They stopped in Kor Keep for supplies.
They were too poor for the gouging hradani would invite, so Bahzell and Brandark sent the humans off with their skimpy funds, and Zarantha did far better than they’d dared hope. She returned with the pack mule loaded heavily enough to fold its ears resentfully back, and managed it for barely a third of the contents of Brandark’s purse. The Bloody Sword gave Bahzell one look, then handed the purse back to her and made her their official treasurer.
She’d managed to pick up a few extra blankets and enough sacked grain to eke out their animals’ grazing, as well, and Bahzell actually began to feel a bit optimistic. Nothing could keep the journey from being unpleasant, but it seemed there were advantages to traveling with a poverty-stricken noblewoman. At least she seemed to have learned to pinch kormaks until they squealed!
The weather remained clear for the next few days, but the nights grew steadily chillier, and Tothas was obviously in constant pain. Yet aside from an occasional coughing fit-few, mercifully, as terrible as that first one-he neither slowed them nor once complained, and Bahzell soon realized he’d never met a braver man. The Spearman’s illness was a more exhausting-and frightening-battle than the Horse Stealer had ever faced, yet Tothas fought it with unflinching courage, and Bahzell was startled by his own pride on the day he discovered he could call this man a friend.
It was easier than he’d expected when Zarantha first entrapped him. Tothas spoke seldom, but what he said made sense. More, his absolute devotion to Zarantha was the sort of loyalty hradani could appreciate, and his unwavering, uncomplaining gallantry won Brandark’s heart, as well as Bahzell’s.
Yet there was something more to Tothas, something in his attitude, and they were past Kor Keep on the way to the Duchy of Carchon before it dawned on the Horse Stealer what that something was. The Spearman had never looked at him and seen a hradani; he’d seen only a man, to be judged on his own merits, without prejudice or preconception.
It was the first time anyone-even Hartan-had done that since he’d left Navahk, and a small, ignoble part of him resented it, as if Tothas’ acceptance were a sort of secret condescension. That shamed him when he recognized it, for Tothas never condescended. Indeed, he held others to high standards-the same ones he held himself to-and his was no hasty judgment. He’d watched both hradani for days before he decided about them; once he had, he accepted Bahzell’s leadership with the same unwavering support, if not the same devotion, he gave Zarantha.
He trusted the two hradani, and that trust was a two-edged sword. When one was trusted, one must prove worthy of being trusted, and Bahzell knew Tothas’ trust had transformed an arrangement forced upon him by expediency into something far more constraining. But there was a curious satisfaction in the transformation, a sense of belonging, of doing something worth the doing because those doing it with him were good people.
And they were good people, despite whatever secret they hid.
However rough the road, however tired Zarantha might be, Bahzell had yet to hear her first complaint, and she and Brandark had joined forces to keep his own life from becoming boring. She was actually helping the Bloody Sword refine his accursed composition. The two of them shared their labors with the others most nights, but at least Brandark let her do the singing.
Rekah was more mercurial, and she had her bad days, especially as the nights grew colder. But she did her part and a bit more, and however grumpy she might be of an evening, she was always up early, always ready for the next day, be it ever so grueling.
And then there was Tothas-a man, Bahzell had realized, who knew he was dying in the saddle. That was the reason he described the roads ahead so carefully. He’d chosen the hradani as his successor, the man who would see Zarantha safely home if he himself could not, for he was a man who would do his duty to the end, whatever that end was, and that , Bahzell realized, was what truly drew him so strongly to the Spearman.
No wonder Zarantha was so fiercely devoted to her armsman. No wonder she held him in her arms when he woke coughing and watched him with hidden hurt as they rode. She might laugh at Brandark’s sallies or tease the others to hide her pain, but that, Bahzell knew, was because it would have shamed Tothas if she hadn’t-and understanding how deeply she cared for her armsman touched the Horse Stealer with fear whenever he tried to guess what drove her to lead a dying man she loved into the teeth of winter.
A cold wind moaned in the leafless scrub of the lonely Carchon Hills. They were near the top of the range; tomorrow they would start down to the border between Korwin and Carchon, and Bahzell hoped they’d find warmer weather when they did. The picketed horses and mules stood silent under frost-glazed blankets, cold stars glittered pitilessly, and he shivered as he returned to the fire to build it back up. He’d been colder than this, but that didn’t mean he liked it, and it was only going to get worse from here.
Flames crackled about the fresh wood, and he kept his head turned to preserve his night vision. He had no reason to anticipate trouble-they were well beyond ni’Tarth’s reach, and these hills were all but unpopulated-but trouble had a way of coming without sending word ahead, and he had no mind to be fire-dazzled if it did.
He resumed his slow walk around their perimeter. Brandark had found a boulder to use as a heat reflector and slept between it and the fire with only his beaky nose poked out of his blankets. Rekah and Zarantha had pooled their bedrolls and body heat beside him, and Tothas, by common consent, had the warmest spot of all, in the low hollow with the fire itself. It was lonely, out here in the moaning night while the others slept, but Bahzell was grateful he was awake, not sleeping himself and prey to his maddening dreams. Frost squeaked under his boots as he moved still further from the fire, eyes searching the dark, and his mind was busy.
The dreams refused to release him. They besieged him night after night, until he dreaded the moment his eyes closed. Familiarity had worn the jagged edge of terror smooth, but the terror hadn’t gone away. It couldn’t. It was the demon he fought as Tothas fought his hacking spasms, and he was tired of it. So very, very tired. He closed his mind to the dreams, rejected them, pushed them out of memory with all his strength, yet still they plagued him, laughing at his efforts to outrun them. There was no mercy in them . . . and nowhere he could hide from them.
He sighed heavily, then stiffened as a boot scuffed behind him. He whirled, reaching for his sword, then relaxed.
“I was thinking you were asleep,” he said.
“I was.” Tothas’ voice was raspy, as if he hovered on the brink of one of his coughing fits, but his face was calm in the starlight. He’d wrapped a blanket over his cloak, and he stepped past the hradani to sit on another boulder, drawing the blanket tighter about him, and shivered.
“A bitter night,” he said quietly. “Not much good for sleeping anyway, I suppose.”
“Aye, but not so bitter as we’ll be seeing soon enough,” Bahzell replied in a tone of quiet grimness.
“No, not that bitter.” Tothas gazed at the toes of his boots for a long, silent moment, then raised his eyes once more. “You’re troubled by your dreams, Bahzell,” he said in the soft voice of a man making a simple statement, and the hradani stiffened, ears half-flat, and looked down at him. A minute passed, then two, and Tothas only gazed back up at him and waited.
“Aye.” Bahzell cleared his throat. “Aye, I am that. I’d hoped you’d not notice.”
“I don’t think Rekah or Lady Zarantha have. I’m not sure about My Lady-she sees things others miss-but I don’t sleep so well these days.” Tothas allowed himself a small smile. Not bitter or resentful, but one of what might almost have been wry amusement. “I’ve heard you muttering in your sleep. I don’t speak your language, but I know trouble when I hear it, and I thought-”