War Maid's choice

Epilogue

No one had ever seen a gathering quite like it.

Bahzell Bahnakson and his wife stood on the battlement of East Tower and looked down into Hill Guard Castle’s main courtyard as the next contingent of unlikely visitors clattered through the main gate. The newcomers seemed oddly undersized in comparison to their escort of armsmen in the colors of the House of Bowmaster. Pony-mounted dwarves had a tendency to look that way when they were flanked by Sothoii warhorses, but the visitors’ sartorial splendor and the banners cracking above them in the brisk north wind made up for any deficiencies of stature.

“I see old Kilthan’s after arriving,” Bahzell said. “The bald fellow yonder, in the orange tunic.”

“Under the waterwheel banner?” Leeana asked, and Bahzell nodded.

“Aye, and that’s Thersahkdahknarthas dinha’Feltalkandarnas next to him.” Bahzell had paused for a moment before bringing out the full name of the head of Clan Felahkandarnas. Brandark himself couldn’t have done it better, and Leeana looked up at him and batted her eyes in admiration.

“I hadn’t realized I’d married such a sophisticated man,” she said, and Bahzell chuckled and laid an arm around her shoulders to draw her in against his side.

“Now that you haven’t,” he told her, bending to press a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s naught I am but a backwoods boy from Hurgrum, lass, and you’d best not be forgetting it.”

“I’m sure I won’t, given the pains you take to keep reminding the rest of us what a bumpkin you are. You’re not really fooling anyone, you know.”

“No?” Brown eyes twinkled down at her for a moment, then he shrugged. “I’ll not say as there isn’t maybe a mite of truth in that, but only think how lost poor Brandark would be finding himself if I was to suddenly come all erudite on him. It’s a dreadful mischief he might do himself.”

“Oh, we couldn’t have that! ” Leeana agreed, and looked back down at the courtyard as the latest covey of visitors drew up before the great keep and a fanfare sounded.

“I wonder where Mother’s going to put them all?” she mused as the Baron and Baroness of Balthar emerged from the keep to greet their guests. “King Markhos already has the North Tower, and your parents already have the South Tower, and the West Tower’s running over with war maids.” She shook her head. “I know Mother’s always enjoyed entertaining, but this is getting ridiculous, Bahzell!”

“Well, we’ve a month or so yet before first snowfall,” Bahzell pointed out philosophically. “I’m thinking pavilions on the parade ground might be working.” He smiled. “And now I’ve thought of it, I’ll wager it would be fair speeding things along, wouldn’t it just, with a Wind Plain winter coming on and them under canvas?”

“That’s an awful thing to suggest,” Leeana told him sternly. “Not that you don’t have a point.”

“Dreadful practical, we Horse Stealers are,” Bahzell assured her, and she snorted. Then her expression turned rather more serious.

“You’re not the only ones,” she told him. “Or perhaps I should say we’re not the only ones, since I’ve married into the family this way.” Her lips quirked another smile, but her eyes were grave as she looked down into the courtyard once more. “I have to say, though, it’s a good thing. Not that I ever thought practicality or-even worse! — reason would dare to rear its ugly head where Sothoii were concerned.”

“Best be striking while the iron’s hot,” Bahzell responded with a shrug.

“Oh, indeed,” a third voice said, and the two of them turned as a fiery-eyed, white-haired man stepped out onto the battlements behind them. He was far more simply, even drably, dressed than any of Hill Guard’s other visitors.

“And it’s wondering I’ve been where you’d gotten yourself to,” Bahzell said.

“Listening with bated breath while Sir Jerhas beats the speaker of the Kraithalyr about the head and ears-figuratively speaking, of course-about the Crown’s new attitude towards war maids,” Wencit of Rum said. He shook his head. “I’m getting just a bit tired of sitting around ominously while he does that.”

“Sure, and I’m thinking that’s what you’re after getting for being such a figure of legend, and all,” Bahzell told him, and the old wizard snorted.

“‘Figure of legend,’ is it, Bahzell Bloody Hand? At least no one’s trying to call me ‘Devil-Slayer’!”

“And if it’s all the same, I’d sooner no one would be calling me that, either,” Bahzell said in a much grimmer tone, and Leeana laid one hand on his forearm.

“No one’s forgetting all the others who died on the Ghoul Moor, Bahzell,” Wencit said much more gently. “And no one’s forgetting what happened at Chergor, either, Leeana.” He inclined his head slightly to her, although his eyes remained on Bahzell’s face. “But the truth is-and you know it as well as I do, Bahzell-that it’s what happened there that makes all of this possible.”

