Bahzell regarded him for another long, thoughtful moment, then sighed deeply and looked back at his sister.
"And did you manage that other thing I was asking for?"
"I did," she replied. "I can't tell you for certain sure that no one else will be throwing his name out, mind, but I've seen to it as how Brandark's not been mentioned at all, at all, in any of our 'rumors.' "
"Good," Bahzell said softly, and hugged her briefly in thanks. The members of his fledgling chapter knew the importance of Brandark's part in their mission, but they also knew how vital it was that Churnazh not learn of it. Brandark's father and his allies among the old families of Navahk were too powerful for Churnazh to risk alienating when he stood on the brink of a war for survival, but if the Navahkan learned Brandark had not only helped the raiders locate Sharnā's sanctuary but personally killed the heir to the throne, he would have no choice but to move against Brandark the Elder anyway.
"All right, then," his father said much more seriously. "Are you and your lads ready, Bahzell?"
"We are that," Bahzell said grimly, and Bahnak nodded.
"In that case, boy, let's be about it."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Great Hall was packed. Only the space directly in front of the dais had been kept clear by Bahnak's household guards. The rest of the hall was filled by ambassadors and envoys—almost all of them women, each accompanied by the single, heavily armed armsman to whom law and tradition entitled her—and the mutter and rumble of agitated voices sounded like a fretful sea.
But the surflike sounds stilled with dramatic suddenness as a door was thrown open and Bahnak Karathson, Prince of Hurgrum and Lord of Clan Iron Axe of the Horse Stealer hradani, stalked through it. Three of his children followed him—Crown Prince Barodahn and his eldest daughter Lady Marglyth directly behind him, and Prince Thankhar, his next to youngest son, bringing up the rear like an armsman—and a dropped pin would have sounded like a thunderbolt in the silence their appearance evoked. Bahnak carried only his dagger, but both of his sons were armed and armored. Barodahn carried the daggered axe of his clan's traditionalists upon his back, and Thankhar's hand was hooked nonchalantly into his belt, inches from the hilt of his longsword.
Bahnak seemed unaffected either by the stillness which greeted his appearance or by the dignitaries and envoys who crowded his hall. To look at him, no one would have guessed the rumors frothing about Hurgrum claimed his alliance was about to collapse in ruin because of his own rash actions. In fact, he seemed so unaware of this morning's importance that he hadn't even bothered to dress for the occasion. He wore a serviceable but plain jerkin over a woolen shirt that was warm and comfortable but darned in two places, and his boots could have used a shinier coat of polish. A moderately prosperous farmer might have dressed equally well, and some of the newcomers to his court made the serious mistake of assuming only a yokel would appear on such a morning in such garments. Those who knew him better, however, drew a very different message from his appearance. Bahnak had always made a point of dressing plainly, but he dressed this plainly only on days when he planned to execute some particularly telling stroke.
Now he seated himself on his throne, with Marglyth to his left and Barodahn to his right, and faced the crowd of dignitaries. He scanned them thoughtfully, then leaned back, folded his hands across his belly, and crossed his ankles.
"Well," his deep voice rumbled mildly in the stillness, "I suppose we'd best be getting on with it. Jahnkah?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The old man who served as Bahnak's majordomo and chamberlain had been one of the most feared warriors of Clan Iron Axe in his prime, and he retained the broad shoulders and powerful arms of his youth. He also used a cut-down halberd rather than the white staff chamberlains carried in most Norfressan courts, and its iron-shod heel rang like a hammered anvil as he thumped it on the floor.
"Hail His Highness Prince Bahnak!" he intoned in a voice trained on a hundred battlefields. "Let those who seek justice and judgment draw nigh!"
There was a moment of silence, and then a short (for a hradani), richly clad, barrel-chested man shouldered through the crowd. Mutters of anger followed his rude progress, but he ignored them to plant his fists on his hips and glare at Bahnak.
