By the Sword [112-4.0]

By: Mercedes Lackey

Synopsis:

Granddaughter of the sorceress Kethry, Kerowyn had been forced to run
the family keep since her mother's death.  Kerowyn's plans for peace
were shattered when her home was attacked, her father killed, her
brother gravely wounded, and his new bride kidnapped.  Facing her
family's foes sets Kerowyn upon the road that eventually leads her to
the Kingdom of Valdemar at the head of her own company of
mercenaries.

This is the novel that bridges events and characters from The
Oathbound and Oathbreakers featuring Tarma and Kethry, and the events
and characters in The Heralds of Valdemar trilogy, and the Mage-Winds
trilogy


"Woman's Need calls me, as Woman's Need made me.  Her Need will I
answer as my maker bade me.  "

The mage chanted furiously, in some language Kero didn't recognize. She
somehow knew that the sword did, though; for the first time she felt
something from it-a strange, slow anger, hot as a forge, and heavy as
iron.

Kero wanted to run, but the sword wouldn't let her.  She could only
stand there, an easy target.  The mage sneered, and raised his hands.

They glowed for a moment, a sickly red, then the glow brightened and a
spark arced between them.

The blade's anger rose to consume her, and she shifted her grip from
the hilt to the sword blade itself.  She balanced her sword for a
moment that way, as if it was, impossibly, nothing more than a giant
throwing knife.  It didn't seem to weigh any more than her dagger had
at that moment.

Her arm came back, and she threw it, like a spear.

It flashed across the space between herself and the mage,
arrow-straight and point-first.

NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY

available from DAW Books

THE BOOKS OF THE LAST HERALD-A 4GE

MAGIC'A PROMISE

MAGIC'S PAWN

MAGIC'S PRICE

VOWS AND HONOR

THE OATH BOUND

OATH BREAKERS

BY THE SWORD

THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR

ARROWS OF THE QUEEN

ARROW'S FLIGHT

ARROW'S FALL

rryl I I "Or_

D A W B 0 0 K S , I H C .

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, FOUNDER

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM

SHEILA E. GILDERT

PUBLISHERS

Copyright 0 1991 by Mercedes R. Lackey.

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Jody Lee.

All songs 0 1991 by Firebird Arts & Music Inc., Lyrics by Mercedes
Lackey.

DAW Book Collectors No.  840.

First Printing, February 1991 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

U.S. PAT.  OFF.  AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

fv -MARCA REGISTRADA.

NECHO EN U.S.A.

Printed in the U. S. A. Dedicated to the memory of Stan Rogers Singer,
Songwriter, Inspiration Whose words and music gave me heart and courage
when I needed them most.

OFFICIAL TIMELINE FOR THE.,

by Merceded Lackg

1000 BF 0

7501AF 798 AF

F,..ding of Va

Prebiotory The Mage War.4:

Era of the Black Gryphon

ReWn of Ebpetb the Peacemaker

THE LAST HERALD

MAGE TRILOGY

Magic'.4 Pawn

[&~n ofrandale

THE LAST HERALD

MAGE TRILOGY

M'ie~ Promise Magic ~ Price

BF Before the Founding AF After the Founding Upcoming from DAW Books in
hardcover

HERALDS OF VALDEMAR SERIES

Seq~ce of eventd by WaDe~ reclining

1270 AF 1315 AF 1355 AF 1376 AF

- I

VOWS AND HONOR

DUO LOGY

The Oathbound Oatbhreaker.4

["Rel~n of Sendar

Return of Se~;nzyl

VALDEMAR TRILOGY

THE HERALDS OF

Arroum of the Queen Arroit,~ Flight Arrowd Fafi

BY THE SWORD

THE MAGE WINDS

TRILOGY

Window of Fate Wino ,i of CI.,aj~ge Will,of of fiip-y

BOOK ONE

Kerowyn's Ride

One

"Blessed-look out!"

Everyone turned and stared; at Kero, and at the boy about to lose the
towering platter of bread.  The racket of pots and voices stopped, and
Kerowyn's voice rang out in the silence like a trumpet call, but no one
answered this call to arms.  They all seemed confused or frozen with
indecision.  The scullion staggered two more steps forward; the edible
sculpture, two clumsy, obese bread deer ( a stag and a reclining doe),
began sliding from the oversized serving dish he was attempting to
carry alone.

Idiots!  Kerowyn swore again, this time with an oath her mother would
have blanched to hear, but it seemed as if she was the only one with
the will or brains to act.

She sprinted across the slickly damp floor of the kitchen, and caught
the edge of the platter just as the enormous subtlety of sweet,
egg-glazed dough started to head for the flagstones.

The lumpy mountain stopped just short of the carved display plate's
edge.  She held it steady while young Derk, sweating profusely,
regained his breath and his balance, and took the burden of twenty
pounds of sweet, raisin studded bread back from her.

He got the thing properly settled on his shoulder and headed for the
Great Hall to place it before the wedding party.  Kero listened for a
moment, then heard the shouts and applause from beyond the kitchen door
as the bread sculpture appeared.  The clamor in the kitchen resumed.

Kero licked sweat from her upper lip, and sighed.  She would have liked
to have staggered backward and leaned against the wall to catch her
breath, but she didn't dare take the time, not at this point in the
serving.  The moment she paused there would undoubtedly be three more
near disasters; if she took her attention away from the preparations,
the tightly-planned schedule would fall apart.

She knew very well she really shouldn't be here.  She probably should
have been out there with the rest of the guests, playing Keep Lady;
that was what would have been "proper " To the six hells with "proper.
" If Father wants this feast to be a success, I have to be in here, not
playing the lady.

The kitchen was as hot as any one of the six hells, and crowded with
twice the number of people it was intended to hold.  The cook, an
immense man with the build of a wrestler.  and his young helpers were
all squeezed in behind one side of a huge table running the entire
length of the kitchen.  Normally they worked on both sides, but tonight
the servers were running relay with platters and bowls on the other
side, and may the gods help anyone in the way.

Kero chivvied her recruited corps of horse-grooms out the door.  They
were a lot more used to being served from the beer pitchers they were
carrying than doing the serving themselves.  Then she spotted something
out of the corner of her eye and paused long enough to snatch up a
wooden spoon.  She used it to reach across the expanse of scarred
wooden tabletop and whack one of the pages on the knuckles.  She got
him to rights, too, in to steal a fingerful of icing from the wedding
cake-standing in magnificent isolation on the end of the table butted
up against the wall.  The boy yelped and jumped back, colliding with
one of the cook's helpers and earning himself a black look and another
whack with a spoon.

"Leave that be, Perryt" she scolded, brandishing the spoon at him.

"That's for after the ceremony, and don't you forget it!  You can eat
yourself sick on the scraps tomorrow for all I care, but you leave it
alone tonight, or more than your knuckles will be hurting, I promise
you."

The shock-haired boy whined a halfhearted apology and started to sulk;
to stave off a sullen fit she shoved a handful of trencher slabs across
the table at him and told him to go see that the minstrels were fed.

Some day ... spoiled brat.  I wish Fatherd send him back to his doting
mama.  A cat's more use than he is, especially when everybody's too
busy to keep an eye on him.

Fortunately, all Perry had to do was show up with the slabs of trencher
bread and the minstrels would see to their own feeding.  Kero hadn't
met a songster yet that didn't know how to help himself at a feast.

The first meat course was over; time for the vegetable pies, and the
dishes straw-haired Ami had been plunging into her tub with frantic
haste were done just in time.

Kero sent the next lot in, laden with heavy pies and stacks of bowls,
just as the remains of the venison and the poor, hacked up bits of the
bread-deer came in.

It's a good thing that monstrosity didn't hit the ground, she reflected
soberly, snagging Perry as he slouched in behind the servers and
sending him back out again with towels for the wedding guests to wipe
their greasy fingers.

What with Dierna's family device being the red deer and all, her people
would have taken that as a bad omen for sure.  There was no subtlety
for this course, thank all the gods and goddesses-Not that Father
didn't want one.  More dough sculpture, this time a rampant stag-as a
testament to my darling brother's virility, no doubt.  It's a good
thing Cook had a fit over all the nonsense that was already going to
wind up being crammed into the oven!

There was a momentary lull, as the last of the emptied dishes arrived
and the last of the servers staggered out;

and everyone in the kitchen took a moment to sag over a table or
against the wall, fanning overheated faces.  Kero thought longingly of
the cool night air just beyond the thick planks of the door at her
back.  But her father's Seneschal poked his nose in the doorway, and
she pushed away from the worn wood with a suppressed sigh.

' "Any complaints so far?"  she asked him, her voice clear and carrying
above the murmur of the helpers and the roar of the fire under the
ovens.

"Just that the service is slow," Seneschal Wendar replied, mopping his
bald head with his sleeve.

"Audria's Teeth, child, how do you stand it in here?  You could bake
the next course on the counters!"

Kero shrugged.  Because I don't have a choice.

"I'm used to it, I suppose, I've been here since before dawn.

Anyway, you know I've supervised everything since before Mother died."
The simple words only called up a dull ache now; that priest had been
right Damn him.

-time did make sorrow fade, at least it had for her.

Time, and being too busy ~ to breathe.

"I'm sorry, I can't do much about the service," she continued, keeping
an ear cocked for the sounds of the servers returning.

"There's only so much stable boys and hire-swords can learn about the
server's art in a couple Of candle marks

I know that~, MY dear."  The Seneschal, a thin, tired-looking man who
had been the scribe and accountant with Rathgar's old mercenary
company, laid a fatherly hand on her arm, and she resisted the urge to
shrug it off.

"I think you're doing remarkably well, better than I would have, and I
mean that sincerely.  I can't imagine how you've managed all this with
as little help as you've had."

Because Father'S too tightfisted to hire extra e for me, and too full
of pride to , settle for anything less than a princely wedding feast.
Lord or sen Brodey consented to this marriage; Lord Orsen Brodey must
be shown that we're not jumped-up barbarians ... even if Rathgar's
daughter has to spend the entire feast in the kitchen with the
hirelings.... She felt her cheeks and ears flush with anger.  It wasn't
fair, it wasn't-not that she really wanted to be out in the Great Hall
either, showing off for potential suitors and their lord-fathers.  Bad
enough that Rathgar never thought of her; worse that he'd think of her
only in terms of being mari age bait.

which he would, if he ever thought past Lordan's marriage ... Lordan's
far more important marriage.  After all, he was the male and the
heir-Kero was only a 9 - or at least Kero set her jaw and tried to look
cheerful, indifferent, but something of her resentment must have
penetrated the careful mask of calm and competence she was trying to
cultivate.  Wendar patted her arm again and looked distressed.

"I wish I could help," he said unhappily.

"I told your father three years ago, when-when-" "When mother died,"
Kero said shortly.

He coughed.

"Uh, indeed.  I told him that you needed a housekeeper, but he wouldn't
hear of it.  He said you were already doing very well, and you didn't
need any help.  ' Kero clenched her teeth, then relaxed with an
effort.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me.  Father-" She clamped her lips tight
on what she was going to say; it wouldn't do any good, it wouldn't
change anything.

But the sentence went on inside her head.  Father never really notices
anything about me so long as I stay out of sight, his dinner arrives on
time, and the Keep doesn't smell like a stable.  I suppose if anyone
had mentioned that a fourteen-year-old girl shouldn't be forced into
the job of Keep Lady alone, he'd have said that the girls in his
village were married and mothers by fourteen.  Never mind that the most
any of them had to manage alone was a two-room cottage and a flock of
sheep, and usually didn't like even that... She sighed, and finished
her sentence in a way that wouldn't put more strain on Wendar than he
was already coping with.

"Father had other things to worry about.

And so do you, Wendar.  You've got a hall full of guests out there, and
no one keeping an eye on the servitors."

Wendar swore, and hurried back toward the door into the Great Hall,
just as the wave of servants returned with the dirty dishes from the
last course.  Wendar sidestepped the rush, and dodged between two of
them and through the doorway.

Stuffed pigeons were next; a course that required nothing more than the
bread trenchers.  That would give the kitchen staff enough time to
clean the platters now being brought in before the fish course of eel
pies was served.

A full High Feast, and who was it had to figure out how our little
backwoods Keep could come up with enough courses to satisfy the
requirements?  Me, of course.  Tubs full of eel in the garden for days,
the moat stocked with fish in a net-pen, crates of pigeons and hens
driving us all crazy ... let's not talk about the rest of the
livestock.  Kero rubbed her arms, and rerolled the sleeves of her
flour-covered, homespun shirt a little higher.  Damn these skirts.
Breeches would be easier.  The helpers get to wear breeches, so why
can't I?  She wondered if Dierna had any notion of how much work a High
Feast was.  She ought to; she'd been trained by the Sisters of
Agnetha-in fact she'd been sent to the Sisters' cloister at the ripe
age of eight, so she ought to have had time to learn the "womanly
arts."

Dierna ought to have had proper instruction in those womanly arts too,
as well as the art of being womanly, whatever that meant ... unlike
Kero, as Rathgar was so prone to remind her whenever she failed to live
up to his notion of "womanly."

Selective memory, she told herself bitterly.  He keeps forgetting that
he was the one who decided he couldn't do without me.  Wheat-crowned
Agnetha was Rathgar's idea of the appropriate sort of deity for a lady
to worship unlike wild, horse-taming Agnira, Kero's favorite.

There was a shrine to Agnedia in the Keep chapel, though the other
aspects of the Lady Trine were only represented by little has-reliefs
carved into the pedestal of Agnetha's statue.  There in the heart of
the chapel, Agnetha smiled with honeyed sweetness over her twin babies,
her ~ sheaves at her feet, her cloak of fruit-laden vines around her,
her distaff dangling from her belt of flowers, sheep gazing up at her
adoringly.  While on the pedestal, alternating snowflakes and
hoofprints were all there was to show of the other two aspects, Agnoma
and Agnira.

Rathgar approved of Agnetha, occasionally waxing maudlin over his
somewhat sketchy devotion when in his cups.  long Well after the feast,
the wedding, and the month bridal moon, Kero could probably give up the
keys of the Keep to Diema.  That would bring an end to the farce of
pretending to enjoy being mewed up in the kitchen, still room or bower
day after endlessly boring day.  Dierna was pliant enough to satisfy
both Rathgar and his son, and she seemed competent when Kero had taken
her on a quick tour when the girl first arrived.

Kero shook herself out of her reverie as the servitors appeared with
platters; piled high with soaked trencher bread.  She had them dump the
bread into sacks waiting for distribution to the poor.  Time for the
bowls and eel pies

Cook was head-and-shoulders deep into the oven, removing the next
subtlety, and Kero overheard one of his assistants giving orders for
the pies to be carried out first.

"Hold it right there!"  she snapped, freezing the servants where they
stood.  She stalked to the table, plain brown linen skirts flaring, and
countermanded the order, physically taking a pie away from one poor
confused lad and shoving a pile of clean bowls into his hands
instead.

The harried young man didn't care; all he wanted was someone to give
him the right thing to carry in, and tell him what he was to do with
it.

Kero repeated the instructions she'd given them all for the soup
course, as she passed out further piles of bowls.

"One bowl for every two guests, put the bowl between them, when you've
finished placing the bread, go to the sideboard, get trencher bread,
give each guest a trencher, then come back and get a pie."

It made a kind of chant as she repeated herself for each serving man
Outside, Wendar would be directing the men to their tables; no matter
that they'd been going to the same places all night.  By now they were
tired and numb with the noise and the work, and all they were thinking
of was when the feast could be over so they could eat and drink
themselves into a celebratory stupor.

Dierna was probably beginning to wilt under all this by now.  That much
Kero didn't envy her.  When the older girl had taken her on that round
of the Keep duties, she'd been a little shy-and Kero knew very well how
sheltered the girls trained by the Sisters tended to be.  Not ignorant,
no; the Sisters made certain their charges were well educated in the
realities of life as well as domestic skills.

But perhaps that was the problem; Dierna was like a young squire who
has watched sword work all his young life and only now, at fifteen, was
going to pick up a blade.  She knew what was supposed to happen, but
was unprepared for the reality of the situation.

The first of the servitors returned for his pie, and Kero made certain
he didn't take it without a towel wrapped about his hands.  She
wondered, as she passed out towels and pies in a seemingly endless
stream, what Rathgar would do or say the first time dinner was inedible
or there were no clean shirts for him.

Probably nothing.  Or else he'd find a way to blame Kero.

What is wrong with the man?  she asked herself in frustration for the
thousandth time.  I'm doing the best that I can with what he allows me!
It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't pick faults that no one else cares
about.  Maybe if I'd talked him round to doing without me and gone to
the cloister... She watched the cook prepare the next subtlety, an
enormous copy of the Keep itself complete with edible landscaping, and
made sure that two men were assigned to carry it out.  The mingled
odors of meat and fish and fowl weren't at all appetizing right now; in
fact, they made her stomach churn.  When this was all over, the most
she'd want would be bread and cheese, and maybe a little cider.

Or maybe the problem that made her stomach churn was the thought of
what could have happened if she'd actually gone to the cloisters. While
not mages, the Sisters had a reputation for being able to uncover
things people would rather have been left secret.  What if Kero had
gone, and the reputation was more than just kitchen gossip?  What if
the Sisters had found her out?

Father has had plenty to say about Grandmother.

"The old witch" was the most civil thing he's ever called her.

what if he'd found out he had a young witch of his own?

He'd have birthed a litter of kittens, that's what he'd have done. Then
disowned me.  It's bad enough that I ride better than Lordan and train
my own beasts; it's worse that I hunt stag and boar with the men. It's
worse when I wear Lordan's castoffs to ride.  But if he ever found out
about my apparently being witch-born, I think he'd throw me out of the
Keep.

The mingled cooking odors still weren't making her in the least hungry;
she helped Cook decorate the next course with sprigs of watercress and
other herbs, chewed a sprig of mint to cool her mouth and told her
upset stomach to settle itself.

"What if" never changes anything, she reminded herself.

He never did more than play with the idea, and he didn't want to take
the chance that Wendar couldn't handle things.  After all, the only
thing Wendar has ever done was keep track of the books and manage the
estate.

There's more to managing a Keep than doing the accounts.

She set sprigs of cress with exaggerated care.

Come to think of it, Wendar may have discouraged Father in the first
place from sending me away.  I suppose I can't blame him, he has more
than enough to do without having to run the Keep, too.  That may be why
Father kept saying that it wasn't "convenient" for me to go.