He waved one hand at the courtyard, where the Dwarvenhame delegation was in the process of being ushered up the steps into the main keep, and after a moment, Bahzell nodded.

As Sir Kelthys had observed that dreadful day, no one had truly seen one of Krashnark’s greater devils since the Fall of Kontovar itself. Indeed, their appearances even in Kontovar had been more matters of legend than confirmed fact. But with twenty thousand witnesses, not even the most skeptical Sothoii was inclined to doubt that was exactly what Trianal’s army had faced.

The price that army-and the Order of Tomanak-had paid to stop them had been horrific. Vaijon was only one of the eight thousand dead they’d suffered. Yurgazh Charkson would not be returning to Navahk. Over half the Hurgrum Chapter had died. Sir Yarran Battlecrow would spend the remainder of his life with one leg. Half of Tharanalalknarthas zoi’Harkanath’s barge crews had died, and Tharanal himself had lost his left hand to a ghoul’s jaws. He’d been thrusting a dagger down the creature’s throat at the moment those jaws closed.

Losses among the hradani infantry who’d held that line against the avalanche of ghouls had been especially heavy. Hurgrum would be years recovering from all the sons she’d lost that day, but their deaths had accomplished far more than simply clearing the line of the Hangnysti for the Derm Canal project. The Sothoii who’d been there with them, who’d shared that day of blood and carnage, had carried the tale of that grisly field back to the Wind Plain, and those battle companions had been…disinclined to listen to any more anti-hradani bigotry. It wasn’t just the fighting men of the West Riding anymore, either. Prince Yurokhas and his royal brother had seen to it that the truth of that fight had been spread far and wide.

It had come hard on the heels of the news of the assassination attempt at Chergor. Of the treason of Baron Cassan…and of the King’s rescue by the despised war maids of Kalatha. Some had tried to give the credit to Trisu of Lorham, instead, but Trisu would have none of it. Stubborn and stiff-necked he might be, but no man who lived could doubt Trisu of Lorham’s honesty or call him liar, and he’d already thrashed one particularly bigoted minor lord warden within an inch of his life for daring to impugn the war maids’ contribution.

They were the ones who’d discovered the plot in the first place, he’d told the spectators, standing over the semiconscious body of his opponent in the middle of the lists. It was a war maid, not one of his armsmen who’d carried the warning to Chergor in time. Who’d fought-unarmored and on foot-to save their King. Who’d claimed the traitor’s head and delivered it to King Markhos. And it was her sisters who’d taken Cassan’s armsmen in the flank and produced the victory his outnumbered armsmen-and, he’d added rather pointedly, the Quaysar Temple Guard and the Arm of Lillinara who’d commanded it-could not have won without them. In fact, he’d finished, one foot resting on the breastplate of the opponent who’d finally begun to stir once more, without the war maids of Kalatha, King Markhos would be dead, and Baron Tellian with him, and the traitor who’d killed them might very well have been named regent for Crown Prince Norandhor.

It had been quite a performance, and he’d capped it by escorting Shahana Lillinarafressa to the great banquet Baron Tellian had decreed (with King Markhos’ strong support) in honor of those selfsame war maids. He’d danced no less than six of that evening’s dances with Shahana, as well, and Bahzell had spotted the two of them with their heads together over tankards of beer well after everyone else had left for home or rolled unconscious under one of the tables. (With so many war maids in attendance, it had inevitably turned into that sort of party before the night was over.)

The sheer shock of the attempt on Markhos’ life, not to mention the disreputable nature of his rescuers, had rippled through the Kingdom of the Sothoii like the outrider of an earthquake. And then had come the terrifying news that greater devils had been seen for the first time in twelve centuries-and seen here, in Norfressa.

The majority of Norfressans had half-forgotten that they and their ancestors had ever lived anywhere else. They knew the tales and they sang the ballads, but aside from the historians among them, Kontovar was no longer truly real to them. It was a legend, a cautionary tale, something that had happened long ago to someone else entirely, and they’d grown accustomed over the centuries to coping with the handful of the Dark’s servants and creatures who emerged into the Light from time to time without sparing much thought for the Council of Carnadosa or the wizard lords of Kontovar who lay on the far side of an ocean, half a world away from Norfressa.

It was probable, Bahzell thought, that the majority of Norfressans still felt that way about it, but not the Sothoii. Not anymore.