"Phrobus take 'justice and judgment'!" he snapped. "I want to know what in Fiendark's name you mean by attacking my prince's territory!"
Jahnkah swelled with rage, but Bahnak raised one hand in an almost bored gesture before the chamberlain could speak. Then he returned his raised hand languidly to its companion, clasped across his middle, and looked down his nose at the belligerent figure before him. Alone among the princes of the northern hradani, Churnazh of Navahk was represented exclusively by male ambassadors. There were several reasons for that, not the least being that his personal habits meant very few women would willingly have served him in any capacity, much less as his ambassador. Almost as importantly, however, he trusted no one from outside his inner circle for sensitive missions. Halâshu Shakurson had been chosen as his envoy to Hurgrum because that was the single most important diplomatic post Churnazh had to fill, and Halâshu had been one of his closest lieutenants from the day then-General Churnazh slaughtered his way to Navahk's throne.
Over the years, Halâshu had served his master zealously but with limited results. It wasn't entirely his fault. Almost anyone would have been over-matched by Bahnak Karathson and his daughter Marglyth; the fact that Halâshu was of less than stellar intelligence only made the match even more unequal. Still worse, from his viewpoint, Churnazh equated strength with repression. Halâshu was no genius, but neither was he an outright fool, and he'd realized early on that Bahnak was a dangerous opponent. Churnazh, however—constitutionally incapable of recognizing the strength of anyone less brutal than himself—had brushed off Halâshu's warnings until it was too late.
Now that Churnazh's decision to ignore those warnings had landed him in a disastrous position, it was Halâshu's unenviable duty to buy as much time as he could before the inevitable final war. That had been a hard enough task even before the clash between Bahzell and Harnak, but it had become far worse since. Harnak's idiocy (and the patently false version of the affair which Churnazh had concocted as Navahk's official position) had put Halâshu in an intolerable diplomatic bind, and he'd grown more and more short-tempered as the winter dragged by. Now he hovered on the very brink of the Rage, and the armsmen of the envoys nearest to him kept hands close to their hilts.
"Attack your prince's territory, is it?" Bahnak rumbled at last in mild surprise. "And what would be causing you to think I'd done any such thing, Lord Halâshu?"
"Don't play games with me, Bahnak!" Halâshu waved an angry hand at the crowded hall. "Everyone knows your son Bahzell is back in Hurgrum! And everyone also knows that, not content with assaulting and half-killing Crown Prince Harnak in violation of his hostage bond, he's led a raid by your men on Navahkan territory in clear violation of the treaties between you and my prince! I'll leave it to your allies to decide whether or not they want to follow anyone who authorizes such aggression without even consulting them, but your son's actions are another matter. This new outrage makes him twice an outlaw, and on behalf of Prince Churnazh of Navahk, I demand he be surrendered to face our justice!"
"Well, now. That's after being quite a mouthful so early in the morning, isn't it just?" Bahnak replied, and looked at Marglyth. "Would you be knowing of any treaties we've had the breaking of?" She shook her head with a small smile, and he glanced at Barodahn. "And you, Barodahn. You wouldn't've been authorizing any raids on those bast—I mean on our esteemed Navahkan neighbors without asking me, would you now?" Barodahn shook his head in turn, and Bahnak turned back to the purple-faced Halâshu and shrugged. "Well, there you have it, Milord Ambassador. I'm afraid you're after being misinformed. Was there something else I could be doing for you this morning?"
"Damn you!" Halâshu hissed. One hand dropped to his dagger, and he started to step forward, only to stop as Thankhar took a single stride to his left and faced him. Like all Bahnak's sons, Thankhar towered well over seven feet in height. Unlike Halâshu, he wore mail, and his right hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. For just an instant it looked as if Halâshu's Rage would take him forward anyway, but it didn't. Instead, he stood absolutely motionless for several fulminating seconds, and then made his fingers unclench from the dagger. He inhaled deeply and glared at Bahnak.