Chapter Sixteen
Bahzell Bahnakson stood on the battlements of Hill Guard Castle, gazing off into the distance and worrying. Brandark Brandarkson stood at his left elbow and helped him do it.
“Why do I have the feeling this was a really bad idea?” the Bloody Sword hradani murmured.
“Coming up here?” Bahzell looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow, and Brandark shook his head with a tight grin. It wasn’t raining. In fact, the sun shone bright, and clear blue patches showed through fitful breaks in the clouds. But the blustery wind was much stronger up here on the walls, where no obstacles blocked or abated its power, and both hradanis’ warrior braids blew out behind them.
“No,” Brandark said. He gestured at the road, stretching off to the east. “I meant Tellian’s haring off this way.”
“It’s not as if he’d any other choice, is it now?” Bahzell replied, and Brandark shrugged.
“The fact that something’s the only choice someone has, doesn’t make it a good idea when he does it,” he pointed out. “Especially not when he has as many enemies as Tellian does. I don’t like the thought of his dashing about out there with no more than a score of bodyguards, Bahzell.”
“First, it’s only by the gods’ grace that he’s any bodyguards at allwith him,” Bahzell snorted. “Once Tarith turned up and he’d confirmation of all Leeana had done, he was all for heading out with naught but Hathan beside him. Now that, I’m thinking, is something as most anyone would think was after being a bad idea.”
“You know,” Brandark observed, “you’re developing quite a gift for understatement, Bahzell.”
Bahzell only snorted again, louder, but both of them knew he was right. Even Tellian had known that much, although both Hathan and Hanatha had found themselves forced to sit on him—almost literally—before he’d admitted it. That had been harder for Hanatha than for his wind brother, but frantic as she was over her daughter’s safety, she was also the wife of one great noble and the daughter of another. Despite the unmatchable speed with which any wind rider’s courser gifted him, the Lord Warden of the West Riding had no business at all putting himself at risk by gallivanting around the countryside unprotected. It was entirely possible that one of his enemies might be keeping an eye on his comings and goings with an eye towards a quiet little assassination, assuming he was foolish enough to offer an opening, and not even a courser could outrun an arrow. Besides, as Hathan had grimly pointed out, Leeana had stolen enough of a lead that it was unlikely even coursers could overtake her short of her destination, so there was no reason to dash out like reckless fools.
“Second,” Bahzell continued after a moment, “that’s his daughter out there, Brandark. He’s a noble and a ruler, aye. But he’s after being a father before he’s any of those other things.” He shook his head. “He’ll not give over, no matter what.”
“But is that really what’s best for Leeana?” Brandark asked more quietly. Bahzell looked at him again, sharply, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. “I know he loves her, Bahzell. And I know he wants her safely home again. But Leeana’s no fool. Whatever other people may think, you know—and so do her parents—that she didn’t do this on a whim. If she thought it through as carefully as I’m sure she did, perhaps what she’s doing is actually for the best.”
Bahzell grunted. He’d thought the same thing himself as he remembered the pain, and the fear—and not for herself alone, he realized now—in a pair of jade-green eyes. But he knew that even if Tellian had come to the exact same conclusion, it wouldn’t have made any difference to his determination to protect the daughter he loved from the consequences of her own decision.
“It might be you’ve a point,” he said finally. “I’ll not deny I’ve wondered the same. But in Tellian’s boots, I’d make the selfsame choice, and well I know it.” He shook his head again. “It’s a hard thing, Brandark. A hard thing.”
They fell silent again, gazing off into the wind, and wondering what was happening out there beyond the eastern horizon.