It hadn’t happened overnight, although it probably seemed that way to many. It had actually begun with Krahana’s attack on the Warm Springs coursers, he knew, although he wasn’t surprised no one really seemed to have noticed at the time. Shigu’s strike at the Quaysar Temple of Lillinara and the war maids had been far less disturbing to the Sothoii in general than the murder of so many coursers, yet not even the coursers’ deaths had been enough to pull most of the Sothoii away from their concentration on their hatred for their more traditional enemies at the foot of the Wind Plain. Not even the Hurgrum Chapter’s role in freeing the coursers’ souls had been enough to change that. Not quite.

But like the first stones in an avalanche, those events had started something far greater than anyone would have guessed at the time. Not all of the Sothoii had gone peacefully back to sleep afterward. Some had started paying attention, and when Tellian, Kilthan, and Bahnak had begun their great canal scheme, others had paid heed, as well. Not all of them happily, perhaps, but it had gotten them looking in the right direction.

And then had come the Battle of the Hangnysti and the proof-the proof no one could ignore-that the threat of the Dark remained only too real…and that the Dark was determined that those trying to bring peace between hradani and Sothoii would fail.

They were a stubborn people, the Sothoii. It wasn’t in them to change their minds quickly or easily. Indeed, they were uncomfortably like Bahzell’s own people in that regard. But whatever else they might be, they weren’t stupid. No one doubted that the Dark had been involved in the attempt on Markhos, as well, especially since the mage investigators probing that plot had already confirmed that Cassan had been involved with at least one dark wizard. And if the Dark who’d tried to murder their King also wanted to prevent them from somehow achieving a just peace and friendship with the hated hradani, why, the Sothoii were more than stubborn enough to do just that and laugh in the Dark’s teeth.

A bitter price, Trianal’s army had paid, but what it had bought-what it was buying-was worth the cost, and he knew it. Not in his heart, where the aching emptiness of so many missing friends was still unhealed, but in the considered judgment of a champion of Tomanak who knew victory when he saw it.

“Aye,” he told Wencit now. “Aye, it’s the folk who died as made this come together. But not a one of them had the doing of it for fame or bards’ tales any more than me…or Vaijon.”

“Of course not,” Wencit said gently, reaching up to put a hand on Bahzell’s shoulder, and smiled crookedly. “Don’t you think I, of all people, understand that? ”

The wizard shook his head, and Bahzell snorted softly as the question put his own discomfort with the songs already circulating about his “mighty deeds” at the Hangnysti-not a one of them, curiously, by Brandark Brandarkson-into perspective. He’d been at this championing trade for less than ten years, after all; Wencit had been in the legend-making business for over twelve centuries.

“On the other hand,” Wencit continued, almost as if he’d just read Bahzell’s mind, “you do seem to do things in more…concentrated doses than I do. I really wouldn’t object if you slowed down just a bit for, oh, a decade or two.”

“I wouldn’t really object to that, either, Bahzell,” Leeana chimed in, and Bahzell chuckled.

“No more would I,” he assured them.

“That’s what you say,” Wencit said darkly, “but I’ve noticed these things tend to seek you out.”

“Well, at least this time you’d no need to be getting involved,” Bahzell pointed out affably, and Wencit smiled.

“No,” he agreed, glancing at Leeana. “No, this time I didn’t have to get involved at all. Very peaceful, it was.”

“For some,” Leeana said tartly, and the wizard gave her a small, ironic bow.

“Have the war maids decided how they’re going to select their delegate to the Great Council?” he inquired by way of a change of subject.

“Not really.” Leeana shook her head, accepting the change. “Some of us are still too deeply in shock that the Kingdom’s lords warden haven’t all dropped dead from apoplexy at the mere notion for us to think very constructively about it ourselves yet. I know we’re going to have to come up with a solution, but it would have helped if the King had decided to give us some guidelines.”

“Actually, I think it was much wiser of him to leave it up to you,” Wencit disagreed. “Whoever you end up nominating is going to have to have Crown approval, but you war maids aren’t really accustomed to the top-down way the Kingdom as a whole does things. Better for you to come up with your own way of choosing your nominees. Besides,” the old wizard grinned suddenly, “I’ve been around long enough I’m accustomed to taking the long view, and I’m thoroughly in favor of opening the door-just a crack, you understand-to the notion of the kind of Parliament the Axemen have.”