Why did Mother have to die, anyway?  she thought in sudden anger.  Why
should I have been left with all this on my hands?

For a moment, she was actually angry at Lenore-then guilt for thinking
that way made her flush, and she hid her confused blushes by getting a
drink from the bucket of clean drinking water in the corner of the
kitchen farthest from the ovens.

She stared down into the bucket for a moment, unhappy and disturbed.
Why am I thinking things like that?

It's wrong; Mother didn't mean to die like that.  It wasn't her fault,
and she did the best she could to get me ready when she knew she wasn't
going to get better.  She couldn't have known Father wouldn't hire
anyone to help me.

And I guess it's just as well I didn't end up with the Sisters, and for
more reasons than having witch-blood.

They probably wouldn't have approved of me either, hunting and hawking
like a boy, out riding all the time.  At least at home I've had chances
to get away and enjoy myself,.  at the cloister I'd never have gotten
out.

Agnetha's Sheaves-how can anybody stand this without going mad? Kitchen
to bower, bower to still room still room back to kitchen. Potting,
preserving, and drying;

then spinning and weaving and sewing.  Running after the servants like
a tell-tale, making sure everybody does his job.  Scrubbing and dusting
and laundry; polishing and mending.  Cooking and cooking and cooking.

Brewing and baking.  At least at home I can run outside and take a ride
whenever it gets to be too much-There was a sudden stillness beyond the
kitchen door, and something about the silence made Kero raise her head
and glance sharply at the open doorway.

Then the screaming began.

For one moment, she assumed that the disturbance was just something
they'd all anticipated, but hoped to avoid.

This could be an old feud erupting into new violence.

Rathgar had, after all, invited many of his neighbors, including men
who had long-standing disagreements with each other, though not with
Rathgar himself.  That was why all weapons were forbidden in the Hall,
and not especially welcome within the Keep walls.  Except for Rathgar's
men, of course.  No one would have felt safe guarded by men armed only
with flower garlands and headless pikes.  Rathgar had anticipated that
too much drink might awaken old grievances or create new ones, and
rouse tempers to blows.

But after that fleeting thought, Kero somehow knew that this was
something far more serious than a simple quarrel between two
hot-tempered men, new grievance or old.  Rathgar could handle either of
those, and the noise was increasing, not abating.

And that same nebulous instinct told her that she'd better not go see
what was wrong in person.

She braced herself against the wall with one hand, a hand of cold fear
between her shoulder blades, and she realized that it was time to try
something she had seldom dared attempt inside the Keep.

She closed her eyes, and opened her mind to the thoughts of those
around her.

The walls she had forged about her mind had been wrought painfully over
the years, and she didn't drop them lightly, especially with so many
people about.  At first she had thought she was going mad with grief
over her mother's death, but chance reading had shown her otherwise.
Her grandmother, the sorceress Kethry, had left several books with
Lenore, and after her mother's death, these had been given to Kero
along with Lenore's other personal possessions.  Kero had never known
what had prompted her to pick out that particular book, but she had
blessed the choice as goddess-sent.  The book had proved to her that
the "voices" she had been hearing were really the strongest thoughts of
those around her.

More importantly to a confused young girl, the book had taught her how
to block those voices out.

But now she was going to have to remove those comforting barriers, for
at least a moment.

The clamor that flooded into her skull wasn't precisely painful, but it
was disorienting and exactly like being in a tiny room filled with
twice the number of screaming, shouting people it was intended to
hold.

Steady on-it's just like being in the kitchen-Her stomach lurched, and
she clutched the wall behind her, as dizzy as if she'd been spun around
like one of Lordan's old toy tops.

Pain and fear made those thoughts pouring into her mind incoherent; she
got brief glimpses of armed men, strangers in no lord's colors-men who
were filthy, ragged, and yet well-armed and armored.  She was
half-aware of the servants, babbling with terror, streaming through the
door opposite her, but most of her mind was caught up in the tangled
mental panic outside that door.  And now she was "seeing" things, too,
and she nearly threw up.  The strangers were making a slaughterhouse of
the Great Hall, cutting down not only those who resisted, but those who
were simply in their way.

Their minds seized on hers and held it.  She struggled to free herself
from the confusion, wrenching her mind out of the desperate,
unconscious clutching of theirs-and suddenly her thoughts brushed
against something.

Something horrible.

There were no words for what she felt at that moment, as time stood
frozen for her and she knew how a hunted rabbit must view a great,
slavering hound.  Whatever this was, it was cold, if a thought could be
cold, cold as the slimy leeches living in the swampy fen below the
cattle pastures.  There was something sly about it, and filthy-not a
physical filth, but a feeling that the mind behind these thoughts would
never be contented with pleasures most folk considered normal.  Kero
couldn't quite decipher them either; what she experienced was similar
to what she had "heard" as her ability first appeared-as if she were
listening to someone speaking too quietly for the exact words to be
made out.  There was only a sense of speech, not the meaning.

But worst of all, that brief brush created a change in those
not-quite-readable thoughts, as if she had alerted the owner of the
thoughts that he-or she-or it-was being observed.

The back of her neck crawled, and gooseflesh rose on her arms, as the
thoughts took on a new, sharp-edged urgency.  Propelled by fear, she
managed to tear her mind away, and slammed the doors in the walls of
her protections closed.

She opened her eyes, sick and sweating with fear, to discover that far
less time had passed than she imagined.

The servants were still clogging the doorway, and the screaming from
beyond had only increased.

For an instant, all she wanted to do was to scream and cower with the
rest of them-or even faint as some of the kitchen girls had already
done, sprawling unnoticed beneath the table.  At that moment, something
as hard and impassive as the walls around her mind rose up to cut off
her emotions.  Suddenly she could think, calmly.

The door to the back court-if they come in behind us, we'll be
trapped-Freed from the paralysis of fear, she ran to the back door of
the kitchen, slammed it shut, and dropped the iron bar of the
night-lock into place across it.  The noise behind her was so
overwhelming that the sound of the heavy bar dropping into the supports
was completely swallowed up in the general chaos.

She whirled, stood on her tiptoes to see over the mob crowding between
her and the door, and looked frantically for two people-Wendar, and the
cook.  Wendar's balding head appeared in a clear spot for a moment next
to the table, and she spotted the cook, burly arm upraised and
brandishing a poker, beside him.  Cook was shouting something, but she
couldn't even hear his voice above the others.

Wendar served with Father, and Cook takes no nonsense from anyone-in
fact, Cook looks like he's ready to lead a charge back in there!

She dove into the press of bodies and struggled across the kitchen,
elbowing and punching her way past hysterical servants who seemed to
have no more sense left in them than frightened sheep.  As she dragged
a last wailing girl out of her way by the back of her rough leather
bodice, Kero got Wendar's attention by the simple expedient of grabbing
his collar and dragging herself to him.  Or more specifically, to the
vicinity of his ear.

"We've got to stop them at the door, " she screamed, hardly able to
hear herself.

"We can hold them there, but if they get in here, they'll kill us
all!"

Most likely Wendar didn't have any better idea of who "they" were than
Kero did, but at least he saw the sense of her words immediately.  He
turned and reached across the table for Cook's shirt; satisfied that he
would handle the rest, Kero looked for weapons, snatched up a heavy,
round pot lid and the longest meat knife within reach, and ran for the
door.

She reached it not a moment too soon.

There was no warning that the invaders had found the half-hidden stair
to the kitchen.  He was just there; a squat, broad shadow in the
doorway, sword negligently stuck through his belt, plainly expecting no
resistance.

He paused for a moment and squinted into the brightly-lit kitchen, then
he saw her, and grinned, reaching for her.

Kero had no time to think.  Training took over as wit failed.

"This's no dance lesson, girl!"  She could hear the arms master bellow
in the back of her mind even as she slashed for the man's unprotected
eyes.

"This's fightin' o' th' dirtiest-y' hit yer man now an' hit 'im so's 'e
knows 'e'sfriggin ~-well been hit!  " Armsmaster Dent could have been
dismissed for teaching Kero anything besides archery, and well he knew
it.

He'd done his best to discourage her when she presented herself beside
Lordan for training.  It was only when he caught her clumsily trying
blows against the pells with a practice blade too long and heavy for
her, and realized that Rathgar would assume he'd been training Kero
anyway if her father ever found her out there himself, that he made a
bargain with her.

In return for a reluctant promise never to touch a longer weapon, he
promised to teach her knife-fighting.  He hadn't been happy about it,
but Kero had made it very clear that it was the only way to keep her
out of the armory and the practice ground.

Knife-work was, as Dent put it, the dirtiest, lowest form of combat,
and figuring that if she ever really needed that training, it would be
a case of desperation, he had taught her every trick he'd learned in a
lifetime of street scuffling.

By some miracle, knife-work was also the only form of combat suited for
the close confines of the kitchen doorway; the only kind of situation
where a knife-fighter would be at an advantage against a swordsman.  In
the back of her mind, Kero thanked whatever deity had inspired that
bargain with Dent, and slashed again at the man's face when he evaded
the wicked edge of her blade with a startled oath.

He reached for his own weapon, hampered by the wall at his side and the
stairs at his back, further hampered when the quffions caught on his
W-kept armor.

Then she was no longer alone; Cook and Wendar were beside her, cook
armed with a spit as long as her arm in one hand and a cleaver in the
other, and Wendar (with a pot over his bald head like an oddly-shaped
helm) with the even longer spit used when they roasted whole pigs and
calves.  Cook stabbed at him with the wicked point of the spit and the
man dodged away, moving into Wendar's reach.  Wendar brought the heavy,
cast-iron rod down on the man's head, and caved his helm in
completely.

The brigand fell backward, but another took his place.

Now there were more men piling down the staircase;

how many, Kero couldn't tell.  One of them dragged the first out of the
way, and the man on the stairs pulled him into darkness.

But the three defenders had the doorway blocked against all comers,
with Kero going low, Wendar, high, and the Cook holding the middle and
protecting them both with Kero's pot lid.  Then one of the young
squires began lobbing ladles of hot turnips over their heads and into
the faces of their opponents, using the ladle like a catapult.  The
stairs were already slippery; that made them worse, and no one fights
well with scalding vegetables being flung in his eyes.

The invaders slashed and stabbed, but with caution.

More of the servants took heart; at least Kero assumed they did,
because suddenly the doorway was abristle with knives and pokers to
either side of her.

At that, the bandits pulled back, retreating up the staircase, slipping
and sliding on the stones.  It looked to Kero as if more than one of
them was marked and burned or bleeding.

It was as if she stood outside of herself, a casual observer.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, yet she felt strangely calm.  A
cluster of three of the raiders stood just out of turnip-reach halfway
down the staircase, staring down at the defenders of the kitchen.  It
was rather hard to see them; the press of bodies in the doorway
themselves blotted out most of the light from above.  Kero wished she
could see their faces, and shifted uneasily from her right foot to her
left.

If they get a log from upstairs and rush us WIth it, they could break
through us, she realized.  Agnira, please, don't let them think of
that-The men seemed to be arguing among themselves.

Kero squinted against the darkness and strained her ears, but could
hear nothing but the screaming from the hall beyond.  One of them
gestured angrily in Kero's direction, but the other two shook their
heads, then pulled at his arm.

The argumentative one shook the other man's hand off and started down
the staircase.  He was big, and very well armored, with a heavy wooden
shield.  Kero shuddered as she realized that he could rush them behind
that shield, and give his comrades the chance to get by the bottleneck
of the doorway.  It looked as if he had figured that out, too.

But someone behind Wendar threw a carving knife at him.  It was a lucky
shot-it thunked point-first into the man's buckler, buried itself in
the wood, and remained there, quivering.

The brigand started, stumbling backward up one step, and swore an
unintelligible oath.  And he gave in to the urgings of his companions,
following them back up the staircase, leaving the kitchen to its
defenders.

Now it was Wendar's turn to curse and attempt to follow.

Panic seized her throat as she realized what he was trying to do.

Dear Goddess- Kero grabbed his right arm as he charged past her, and
hung on, hampering him long enough for Cook to seize his left and
prevent him from charging up the staircase after their attackers.

"Stop it!  " she shrieked, more than a touch of hysteria in her
voice.

"Stop it, Wendar!  You can't possibly do any good up there!  You aren't
even armed!"

That stopped him, and he stared down at the sooty, greasy spit in his
hands, and swore oaths that made her ears burn.  But at least he didn't
try to charge after the enemy again.

"The table-" Cook said, which was all the direction they needed.  As
one they turned back into the kitchen and with the help of the rest of
the besieged, hauled the massive table into place across the doorway,
turning it on its side, making it into a sturdy barricade that would
protect them even if the bandits charged them with a makeshift
battering ram.

Then, having done all they could do, they waited.

Two

Kero crouched in the lee of the overturned table and tried to keep from
thinking about her folk in the hall above, tried to keep her heart from
pounding through her chest.

Tried to keep fear at bay, for now that she was no longer fighting, it
came back fourfold.

Tried not to cry.

There are trained fighters up there.  Nothing you can do will make any
difference for them.  They can take care of themselves, armed or not.

The servants were watching her; her, Cook, and Wendar.

She could read it in their faces, in their wide eyes and trembling
hands.  If any of the three leaders broke, if any of them showed any
signs of the terror Kero was doing her best to keep bottled inside, the
rest of the besieged would panic.

She clutched her improvised weapons, her hands somehow remaining
steady, but she wished she dared hide her head in her arms, to block
out the horrible sounds from above.

She wanted to scream, or weep, or both.  Her throat ached; her stomach
was in knots.  Why did I ever think those tales of fighting were
exciting?  Blessed Trine, what's going on up there?  Are we winning, or
losing?

How could we be winning?  No one up there is armed.... Wendar didn't
even twitch.  All of his concentration was focused on the staircase-he
stared up at the flickering light at the top of the stairs, going
alternately white and red with rage.  Kero wished she knew what he was
listening for.

If this wasn't hell, it was close enough.

It seemed like an eternity later that the sounds of fighting
stopped-there was a moment of terrible silence, then the wailing
began.

"That's it," Wendar said, and vaulted over the barricade.

This time no one tried to stop him.

Kero couldn't help herself; she followed at his heels.

Her skirt caught on the leg of the table as she scrambled over it.  She
stumbled into the wall, and jerked it loose, tearing a rent as long as
her arm in it.

Wendar was already out of sight and she scrambled on hands and knees up
the turnip-slimed stairs, pulling herself erect just short of the top,
and discovering with dull surprise that she was still holding the knife
and pot lid.

She peered out cautiously around the edge of the door frame, and her
heart stopped.

Blade and lid dropped from her benumbed hands and clattered down the
stairs behind her as she stumbled forward into a scene beyond her worst
nightmares.

Someone grabbed her wrist as she staggered past.

Wendar, she realized after a moment.  The Seneschal pulled her roughly
down beside him, where he knelt at the side of a man so battered and
blood-covered she didn't recognize him.  Then he moaned and opened his
eyes, and she knew-Dent.

Agnira bless!

She'd helped to bind wounds many times before, some of them as bad as
any of these, when hunters ran afoul of wolf or boar-her hands knew
what to do, and they did it, while her mind spun in little aimless
circles until she was dizzy.  The blood-there was just so much of
it.... Dent died under her hands, but there were others, too many
others; she moved from one to the next like a sleepwalker, binding
their wounds, sometimes with strips from her ripped skirts, sometimes
with whatever else came to hand.  Some, like Dent, died as she tried to
save them.  The others, the lucky ones, often fainted or were already
unconscious by the time she found them.

The less fortunate screamed their agony until their throats were so raw
they couldn't even whisper.

The hall was a blood-spattered shambles, furniture overturned, food
trampled underfoot-and everywhere the women, some huddled in on
themselves, were unable to speak, eyes wide and blank with shock;
others shrieking, wailing, or sobbing silently beside their dead and
wounded.

Of all that host of guests, only a handful remained calm, working
white-lipped and grim-faced, as Kero worked, trying to snatch a few
more lives back from Lady Death.

one iron-spined woman patted Kero's shoulder absently as she hurried
by, eyes already fixed on the arms man laid out on the floor beyond the
girl.  With a start of surprise, Kero recognized the granite-faced
matriarch of the Dunwythie family, a woman who'd never even nodded in
Kero's direction before this.

Not that it mattered.  Nothing mattered, except to stop the blood ease
the pain, straighten the broken limbs.

There wasn't a whole, unwounded man-at-arms in the keep; there wasn't
an unwounded male except those few menservants who'd fled to the
kitchen.

Anyone who had resisted had been killed out of hand.

There were young boys and women numbered among the dead and
wounded-some of the dead still clutching the makeshift weaponry with
which they had fought back.

Kero had long since passed beyond mere numbness into a kind of stupor.
Her hands, bloodied to the elbow, continued to work without her
conscious direction; her legs, aching and weary, carried her stumbling
from one body to the next.  Nothing broke the spell of insensibility
holding her-until the sound of her own name caught her attention.  Then
she felt someone shaking her and looked up as reality intruded into the
void where her mind had gone.  Those hands had pulled her reluctantly
back to the here and now.

She blinked; two of Dierna's cousins were tugging at her arms, one on
either side, weeping, and babbling at her.  She couldn't make out what
they wanted, they were absolutely incoherent with hysteria.  They
pulled her toward the dais where the high table had been, sobbing, but
before they had dragged her more than a few steps, she heard a young
male voice she knew as well as her own raised in shrill curses.

She pulled loose from them and half ran, half staggered, toward the
little knot of people clustered about one particular body.

The voice cursed again, then howled, just as she reached them and
pulled someone-Cook-away from the figure stretched out on the floor.

It was her brother Lordan, young face twisted with pain, eyes staring
without sense in them, ranting and wailing as Wendar bound up a
terrible wound in his side.

The Senestial looked up as Kero dropped to her knees beside him, and
then looked back to his work.

"It's not a gut-stab," he said, around clenched teeth.

"It missed the stomach and the lungs, helles only knows how.  But
whether he'll live-that I can't tell you.  Without a Healer-" He didn't
have to finish the sentence.  Kero knew very well what his chances were
without the help of magic or a Healer's touch.  The wound itself
probably wouldn't kill him, but blood loss and infection might very
well.

