefires in the gloom.

“Here.” Wencit wrapped a corner of his cloak around the kettle handle, and Kenhodan watched bemusedly—wondering why the small, casual sorcery impressed him as deeply as the desperate spells Wencit had used against the corsairs. Watching Wencit of Rūm calmly brew tea on a magical sword seemed somehow…inappropriate.

“What was that sound?” he asked curiously.

“Sound?” The glowing eyes shifted to consider him thoughtfully.

“Like a humming. I’ve heard something every time you’ve worked sorcery near me, only usually it sounds like some sort of animal.”

“Have you now?” Wencit chuckled. “Mightn’t it be wiser to say you heard it every time you
knew
I was using the art?”

“Are you trying to evade me?” Kenhodan asked curiously. “If so, I’m perfectly willing to drop it. I was only curious.”

“No, that’s all right,” Wencit said. “Some people can detect the wild magic, although there’s no fixed way of perceiving it. Some hear it, some see it—some actually
taste
it. It’s possible you truly can hear it.”

“Is that significant?” Kenhodan asked nervously.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Wencit said dryly. “I once knew a warrior with no more skill in the art than a block of wood. You couldn’t even begin to
imagine
how profoundly unmagical he was! Yet he could hear wild magic from one end of Kontovar to the other. Little good it did him in the end, I’m afraid. There’s a vast difference between
detecting
the wild magic and being able to command it, and he went off to the Battle of Lost Hope without ever showing even a hint of the Gift.”

“I see.” Kenhodan felt a surge of relief. “Good! I don’t want—”

“
Idiots!
Idiots the pair of you!” Bahzell filtered out of the mist and glowered at them. “Clear down by the road, I was, and saw that glow like a beacon! I might’ve been picking you both off, clean and easy as butts at a target match—and tempted I was to do it! Why not be hiring a band the next time you’re wishful to draw the dog brothers’ eye?!”

“There are no eyes out there to see it,” Wencit said calmly, “and even if there were, there’s far less chance of anyone noticing so brief a light than any fire we might have lit.”

“With mortal eyes, maybe.” Bahzell gave not an inch. “But what if Wulfra’s seen fit to be giving her killers a pet wizard for a guide?”

“Unlikely.” Wencit shrugged. “Rumor says Chernion hates all wizards. His Guild has too many secrets, and he wants no wizard meddling with them. Besides, the dog brothers have been hurt too often working with wizardry against you and me alike, Bahzell. Chernion won’t want to risk repeating that against
both
of us. But even if he
wanted
a wizard, it’s unlikely any of Wulfra’s circle would go with him. Whatever else, Chernion’s never been afraid to see his victims before he strikes—or even to attack them face-to-face. Do you really think any of the scum running with Wulfra would willingly come close to
me?
I know you’re not that stupid, Bahzell.”

“All right! Put your pride back in your pack and forget I was after speaking! Wizards! Not a one of ’em but would take time out on the brink of disaster to discuss his peers failings!” Bahzell turned to Kenhodan before Wencit could take fresh umbrage at the suggestion that another wizard might be his “peer.” “If that’s tea I’m smelling, pour it out. My belly’s colder than a Purple Lord’s heart on settling day.”

Kenhodan chuckled as he poured into the metal cups, and they squatted, sipping gratefully at the hot, bitter tea of the East Wall mountaineers.

“What time is it?” Kenhodan asked finally.

“About the turn of the morning watch,” Bahzell answered. “We’re after making good time—we’ve come over ten leagues, I’m guessing. Say what you will of Fradenhelm, he’s an eye for horseflesh and it’s not far wrong he was about Glamhandro.”

“Then we could camp here?”

“No.” Bahzell sipped noisily and shook his head. “I’m thinking we’d best rest a little more, then move on. They’ll be after us, and while they’ll not be making up much distance, they’ll not be many hours back, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because friend Fradenhelm was after sending them after us like a shot, lad, to save his own skin. Not but what he wouldn’t have done it for pay, anyway. He was after hearing us, and his only chance—and that not a good one—is to be telling them all he can.”

“I thought you said he couldn’t do any more harm!”

“And so I did, for I wanted him to be thinking I thought that. I’m hopeful of leading the dog brothers astray, and it’s mortal hard to lead someone wrong if they don’t think as they know where you’ve gone.”