“Mother, Wencit!” Leeana laughed out loud. “You would have the lords warden dropping in droves if you suggested something like that! ”

“Which is why I have absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort, even-or perhaps especially-to Markhos or Sir Jerhas.” The wizard snorted. “Not that I’d have to mention it to your father or your father-in-law, my dear. Trust me, they’re already thinking about it.”

“Aye, like as two peas in a pod, they are,” Bahzell agreed, glancing back down at the courtyard where several days ago the first hradani prince ever to be received peacefully on Sothoii soil had exchanged bows with the first Sothoii king who’d ever greeted a hradani without a sword in his hand. “And not done scheming yet, either of them, I’ve no doubt at all, at all.”

“I’d be disappointed if they were,” Wencit told him cheerfully. Then he gave himself an obvious mental shake.

“I’d be disappointed,” he said more briskly, “but I really didn’t come up here to discuss politics with the two of you.”

“No?” Bahzell said a bit warily.

“Oh, don’t worry, Bahzell! I have no fell designs on you, your wife, or your time together.” Wencit smiled at them. “I only wanted to ask if you’ve given any thought to a proper wedding gift for Sharlassa and Trianal?”

“Why?” Leeana asked.

“Because if you haven’t, I have a suggestion.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Don’t be silly.” The wizard looked at her severely. “It’s just that you’re now sept to Clan Huraka by marriage, courtesy of your husband’s adoption by Duke Jashan. That being the case, I thought you might ask your sister-in-law Zarantha to give them exactly the gift they need.”

“Zarantha?” Bahzell’s ears twitched in surprise, and his eyes narrowed. “And what gift would that be?”

“Training for Sharlassa,” Wencit said in a suddenly much gentler tone. “She’s a mage, you know.”

“ Sharlassa? ” Leeana stared at him, and he shrugged.

“I suspect she has only one talent, or possibly two, and they’ve been late manifesting, Leeana. But trust me-I know more about recognizing the mage talent than most. I don’t think her talents are strong enough for her to have a very severe mage crisis, but I do think it would be a very good idea for Trianal and her to honeymoon at Zarantha’s academy.”

“Thank you,” Leeana said after a moment. She gave her head a shake. “Thank you very much!”

“You’re very welcome.” Wencit smiled. “I’ve had quite a strong interest in the magi for quite some time, you know. Part of that long view of mine, I suppose. And now, I have to run. I promised His Majesty I’d put in an appearance at this afternoon’s conference. More sitting around ominously in the background, I imagine. It’s really quite amusing, you know. I don’t actually have to say anything. I’ve discovered over the centuries that most of your normal, bickering aristocrats really know what they ought to be doing; they just have no interest in actually doing it. All I have to do is sit there and look at them sternly and they suddenly start falling all over themselves to do what they ought to have done all along.”

“Amusing,” Bahzell repeated, cocking his ears at him. “It’s a strange, strange man you are, Wencit of Rum.”

“Of course I am. I’m a wizard.”

Wencit gave them another smile, then disappeared down the winding stair into the tower, and Bahzell and Leeana turned back to the courtyard.

It was emptying rapidly now, and she leaned her head against him, one arm around his waist.

“Sharlassa as a mage.” She laughed softly. “ And as a future Baroness of Balthar and Lady Warden of the West Riding. I’m amazed she hasn’t already stolen a horse and fled to hide among the Wakuo!”

“Or the war maids,” Bahzell agreed with a chuckle. “But she’s made of sterner stuff than ever she thought, I’m thinking.”

“Not to mention the fact that Trianal would hunt her down wherever she hid,” Leeana acknowledged. Then she cocked a devilish eyebrow up at her towering husband. “And what about your sister, Milord Champion?”

“As to that, it’s early days,” Bahzell replied comfortably. “I’ll not say I’ve aught against the notion, mind, and it’s sure I am my Da can see the advantages clear as ever Arsham can. But Sharkah’s a mind of her own, too, and neither Father nor Mother would be pushing her into a thing, even if they’d any notion they could.”

“But Arsham seems interested in her for more than just ‘reasons of state,’” Leeana pointed out.

“Aye, so he does. And she’s more than a mite interested in him, I’m thinking.” Bahzell shrugged. “But she’s after being a mite stubborn, you’ve no doubt noticed. I’ve no notion where she comes by it, reasonable as all the rest of my family’s after being, yet there it is, and years it’s been she’s had her heart set on the sword maid’s path. I’m thinking it’ll need a mortal lot of patience on Arsham’s part to talk her round to the notion of settling down as anyone’s princess.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he could have survived under Churnazh as long as he did if he weren’t a patient fellow,” Leeana said thoughtfully, and Bahzell chuckled.