There was nothing she could do for him that Wendar hadn't already taken
care of.  She felt oddly helpless, angry at her own helplessness,
wanting to do something and knowing there was nothing productive to be
done.

She got slowly to her feet to hover just on the edge of the little
group, trying to think of anything that might increase Lordan's
chances.

I'm of no use here- She hated this-hated being so completely out of
control, so afraid that her teeth chattered unless she clamped her jaw
tight.

She looked out over the hall and saw that the last of the wounded were
being tended to, the dead being carried out, the women too hysterical
or paralyzed to do anything being herded over to one side of the hall
by a group made up of the old woman who did the Keep's laundry and some
of the dairymaids.

Father- she suddenly thought.  Where's Father?  She peered around the
group caring for Lordan, looking for Rathgar-and only then saw the
battered body laid out on the table, half covered with a pall made up
of a table covering

as if already lying in state.

Oddly enough, seeing him dead wasn't a shock; she wondered if she'd
been expecting this from the moment she first looked into the hall. She
knew what must have happened.  Rathgar would have charged the brigands
barehanded and empty-headed the moment they invaded his hall, pure rage
overwhelming any thoughts of caution.

She closed her eyes, and tried to summon up a dutiful tear from eyes
dry with shock, but all that would come was mere anger, and
exasperation.  You were a mercenary, Father, she thought angrily at the
quiet form.  You knew better!  You could have ordered the arms men to
play rear-guard and gotten everyone down into the kitchen before they
really swarmed the place-but you had to defend your damned Keep
personally, didn't you?  You didn't think once about anything but that!
Did you even think about getting your poor little daughter-in-law out
of harm's way?

She looked around for Dierna, expecting her to be among the hysterical
or the half-mad and didn't see her.  Not anywhere.

Thinking for a moment that the girl might be hiding behind a chair, or
cowering in someone's arms, Kero turned to one of Dierna's two cousins
who had caught up with her and were clinging to each other in limp
confusion.

" Where is she?"  Kero demanded.  If she's hurt, her family will never
forgive us.  Part of her calculated their reactions as coolly as a
money-changer counted coins.

They'll demand satisfaction-never mind Father died and Lordan may not
live out the night, they'll want blood price, and after this disaster,
we won't have it.

The girls stared at her blankly.  She grabbed the nearest and shook her
savagely.

"Your cousin, girl!  Where is she?  Where's Dierna?"

The girl just stared, and stammered.  She shook the little fool until
her teeth rattled, trying to pry some sense out of her, but got nothing
from her or her sister but tears and wailing.  Disgusted, she held the
girl erect between her two strong hands and contemplated trying to slap
a little sense into her.

"She's taken," croaked a pain-hoarsened voice from below and to the
right of her elbow.

"What?"  Kero let go of the little ninny, who promptly collapsed with
her sister into a soggy heap.  She looked down at the man who'd spoken;
one of the Keep arms men lying against the wall on a makeshift pallet
of tablecloths and blood-soaked cloaks.  Some of the blood was probably
his; he peered up at her from beneath a cap of bandaging, and his right
arm was strapped tightly to his side.

"She's taken, Lady," he repeated.

"I saw.  They took her, and that's when they left."

He coughed; she seized a goblet from the floor and found a pitcher with
a little wine still in it rolling under the table.  She knelt down
beside him and helped him drink; his teeth chattered against the rim of
the metal goblet, and he lay back down with a groan.

"I saw it," he repeated, closing his eyes.

"I been with Lord Rathgar for ten years now, sworn man.  Lady, I
don't-this's no lie.  I swear it.  There was a mage.  " "A-what?  " For
a moment she was confused.  What could a mage have had to do with all
this carnage?

The arms man opened his eyes again.

"A mage, " he said.

"Had to be.  One minute, I'm on the wall, hearin' nothin', seein'
nothin'-then there's like a breath of fog, kinda cold and damp, an' I
can't move, not so much as look around.  Then this bunch of riders
comes in, nobody challenges 'em-they get in through the gates, an' I
can see they're scum, but somebody's given 'em good arms-" The last
word was choked off, and he lay for a moment panting with misery, while
Kero clutched the goblet so hard her knuckles were white.

"Still couldn't move, couldn't yell," he continued, staring up at
nothing.

"Couldn't.  Then I hear the yellin' from the hall, an' I can move-ran
right straight in-right into the ones waitin' for me."  He coughed, and
his face spasmed with pain.

"Waitin' around blind corners, like they knew the place, Lady.  Got
free of 'em, made it as far as th' hall.  That's when I seen 'em take
the bride Lord Rathgar, he was down, gods save 'em; they got th' last
of her guards, an' they took her.  An' that's when the fightin'
stopped; they just packed up and grabbed what they could an' left.  "
He blinked and focused again on her.

"I tried, Lady.  I tried-" Now she remembered his name; Hewerd.

"I know YOU did, Hewerd," she said absently.  That seemed to satisfy
him.  He closed his eyes and retreated into himself.

A mage- That made sense.  Especially when I think how Father hated
mages.  Maybe he had an enemy that was a mage, or became one.  He had
other enemies, too; maybe one of them got together with this mage. They
might have been waiting a long time to catch him off-guard, to take
revenge when he wasn't expecting it.  She shivered, and stood up,
staring out over the shambles of the hall, but not seeing it.  That
must have been the-thing-the dark thing I touched with my mind.  Maybe
one of Father's enemies bought a mage.  That could happen, too.  It
would have to be someone who knew him well enough to know that he
didn't have a house mage of his own.  And it would have to be someone
who knew about the wedding.... Agnira's Teeth!  She shuddered.  He's
destroyed us!

There's no one to go after Dierna-there isn't a man fit to ride in the
whole Keep!  And if we don't at least try-I know her uncle, he'll call
blood-feud on us.  Kill every last one, take the Keep.... Dierna's
uncle-, the powerful Lord Baron Reichert, had used the pretext of
familial insult to add to his lands more than once.  He wasn't likely
to turn down an opportunity like this one-and by the time the King
found out about it, the Baron would have ensured that there was no one
left at the Keep to argue Lordan's innocence.  If they were lucky,
they'd escape with their lives.  If they weren't-the Baron had no
percentage in their survival.

We won't have a chance, she thought bleakly.  Not unless someone goes
after her, makes a token try at rescuing herDierna's sweet,
heart-shaped face, and sensitive mouth and eyes rose up like a ghost to
confront her.  Dearest gods, the poor baby-That last unbidden thought
did something unexpected to Kerowyn.  She was overwhelmed with
dizziness, and reached blindly for the support of the wall.  As her
hand touched the wall, it faded away, and she was afraid she was about
to collapse, to faint like one of Dierna's foolish cousins.

But she didn't collapse; she opened her eyes-but it wasn't the hall she
was seeing, it was the road.  And, faint shapes in the moonlight, a
band of men on horseback.

For a moment she saw the girl, bound and gagged, and carried in front
of one of the riders, a tall, thin man, in robes rather than armor. Her
eyes were wide with shock and fear, her delicate face white and waxen,
and she looked closer to eleven than to fourteen.

Anger replaced fear, outrage drowned any other feelings.

This was not right.  The girl was hardly more than a child.

Kero blinked.

The vision-if that was what it was-faded, replaced by another.  A
plain, simple sword.  Then her own hand, taking the sword-hilt as if it
belonged to her.

But I can't-Again, a flicker of Dierna's frightened eyes.  Blessed
Trine.  Only fourteen, and sheltered all her life.  Like a little glass
bird, and just as easy to break.

The visions faded, leaving her staring out at the hall again.  The
anger retreated for a moment.  I'm the only one left that could follow.
If I try to get her back, her uncle won't have an excuse to come after
Lordan.  She hugged her arms to her chest and shivered-then the anger
returned, stronger this time.  And dear gods-all alone with those
bastards-I can't just sit here, playing ninny like those cousins of
hers.  I can't.  It isn't honor, it isn't pride, it isn't any of those
things in ballads-it's that I can't sit here knowing what's going to
happen to her once they think they're safe, and not try and do
something to prevent it.

Then something else occurred to her, and amid the anger and the fear,
there rose a tiny flicker of hope.

And maybe Grandmother will help me.

Suddenly, following after the raiders didn't seem quite so mad a
decision.

She turned on her heel and ran for the servants' entrance, but this
time instead of going down, she went up, emerging into a corridor that
ran the length of the hall itself and led to the family quarters.  Her
own room was in the first corner tower, where the hallway made a right
angle bend.  She snatched a tallow-dip and lit it at the lantern, then
ran up the short flight of stairs to the round room above.  It was cold
by winter and hot by summer, and drafty at all seasons, but it was hers
and hers alone-which meant it held things not even Lordan knew about.

She lit her own lamp beside the door and blew out the tallow-dip.  As
the light rose, she went to the tall, curtained bed, and pulled the
mattress off onto the floor.

Instead of the usual network of rope-springs, Kero's bed was one of the
old style, a kind of box with a wooden bottom.  Only the bottom of this
bed held a secret.  As she had discovered when she was a child, it
could be raised on concealed hinges to reveal a second shallow
compartment.

It still held a few of her childhood treasures; the dreaming-pillow her
Grandmother Kethry had sent, her favorite stuffed toy horse, the two
wooden knights Lordan had never played with and never missed when she
spirited them out of his nursery and into hers-But now it held, besides
those things, her brother's castoff clothing and armor,.  a set of
light chain made for him when he first began training, long since
forgotten in the armory.  It no longer fit him; he was too broad in the
shoulder.  But it fit her perfectly.  She shed the ruins of her skirts
with a sigh of relief, and pulled on breeches, stockings, and sleeved
leather tunic.  She bound up her hair as best she could; debated
cutting it off for a moment, then decided she was going to need it
under the helm.  The chain mail shirt came next; without a squire,
getting into it was a matter of contortion and wriggling, and enough
hip-waggling to make a trollop stare.  It caught in her hair despite
her best efforts; she jerked her head and the caught strands were torn
out of her scalp with the weight of the mail.

Finally she settled it into place, jingling noisily, with a final shake
of her hips.  It covered her from neck to knee, slit before and behind
so the wearer could ride.

Another leather jerkin went over it, to muffle the inevitable jangling
of the rings.  She pulled on her riding boots, then turned and headed
for the door.

But all she had in the way of weapons were her knives.

I don't know how to use a sword, she thought, hesitating with one hand
on the door handle.  But knives aren't much use against a longer
weapon.  Maybe I'd better take one anyway.

So instead of going back the way she'd come, she headed for her
brother's rooms and his small, private armory.

Hopefully, the raiders wouldn't have gotten that far.

Lordan's rooms were farther down the darkened hall, halfway between her
tower and what had been her mother's solar.  Kero had never had the
leisure to play the lady over a bowerful of maids, nor had she really
ever cared for fine sewing even if she'd had the leisure for it, so the
solar had been closed up until such time as lord an took a bride, or
Rathgar remarried.

And since the latter had never occurred, Lordan had used the solar as a
place to keep his arms and armor so that he wouldn't have to tend it
down in the cold, uncomfortable, and gloomy armory.  Doubtless their
father would have had a fit if he'd known, but Kero hadn't seen any
reason to tell him.  If Lordan wanted to polish his swords up in the
sun-filled solar, why not?  Sun had never harmed metal or boys so far
as Kero had ever heard.

She pushed the door open, and went in; the moon shown full through the
solar windows, and the armor on its stand looked uncannily like Lordan
for a moment.  It gleamed a soft silver where the moonlight struck
reflections from the polished metal and those reflections gave it a
momentary illusion of movement.

Lordan's swords were hung from the racks where shuttles for the looms
had been kept in Lenore's day.  Kero knew the one she wanted: one of
Lordan's earliest blades, a light short sword the closest thing to a
knife and hence the one she could probably use the easiest if it came
to that.

Lady Agnira, grant it doesn't... She buckled the belt over her tunic,
hesitated a moment more, then resolutely helped herself to a little
round helm with a nose-guard hanging on the wall beside it.  It might
not be much in the way of protection, but it was better than a bare
head.

Lordan's rooms next door had a private stair to the stables outside;
normally locked, but she and Lordan had made enough illicit moonlight
expeditions that she'd long ago learned how to pick the clumsy old lock
in the dark.

The door was still locked, but her hands, though they shook a little,
still remembered how to tease the lock with the thin blade of her
knife.  She forced herself to breathe slowly, told herself that this
was nothing out of the ordinary, leaned against the door frame, and
tried not to think about what she was doing.

It worked; the lock clicked, and the door swung open, hinges
creaking.

The stairs gave out on the tack-room, and the shielded light normally
kept burning there made her blink, eyes watering.  But there were no
sounds of restless horses beyond the door, and the tack-room itself was
a shambles.

As her eyes adjusted to the light and she picked her way over the
saddles and other tack strewn over the floor, she saw why-there were no
horses to hear.  The stall doors stood wide open; what beasts the
brigands hadn't stolen had doubtless been driven off.  Witless things
that horses were, they were undoubtedly scattered to the four winds,
running until they foundered.

So much for sending someone for help, she thought bleakly.  Not even
the guests are going to be able to send their own people back, not
until some time tomorrow at the earliest.

Someone had planned this very well indeed.

With one small exception..

Kero hurried to one stall that would have been empty even if one of the
guests hadn't brought a high-bred palfrey to install there.  Though
this was the stall reserved for Kero's riding beast, her Shin-a'in-bred
mare spent most of her time in the pastures from the time the last of
the winter's snow cleared off until the first of it appeared.

Kero generally kept Verenna's tack hung over the side of the stall; it
didn't take up much room, since she had never permitted anything other
than Shin'a'in tack on the young mare's back.  The one thing Rathgar
was an expert on was horses, and he'd taught his children himself. Kero
tended and trained Verenna with her own hands unless there was an
urgent need for her to be otherwise occupied.

The tack was still there; blanket, a saddle with lightweight stirrups
that was hardly heavier than the blanket, bit less bridle and reins.
She gathered it all up, slipped the hackamore over her arm, and took
her back way out of the stables, out into the pasture.

Some of the horses had either jumped the fence or been driven out
here-she saw them in the moonlight, dark shapes milling around at the
end of the pasture, whinnying their distress.  Catching them was going
to be impossible until they'd tired themselves out.

Pray Verenna hasn't gotten caught up in their panic, she thought,
biting her lip.  If she has-Best not to think about it.  Kero pursed
her lips and whistled shrilly, three times.

And very nearly jumped out of her skin as something warm and soft
shoved her in the small of the back.

Gods!

She managed to kill the scream trying to tear its way up out of her
throat before she frightened the mare, but she did drop all the tack,
startling the young horse so that she shied a little and danced away,
nervously.  Kero, for her part, just stood and shook for a moment.  A
very long moment, in fact, so long that Verenna got over her
startlement and picked her way cautiously back toward her rider before
Kero had entirely recovered.

The horse nuzzled her anxiously, and Kero found the steadiness to reach
for Verenna and scratch her ears while she regained the last of her own
composure.  Finally she was able to take the hackamore off her own arm
and slip it over Verenna's nose without her hands shaking so much that
she'd be unable to get the band over the mare's ears.

Saddling Verenna was a matter of moments.  The mare stood on command,
quietly, as she'd been taught, while Kero slung the saddle and blanket
over her back and fastened the girth.  Chest and rump bands were next,
as Kero fumbled the buckles a little in the dark, then Kero snugged the
girth tight against her barrel.  Verenna snorted a little, but was
being remarkably well-behaved under the circumstances.

Which is just as well, Kero admitted, as she put her foot in the
stirrup and pulled herself up onto Verenna's back.  I'm not sure what
I'd do if she decided to get out of hand.

She rode the mare up to the fence, then leaned over and grabbed the
latch on the gate.  The pasture gate could be opened from horseback,
and Verenna remained quiet, though ;a little jumpy, throughout the
entire maneuver.  At least I don't have the others crowding up around
this end, waiting for a chance to bolt.  Verenna was a very
light-footed beast, and hardly made more noise than a goat as she
pivoted in place so that Kero could pull the gate shut and latch it
closed.  Kero was counting on that;

she'd need every advantage she had against the raiders.

Verenna automatically turned southward as they moved away from the gate
at a fast walk; Kero normally rode her along the game trails in the
Keep's wild lands, and the shortest way there was along the road south.
She shivered under the saddle; horses are creatures of habit, and her
world had been turned all round about this evening, first by the
invasion of strange men and horses into her pasture, then by Kero's
arrival on the heels of the chaos.  This business of riding out in the
middle of the night had the mare nervous and confused-And now Kero
confused her still further by turning her in an entirely opposite
direction to the one she expected.

Westward, not southward, and away from the hunting lands and the main
village.

She stopped, snorted again, and bucked a little.  Kero held her head
down and she fought the reins for a moment more, then settled, shaking
her head.

Poor baby, you don't know what we're doing out here in the middle of
the night, do you?  Kero let her stand for a moment until she stopped
shivering, then loosened her reins and gave her a touch of the heel.
Obedient, but still snorting a little in Protest, the mare headed into
the west, up to the least hospitable side of the valley, along a faint
track that led to the border of the Keep lands.

Their road stayed a track only so long as it lay within the Keep's
borders.  From there it turned into a goat path, then into a game
trail.

Verenna didn't like it at all; it was bordered by clumps of bushes that
swayed and rustled alarmingly, and overhung by trees that made it
difficult for either her or her rider to see the path.  Any horse bred
by the Shin'a'in nomads could pick her way across uneven ground in
conditions much worse than this, but that didn't mean she had to like
it.  Her ears were laid back, and Kero sensed by the tenseness of her
muscles that the least little disturbance would make her shy and
possibly bolt.

A spooky enough road for a visit to a witch.  Kero kept looking sharply
at every movement she caught out of the corner of her eye, and starting
a little at every sound.

She was just as bad as Verenna, when it came down to it.  This was the
way to her grandmother's home, called "Kethry's Tower."  Kero hadn't
been up this road very often, but she knew it well enough.  As a child,
she'd been taken here either pillion behind a groom, or on her own fat
pony, and the visits had been at least once a month.  Later, though, as
Lenore became ill, she'd gone no oftener than twice a year-and since
her mother's death, she hadn't gone at all.  Not that she hadn't wanted
to, but although Rathgar hadn't expressly forbidden it, he'd certainly
made his disapproval known.  Kero had her hands full running the Keep,
and somehow there never seemed to be enough time to visit her
grandmother.  And Grandmother had never sent any messages urging a
visit either, so perhaps she hadn't wanted any visitors.... And maybe
she still doesn't.  But that's a chance I'll have to take.

