“A point,” Brandark murmured. “Definitely a point. Not even Churnazh would let Sharna’s get into Navahk-not when they might be used against him .”
“True.” Bahzell stopped kneading his arm and glanced sideways at his friend. “Would you be thinking what I am? That that sick bastard Harnak might be a bit sicker even than we’d thought?”
“I don’t like it, but it makes sense.” Brandark sighed. “Wonderful. Hundreds of leagues yet to go, and dog brothers on our track!”
“Well, as to that, we may just end up costing them enough they decide to give over,” Bahzell rumbled with a bleak smile. “Sixteen here, fifteen in Saramfal . . . that’s after being a lot of dead men, Brandark. How many funerals d’you think Harnak has gold enough to pay for?”
“I wouldn’t count on that, friend.” Talamar traced the sign of the War God’s mace, and the hradani winced at the reminder. “Tomanāk knows no decent man has any use for such as this,” Talamar’s toe prodded the body, “but this I will say: once the dog brothers take a man’s gold, they do the job. They have to, if they want their reputation to stand.”
“They do it if they can ,” Bahzell corrected grimly, “and I’m thinking this time they’ve bitten off a mite more than they’ll like chewing.” He shook himself and looked at Alwith. “But be that as it may, we’d no notion of bringing trouble like this down on your house. It’s in my mind we should be gone before we bring you more grief.”
The landlord looked like he wanted to agree but shook his head firmly, and his brother echoed the refusal.
“You’ve paid your shot,” Talamar said. “You’re under the protection of our roof, and your friend’s too sick to be out on a night like this. Besides, Tomanāk wouldn’t like it if we threw you out.”
“I’m not talking of throwing out,” Bahzell objected, “but of leaving of our own will.” He liked the thought of taking Tothas back out into the wet no more than Talamar did, yet this was his trouble, not the Angcarans’. There was no reason for them to mix in it-and he owed Talamar for saving his life. It would be poor gratitude to get him killed in thanks, and Talamar’s repeated references to Tomanāk only made it worse, for it felt like another “bribe,” and this was no empty cave. It was something that could cost lives.
“It doesn’t matter,” Talamar said firmly. “The Sword God knows only one way to deal with scum like this, and it would dishonor us to let you face them alone with both of you hurt and a sick man on your hands to boot.”
“Talamar’s right.” Alwith still looked unhappy, but his voice was just as firm, and Bahzell studied both brothers’ faces.
It made no sense. He and Brandark had learned only too well how most of the world regarded hradani, and they’d brought the Assassins Guild down on The Laughing God. It was only Norfram’s own luck neither brother nor any of their patrons had been killed. Talamar’s warning had already saved his life-not to mention how the Angcaran had fought at his side-which was more than ample repayment for the cost of their food and lodging, and Bahzell was offering to leave. Yet they were arguing with him, the both of them, and they actually sounded as if they meant it.
“Well, then,” he said finally, his deep voice soft, “if you’re daft enough to mean that, there’s naught for me to do but thank you once again.”
The City Guard wasn’t happy when it finally arrived, for Angcar was an orderly place. The city fathers frowned on battles in a public inn at the best of times, and sixteen dead was a dismaying body count, even when the Guard didn’t find two hradani in the midst of the carnage.
By the time it arrived in the person of one Captain Deskhan, however, the patrons who hadn’t taken to their heels had reemerged from under the tables. The musician who’d caught up Brandark’s balalaika had returned it, and he and the Bloody Sword sat in a corner, with the Angcaran keeping time on a small hand drum while the hradani plucked out a melody. Alwith had ordered ale all round on the house, and the witnesses were prepared to wax vehement in the hradani’s defense. In fact, four or five of them illustrated every gory moment of the encounter in graphic pantomime, and the baffled Deskhan had no choice but to accept that whatever had happened, the hradani hadn’t started it.
He departed at last with a wagonload of dead assassins and a grudging verdict of self-defense, and Talamar stood in the inn door and waved farewell with a cheeriness that astonished Bahzell.
“I’m thinking that’s an unhappy man yonder. How likely is it he’ll be after making trouble for you out of this?”
“Oh, not very.” Talamar shrugged. “He doesn’t like it, but he’ll cool off once you folk leave. Besides, he’s as little liking for dog brothers as the next man, and he can use this tale to astonish people for years.”
The Angcaran cocked his head and grinned. “For that matter, so can Alwith and I. We’ll have more custom than we can handle for days-maybe weeks-once word of this gets around!”
“And welcome to it,” Bahzell rumbled. “But, d’you know, I’m still wondering how you spotted them at the start like that?”
“I didn’t.” Talamar closed the door and headed back to the taproom beside him. “To be honest, I was keeping an eye on you .” He shrugged with another grin. “The two of you seemed like peaceable fellows, but if someone got drunk enough, he might have taken it into his head to pick a quarrel with you. As for the dog brothers,” his grin became a frown, “they came in in ones and twos, so gradually I never noticed, and I should have, since they were all strangers. But there was something odd about the way that first fellow held his hand when he headed over your way, and I’ve seen those little blowguns before.”
“D’you think he really believed he could kill me with such as that and not be found out?”
“Bahzell, if he’d hit you with that dart, you’d never have known a thing about it,” Talamar said grimly. “Didn’t you see it?”
“Not clear,” the hradani rumbled, “and your Guard captain was after taking it with him when he left.”
“It was tipped with mindanwe sap. A scratch of that, and you’re gone in seconds. All anyone would think would be that your heart had burst-which it would have-and once you were down, he’d’ve bent over you to ‘help’ and picked the dart back out while he pretended to ‘examine’ you.”
A shiver rippled up Bahzell’s spine. Poison. The most loathsome weapon of a coward, but an effective one.
“Begging your pardon, and don’t take this wrongly, but it sounds as if you’ve experience of such,” he murmured.
“I do. Alwith and I served in a troop of freeswords up in Ferenmoss some years back. That civil war is a nightmare, but at least it offers steady work for mercenaries. Only our troop must have been a bit too good, because someone on the other side set the dog brothers on us. We lost half our officers in less than two weeks, and Alwith and I caught the bastard who killed our captain with one of those damned blowguns. He was a good man, Captain Vakhan, and any time I can get sword into the same kind of scum who murdered him-”
Talamar broke off with yet another shrug, almost an apologetic one, and Bahzell touched his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your captain, but grateful you saw this coming.”
“I suppose some good comes of almost anything,” the Angcaran sighed, then gave himself a brisk shake. “In the meantime, I’ve put out the word, and a dozen mercs will be dropping by shortly. They’re good men-most of them were with us in Ferenmoss-and they’ve settled in to pass the winter here. When they hear about dog brothers in Angcar, they’ll be only too happy to spend a night or two drinking our ale, so you and your people get what sleep you can.”
“Aye, we’ll be doing that,” Bahzell agreed, and beckoned to Brandark to follow as he started up the stairs.