“Aye, so he is. And it’s in my mind as Sharkah knows it, too. I’m thinking she’s minded to see just how patient he’s after being. And she’s naught but in her early fifties. She’s time to let him be wearing her down properly.”

Leeana looked up at him in amusement, then frowned.

“But if she does marry him, would she have to leave the Order?”

“As to that, the decision would be up to her,” Bahzell said much more soberly. “She’d not have to give up her sword oath, but it’s like enough the Hurgrum Chapter would be releasing her. And she’d not agree to wed if she’d any notion but to be meeting the duties as came with wedding a ruling prince. It’s not at all surprised I’d be if she’s already discussed it with Hurthang.”

Leeana nodded. Hurthang had become the commander of the Hurgrum Chapter following Vaijon’s death. It wasn’t a responsibility he’d wanted, for a lot of reasons, but as Bahzell had pointed out upon occasion, a follower of Tomanak was one who did what needed doing, and there’d never been any doubt who the Chapter itself would choose as Vaijon’s successor. And it was probably just as well there’d been no confusion about its leadership, since the Chapter-despite its losses at the Hangnysti-would soon be far larger than it had been. The Battle of the Hangnysti had done nothing but increase its renown, and its human membership was growing by leaps and bounds.

And the fact that Prince Yurokhas has joined the Hurgrum Chapter hasn’t hurt its recruiting here in the Kingdom one bit, she reflected.

“Vaijon would be proud of them, I think,” she said softly, and Bahzell smiled.

“Aye, that he would. A rare popinjay he was, when first we met, but a finer man I’ve never known.”

"Well, if that’s so, you had quite a bit to do with the way it turned out" a voice said suddenly from behind them, and they turned quickly, eyes widening.

" No need to look as if you’ve just seen a ghost,› Vaijon told them with an impish smile. He stood on the battlements, the East Tower’s steeply pitched roof just barely visible through him, and a soft blue glow clung to him, bright enough to be visible even in the sunlight.

“Lad-” Bahzell began, then stopped.

" What? You’ve finally encountered something that can shut you up and Brandark isn’t even here to see it?"

Vaijon laughed, and the bright, joyous sound went through them both like a cleansing wind.

“I’ve no doubt you’ll be dropping in on him to tell him all about it,” Bahzell said after a moment.

"There are some things a champion of Tomanak doesn’t do to another champion of Tomanak, and giving Brandark that kind of ammunition comes under that heading, I think," Vaijon told him. "Besides, that’s not why I’m here."

“No?” Leeana touched the silver sprig of amethyst-leaved perriwinkle she wore in her hair. She seemed preposterously calm to Bahzell, but Vaijon only smiled at her. “Why are you here, then?”

"To tell this big lummox you’re married to not to fret,› Vaijon said. He turned back to Bahzell, and his smile turned softer. ‹ It’s not your fault, you know. I always wanted to serve Tomanak, and you were simply kind enough to straighten me out."

His smile faded away completely, but his blue eyes were warm as they met Bahzell’s.

"Bahzell, there’s not a moment of my life-or my death-since that day in Belhadan that I’ve regretted. You gave me my life, the one I always wanted, and no man ever had a friend or a brother he loved more than I love you. I died doing what I was born to do, and I’m not entirely sure I’m done doing it yet. I’m still working on understanding the rules, and you may recall that I can be a little bit of a slow study. But tell Hurthang and the others how much they meant to me, and that the other lads and I will be waiting for them-and you, of course." He smiled again. " Not that I have any grim portents of impending doom for any of you."

“And-” Bahzell paused and cleared his throat. “And I’m sure it’s glad they’ll all be to hear it,” he told his friend just a bit huskily.

"Probably." Vaijon agreed. ‹ But in the meantime, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of things to keep you busy. In fact, I see one-Well, never mind. That would be telling."

“I can see as there are some things even dying doesn’t change,” Bahzell said much more dryly, and Vaijon laughed.

"Of course not, Bahzell! Where would be the fun in that?› His body began to thin, becoming increasingly translucent, and his smile turned impish once more. " But don’t worry! I’ll be keeping an eye on you. What else are friends for?"

He was almost invisible now, and Bahzell seemed to feel a hand resting on his shoulder. It squeezed for just a moment, then released him, and he heard Vaijon’s laughing voice one last time.

"After all, I’ll need to take lots of notes for the nights I spend helping Brandark work on new verses, won’t I?"