As Kero remembered it, the place wasn't exactly a tower; it was more
like a stone fortress somehow picked up and set into the side of a
cliff.  Kero scrubbed at her burning eyes with her sleeve, wishing that
the Keep had been as impregnable as that Tower-it always looked to her
as if it had been grown into the cliff side or perhaps carved into the
living rock, and the only access to it was along a steep, narrow
stairway.  Witch and sorceress her grandmother might be, but she took
no chances on the possibility of having unfriendly visitors.

Verenna stumbled, and Kero steadied her.  Now that they were away from
the Keep, the normal night sounds surrounded them as if nothing at all
had happened back there tonight.  Off in the distance an owl hooted,
and beyond the clopping of Verenna's hooves, Kero heard tiny
leaf-rustlings as nocturnal animals foraged for their dinners.

Mother said that Grandmother had offered to build the Keep into-
something like the Tower, and Father refused, she remembered suddenly.
Why?  He wasn't normally that stupid, to refuse help.  Was it just that
he didn't want to be any further in Grandmother's debt?

That could have been, Every thumb's length of property that Rathgar
called his own was actually his only through Lenore, and had come as
her dowry.  And he had resented it, Kero was certain of that; Rathgar
was not the kind of man who -liked to be in debt to anyone.

Stubborn, headstrong, determined to make his own way,

to depend on no one and nothing but himself, and to allow nothing to
interfere with his plans for his lands and children.

But he loved Mother, she thought, letting Verenna pick her way through
the thin underbrush.  I know he loved Mother, and not just her lands.
He used to bring her meals and feed her with his own hands when she was
too weak to even move.  He never said a cruel word to her, ever.  He
never once even looked at another woman while she was alive, and I
don't think he wanted to look at another one after she was gone.

Verenna's eyes were better in this light than Kero's were; basically
all she had to do right now was keep from &Uffig off and stay alert for
stray bandits or wild animals.

It was hard to believe that Rathgar was really dead.

Oh, Father.  She thought about all the happy times she'd spent in his
presence; how he'd taught her to hunt, how proud he'd been of her
scholarship.  He could hardly write his own name, she thought, with a
lump in her throat, yet he was so proud of me and Lordan and Mother. He
used to boast about how learned we were to his friends.

He used to tell them about how I could keep books better than Wendar,
and how Lordan was writing the family history-and then he'd drag
Lordan's chronicles out and have me read them out loud to everyone
after dinner.

And he used to tell us both how we were following in Grandfather
Jadrek's footsteps, and how respected Grandfather had been, and how we
should be proud to live up to his example.  She could see him even now,
sitting on the side of Lenore's bed, with Lordan at his right and
herself at his left, and whatever book they happened to be reading on
his lap.

"Don't be like me," he'd say, solemnly.

"Don't pass up your chance to learn.  Look at me-too ignorant to do
anything but swing a sword-if it hadn't been for your mother, I'd
probably be living in a bar somewhere, throwing out drunks by night and
mopping the floor by day.  " And with that, he'd look back over his
shoulder, and he'd stretch out his hand and gently touch lenore's
fingertips, and they'd both smile.... What happened?  she asked
herself, around the tears that choked her throat.  I know he changed
after Mother died.  Was it because I wasn't able to be like her?  He
became so critical, that's all I ever saw.  There were times when I
wondered if he hated me-and times when I wondered if he even knew I was
alive.  Maybe if I hadn't been so completely opposite from Mother,
maybe we could have gotten along better.

Verenna stopped for a moment, ears pricked forward, and Kero hastily
rubbed her eyes, then peered into the moon-dappled shadows beneath the
trees ahead of them.

She slipped her knife from its sheath as she heard a repetition of the
sound that had alerted the horse in the first place.  A rustling
noise-as if something very large was threading its way through the
brush.

A crash that sent her heart into her throat-and then it stood in the
moonlight on the path.

A stag.

Verenna shied, the stag saw them, and with a flip of its tail dove into
the brush on the other side of the trail.

Kero's heart started again, and she urged Verenna forward.

The mare didn't want to go, and was sweating when Kero forced her to
obey; but once they were past the spot where the stag had appeared, she
calmed down a bit.

Maybe it was because he thought I wasn't listening to him about
schooling, she thought, trying to calm the mare further with a firm
hand on her neck.  I know he thought I should be spending more time
reading and less with the horses.  Dammit, I passed every test the
tutor ever set me!

Is it bad that I like to be outside, that I hate being cooped up inside
four walls when I could be out doing things?

What's wrong with that?  A book's all right when the weather's foul and
there's nothing else to do, but why sit and read when the wind is
calling your name?

She'd never been able to figure that out.  Lordan, though-every chance
he had, he was at a book or driving the tutor mad with questions.  It
was as if he got all of Kero's love of learning as well as his own.

Books, dear gods, he owns more books than anyone I know.  And if he
gets his way, he's going to spend half Dierna's dower on more books.

if he's still alive to do it.

her eyes stung and watered again, and her throat knotted.

She rubbed her sleeve across her eyes, and wondered if he'd live the
night.

If I can just get Grandmother down to the Keep if she's got the kind of
power everyone seems to think she does.  Father would have had a cat if
he'd known about the stories I used to pick up in the kitchen.  They
say she built the Tower in one night, with magic, just before she moved
out of the Keep and gave it to Mother as her wedding present.  They say
she has a giant wolf and a demon lizard for familiars.  They say she
can kill you or Heal you just by looking at you.  And if only half of
that's true, she surely will have what I need to save Lordan and get
Dierna back.

Kero bent over Verenna's neck to keep from getting hit in the face by a
series of low-hanging branches, and thought about what she'd ask for.
Something that shot lightning, perhaps; a magic wand that called up
demons.

Exploding arrows?  Maybe the help of that giant wolf?

With magic even I ought to be able to get Dierna away.

And magic can surely save Lordan ... unless Grandmother doesn't care
what happens to us.

The thought made her heart freeze, and every succeeding thought seemed
worse than the first.

She never once sent a messenger or anything after Mother died.  Maybe
she was angry with Father for taking Mother away from her.  Maybe she
really hates the rest of us.  Maybe she thinks we all hate her, and
she's gone all sour and mean.  Maybe the magic has gotten to her brain,
and she's gone mad.

"Lady Kerowyn-" said a voice out of the dark.

Three

"Lady Kerowyn-" said a voice from beneath the shadows of the trees,
frightening the breath out of her, closing her throat with an icy hand.
There was no warning, no movement beside the road, just a voice coming
out of the darkness.  It was a voice as harsh as the croaking of crows,
and Kerowyn jerked, letting out an involuntary squawk of surprise as
she reined in Verenna.  The mare jumped and squealed, dancing madly
backward, but fortunately didn't bolt.

Her heart felt like a lump of frozen stone, her pulse rang in her ears
as she wrestled Verenna to a standstill.

Hands trembling on the reins, she peered at the dark shadow-shapes
under the trees; there was something there, but she couldn't even make
out if it was human or not, much less if it was male or female.  And
that voice certainly didn't tell her anything.

"Who are you?"  she replied, hoping her own voice wasn't going to
break.

"What do you want?"

"I live here," replied the voice, "which is more than I can say for
you.  What are you doing out here, beyond your father's lands, Lady
Kerowyn?  Why aren't you safe in your bed, in your father's Keep?"

It sounds like an old woman, Kero decided.  A really nasty old woman.
The kind that makes her daughter-inlaw's life a misery.  Oddly enough,
the mockery in the old woman's voice and words made her feel calmer-and
angrier.

"Which is more than I can say for you, " indeed!

"If you really live here, you know that the sorceress Lady Kethryveris
is my grandmother," she called back.

"I

need to see her, and I'd appreciate it if you got out of the way.
You're frightening my horse."

"In the middle of the night?"  the old woman retorted.

"Dressed in men's clothing?  Carrying a weapon?"  She moved out into
the middle of the path, blocking it, but still in enough shadow that
Kero couldn't see her as anything other than a cloaked and hooded
shape.

"What kind of fool's errand are you on, girl?"

Kero tightened all over with anger, inadvertently making Verenna rear
and dance.  When she got her mare and herself under a little better
control, she told the old woman of the raid, in as few words as
possible, though she wondered why she was bothering.

"I'm going to ask my grandmother for help," she finished.

"Now if you'll please get out of my way-" "Dressed like that?"  The
woman produced a short bark of a laugh, like a fox.

"I think you have something else planned.  I think you reckon to follow
after these raiders, and try to rescue this girl they took."

"And what if I do?"  Kero retorted, raising her chin angrily.

"What business is it of yours?"

"You're a fool, girl," the old woman said acidly, then hawked and spat
in the dust of the path just in front of Verenna's hooves.

"You're a moonstruck fool.  That's a job for men, not silly little
girls with their heads stuffed full of tales.  You're probably acting
out of ignorance or out of pride, and either one will get you killed.
Go back to your place, girl.  Go back to women's work.  Go back where
you belong."  ~ Every word infuriated Kero even more; she went hot,
then cold with ire, and by the time the old woman had finished, she was
too angry at first even to speak.  Verenna was no help; she reacted
both to Kero's anger and to something the mare saw-or thought she
saw-under the trees.  As Verenna danced and shied, the mare's panic
forced her to calm herself down in order to control the horse.  She
finally brought Verenna to a sweating, eye rolling standstill a scant
length from the old woman.

Whoever she was, the old hag was at least as foolhardy as she accused
Kerowyn of being, for she hadn't moved a thumb's length out of the way
during the worst of Verenna's antics.

"What I do or plan to do has nothing to do with pride," Kero said
tightly, through clenched teeth, as Verenna tossed her head and snorted
in alarm.

"There's no one left down there that's capable of riding out after her.
No one, old woman.  Not one single man able to ride and lift a weapon.
All that's down there is a handful of frightened servants and pages,
and two old, arthritic men who never learned to ride.  If I don't go
after Dierna, no one will.

If I wait until that so-called "proper" help arrives, she'll be dead,
or worse.  People who intend to ransom a captive don't ride in and try
to slaughter every able-bodied adult in the place.  I don't have a
choice, old woman."

She wanted to say more, and couldn't.  Fear stilled her voice in her
throat.  She was right-but-Everything I said is true-and-everything she
said is true.  This is going to get me killed, but I've come too far to
turn back now.

I made my choices back at the Keep.

"I made my choices, and I'm going to live or die by them," she
finished, hoping she sounded brave, but all too aware that she probably
sounded like a foolhardy braggart.

"And I'm going to see my grandmother whether you bar the way or not!"

She touched her heels to Verenna's sides, and the mare bolted forward.
The old woman stepped adroitly aside at the last possible moment, and
they cantered past her and were out of sight or hearing in a few
moments.

Kero reined the mare in as soon as she'd run out some of her nerves;
the path was still just as dark and potentially treacherous.  And the
last thing I need is for Verenna to break her leg within sight of the
Tower.  I should be in sight of the Tower by now, she thought, looking
upward through the branches of the trees.  That old woman-in tales
she'd either be a demon sent by the mage that took Dierna to turn me
back, or a creature of Grandmother's, sent to test me.  If she's a
demon, the next thing will be a whole swarm of them after me-The back
of her neck crawled at that thought, and she could not resist the
temptation to stop, turn, and look down the path behind her.

Nothing.  Just the moving shadows of tree limbs, and an owl winging
silently across the road.  Even Verenna seemed calmer, no longer
fighting the reins, no longer sweating.

So much for the tales, she thought, a little embarrassed by her wild
fears.  Sometimes a crazy old woman is just a crazy old woman.

The Tower was exactly as Kero remembered it; or at least, the little of
it she could see in the darkness was exactly as she remembered. Halfway
up the side of the cliff, a single light burned beside the door.  There
might have been a fainter light coming from a curtained or shuttered
window above that, but it was too faint for Kero to be sure it was
there.

Verenna whickered inquisitively as she dismounted.

The trees and brush had been cut away for several lengths at the bottom
of the cliff, leaving a wide expanse of meadow.  Not a carefully
manicured and tended meadow though; this one was knee-high in grass and
wildflowers, and looked very much like a natural clearing.

The moon shone down on this swath of grass unhindered by brush or
trees, making it possible for Kero to see quite clearly.  There was a
hitching post beside the beginning of the staircase; a steep, narrow,
open stone stair.  Not even a Shin'a'in-bred horse was going to be able
to negotiate that; it was barely wide enough for a single human.

And it's a ~ thing I have a head for heights, she thought soberly,
eyeing the stair dubiously.  Oh, well..  ..

She tethered Verenna to the hitching post, giving her enough lead-rope
so that she'd be able to graze a little.

It's too late for wolves, and too early for mountain-cats.

I hope.  Once again she looked back down the path, and once again saw
and heard nothing out of the ordinary.

She turned and started up the staircase, with one hand on the rough
stone wall, resolutely looking at the steps and not over the open side.
The stone beneath her hand was still warm from the afternoon sun.  She
forced herself to hurry as much as she dared, taking the relatively
shallow steps two at a time; she'd have run, but the footing' was too
uncertain and the light was deceptive.

By the time she reached the top, she was feeling the strain in her
legs.  She paused for a moment to square her shoulders and lift her
chin, then hefted the cold metal ring set into the door, and knocked.
The first blow sounded dull, as if the door was a lot thicker than it
looked.

The door began to open before she had a chance to finish the second
knock.  She released the iron ring hastily, before it could be snatched
out of her hand.

A lantern she had not seen bloomed into life beside the door as it
opened.  The soft yellow light fell on a silver-haired, green-eyed
woman who bore a strong resemblance to Kero's mother Lenore.  Except
for her hair, she showed few signs of age; she was as slim and erect in
her soft blue-velvet gown as any girl, and moved gracefully, if slowly.
There were a few crow's-feet around her eyes, concentration-lines on
her brow, and smile-lines at either corner of her mouth, but otherwise
her face was unwrinkled.  She was exactly as Kero remembered her which
was eerie.  She should have shown some signs of increasing age....
"Kerowyn?"  The sorceress frowned.

"I knew there was something wrong, but-never mind.  Come in."

Kero edged cautiously past her grandmother, careful not to touch her,
and tried not to stare.  There was no telling what she'd take offense
at, and Kero had to keep repeating to herself that this strange,
ageless woman was her grandmother.  I can't believe she still looks
like this.

Mother looked older, and not just because she was so sick.  Kethry
turned away to close the door, and Kero took the opportunity to glance
around while her back was turned.

There was no anteroom; she found herself in some kInd of public room
that took up the entire bottom floor of the Tower.  It was full of
comfortable clutter, the kind of things Kero would have expected to
find in any woman's rooms.  Ordinary things; an embroidery frame by the
window, a basket of yarn and knitting beside the fire, cushions piled
carelessly everywhere.  What furniture there was tended to be worn,
overstuffed, and looked as if it saw heavy use.  Kero shivered despite
the unexpected warmth of the room.  The lighting was concentrated near
the fire, leaving the rest of the room in shadow, and Kero wasn't
certain she wanted to look too deeply into any of those shadows.

Kethry closed the door with a dull thud, but did not shoot the bolt
home.  Kero looked back at her, hoping she hadn't noticed her
granddaughter's wandering attention.

She turned with a frown on her face, though Kero could not tell if it
was because of her, or for some other reason.  Kero clasped her hands
behind her back, nervously, and waited for her grandmother to speak.

"I felt something-wrong-down in the valley," Kethry said vaguely, her
brow creased and her eyes looking somewhere past Kero's shoulder.

"Something magic, I've been expecting a messenger, since I pledged

Rathgar when he wed Lenore that I would not enter his domain
uninvited-but I didn't expect that messenger to be you.  ' She promised
Father-dear Agnira!  Kero took a deep breath, and stored that bit of
information away for later.

If there was a later.  She looks so odd-blessed Trine, I hope she
hasn't gone senile- "I'm the only one fit to ride, Lady Kethryveris,"
she began.

"Grandmother," Kethry interrupted tartly, her focus sharpening for a
moment.

"I am your grandmother.  It won't hurt to say so.  Sit," she continued,
gesturing at a bench by the door as she took a seat opposite it.

"What happened down there that they sent you to bring me word?  " Kero
nodded, a shiver of real fear going up her back, and gulped.  No, she's
not senile.  If she still admits she's my grandmother-wants to admit
it-maybe she will help us- "Grandmother, nobody sent me.  Nobody could
send me.  I came by myself It's-it's horrible-" She told the story a
second time, watching as Kethry grew more and more distant-and more and
more collected-with every word.  By the time she was halfway through,
her grandmother looked like the powerful, remote creature the stories
made her out to be.  And Kerowyn continued, a sick, leaden feeling in
the pit of her stomach, trying not to break down in front of this
self-possessed, regal woman.

But she began to relive the tale as she told it.  Her stomach churned,
and her throat began to close with harshly suppressed sobs.

I have to get through this.  I have to make her believe me.  I can't do
that if I'm crying like a baby.

She managed to sound relatively calm, or at least she thought she did,
until she got to the part where she'd first come up from the kitchen.
She faltered; stammered a little-then clenched her teeth and plowed
onward.

But she kept seeing the bodies-And then she came to the part where she
saw her own family fallen victim; first Lordan, then Rathgar.

That was too much; she lost every bit of her composure and fell
completely apart.

There was a brief flurry of movement as her grandmother rose-and warm
arms clasped and held her.

She found herself sobbing into a blue-velvet covered shoulder, found
her grandmother holding her as no one had held her since her mother
died.  It was something she hadn't known she needed until it
happened-She cried all the tears and fears she'd held in since this
nightmare began; cried until her eyes were swollen and sore and her
nose felt raw.  Kethry didn't say a word, simply held her, stroking her
hair from time to time, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that
she freed herself from that comforting embrace to finish the story.

She had to do so with her eyes shut tightly against the tears that
threatened to come again, her throat thick, and her hands knotted into
fists.

"Are you going to be all right?"  Kethry asked when she had finished.

Kero took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and shrugged.

"I'll have to be," she replied.

"I told you, I'm the only one left."

Kethry nodded, pushed her down into a chair, and narrowed her eyes-and
turned from comforter to something far different.

The sorceress' face lost all animation.  She cooled, she became somehow
remote.

"The men," she said dispassionately.

