"I see." Cherdahn gazed up at her for several moments, then shrugged. "I don't suppose I could quibble with any of that. And, as you say, at the moment things seem to be proceeding quite nicely. Won't you dismount and join us for supper? We ought to just about have time to finish dining before the first of our guests arrive."
X
*I truly do hate these miserable holes in the ground,* Walsharno said in the depths of Bahzell's brain.
The starry night had wrapped itself in a thickening shroud of cloud, and the hradani smelled rapidly approaching rain on a strengthening wind out of the east. The disappearance of the stars and the orange sliver of moon which had floated among them had turned the night pitchy black, but Walsharno was a courser and Bahzell was a hradani, and both of them could see with remarkable clarity.
Not that either of them was very happy about what they could see.
"I've no doubt at all, at all, as how old Demon Breath would never dream of upsetting you if you'd only be telling him that," Bahzell responded to Walsharno's disgusted observation.
*Very funny. And I suppose you'll still be laughing when we ride into that outsized drainpipe?*
"I'm not so very sure we're going to be doing any riding down it," Bahzell said rather more seriously.
*Going in there all by yourself wouldn't be the brightest thing even a hradani has ever done,* Walsharno pointed out acidly.
"And are you after telling me that agreeing to be one of himself's champions and all was after being a 'bright' thing for a hradani to be doing?"
*Don't try to laugh it off. You and I both know there's more than enough trouble for any two-or three-champions waiting in there.*
"Aye, that there may be. Still and all, Walsharno, I'm thinking it's not so very likely as there'd be fighting room for you."
The hradani turned to look at his companion. At just over seven feet, nine inches, no one-not even another Horse Stealer-would ever consider Bahzell a small man, but Walsharno stood twenty-four and a half hands. Bahzell's head didn't quite top the huge stallion's shoulder.
*You're not exactly a puny little fellow, yourself,* the courser pointed out.
"That's as may be, but I'm better suited to be fighting in twisty little corners underground than you are," Bahzell retorted, and felt Walsharno's unwilling agreement.
Few creatures in all of Norfressa could match a Sothōii courser stallion for lethality, but a "horse" Walsharno's size needed fighting space. Needed to be able to rear and kick, needed the ability to dodge.
*That opening looks big enough for both of us,* Walsharno said after a moment.
"Aye. But who's to say it stays that way? I'm thinking that if I were after setting a trap for the two of us, we'd find that 'drainpipe' of yours getting a mite tight just about the time we were running into one of Demon Breath's wee little pets."
*So you think that instead I should let you go down there all by yourself?* Walsharno snorted as emphatically as only a courser could. *I always knew Brandark was a smart man. Now I see why he never wanted to let you out without a keeper!*
"I'm not saying as how you should 'let' me be doing anything of the sort. It's not as if we were having any real choice, is it now?"
Walsharno snaked his head around and lowered it to look Bahzell in the eye. Silence lingered for several seconds until, manifestly against his will, the stallion tossed his head in grudging agreement.
*Why do we always have to be the ones going into their miserable little burrows?* he said after a moment. *Why can't they come riding openly up to our gates for a change?*
"Because we're the good fellows, and they're the bad fellows," Bahzell said lightly. "Still and all," he reached up, unhooked a case of oiled leather from his saddle, and extracted the deadly horsebow of a windrider, "I'm thinking as how it's not so very likely we'll be creeping into yonder 'miserable little burrow' without someone noticing."
He strung the bow smoothly and easily. It had taken his fellow wind riders a long time to convince him to give up his steel-bowed arbalest, and he still wasn't as good an archer as most of them were. They, after all, had literally grown up in the saddle, bows in hand. Bahzell had been doing other things-like raiding the Sothōii himself-at a comparable point in his own life. Still, the horsebow's rate of fire was far higher than even a Horse Stealer crossbowman could manage, and if Bahzell was a bit less accurate, he could pull a bow far heavier than any mere human. In the final analysis, the sheer, incredible power of his weapon made up for quite a lot.
*Do try to avoid shooting yourself-or me-in the foot with that thing, would you?*
"And aren't you just the funniest thing on four feet?" Bahzell replied, attaching his quiver to the right side of his belt.
*I try, at any rate. I promised Brandark I'd keep you from getting too full of yourself.*
"Remind me to be thanking him the next time I see him."
*I imagine you'll remember all on your own,* Walsharno reassured him.
Bahzell snorted, then turned to study the hillside above them.
Most people would never have realized there was anything there, but Bahzell and Walsharno weren't most people. Both of them could sense the dark miasma hiding in the heart of the hill, and the cloaking power of Sharnā which should have hidden the tunnel opening was useless against the eyes of any champion of Tomanâk.
Bahzell bared his teeth as he saw the loathsome image of Sharnā's scorpion, carved into the keystone of the outer arch, and he remembered the first time he'd seen that same image. What he didn't see was anything remotely like a sentry, and that worried him.
"I'm thinking as how they must know we're out here," he said.
*After what happened at the village?* Walsharno snorted yet again, this time in emphatic agreement.
"Then wouldn't you think it's just a mite overconfident they're being with no one posted to be keeping an eye out for us?"
Walsharno nodded, and Bahzell's frown deepened. Although Sharnā couldn't hide the entrance from him or Walsharno by arcane means, things could still be physically concealed, and there was an uncomfortable crawling sensation between Bahzell's shoulder blades.
"Well," he sighed, "I'm thinking there's only one way to be finding out what it is they've got in mind."
It was remarkable how quiet something the size of a Sothōii courser could be when it put its mind to it. Walsharno's ability to move almost soundlessly, even through underbrush, had always impressed Bahzell. He himself had spent years honing his ability to do the same thing, and he was far smaller than the stallion, with only two feet, to boot. Despite that, Walsharno made little more noise than he would have made by himself, and what sounds they did make were lost in the sigh of the steadily strengthening night wind.
Thunder mutter-grumbled, and lightning flickered blue-white against the clouds far to the east. It was coming closer, and there was something almost soothing about the natural power of the oncoming storm.