“Why not go south if he sent them east, then? We might’ve lost them!”

“That we wouldn’t have. If we’d taken the South Gate, how long d’you think they’d’ve taken to be learning just that? We’re not after being the very hardest group for folks to notice, and Chernion’s the reputation of the best hired killer in Norfressa—not one to be running off on the say-so of such as Fradenhelm! No, Chernion’s one as knows his trade as well as I’m after knowing mine. He’ll have checked all the gates to be certain, for he’s not one to leave anything to chance, either. I’m doubting as it took him all that long to check, but it’s surprised I’d be if he could send runners to all of them in much less than an hour. So we’re after being that far ahead, and it may be—though I’d not count on it!—that he’s after believing we’re truly off to Morfintan.”

“Well, we are.” Kenhodan paused accusingly. “Aren’t we?”

“Lad, the war god loves truth, but himself’s also one as loves a cunning mind. In fact, to be cutting a long tale short—” Bahzell’s teeth gleamed “—no.”

“Then where in Phrobus’ name
are
we going?” Kenhodan was on his feet, amazed by the anger exploding within him. “You and this wizard seem to have a means of communication denied to lesser mortals! Am I supposed to consult the birds to divine our future—when I can
find
any birds in this Chemalka-cursed climate? We been riding hard all night, and you haven’t even seen fit to tell me where we’re really
going?!
”

He couldn’t see himself, but his companions could, and he no longer looked like a worried young man without a past of his own, for that inner imperiousness he’d already detected within himself had risen to the surface. His green eyes were hard, his jaw taut, and his expression was that of a man accustomed to command, not to obey. The wizard and hradani glanced at one another, and then Bahzell shrugged.

“It’s sorry I am, lad,” he said calmly. “It was no part of my thinking to be misleading
you
, but you’ve the right of it—Wencit and I
are
after knowing each other too well. It’s not so very often we discuss our plans, because we’re in the habit of each knowing the other’s thought before he’s thought it. It may be as we feel too comfortable with you to be remembering you’re a newcomer.

“Well I
am
a newcomer,” Kenhodan half-snapped, and felt embarrassment at his own reaction heat his face. He dug a toe angrily into the sodden turf and glowered at them. “I can accept that you can’t discuss my past, but you can bloody well discuss the future! And you can start with why we’re freezing our arses off in the rain in the middle of nowhere like village halfwits waiting for hired assassins to stick knives in our backs!”

“Now, that’s after being a reasonable question.”

Bahzell’s chuckle snapped the tension—and Kenhodan’s anger. He felt suddenly abashed by his words and sank back down, reaching for his cup.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I’m too sensitive, but I feel so damned helpless. So…so
uninformed
. And there’s so much I need to know!”

“Wencit,” Bahzell said more seriously, “the lad’s the right of it. And I’m thinking, now that I think about it at all, that it’s surprised I am he’s been patient with us this long.”

“You’re right,” Wencit agreed, then turned to Kenhodan. “You’ve reason to feel ill used—not least because you know I know more about you than I can tell you—and you certainly have a right to know anything we
can
tell you. Please believe we left you in ignorance out of thoughtlessness and haste, not by design.”

Kenhodan nodded, gratified by their reaction but confused by his own. He knew part of it was frustration mixed with fatigue and not a little fear, but he also knew there was more to it. There’d been more than a trace of the rage he’d felt on
Wave Mistress
in that anger, and that worried him. It wasn’t the same sort of killing rage…but it wasn’t completely different from it, either, and that thought evaporated the last embers of his temper, leaving him shaken and cold, instead. Did he have his own share of the hradani’s Rage? And if he did, what did that say about him?

He drew a deep breath and clenched his teeth. What he’d been mattered less than what he was
now
. It had to. He couldn’t undo his past, even if he’d known what it was, but whatever sparked his fury lay within him. He couldn’t alter what he’d been, at least he could control what he might become, and he
would
control it. He must.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated more naturally, “but I really do want to know what we’re doing, so tell me, please. At least—” his lips twitched a wry smile “—until my mindreading catches up with yours.”