"Describe them again.  " "They didn't look like much," Kero replied,
falteringly.  " Ratty looking.  Like bandit-scum, the kind we'd never
hire, except that their armor was awfully good.  It wasn't new, but it
wasn't dirty enough for them to have had it long."

"No badges, no insignia?"

"Not that I saw," she said, hardly knowing what to think.

"How did it fit them?"  her grandmother persisted.

"What?"  Now Kero really was perplexed.  Her grandmother looked
impatient.

"You're no dunce, child, how did it fit them?  Well, or badly?  Too
big, too small, places where it was just held together by jury-rig
straps?"

"Uh-" Now that she thought back on it, the armor for the most part had
fit badly, gaping places where it was too small on some men, too-large
mail shirts spilling over knuckles on others.

"Badly, mostly."

"Ah.  Are you sure you don't want to go back and see if there's someone
that can go after Dierna besides you?"

She gave Kero a measuring look.

"You look to me as if you've done enough already.  I wouldn't say
you're up to this, personally."

"No," Kero said as forcefully as she could.

Kethry nodded, and changed the subject.

"Did it seem as if anyone was the leader?"

The questioning went on until Kero was ready to scream for the wasted
time.  And Kethry kept asking her if she was certain she didn't want to
go back.  She answered everything as honestly as she could, but it
almost seemed as if her grandmother was now looking for an excuse to
dismiss her and her plea out of hand, before she'd even had a chance to
voice it.  She certainly was just as discouraging and disparaging as
the old woman down on the trail had been.

She's not going to listen; she thinks this was all Father's fault and
she doesn't care what happens to the rest of us.  Kero was shaking now;
there was a light in Kethry's eyes that she didn't in the least like.
Hard, and cold-uncaring?

Perhaps.  The sorceress' face was unreadable.

Still, when Kethry seemed to have come to the end of her questions and
stood up to pace back and forth with her arms crossed, deep in thought,
Kero took a deep breath, and made her carefully rehearsed speech before
her grandmother could tell her to take herself off.

I'll never have another chance" Grandmother," she said urgently, "I
have to go after Dierna.  If I don't-there won't be anything left of
the family by the time her uncle gets done with blood-feud.

He might leave me alive-but not Lordan.  " Kethry blinked, and seemed
to shake herself out of an entrancement.

"I actually know that, child," she said dryly.

"I've had dealings with Baron Reichert before.

That man wouldn't be satisfied if he devoured the world.

In fact-never mind.  I'll tell you later.  So what do you want out of
me?"

"Help!  " Kero cried.

"Lordan won't live out the night without a Healer-and I need help, too.
A magic weapon.

something that will make it possible for me to get Dierna away from
those bandits-" A lightning-caller, a tame demon-something that can
attack them from a distance so I don't have to get too close.

"They aren't bandits, girl," Kethry interrupted, her brow creased with
a frown.

"At least, that mage isn't.

Whoever, whatever he is, he's good, he hid his presence from me right
up to the time of the attack-and he wants a virgin girl for something.
I would guess he was hired, and the girl is his price for this night's
work.  I suspect your father made one enemy too many, and that enemy
has decided to extract a complete revenge and end him and his line.  Or
else-" She gave Kero a sharp glance, and didn't complete her surmise.

There's something she knows that I don't, Kero realized suddenly.
Something she isn't going to tell me.

"I

still need a weapon, Grandmother," she persisted.

"And Lordan-" "Lordan will survive until I get there," the sorceress
said abruptly, turning so quickly that Kero's heart jumped.

"Trust me on that.  And as for your going after those bandits-what
makes you think you can do anything?

You aren't trained in magery or weaponry."

"I have to try," Kero said stubbornly.

"I have to.

There's no one else, and you told me what Dierna's uncle-" " Why you?"
Kethry repeated.

"Why not me?"  Kero stood up, as tall as her shaking knees were
permitting, and raised her chin defiantly.

"Why not me-if you'll help, I can do it.  You did more with less when
you were my age."

She was all worked up and ready to say a lot more, but to her surprise,
Kethry nodded.

"There's truth in that, child," her grandmother said softly.

"More truth than you know.  And now I know who it is I've been waiting
for all these years.... Waiting?  For" Stay there."  The sorceress
crossed the room to one of the shadow-shrouded corners, and bent over a
chest, opening it with a creak of iron hinges.

She turned with a long, slender shape in her hands, and as she moved
into the light again, Kerowyn could see that it was a sword.  Not a
very impressive blade; the hilt was plain leather-wrapped metal, and
the sheath was just as plain.

"Here," Kethry said, holding it out to her.

"Let's see if she'll take to you."

She?  Kero reached forward to take the hilt without thinking, and as
she clasped it, Kethry pulled away the sheath.

For a moment, no more than a breath, writing blazed up on the blade
itself, as fiery and white-hot as if the sword had just come from the
heart of a forge.  Kero gasped, but Kethry only nodded, unsurprised.

"She wants you all right, child.  You're the only one of my daughters
or granddaughters she's spoken for.  She's yours now-or you're hers.  "
Kethry slid the sheath back over the now perfectly ordinary looking
blade.

"Take your pick.  When she speaks, I don't think anybody denies her."

"What did it say?"  Kero asked, aware of-something in the back of her
mind.  A testing-but distracted by what her grandmother had just said.
Granddaughters?

Daughters?  I thought Mother" Woman's Need calls me, as Woman's Need
made me.

Her Need will I answer as my maker bade me.  " Kethry tilted her head
sideways to fix Kero with a penetrating stare.

"This is my sword Need, Granddaughter-the sword I wore for most of my
life.  Your sword, now; for well or ill, you're bound to her like
you'll never be bound to another living thing, man or woman.  But I
don't think you'll rue the bargain.  " Kerowyn almost dropped the sword
in her surprise.

This was Kethry's famous blade?  Even she had heard stories about this
sword.

"B-b-but I don't know how to-" "You won't have to," Kethry said
confidently.

"She'll take care of you.  At least in this instance she will-well,
you'll see."

Kero managed to stop gaping and slid the sheath onto her belt, removing
the old blade she'd taken from Lordan's armory.

"Grandmother," she said slowly, looking from the sword to Kethry and
back again.

"A few moments ago you wanted me to go back home.  Now you've given me
this-and you're all but throwing me after those raiders.  Why?"

Kethry clasped her hands behind her, and stepped back a few paces,
looking Kero up and down with a distinctly satisfied expression.

"I was testing you," she said calmly.

"What you're about to do is going to change your life forever.  Oh,
don't look so skeptical; I know what I'm talking about.  It will.  And
the road you're about to take is not for the fainthearted.  But you
seem to be made of stronger stuff than poor Lenore.  " Kethry nodded,
slowly.

"Yes indeed.  I think you'll do."

What happened?

One moment, Kero was standing in the middle of Kethry's Tower, staring
at her grandmother.  Then there was a moment of dizziness, as if the
floor had dropped out from beneath her, and she found herself here, at
the foot of the stairs.

She blinked, and the moonlit meadow wavered a little in front of her
eyes.  Dizzy-blessed Trine- She staggered two steps forward, her hand
outstretched in front of her, stopping herself on Verenna's shoulder.
The mare snorted in alarm and jumped, as if she hadn't known Kero was
there until that moment.

The dizziness vanished.  She looked up suddenly, only to see the light
in the Tower blink out, leaving it entirely dark.

"Gods."  She stared up at the Tower, but could make nothing out in the
shadows-and something told her that if she climbed all the way back up
again, she could pound her fists bloody on that door and never raise a
soul.  She'd gotten all the answer she was going to get, at least for
now.

She looked back down at the sword hanging from her belt.  It was not
the one she'd gotten from the Keep.  It was the one she remembered her
grandmother giving her.

She stroked the mare's neck to calm her.

"I think I've been dismissed, Verenna," she said quietly.

"I didn't get the answer I came for-" But maybe I got a better one, she
thought slowly.  And at any rate, it's the only one I'm going to get.

She clenched her jaw, and mounted before she could turn coward.

"Come on, girl," she said to the mare, turning her back down the trail,
the way they had come.

"We've got a hard ride in front of us."

Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Kal'enedral warrior of the

Shin'a'in Clan of the Hawk, urged her tall gray war steed a little
faster up the back trail to Kethry's Tower.  The mare snorted an
objection as she moved from an amble into a running walk; she didn't
like taking the back way at night, and she didn't like to be rushed at
the end of a journey.

"You're going to like what's coming up even less, old girl," Tarma told
the mare, patting her coarse-coated neck.

"You only think you're getting a warm stable and a rest.  I'm afraid
we're going to be turning right back around as soon as we find out what
my partner's planning.

"So you're going to follow the girl?"  asked a rough voice as familiar
to her as her own in the back of her mind, a voice carrying overtones
of approval.

"Good.  I like her; I'd have followed her alone if you'd refused.  She
has courage."

"oH, that, certainly.  Lots of guts, not too many brains, but that's
the way of things when you're young," Tarma retorted to the shaggy,
calf-sized beast trotting along with its head level with her stirrup.

The kyree turned its lupine head up so that his great glowing eyes met
hers, and blinked.

"Exactly.  Reminds me very much of a certain barbarian Shin'a'in I knew
many years ago."

"Barbarian?"  Tarma exclaimed, as her mare's ears swiveled back with
surprise.

"Who's calling who a barbarian?

You're the one who eats his meat raw.  And fish blessed Goddess, that's
a vile thought."

"Cooking ruins the flavor," Warrl replied haughtily.

"Some of the most civilized beings in the world eat their _fish raw."

"Dear Goddess.  No wonder they die young.  Yes, I'm going after her.  I
just want to find out what Keth has in mind for both of us."  Tarma
reminded her mare with a touch of her heels that she was supposed to be
trotting.

The mare grunted, and grudgingly increased her speed.

"Have you picked up anything more from Keth's mage-alerts down on the
Keep?"

-No."  Warrl, creature of the magic-riddled Pelagir Hills, had some
mage-abilities of his Own; how much, he'd never told Tarma or her
partner.  He'd been able to throw off magical attacks in the past that
would have killed a man.  He'd once managed to feign death, pull Tarma
out of a demon-sent trance, and smell the presence of mage-energy.  He
was also able to speak mindtomind with Tarma-which meant, she assumed,
that he could do so with anyone he chose.

She'd been quite grateful for those abilities in the past, and never
more so than tonight.  She'd actually been within a couple of leagues
of the Tower, returning from her annual visit to Clan Tale'sedrin, when
Warrl had sensed the alarms Kethry had placed on the Keep sound in a
danger-signal.  They'd pushed their pace, knowing Keth was going to
need them-only to have Warrl sense the girl riding hell-for-leather
straight for the Tower herself.

He knew her, of course; he knew all of Kethry's children and
grandchildren, whether or not they knew him.  He'd played spy for
Kethry often enough; Rathgar didn't know of the kyree's existence, and
what he didn't know about, he couldn't forbid.  Warrl's excursions to
the Keep were often the only things that kept Keth from violating her
sworn word.

They'd stopped Kerowyn easily enough; even a Shin'a'in-bred horse
didn't readily pass something as large and carnivorous as a kyree.
Tarma had played a part then; testing her while she and Warrl extracted
information from the girl's words and mind.  Tarma had sensed the
despair in her voice, the fear she had been trying to cover with
bravado.

Poor child, the Shin'a'in thought, wishing she was already guarding the
"child's" back.  Wishing she'd dared to be sympathetic.  She wasn't
ready for this.  I'm glad you intercepted her," the kyree said,
evidently following her thoughts.

"She still might have tried something like this if she'd been as
feather-headed and stuffed full of tales as you accused her of being.
If she'd been like her mother-" "She isn't, Star-Eyed be thanked."
Tarma had very little use for Lenore, living or dead.  But then, while
Lenore had been alive, the antipathy had been mutual.  Contempt on
Tarma's side, fear mingled with disdain on Lenore's.  Warrl teased his
mind-mate by calling her a barbarian; Lenore had meant it.

"Lenore wouldn't have done anything other than faint, though.  And have
hysterics.

Girl's well rid of that father, though the boy has promise.  We'll get
her through this one, then we'll see she finds out about her kin and
Clan-then she can make up her mind about what she really wants to do
with herself.  ~ " Get her through this one first," the kyree
interrupted.

She is brave, and resourceful, but-" "But, my rump.  I did more with
less at her age."

Tarma said, with more certainty than she felt.  She's what, sixteen,
seventeen?  No real weapons' training?  Dear gods, I was trained all my
life, then retrained by the leshya'e Kal'enedralUncomfortable thoughts.
Best to get all the plans straight, then go see that the girl survived
this quest of hers.  She nudged the mare again, bringing her up to a
canter.  The mare knew every pebble of the way from this point, and
Tarma didn't want to waste any time getting on Kerowyn's back trail
Warrl barked once, then put on the wild burst of speed of which his
kind was capable, and sprinted ahead of her toward the dark, craggy
bulk of the cliff housing the Tower.

When Tarma pulled her mare up at cliff-side, Warrl was nowhere in
sight, which meant he'd gone on ahead.

"The lady is saddling up," came his mental call, thinned by rock and
distance.

"We are in the stable."  Light from a full moon directly overhead
showed that the path here curved around the side of what looked to be
sheer rock face, heading toward the stair that led to the Tower
itself.

The rough granite gave lodging-room here only to occasional scrub trees
and bushes, and a little moss.  There was no sign whatsoever of a
stable.

Which was, of course, exactly as Kethry intended.

The mare tossed her head, as Tarma dismounted stiffly, her right hip
aching a little from the long ride.  It would have been nice if this
mess had managed to happen some time next week, she reflected
wistfully, trying to flex some mobility back into her legs.  Give me a
chance to get a hot bath ... my own bed fora few nights... Ah, I'm
getting soft in my old age.

As often as she pulled this trick, the mare still balked when it came
to going through the hidden entrance.

Tarma pulled off the scarf that had held her hair out of her eyes all
day, and blindfolded the mare with it.

And walked into the side of the cliff, leading the docile horse.

This trick wouldn't work for just anyone, of course;

only those Keth had keyed into the spell.  For anyone else, that
granite cliff-face wasn't illusion, it was real, and solid enough to
climb.  Tarma still hadn't made up her mind about it, and like the
mare, she didn't much enjoy passing through it.  She kept thinking that
one day something was going to go wrong, and she'd get stuck halfway
through.

Three steps through absolute darkness, then she and her mare emerged
into the tunnel that led to the Tower's stables.  The tunnel, the
stable, and the "door" were the only extravagances Keth permitted
herself in the way of magic.  The tunnel and stable had been carved
from the living rock by magic, and were illuminated by permanent
witch-lights.  The rock walls of the tunnel were planed and polished
until the granite shone like marble, and the yellow globes of
witch-lights brightened just ahead of her and dimmed after she had
passed.

"Austere, but attractive, " was what Warrl had called it.  It gave
Tarma a case of claustrophobia.

Her footsteps and the mare's echoed up and down the tunnel, announcing
their arrival.  Oddly enough, the Tower-which everyone seemed to think
Keth had magicked into place-had already been here when they'd first
had their schools at what was now the Keep.  Besides the obvious way
in, there'd been an escape route down through the cellars.  That was
what Keth had enlarged into the stables and tunnel, and had concealed
with her magic.

The end of the tunnel was considerably brighter than the tunnel itself;
Tarma blinked a little when she led the mare out into the stable
proper.  As Warrl had advised, Kethry was already at work; she'd
already saddled her mount and loaded it with packs of medicinal gear.
KethrY was no fool; she'd changed into one of her old traveling
outfits; knee-length hooded robe and breeches, both of soft, but sturdy
beige wool.  Now the sorceress had gotten her gray war steed to kneel
so that she could mount the mare's saddle.  While Tarma might still be
able to mount unaided, these days Keth couldn't, and made no pretenses
about the fact.

Poor Keth.  She moves so gracefully no one ever guesses how much her
bones ache.

"We are not what we were, mind-mate," Warrl acknowledged ruefully.  He
had flung himself down beside the cool stone wall where he lay panting
after his run.

Now that he was in the light, he was even more impressive;

not even a wolfhound or the gras scats of the Dhorisha Plains could
best him for size.  He could-and had-snapped a man's leg in half with
those formidable jaws.

"Your timing couldn't have been better, she'enedra, the sorceress said,
as her mare heaved herself to her feet.

"I saw you were almost home when I checked this morning, then when I
sensed the trouble in the valley, I checked on you first, and caught
your little conversation with Kerowyn.  " She checked all the
fastenings on the packs as she spoke, making sure nothing was going to
come loose.

"I'm going to the Keep to see what I can do-" "Don't worry, I just came
down here to tell you I'll be playing guardian to the girl," Tarma
interrupted.

"You didn't have to ask."

"She isn't as helpless as you might think," Kethry said, knotting her
long silver hair up on the back of her head and pinning it there
securely.  She turned her emerald eyes on her partner, and Tarma for
once could not read them.

"So?"  She raised an eyebrow.

-Need woke for her."

Silence.  Four daughters, a host of granddaughters and fosterlings-not
to mention all the students-not one of which woke even a spark from
that piece of tin.  Dear and most precious gods.  For once the damned
thing picked a good time to poke its nose in!

If a sword has a nose.

Tarma took a deep breath, quite well aware that her oath bound sister
was waiting for some kind of reaction.

"She's neither fighter nor mage.  So what's it going to do for her?"

Kethry wheeled her mare and got her head pointed toward the tunnel.

"Whatever it has to.  Protect her from magic, make her fight like a
hellcat.  Probably more than that, things I didn't know it could do.
All I do know for certain is that with the lives of not one, but two
young women depending on it, Need is going to stretch to its limits.  "
Tarma considered that for a moment.

"In that case, I'd better get on my way.  And young Lordan isn't
getting any better for you standing there.  " When Kethry didn't move,
Tarma frowned.

"There's something you're not telling me."

The sorceress grimaced.

"I think Rathgar was betrayed.

I told Kero that whoever hired the mage and the bandits to pull this
raid was probably one of Rathgar's enemies, but I lied to her.  I think
it was Dierna's uncle.

That Reichert bastard' " Tarma blinked-and swore an oath strong enough
to make the witch-lights dim for a moment.

"It all makes sense, doesn't it-the fact that the raiders knew about
the feast tonight and that almost everyone would be unarmed.

That they knew where everything was.  And that bastard has wanted the
Keep since I can't remember when.  I didn't like Rathgar, but he
deserved better than that.  " "

"That bastard' probably wouldn't be too upset if Dierna's father
happened to die and the collateral lands came to him either," Kethry
pointed out grimly.

"Basically, I think you'd better stay alert for other surprises-and if
you can find anything linking him to this massacre, bring it back."

Tarma nodded.

"I'll keep my nose to the ground."

Kethry's troubled eyes cleared, and she urged her horse down the
tunnel.

"That takes a lot of worry off my mind.

I'll go do what I can for Lordan.  " "And I'll keep our young sword
bearer in one piece."

Tarma mounted up, much to the displeasure of her horse, and followed
her out into the night.

"And may the gods ride with all of us."

Four

The moon was down, but Tarma had no problem following Warrl.  Any time
she lost him, he'd be sure to set her right with acidic delight.  She
was far more concerned with her mare's footing in the uncertain light.
One false step and the rescue could be ended with a broken foreleg.

Shin'a'in-bred horses were damned canny, but accidents could still
happen to anyone.

She was glad now she'd left her old mare back with the Clan two years
ago, and had taken a younger beast.

This was the fourth war steed to carry the name "Hellsbane, " but she
was the best so far.  Though lazier by nature than the other three, she
had keener senses, a superior level of good sense, and an uncanny knack
for path-finding.

Warrl was up to his usual high standards; despite a confused trail, he
had picked up Kero's track with very little problem.  He might be as
old as Tarma, but there was nothing wrong with his nose.

I can't imagine how that girl is finding the bandits' trail, though.
That had her sorely puzzled.  She's a good enough hunter, but not that
good, and not by night" The sword?"  Warrl suggested absently.

"Kethry said that we don't know all it can do.  We've never seen it in
the hands of someone entirely untrained."

Tarma snarled a little at the thought of the blade that had caused her
and her she'enedra so much trouble, and agreed.  I'll tell you,
Furface, I've never been entirely happy about that blade.  It has too
much of a mind of its own.  Damn thing came awfully close to getting
Keth killed a time or two.

"The Hawkbrothers call it a "spirit-sword, "" Warrl reminded her, as he
stopped at a crossroads to cast around for the scent.

"I have often thought it to be more than a geas-blade.  But your
Star-Eyed bound you two, despite Kethry's previous link to it, so I
presume it isn't inimical, only-hmm-stubborn?"

Tarma grimaced at the kyree's choice of words.  Maybe.

Whatever, I'm glad now that the damn thing does have a mind of its own.
The only two females in peril for leagues around are Kero and her
brother's bride.

There're no women in that bandit group, right?

"I have not scented any," the kyree confirmed, loping off on the fork
to the west.

Tarma urged her horse to follow.  Then the goal and the target are
clear.  There's nothing to confuse the issue.

And Kero is going to need all the help she can get.

"We two are not precisely useless."  The path was leading off into the
hills, and presently vanished.  Warrl continued to follow with his nose
along the bare ground, swiftly and silently.

It was as dark as the inside' of a cat with the moon down.  Tarma
relaxed, rested, trusting to the senses of her mount and Warrl.

"Halt."

Tarma reacted instantly, and so did her mare.  She peered into the
darkness ahead of her, and could barely make out a moving blot against
the lighter expanse of scrub grass and dirt ahead.

What's up?  she thought at him.  She could not speak mind-to-mind, but
he could and did read her thoughts.

They'd used that little talent of his on more than one scouting
foray.

"Interesting.  She dismounted here."  Tarma eased herself down out of
her saddle, and winced a little when she put weight on her bad leg. She
led the mare up to Warrl as quietly as she could to keep from
distracting him.  He raised his head and sniffed the breeze just as she
got there.

"Fascinating.  We are somewhere near the bandits' camp.  I can scent
smoke and many humans, and weary horses.  And old blood, and I think,
Dierna.  Which means the girl Kerowyn somehow knew they were nearby...
" He put nose to ground again.

"The sword, I presume, alerted her.  Or possibly is guiding her.

Or controlling her, Tarma thought sardonically, thinking of times
past.

over like that.  I thought-I thought it would just sort of show me how
to do things-This wasn't what she'd planned at all.  She looked at the
blade in her hand and the blood on it with revulsion.

She wanted to drop it right there-But then, just before she did,
another thought occurred to her.

I was going to ask Grandmother for a weapon, or a demon.  Would this
bandit be any less dead if I'd hit him with a lightning bolt, or let a
demon eat him?  What makes it any better if I kill him with my own
hands, or do it from a distance?

It wasn't better, of course-And he hurt and killed my people.  Maybe
even somebody I knew.  She steeled herself, steadied her hands, and
forced herself to clean the blade on his tunic.  He could have chosen
an honest living.  He's helping keep Dierna captive.  He had a choice,
he made it.  And I'm making mine.

She went back on hands and knees and eased through the brush toward the
camp, making as little sound as possible.  Her hands were getting full
of stickers, and her knees were bruised by rocks-but it was no worse
than some of the injuries she'd picked up berrying or training Verenna.
So far.

So far, thanks to the sword, she'd been lucky.

Thanks to the sword.  It still made her skin crawl to think how it
would probably take her over again.  She didn't have a choice, not if
she was going to rescue Dierna, but she didn't like it at all.  It just
takes over with no warning.  And what else does this thing do that I
don't know about?  What if it turns me into some kind of monster?

But her grandmother trusted it.

There's no reason not to trust it, I guess, she thought, as a cramp
seized her leg.  She stopped and eased her leg out straight, waiting
for a moment until it went away.

But I can't help but wonder how much Grandmother really knew about it.
Maybe it hid things from her, too.

A cheerful thought.

Just then she reached the edge of a drop-off, with a screening of brush
at the edge.  Bright yellow firelight silhouetting the bushes warned
her that the camp was just beyond them.  She wormed her way under the
shelter one of the biggest (and prickliest) of them.  It was not an
easy job.  Tiny twigs caught in her hair and scratched her face;
exposed roots caught on her belt and tunic-lacings and held her back.

Finally she reached the edge.  The branches of the bushes drooped here,
down over the drop-off, making a kind of screen of leaves and twigs
between her and the fire.  Lifting one branch out of the way,
cautiously, she peered down at the camp below, blinking against the
sudden light.

Closest to her and about a length below her were a half-dozen men,
roaring drunk, playing some kind of game with dice or knucklebones. Two
were standing; the rest were sitting or kneeling in a rough circle,
watching one of their number cast and cast again.  They had tossed
their armor aside in a heap right below her, up against the side of the
low bluff she hid on.  They were filthy, unshaven, and dressed in a
motley collection of clothing, some of which had probably been very
fine at one time, all of which was now stained, tattered, and so dirty
she wouldn't have used it to clean the stable floor.

Beyond them was another collection of similar scum sprawled at
fireside, sharing the contents of a wineskin, and squabbling over a
heap of loot from the Keep.  Then came the fire-badly built, part of it
smoking, part roaring and beyond the fire-Dierna.

Her bright scarlet dress made a brilliant splash of color that
attracted Kero's eyes immediately.  She lay half on her side, her
pretty face a frozen mask of fear, tumbled at the feet of a tall, thin
man in long red robes, the skirt of his robes split fore and aft for
riding.  He sat on a boulder, sharpening a knife, paying no attention
to the antics of his men.  Nor, strangely enough, to Dierna, although
her legs were exposed to the thigh by the way her dress had torn and
fallen open when she'd collapsed (or been flung) at his feet.

He reached down, as Dierna shrank away from him, and grabbed a lock of
her long, unbound dark hair.  He yanked her back toward him with it
tangled cruelly in his fingers-Kero watched her clench her teeth and
wince-and cut the lock off with a single stroke of his knife.

Kero bit her lip with sudden speculation.  That wasn't what she'd
expected him to do.

As she watched, he rose from his impromptu kicking Dierna out of the
way impatiently, and took the lock of hair to a flat rock just inside
the ring of fire Maybe one of these bastards will go for his back, she
thought hopefuly.  Having a girl within reach must be driving them mad.
If one of them tries something, makes a move for her, that's sure to
start a fight.  Either the one holding her will react, or one of the
others-either way, once a fight starts, it's bound to spread.  If that
happens maybe I can get in there and get her out while the fighting's
going on.

But the bandits ignored the robed man; ignored Deirna, which was even
odder.  Even if this strange man-Mage.

This has to be the mage.

-even if this strange mage had given orders leaving Dierna alone, scum
like this would not have been able to ignore her.  They'd have been
watching her waiting for the mage's back to be turned, hoping for a
chance at her.  But she might as well not have been there.  They
weren't ignoring her-they acted as if they didn't see her.

Kero turned her startled attention back to the That flat rock-he had
some kind of paraphemalia out on it, as if it were an altar.  He set
the lock on a brazier in the middle of the rock, picked up something
Kero couldn't make out, and began making over the burning hair.

I don't like this.  I don't like this at all.

A moment later the hair on the back of her neck was rising, as a
circular boundary around the rock began to glow, as if he had piled up
a circle of dark red e The strange light pulsed at first, then settled
down into a steady, sullen glow.  There was one small gap in the
circle, and the mage put his instrument down as soon as the glow of the
boundary settled, and strode through He returned to his boulder, his
steps hurried and betraying a certain impatience; he shot out his hand
and pulled Diema to her feet by her bound wrists.  She made a sound
that carried above the rest of the noise of the camp-and not one of the
bandits looked up.

I like this even less.

The mage dragged the young girl stumbling along behind him, then pushed
her through the gap in the boundary.

He cleared the flat rock of encumbrances with a single sweep of his
free hand, then kicked her feet out from under her and forced her down
beside it.  He waved his hand again, and the gap in the boundary closed
as fire burned from each end of the arc and met in the middle.

Then he pulled a knife from the sleeve of his robe, seized Dierna's
head by the hair, and before Kero could take a breath, slashed Dierna's
cheek from eye to chin.

For one moment, Kero was paralyzed, with herself and the sword warring
to take over her body and act.  And in that moment of indecision,
someone-or something-else acted.

Outside the circle of firelight, a wild clamor went up.

It was a heartbeat later that Kero recognized the sounds for the voices
of half a dozen horses screaming with fear.

The thunder of hooves was all the warning the bandits got before an
entire herd of them, blind with panic, stampeded through the camp. Then
the campfire went up in a shower of colored ball-lightning and huge
sparks and explosions just as they hammered past, and they panicked
further, scattering in all directions.

And as if that wasn't chaos enough, one of the revelers fell into the
fire with a bubbling shriek of pain, clutching his throat.

And the bandits panicked as badly as the horses.

That's an arrow!  Kero realized, in the heartbeat before her attention
was caught again by Dierna and the mage that held her.  There's someone
else out there-someone with a grievance and a bow.

But she had no chance to think about it, because the mage caught her
attention again.  Something-a cloud of smoke, or blood-colored
mist-rose up out of the stone.

It was the height of a man, and as broad as two men, and it was lit
fitfully from within, like the clouds on a summer night flickering with
heat lightning.  The mage stepped back, releasing the girl; it gathered
itself, coiling and rearing up exactly like a snake about to strike.
Then it lunged forward and fastened itself on the blood dripping cut on
Dierna's cheek.

Dierna screamed-high, shrill, the way a rabbit screams when it is about
to die.

Kero couldn't move; now she was as paralyzed with fear as Dierna.  But
she didn't need to, for the moment she stopped fighting it, the sword
took over.

It flung her out of the bushes, rolling down the bluff in a controlled
tumble that somehow brought her up onto her feet just as she reached
the bottom.  The fire was still exploding, though fitfully; a handful
of horses were still trampling anything in their way as they circled
wildly through the camp, and there was more than enough confusion for
her to get halfway across the campsite before anyone even noticed
her.

And even then, the bandits had troubles of their own, for that unknown
ally out in the dark was letting fly with arrow after carefully placed
arrow, picking off raiders with impressive regularity.  There were at
least three down on the ground that weren't moving, and two more
clutching their sides and screaming.  One of the bandits saw her, and
charged right at her-And stopped dead, as Kero raised her own sword
against him, without pausing in her headlong charge.

Whatever he saw turned his face as pale as milk; he turned, and ran out
into the darkness.

That happened twice more as she half ran, half stumbled across the
bandit camp, dodging fear-maddened horses and the fires set by the
explosions in the campfire.

A few unfortunates managed to get in Kero's way.  The sword did not
grant them a second chance.  By now Kero wasn't even trying to fight
the sword; she was still wild with fear, but there was a kind of heady
exhilaration about this, too; she hardly noticed the men getting in her
way except as targets to be dealt with, as impersonal as Dent's set of
pells in the armory.

She dodged around the now-blazing campfire, vaulted a body, cut down a
fool who tried to bar her way with nothing but a short-bladed knife,
taking him out with one of those unstoppable two-handed strokes-and
found herself jerking abruptly to a halt at the edge of the glowing
circle.

She couldn't get across it.  There was a real, physical barrier
demarcated by that scarlet line.  The thin band of crimson might as
well have been a wall of iron.

She looked up-and saw the thing still fastened on Dierna's cheek, the
light within it growing stronger and more regular, pulsing like a
heartbeat.  And beyond it the mage smiled thinly at her, and gestured,
making a throwing motion.

Yellow-green light in the shape of a dagger left his hands; she tried
to duck, but the sword wouldn't release her.  So she braced herself
instinctively, and cold fear froze her from head to toe.

But nothing happened.  The dagger of light vanished as it came within
an arm's length of her.

She blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

He threw a magic thing at me.  It never touched me.  And he expected it
to kill me-The mage stared in utter disbelief, and backed up a
half-dozen steps.  That was enough for the sword.

Kero backed up a step under its direction, and it slashed down across
the circle of light, as if it were carving a doorway.  A portion of the
crimson barrier blacked out immediately.

The blade sent Kero leaping across that blacked-out section like a
maiden leaping the Solstice fires.

Her jump ended two paces in front of the flat rock, Dierna, and the
thing fastened leech like to Dierna's cheek.  Dierna was no longer
screaming; she was sprawled across the rock, moaning weakly, as if this
creature was stealing all her strength.  Her eyes were closed, and she
seemed utterly unaware of Kero's presence.

The sword slashed down again, but it was not aimed at the leech-thing.
For one horrible moment, Kero thought it was trying to kill Dierna-but
the hilt twisted in her hands and cut between the girl and the
leech-cloud, shaving so close to Dierna's face that the blade flicked
away a couple of drops of blood from her wounded cheek.

The mage shouted, something incomprehensible, but angry.  The cloud
reared back as Dierna came to life and rolled weakly off the rock and
out of its way, the strange thing looking more like a leech than ever.
Before it could lunge at her and refasten itself to her cheek, Kero had
leapt up onto the rock, positioning herself between it and the girl.
She slashed at it, cutting nothing, but forcing it to retreat.  It
glowed an angry sanguine, and seethed at her, the roiling movements
within it somehow conveying a cold and deadly rage.

Behind it, the mage chanted furiously, in some language Kero didn't
recognize.  She somehow knew that the sword did, though; for the first
time she felt something from it-a strange, slow anger, hot as a forge,
and heavy as iron.

Her left hand dropped from the hilt and reached for her dagger at her
belt, and threw it.

The mage held up his hand, and the dagger hit his palm and bounced,
clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Kero wanted to run, but the sword wouldn't let her.

She could only stand there, an easy target.  The mage sneered, and
raised his hands.  They glowed for a moment, a sickly red, then the
glow brightened and a spark arced between them.  He brought them
together over his head, and pointed-and sent a bolt of red lightning,
not at her, but into the leech-cloud.

It writhed, but she somehow had the feeling it was not in pain.  Then
it solidified further-and doubled in size in a heartbeat, looming up
over her.

The blade's anger rose to consume her, and she shifted her grip from
the hilt to the sword-blade itself.  She balanced her sword for a
moment that way, as if it was, impossibly, nothing more than a giant
throwing knife.  It didn't seem to weigh any more than her dagger had
at that moment.

Her arm came back, and she threw it, like a spear.

It flashed across the space between herself and the mage,
arrow-straight and point-first.  And as the mage stared in surprise, it
thudded home in his belly, penetrating halfway to the quillons.

He gave a strangled cry, staggered forward two steps, and fell, driving
it the rest of the way through his body.

The leech-cloud screamed, somehow inside her mind as well as with a
real voice; it seemed to split her skull as completely as any
ax-blade.

Kero dropped to her knees and covered her ears the scream driving all
thoughts except the pain of her head from her mind.  But she couldn't
look away from the thing, her eyes held by the mesmerizing, pulsating
lights within it.  The light flickered frantically, wildly; the cloud
stretched and thinned, reaching upward, and rose to a height of three
men Then it exploded, vanishing, with a roar that dwarfed the
explosions earlier.

Kero blinked dazzled eyes, shaken and numbed, and slowly took her hands
away from her ears.  There was only silence, the crackling of the fire,
and the far-off drum of hoofbeats.

She rose to her feet, shaking so hard she had trouble standing, her
knees wobbly.  Dear gods, what happened?

I can't have killed that thing, can I?  She waited for what seemed like
half the night, but nothing more happened.

Finally she pulled herself together, gathered what was left of her
wits, and staggered over to Dierna.

The girl lay quietly beside the rock, eyes wide and staring, face as
white as cream.  She blinked, but that was the only movement she made;
for a moment Kero was afraid that she might have gone mad; or worse-not
that she would have blamed her.

But when the older girl came into the failing light from the fire,
there was sense in her eyes, and she took the hand that Kero offered in
both her bound ones, and allowed Kero to pull her into a sitting
position.

"K-K-Kerowyn?"  the girl stuttered weakly after a long moment of
silence.

"Is it r-r-r-really you?"

"I think so," Kero replied unsteadily, putting one hand to her temple
as she looked vaguely around for something to free the girl's wrists.
Although the mage's dagger lay nearby, she somehow couldn't bear to
touch it.  Instead, she retrieved her own knife and used it to cut
through the rawhide of Dierna's bonds.

Once her hands were freed, Dierna clapped her sleeve to her
still-bleeding cheek, and began to cry.  Kero couldn't tell if she was
weeping out of pain, fear, or for her marred cheek.

Probably all three.

She started to look for something to use for a bandage, but when she
turned around An old woman in a worn leather tunic and armor that fit
her as well as the bandits' had fitted poorly appeared out of nowhere
between her and the fire.