“That’s better!” Bahzell clasped his forearms firmly. “Aye, and this old spell-spinner’s after speaking for me, as well. It’s not that we undervalue you, but sometimes we’re after forgetting, d’you see? Forgive us.”

“Don’t make me feel guilty, you oaf! You’ll start it all over again!”

“Tell him, Bahzell!” Wencit laughed. “As you value both our lives, tell him!”

Kenhodan surprised himself with an answering spurt of laughter, and his companions’ chuckles erased the last tension as if Wencit had used a spell.

“Aye, I will, then,” Bahzell agreed, and knelt as the moon blinked through a fortuitous hole in the cloud drift. He smoothed a patch of soil and put a pebble on it.

“This pebble’s after being Korun, Kenhodan. This line’s the South Road—” he scribed with a fingertip “—and
this
is the East Road.” He jerked a thumb at the mist-hidden high road. “This line’s the Morfintan High Road,” he went on, scribing in another north-south line to cap the eastern end of the East Road. “If we were to be going clear to the Morfintan High Road, we’d be hitting it here—” his forefinger jabbed “—at Losun, and it’s straight south we could turn for Sindor. But that’s after being the longer way. It’s leagues out of our way it would take us—not but what I’d not be so very unhappy about that, if it should so happen it would be after throwing off the dog brothers. Only that’s not so likely to happen, I’m thinking.

“But that’s not so bad a thing, for we’re after
knowing
it won’t, so…”

He made more lines.

“This is after being the White Water, and this other line the Snowborn—a river from the East Walls as meets White Water about five leagues from this very spot…here. The East Road’s after crossing the Snowborn on the Bridge of Eloham, then runs seventy more leagues to the Morfintan High Road.”

“All right,” Kenhodan said as Bahzell paused and glanced up. “I see where we are, but not why we’re here.”

“As to that,” Bahzell said, sitting back on his haunches, “the answer’s at the Bridge of King Emperor Eloham. Right at its west end, there’s a trail branches off to follow the Snowborn a league or two before it’s after turning back southwest through the Forest of Hev to join the South Road a hundred leagues south of Korun.”

“And we take that trail, do we?”

“Aye, and one of two things will be happening. If the dog brothers know the trail, or if they’re after figuring it out, like as not they’ll follow us. If they’re not after knowing or guessing, I’m thinking they’ll keep on to the east after ghosts and the wind. Either way, we’ll come out to the better.”

“I can see where we’d come out ahead if they lose us, but won’t we still be in the same fix if they do follow us down the trail?”

“No. First, I’ve no doubt at all, at all, that our horses—even the pack beasts—are after being better than theirs. Thief and traitor Fradenhelm may be, but he’s a master’s eye for horseflesh, and it’s his best we took. It’s not so very likely the dog brothers can match them, and cross-country, they’ll not find remounts when their own steeds fail. Holding to the roads, though, they’ll be after hiring or buying fresh at every posting station. That’s something we can’t do, unless we’re wishful to abandon the horses we have—aside from the courser, of course—and that I’d not do with all the scorpions of Sharnā nipping at my backside. But cross-country, it’s our heels we’ll show them, unless it should happen they’ve plenty of spares.”

“And if they do?”

“I’ll still not worry overmuch.” Bahzell smiled, and his tone was almost hungry as he touched a spot on his crude map. “Right about here,” he said almost wistfully, “there’s after being a stream. It’s not so much a stream it is in summer, but right now it’s running deep and fast. Best of all, the west bank’s sheer as a temple wall, and the trail’s after being as steep as heartbreak and narrow as honor. It’s a place where horses can be going only in single file, and at the top, why there’s a nice cluster of trees. I’m thinking as we might make camp in those trees a day or two, lad.”

He met Kenhodan’s eyes in the moonlight, and the red-haired man nodded slowly. If he had a killer’s soul, who better to unleash it against than assassins? His smile was colder than Bahzell’s bright, fierce grin and his eyes were hard.

“That might be nice,” he murmured softly.

“Aye. At best, they’ll be ‘following’ us to Morfintan while we cut across the inside of the loop—a little slower, but a lot shorter. We can be waiting two days at the stream and still gain a week over them, and set them a pretty puzzle, too. At worst, they’ll follow along the trail and come up with us at a time and place of our choosing, not theirs.”