Kero shrieked, and stumbled back, and turned to run-and shrieked again
when she came face-to-face-literally with the biggest wolf she'd ever
seen in her life.

Its eyes glowed at her with reflection from the fire, as she groped
frantically after weapons she no longer held.

"Stop that, you little idiot," the old woman said in a grating voice
from directly behind her.

"We're friends.

Obviously.  " That voice-She spun around again, just in time to watch
the old woman stalk past her toward the body of the mage, the wolf
eyeing both of them with every evidence of intelligent interest.  The
woman surveyed the body for a moment, then leaned over and wrenched her
grandmother's sword out of the mage's corpse with a single, efficient
jerk.  Before Kero could say or do anything, the woman handed it to
her, hilt first.

She took it, stunned, unable to do anything but take it.

"Clean that," the old woman growled, a frown harsh enough to have
frosted glass on her beaky face.

"Dammit girl, you know better than that!  Don't ever throw your only
weapon away!  Just because you were lucky once-ah, I'm wasting my time.
Take that ninny of a sister-inlaw of yours, and get back home."

And with that, the woman turned on her heel and stalked off to the
nearest body, wrenching an arrow out of its back.  Kero stood staring
dumbly as the wolf jumped down off the rock and joined her.

It was only then that Kero noticed that they were the only creatures
living or moving in the whole camp.  And no few of those bodies were
slashed across throat or belly.

Her work, or that of the sword-in the end, it really didn't matter.

She couldn't help herself; it was all too much.  Her guts rebelled, and
this time there was nothing to stop them from having their way.  She
stumbled toward the rock and leaned against it, heaving wretchedly.

She expected Dierna to be having her own set of hysterics, but after
the first few heaves, as she dropped her grandmother's sword from her
nerveless fingers, the girl helped steady her while she lost dinner,
lunch, and breakfast-and then even the memory of food.  Finally, when
her guts quieted down for lack of anything else to bring up, Dierna
wiped her sweaty forehead with a dust covered velvet sleeve, and helped
her to sit down on the erstwhile altar.

She looked around for the sword; it was just out of reach.  Dierna
followed her gaze, and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"I'll get it," she said, in a voice hoarse with screaming and crying.

"You've done everything else tonight.

Never mind that horrid old woman.  " Horrid old-now I remember where I
heard that voice before.  The old woman.  That was the same voice I
heard on the road, the old woman that stopped me on the way to the
Tower While Dierna picked the sword up with a clumsiness caused mainly
by the fact that she was trying not to touch it, and was doing her best
to keep it at arm's length away from her, Kero looked around for the
old woman.

She was gone.  So was the wolf.  And all the usable arrows.

"Here," Dierna said, thrusting the sword hilt at Kero.

She stared at the girl without taking it; that awful, bonedeep gash was
healing right before her eyes, faster than Kero had ever seen anything
heal before.  By the time she had shaken off her surprise to take the
blade out of Dierna's reluctant grasp, the wound had sealed shut and
was already fading from a thin pink line to practically nothing,
leaving not even a scar.

It Heals?  Dearest Agnira, it Heals, too?  After turning me into a
berserk killer?

And what was that old woman doing here, anyway?

The sound of dancing hoofbeats made her turn, to see one more surprise
in a night full of near-miracles.

The enormous wolf had returned.  In its mouth were the reins of two
horses; Kero's, and one she recognized as coming from the Keep stables.
Kero's Verenna was sweating with fear, and trembling so hard that she
was plainly too frightened to try and escape, but the other beast was
so tired it was paying no attention to its unusual " groom.  " The wolf
led the horses right up to her, and snorted, which made Verenna grunt
and shy.  Kero grabbed the ends of the reins dangling from its mouth,
and the wolf let go immediately.  Verenna jerked her head and tried to
bolt, but Kero held her, dropping the sword into the dirt a second
time, as the mare rolled her eyes with terror and danced.  Finally Kero
had to grab her nostrils and pinch them shut, cutting off her air,
before she'd calm down.

She glanced around guiltily as she retrieved the sword a second time,
but the old woman was still nowhere in sight.  She had the feeling that
she'd get a real tonguelashing if she didn't clean the blade off after
all this.  And somehow she didn't want that formidable old harridan to
unleash the full force of her scorn.

So how am I going to keep the horses from running off while I clean the
damn thing?  She looked around for something suitable, and finally
wound up improvising hobbles for both horses before tethering them to a
bush.

She could only hope that would hold; if they bolted, she didn't think
the wolf was likely to bring them back a second time.

By now the sword was encrusted with dirt; Kero had to cut a piece from
the bottom of her tunic and use what was left in a stray wineskin to
get it clean enough to sheath.  The fire was dying down by the time she
finished, and she sheathed the blade at her belt and looked for Dierna,
again expecting her to be collapsed somewhere, as helpless and
incoherent as her two cousins.

Instead, she saw the girl sorting through a pile of the loot that was
part of one of the bandits' dice winnings, turning things over with a
stick, and tossing selected items onto a tattered cloak she had spread
out to one side.

"Dierna!"  she shouted, and winced when the girl jumped, overbalanced,
and fell.  She left the horses and walked wearily to give the girl a
hand up.

"Sorry.  But what in the name of the six hells are you doing?"

The girl's face took on a stubborn expression.

"Looking for my wedding presents," she said.

"You're what?  " Kero wasn't sure whether to scream, laugh or cry.
She'd been kidnapped, her friends and new relations had been
slaughtered, she'd very nearly gone down the gullet of some kind of
monster.  She lives through all this, and she's looking for a few
paltry cups?

"I'm looking for my wedding presents," the girl repeated.  " They're
mine, they were given to me, and I'm n-n-n-not going to let
these-b-b-beasts have them!"

Her eyes grew moist, and threatened to spill over, and Kero sensed that
she would have hysterics if she were prevented from completing her
search.

"I saw most of them," she sighed.

"Some of these bastards were dicing for them.  Here, let me help you-by
the way, Lordan's all right, or at least he will be by the time we get
back.

My grandmother, the Sorceress Kethryveris, said so."

"Did she?"  the girl replied vaguely, fishing a silver plate out of a
pile of trash.

"That's good; I'm glad we're going to be able to have the wedding after
all.  Lordan's a very nice boy."

Kero very nearly choked.  That's good?  She's happy about the wedding?
When my father and brother-For one moment Kethry had to hold very
still, counting slowly, to avoid losing her temper and killing the girl
she'd come to rescue.

Stop.  Don't kill her.  She doesn't realize how she sounds.  And don't
tell her what you think of her, it isn't going to do any good to shout
at the girl.  Lordan's the next thing to a stranger, she hasn't known
him very long-what, a week or so?  And if she didn't marry him, they'd
have found another husband for her within a couple of months.  Probably
not as good-looking or personable, certainly not as young, but equally
a stranger-Dear Goddess, that could have been me.

No wonder she wants her wedding presents more;

they're all she really has.  The only things she really owns.

She doesn't even own herself.

Kero found the last of the set of silver wine cups they were looking
for, dented, but still recognizable, and threw it onto the blanket.
Dierna looked up then, and the threatened tears did start to fall, as
she ran to Kero and threw her arms around her neck.  Kerowyn held her
awkwardly, as she sobbed into the older girl's shoulder.

"K-Kerowyn, I thought they were going to k-kill me!"  Dierna cried.

"I thought no one was going to come in time!  Y-you were
w-w-wonderful-" She went on in that vein for quite a while.  Poor
baby.

Poor baby.  Kerowyn just patted her gingerly on the back until the
flood subsided, then coaxed her to the side of the spare horse and
secured the blanket full of loot to the back of the saddle.  The horse
was so tired it didn't even object to the noisy bundle.

"Where's the knee-rest?"  Dierna asked, trying to find the kind of
accoutrements she was used to on a saddle.

"There isn't one," Kero replied, hauling herself up onto Verenna's
back.

"You're going to have to ride like me."

"Like-but-" Dierna paled, then her lower lip started to quiver."

"But--~but-I can't!  It isn't-my dress-it's not womanly " Kero closed
her eyes, and begged Agnira for patience.

"Your dress is ruined," she pointed out.

"Besides, no one expects to see you alive, Dierna.  Nobody is going to
notice that you're riding astride.  Now just slit your dress and let's
get out of here before one of those bastards comes back."

And when Dierna hesitated, with the little knife Kero had handed her
dangling loosely from her fingers, Kero added, "That leech-thing might
not be dead, you know."

The girl squeaked; slit the skirt of her dress so that she could swing
her leg over the saddle and get her foot into the stirrup, and mounted
with all the haste Kero could have wanted.

Blessed Agnira, spare me from "womanly, " if this is what it is, she
thought, making the words an unconscious prayer as she took the reins
of Dierna's horse to lead it behind her own.  Just-spare me.

Five

"So what do you think of the girl now?"  Warrl asked conversationally,
as Tarma sorted through the scattered piles of the bandits'
belongings.

"I'm pretty impressed," the Shin'a'in admitted, as she squatted on her
heels, emptying out a belt-pouch, and separating copper from silver.
Not that there was much of the former, and of the latter there was even
less, but Tarma was a thrifty soul, and young Lordan was going to need
all the help he could get.  He was going to have to pay for enough
mercenaries to keep his neighbors from getting ideas about annexing his
property to theirs.  That took ready cash, and silver and copper spent
as readily as gold.

"I think I have a fair notion how much of what went on was the damn
sword's doing, and how much was the girl's," she continued, pouring the
coppers into a large leather pouch that had been a wineskin a few
moments ago.

"She's got a few brains besides the guts."

"Unlike a certain barbarian nomad I once knew."  Warrl chortled; Tarma
simply ignored him, and moved on to a pile of looted wedding gifts the
girls had overlooked.  Of course, it had been under one of the men
Tarma had shot, which might be why they'd overlooked it.... She shook
her head over a blood-soaked silk cloak.

Too bad,.  that's one wedding present ruined past anyone using it.  She
tossed it onto the fire.

"I never claimed to have much in the way of brains when I was
younger.

Now-well, I'd rather do things with a minimum of effort, and that takes
planning.  That was good work with the horses, Furface."

"Thank you.  And you displayed your customary efficiency with the
sentries."  Warrl nosed something out of the dirt, and batted a shiny
little gold pendant toward his mind-mate with his paw.  She snatched it
up adroitly and dropped it into the appropriate pouch.

"You must be planning something rude; you're complimenting me," she
teased him, stripping the body at her feet of everything useful, and
tossing various items on the appropriate piles.

"I'll tell you though, I had a bad moment back there, when the mage
started that blood-rite.  I thought that stupid sword would take the
girl over and turn her into a nice juicy target before we had a chance
to start distracting them."

"You didn't think it knew what we were doing?"  Warrl dragged a set of
saddlebags over to the fire so that Tarma could rummage through them,
beside her, head cocked to one side, watching her work with absent
curiosity.

"I've never known what that sword noticed or didn't notice," the
Shin'a'in admitted.

"I know the damn thing's amazing when it wants to be-but I don't think
even Keth has ever figured it out, and she's Adept-class.

All we know for sure is that it Heals, it gives a mage fighting
mastery, and a fighter immunity from magic.

And it won't work against a woman."

"And that women in trouble call it the way lures bring in hawks."

"Too true," Tarma sighed, thinking of all the times exactly that had
happened.  And all the trouble the sword had gotten them into as a
consequence.  Not to mention all the paying jobs it had cost them.

"What did you do with the rest of the nags, anyway?"

"Herded into a blind canyon.  They won't be going anywhere.

I assumed you'd want them."  Warrl sounded more than usually smug, and
with good reason.  By the time Tarma finished collecting everything
salvageable, there was going to be enough here for at least three pack
animal sand the horses themselves would be worth something, ill-used,
scrubby beasts though they were.  Most of the horses the bandits rode
in on hadn't been stolen from the Keep.

"They'll be worth more if Lordan offers them as bonuses to any man who
signs with him than if he sells them," Warrl pointed out, following her
train of thought with his customary ease.

"It isn't often a common mere gets a chance at even a scrubby nag like
one of this lot."

"Good point; I'll make sure he realizes that."  She straightened, and
surveyed the remains of the camp.

"I

think I've gotten everything worth getting.  The vultures are welcome
to what's left."

"No self-respecting vulture would touch one of these fools."  Warrl
sniffed disdainfully.

"Stupidity might be catching."

Tarma snorted in agreement as she tied up a bundle of assorted silver
plate.

"They really weren't terribly bright, were they?"

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Tarma paused with her hands on the last knot.

"Now that you mention it," she said slowly, "it does.  You might think
these fools had never worked together before.

"Hired separately?"  Warrl licked his lips.

"Then thrown together-that would account for some of the laxness, the
lack of coordination.  They did act as if each man was following his
own set of orders, and to the nether hells with whatever anyone else
was doing.  And once back at camp, the only thing they did as a group
was to set sentries."

" Exactly."  Tarma sat back on her heels, and stared at the dying fire
without really seeing it.

"Now why would someone want to throw a group of scum together that they
know is going to fall apart the moment the job is over?  " Warrl began
pacing back and forth, head swinging from side to side a little.

"One would assume that whoever hired them-wanted them caught?"

"Good notion.  Let's think about this-if everything had gone wrong for
these fools, what would have happened to them?"  Tarma stood up, and
joined Warrl in his pacing.

"If they had not been able to take the girl, Rathgar would have been
faulted for not protecting her.  And I would guess that in any case the
mage was ordered to dispose of Rathgar, no matter what the cost.  They
certainly had the men to assure that."  Warrl paused in his pacing, and
looked up at her.

"Which would leave the estate in the hands of the boy."

"Who could be gotten rid of as soon as the bride had Produced an heir,
or even before.  " Tarma scratched an old scar on the back of her
hand.

"All right-if it had gone half right, and they'd killed Rathgar, but
left a force of able-bodied men behind to follow, it would have taken a
while to get that force organized.  And even if someone had come
pounding after them, they'd have had time to get rid of the girl, which
would give the family an excuse for blood-feud.  ' "If you assume the
girl is expendable-" Warrl sounded sour.

Tarma felt just as sour; the Shin'a'in lived and died for their Clans,
and the idea that a man could betray his own blood for the sake of gain
curdled her stomach.  Not that she hadn't encountered this before-but
it curdled her stomach every time.

"I think she is, given who's probably behind the attack in the first
place.  Keth already had this one figured.  The uncle.  Baron
Reichert."

"Itfits his style" "Aye, that.  He'd put up his own daughter as an
expendable, let alone a mere niece."  She frowned.

"Let's get the horses.  I think that once we're in place, we'd better
make the Keep a lot more secure than Rathgar had it, or the bride is
likely to be a widow before the year's out.  Assuming she lives that
long."

The sun was approaching zenith by the time Tarma coaxed the weary,
footsore horses through the gates of walls about the Keep-lands-and by
the tingle on her skin as she passed under the portcullis of the Keep
itself, Kethry had already put a mage-barrier about the place.

The Keep was more than a fortified manor; it was a small walled town,
with a small pasture-or large paddockwithin the walls for keeping
horses.  The quarried stone walls were "manned" by an odd assortment of
women, old men, and boys, but Tarma nodded with approval as she gave
them a surreptitious inspection while she dismounted and tended to the
horse-herd.  They were alert, they were armed with the kind of weapons
they were most familiar with, and they looked determined.

The boys had slings and bows; the old men, spears and crossbows; the
women, knives, scythes, and threshing flails.  By their weathered
complexions and sturdy builds, those women and boys had been gleaned
from the farms around the Keep, and Tarma knew her farmers.  Every
mercenary did.  They could be frightened off, but if they decided to
make a stand, they weren't worth moving against.  Farmers like these
had taken out plenty of men with those "peasant weapons."

Evidently she was expected; the farmers around the Keep knew her, in
any event, from the old days when the Keep had been a school that she'd
shared with Keth.

Those farmers had long memories, and several recognized her on sight.
She even knew one or two, once she got within the walls and close
enough to make out faces.

One of those was a woman just above the gate, who waved, then turned
her attention back to the road, shading her eyes with her hand while
she fanned herself with her hat.  Leaning on the wall beside her was a
wicked, long-bladed scythe, newly-sharpened by the gleam of it, and
having seen her at harvest time with that particular instrument, Tarma
would not have wanted to rouse her ire.

No one came down to help her, which spoke well for discipline, and that
Keth had evidently impressed the seriousness of the situation on
them.

I might be old, Tarma thought with a certain dry amusement as she
dismounted, but the day a Shina'in needs help with a herd of exhausted
horses is the day they're putting her on her pyre.

Her warrnare followed her to the entrance, with the three pack horses
trailing along behind.  Warrl held the rest of the horses penned in the
farthest corner of the court while she pulled packs and tack off her
four.  When packs and saddle were piled beside the door, she and
Hellsbane drove the three tired nags before her, shuffling through the
dust, to join the rest.  Warrl kept them all in place simply with his
presence, and Hellsbane kept them calm, while she opened both stable
doors.

She whistled, and through the open door watched Warrl climb lazily to
his feet, then bark once, as Hellsbane played herd-mare.  That was all
the poor beasts needed;

they shied away from him, and broke into a tired trot, shambling past
her and out into the pasture.  She slammed the stable door after them,
and walked as wearily as they had back into the stone-paved, sunlit
court.

The kyree was waiting for her, looking as if he was feeling every year
of his age.

"Are we finished yet?"  Warrl asked hopefully, his tongue lolling
out.

"You are," she replied, stretching, and feeling old injuries ache when
she moved.

"I'd better see what Keth's up to."

"If YOU don't mind, I'll go get something to eat, and then become flkt
for a while."  Warrl headed off in the direction of the
kitchen-garden.

"I think that under-cook still remembers me."

"I wish I could do the same," she sighed to herself.

"oH, well.  No rest for the wicked .. .... She caught up the pouches of
jewelry and money on her way past the pile of packs.  I don't think
anyone out here is other than honest, but why take chances?  The Keep
door was halfway ajar; she pushed it open entirely, and walked in
unannounced.

The outer hall was cool, and very dark to her tired eyes after the
brightness of the courtyard.  That didn't matter; this place had been
her home for years; she knew every stone in the walls and crack in the
floors.  As long as Rathgar didn't install any statues in the middle of
the path, I ought to be able to find my way to the Great Hall
blindfolded, she thought, and I'll bet that's where Keth is.

She was right.

The Great Hall was nearly as bright as the courtyard outside; it was
three stories tall, and the top story was one narrow window after
another.  Not such a security risk as it looked; it was rimmed with a
walkway-balcony that could be used as an archers' gallery in times of
siege-and the exterior walls were sheer stone.  Kethry was in the
middle of the Great Hall, supervising half a dozen helpers with her
usual brisk efficiency, robes kilted up above her knees, hair tied back
under a scarf.  She'd set the entire Great Hall up as a kind of
infirmary, and she had no lack of patients.  Even Tarma was a bit taken
aback by the sheer number of wounded; it looked suspiciously as if the
raiders' specific orders had been to cause as much havoc and injury as
possible in the shortest period' of time.

Which may be the case, she reflected soberly, as she threaded her way
through the maze of pallets spread out on the stone floor.  The more
Rathgar's allies suffered, the better off Reichert would be.  They'd be
unable to support the boy, and very probably unwilling as well.

Kethry was kneeling at the side of a man who was conscious and talking
to her.  She looked up from her current patient at just that moment,
and her weary smile told Tarma all she needed to know about the mage's
night.  Long, exhausting, but with the only reward that counted-the
casualties had been light at worst.  Tarma nodded, and as Keth
continued her current task of changing the dressing on a badly gashed
leg, she slowed her steps to time her arrival with the completion of
that task.

"Looks like you've spent a night, she'enedra, " the Shin'a'in said
quietly, as Kethry stood up.

"How's the boy?

"He'll live," she said, tucking a strand of hair under her scarf.

"In fact, I think he'll be up and around before too long.  I held him
stable from a distance as soon as Kero told me what had happened, and I
managed to get the one Healing spell What's-her-name taught me to work
for a change."

Tarma shook her head, and grimaced.

"I never could understand it.  Adept-class mage, and half the time you
can't Heal a cut finger."

"Power has nothing to do with it," Kethry retorted, 'and it's damned
frustrating.  " "Well, if you ask me, I think your success at Healing
has as much to do with how desperate you are to make it work as
anything," the fighter replied, shifting her weight from one foot to
the other and flexing her aching arches.

"Every time you've really needed it to work, it has.  It's only failed
you when you were trying it for something trivial."

"Huh.  That might just be-well, the boy is fine, and as grateful as
anyone could want, bless his heart.  The girl, on the other hand-"
Kethry rolled her eyes exPressively.  " Dear gods and Powers-you've
never heard such weeping and histrionics in your life.  Kero came
dragging them both in about dawn, and Her Highness was fine until one
of her idiot cousins spotted her and set up a caterwauling.  Then-you'd
have thought that every wound in the place had been to her fair, white
body.  ' "About what I figured," the Shin'a'in said laconically.  " Did
you truss her up, or what?"

"I sent her up to the bower with the rest of her hysterical relatives,"
Keth told her, the mage's mouth set in a thin line of distaste.

"And I sent Kero to bed, once she'd looked in on her brother.  She's
made of good stuff, that girl."

"She should be," Tarma replied, pleased that Kero hadn't fallen apart
once she'd reached safety.

"But it doesn't necessarily follow.  Well, I'm for bed.  And see that
you fall into one sometime soon."

"Soon, hell," the mage snorted.

"I'm going now.

There's nothing to be done at this point that can't be handled by
someone else.  There're half a dozen helpers, fresher and just as
skilled."

Tarma clutched the tunic above her heart.

"Blessed Star-Eyed!  You're delegating!  I never thought I'd see the
day!  ' Kethry mimed a blow at her, and the fighter ducked.

"Watch yourself, or I'll turn you into a frog."

"oH, would you?"  Tarma said hopefully.

"Frogs don't get dragged out of their beds to go rescue stupid wenches
in the middle of the night."

Kethry just threw her hands up in disgust, and turned to find one of
her "helpers."

The tallow should be ready about now, Kero thought, setting her mortar
and pestle aside long enough to check the little pot of fat heating
over a water-bath.  The still room was dark, cool, and redolent with
the odors of a hundred different herbs, and of all the "womanly" places
in the Keep, it was by far Kerowyn's favorite.  Dierna was still having
vapors every time she set foot outside the bower-now converted from
armory back to women's quarters by Dierna's agitated orders-so
Grandmother Kethry had entrusted the making of medicines to Kero's
hands.

It keeps me busy, she thought, a little ruefully.  And at least it's
useful-busy.  Not like Dierna's damned embroidery.

Some of the recipes Kethry had dictated from memory, and they were
things Kerowyn had never heard of; she was completely fascinated, and
retreat to the still room was not the boring task it usually was.

Retreat to the still room was just that, too-retreat.

Dierna's relatives, the female ones in particular, were treating her
very strangely.  Part of the time they acted as if she was some
creature as alien and frightening as Tarma's giant wolf.  The rest of
the time they acted as if she was a source of prime amusement.  They
spoke to her as little as possible, but she was certain that they made
up wild stories about her once they were on the other side of the bower
doors.

They certainly don't seem to spend any time doing anything else, she
thought sourly, as she carefully removed the pot of melted fat from the
heat, and sifted powdered herbs into it.  They're amazingly good at
finding other places to be whenever there's real work to be done.

She beat the herbs into the fat with brisk strokes of the spatula,
taking some of her anger at the women out on the pot of salve.  She was
very tired of the odd, sideways looks she was getting-tired enough that
she had continued to wear Lordan's castoffs, rather than "proper,
womanly" garb, out of sheer perversity.

I'm cleaning, and lifting, and tending the wounded-when I'm not out
drilling the boys in bow or in the still room she thought stubbornly.
Breeches are a lot more practical than skirts.  Why shouldn't I wear
them?  Grandmother and that Shin'a'in woman do-She had to smile at
that.  And they are one and all so frightened of Grandmother and her
friend that if either one of them even looks cross, they practically
faint.

The salve smelled wonderful, and that alone was a far cry from the
medicines she used to make here.  She sighed, and stirred a little
slower, feeling melancholy descend on her.  Life was not the same; it
didn't look as if it would ever be the same again.

It isn't just them, it's everything.  It seems as if no one treats me
the same anymore.  Not the servants, not Wendar, not even Lordan.  Why
has everything changed?  It doesn't make any sense.  I haven't changed.
Of course, Father-The thought of Rathgar made her feel guilty.  She
knew she should be mourning him-Dierna certainly was.  The girl had
ransacked Lenore's wardrobe for mourning clothes, and had them made
over to fit herself and her women.  She'd carried on at the funeral as
though Rathgar had been her father instead of Kero's.

She carried on enough for both me and Lordan, Kero recalled
sardonically.  Maybe it's just that I really never saw that much of him
when Mother was alive, and when she was gone, he really never had much
to say to me except to criticize.  Really, I might just as well have
been fostered out, for all that I saw of him.  I knew Dent and Wendar
better than I knew him!  She sighed again.  I must be a cold bitch if I
can't even mourn my own father.

She heard footsteps on the stone floor outside just then, and the door
creaked open.

"So here's where you've been hiding yourself," said a harsh voice
behind her.

"Warrior bless!  It's like a cave in here!  What are you doing, turning
yourself into a bat?"

"It has to be dark," Kero explained without turning, wondering what had
brought the formidable old fighter here.

"A lot of herbs lose potency in the light."

"I'll take your word for it."  The Shin'a'in edged carefully into the
narrow confines of the still room and positioned herself out of Kero's
way.

"My people don't store a great deal, and that little only for a season
or two at most.  Don't tell me you like it in here."

Sometimes," Kero told her.

"It's better than-' she bit her tongue to keep from finishing that
sentence.

"It's better than out there, with the hens and chicks clucking
disapproval at you," the Shin'a'in finished for her.

"I know what you mean.  The only reason they keep their tongues off me
is because they're pretty sure I'll slice those wagging tongues in half
if I find out about it.  " She chuckled, and Kero turned to look at the
old woman-in surprise.

"We never have been properly introduced.

I'm Tarma-Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, to be preciseShin'a'in from the Hawk
Clan.  I've been your grandmother's partner for an age, and I'm half of
the reason your father disapproved of her.  " "You are?"  Kero said,
fascinated by the hawk-faced woman's outspoken manner.

"But-why?"

"Because he was dead certain that she and I were shield mates-that's
lovers, dear.  He was dead wrong, but you could never have convinced
him of that.  " Tarma hardly moved, but there was suddenly a tiny,
thin-bladed knife in one hand.  She began cleaning her nails with it.

"The other half of the reason he disapproved of her was because he was
afraid of both of us.  We didn't know our place, and we could do just
about any damned thing a man could do.  But that's a cold trail, and
not worth following.

"Are you the reason we could get Shin'a'in horses to breed?"  Kero
asked, suddenly putting several odd facts together.  " Tarma
chuckled.

"Damn, you're quick.  Dead in the black, jel'enedra.  Listen, I'm sorry
I was so hard on you, back on the road the other night.  I was testing
you, sort of.

"I'd-figured that out," Kero replied.  The knife caught the light and
flashed; it looked sharp enough to wound the wind.

The Shin'a'in nodded, a satisfied little smile at the corners of her
mouth.

"Good.  I was hoping you might.

I want you to know I think you did pretty well out there.

About the only time you started to dither was after everything was over
and done with.  You know, you're wasted on all this."

"All what?"  Kero asked, bewildered by the sudden change in topic.

"All this-" The Shin'a'in waved her knife vaguely, taking in the four
walls of the still room and beyond.  Kero hid her confusion by turning
her attention to the salve, watching her own hands intently.

"This life," Tarma continued.

"It's not enough of a challenge for you.  You're capable of a lot more
than you'll find here.  My people say.

"You can put a hawk in a songbird's cage, but it's still a hawk." Think
about it.  I have to go beat some of those hired guards into shape, but
I'll be around if you need me.  " And with that, she backed out of
Kero's sight, and vanished.  One moment she was there, the next,
gone;

leaving only the door to the still room swinging to mark her passing.

"All right, you meatheads, let's see a little life in those blows!" Ten
men and women-those currently off-duty placed their blows on the ten
sets of pells as if their lives depended on it.

Of course, their lives do depend on it.

Tarma roamed up and down the line of hired guards, scowling, but
INwardly she was very pleased.  These were all reliable, solid
fighters, with good references, very much as she and Keth had been
early in their careers.

The only difference was that these fighters were well into their
careers.  Ordinarily they had nowhere to go now but down.

Because she'd been able to offer a packhorse apiece with half pay in
advance, she'd gotten the cream of the available mercenary crop.  None
of them were going to be the kind of fighter that legends were made of,
but for Lordan's purposes they were far better.  Most of them were in
their middle years, looking for a post where they could settle down,
perhaps even think about a spouse and children.

That's why they weren't with a mercenary company going out and fighting
every year was a job for the young................................. And
fools, she thought, which these gentlemen and ladies are not.

"Put some back into it!  " she shouted again, feeling a sense of deja
vu.  How many times had she shouted those same words, in this same
courtyard?

Only then, it was into young ears, not seasoned ones.

These folks are well aware of the absolute necessity for practice,
every day, rain, snow or scorching heat.

Thirty seasoned fighters.  That would be enough to give even Baron
Reichert second thoughts.  And one very special recruit..  ..

Middle-aged as the others, without a single thing to differentiate her
from the rest.  Even her color and stature golden skin, and very tall
for a woman-were not particularly outstanding among mercenaries.

Hired swords came from every corner of the known world, and some places
outside it; Beaker had been odder~ looking than this woman.  She acted
no differently than any of the others, not looking for special status,
nor making herself conspicuous.  Tarma drilled this recruit as
remorselessly as the rest, and paid her no more attention, and no
less.

Lyla Stormcloud was from the far south and west; past even the Dhorisha
Plains.  She was half Shin'a'in, with the gold complexion of her father
and the black eyes and wandering foot of her mother, a Full Bard who
had double the normal wanderlust of that roaming profession.

Life with a nomadic Clan had suited her perfectly, and Tale'sedrin,
made up as it was of orphans and adoptees, made her welcome there as
she might not have been in a pure" Clan.  How they'd gloried in having
a Full Bard with them.

A Full Bard with another profession as well, the one she had trained in
as a child-the skills and training of Assassin.  which she passed in
turn to her daughter.

It's a good thing the Clans didn't know that until long after she'd
been accepted on the basis of her Talent and current profession.  And
it's a damned good thing for her that she admitted it before someone
ferreted the information out on his own.  But I'm glad it happened,
especially now.  Try and get an assassin past another assassin.

Tarma furrowed her brow in thought, watching Lyla at her sword-work.
Blessings on the Warrior, for sending her mother to Tale'sedrin, and a
double blessing that Lyla was willing to pack up and move on my
say-so.

Lordan was in danger as long as Baron Reichert thought him vulnerable.
If Tarma and her partner could stay here-well, nothing and no one was
going to get past them.  Now that Keth was no longer bound by the
promises she'd made Rathgar, she could put mage-protections up that
would stop any magical attack on her grandson short of an Adept-spell.
And if Tarma could possibly have moved in here permanently But she
couldn't, and knew it.  There were other considerations, not the least
of which was that she wasn't as young as she used to be.  And guarding
a target from assassins was a young person's job.  That had been when
she'd thought of Lyla.  After that, it had been a matter of SEnding a
mage-boRNe message via Keth to the shaman Of Tale'sedrin-who just
happened to be Kethry's son, Jadrek.  And then, when Lyla had agreed to
come, some mysterious transaction involving the Tale'edras of the
Pelagiris Forest had been negotiated via Jadrek to get her here.  I'm
still not sure how she got here as fast as she did.  Those
Hawkbrothers-they've got to have secrets of magic even Kethry and the
other Adepts don't know.

Probably only the Clan shamans have any idea what they can do.  And
they aren't telling, either.

Even Lyla didn't remember how she'd gotten here; she told Tarma that
Jadrek had taken her to the forest edge-and the next thing she knew,
she was walking through the open mouth of a cave near the Tower.

Just as well; let them keep their secrets.  I don't think I want to
know them.

Lordan was now as safe as Tarma knew how to make him.  Certainly safer
than money could buy.... Lyla was a pleasure to watch; wasting no
effort, and certainly almost as good as Tarma in her prime.  Better
than Tarma was now.  Not through fault of training or will, just old
bones and stiff, scarred muscles, slower reactions and senses that were
no longer as keen-So the world belongs to the young.  At least there're
youngsters I'm glad to see have it.  Like young Kero.

She hoped she'd said the right things, neither too much, nor too
little.  Too much, and she might frighten the bird back to its nest.
Too little, and she wouldn't realize there was a great big world out
here, and a whole sky in which to use her wings.

If I'm any judge, she's got the reactions and the instincts; all she
needs is the skill and the strength, and she'll put Lyla in the shade.
She has it in her.  She has the brains and the guts, too, which means
even more-she can be more than even an exceptional mere with those. But
if I push, she'll rebel, or she'll be frightened off.

"Good!"  she said aloud, and the sweaty fighters lowered their weapons
with varying expressions of gratitude.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen-off to the baths.  On the
quickstep-march!  "

I never thought I'd find myself here, Kero thought for the hundredth
time, watching the rest of the wedding guests over the rim of her
goblet.  She tried not to fidget;

tried not to feel as if she was being smothered under all the layers of
her holiday dress.  I should be back in the kitchen.

But she didn't need to be in the kitchen, not anymore.

Grandmother Kethry had seen to that.  There was a proper housekeeper
now-which was just as well, since Dierna was not up to handling the
kitchen staff and servers the way Kero had.  She was good at knowing
what orders to give the housekeeper; what servants were best where,
which was something Kero had never been able to figure out.  She was a
marvel at loom and needle, and Lordan was shortly going to find himself
in possession of a thriving woolen-cloth trade if Dierna had anything
to say about it.  She was fair useless in the still room but-But the
housekeeper can do that, too.

This housekeeper was an impoverished gentlewoman, found by Kethry by
means of one of her many (and mysterious) contacts.  Kero had a vague
idea that there was a relative involved in some way.

An uncle?  An aunt?  Someone connected with some kind of mage school, I
think.

There was something about the way she'd been dispossessed, too.
Something unjust, that Kethry wouldn't go into when Dierna was around.
Could it possibly be something involving Dierna's uncle, the Baron?
Well, no matter what the cause, here she was, and grateful for the
post.  Being neither noble nor servant, she was perfect for the
position, which wasn't quite "family," and wasn't exactly "underling. "
Perfect, as Kero had not been; she knew that now.  Too close to the
servants for them to "respect" her properly;

that was what Dierna's mother had said.

She'd said a lot more, when she thought Kero couldn't hear.  Kero
glanced at the lady in question, sitting on the other side of the bride
and groom, and lording it over her half of the table.  I'm glad for
Lordan's sake she won't be here much longer.  I might murder her and
disgrace him.

Thank the gods for grandmother and Tarma, she thought, as Lordan and
his bride shared a goblet of wine, and made big eyes at each other.
They were like whirlwinds, magic whirlwinds.  They blew in, they
created order, and they're about to blow out again before anyone has a
chance to resent them.  Even Dierna.

To her credit, though, the bride showed no signs of resenting Kethry's
"interference," despite the plaints of her own mother.  She'd had more
than enough on her hands, even with the aid of the housekeeper.  Dierna
had taken over nursing Lordan as soon as Kethry had pronounced him fit
for company, and he'd quite fallen in love with his intended.

They're besotted, she thought resignedly.  I suppose it's just as
well.

She looked down over the Great Hall, at all the other guests, like a
bed of multicolored flowers in their finery, and many of them just
about as immobile.  Fully half of them couldn't stand, and all of them
wore some token of mourning, but that didn't seem to be putting any
kind of a pall on the celebrations.  Wendar saw to it that the wine
kept flowing, and the celebrants were chattering so loudly that it was
impossible to hear the minstrels at the end of the hall.  All enmities
seemed to have been forgotten, at least for now.

But she kept catching strange glances cast her way.  It was beginning
to make her want to squirm with discomfort, but she kept her seat and
her dignity.

I'm a heroine.  And I'm an embarrassment.

That just about summed it all up.  She looked down into her wine, and
felt the all-too-familiar melancholy settle over her.

She didn't fit in.  She didn't belong.  Even her own brother looked at
her as if she had suddenly become a stranger.

I rescued Dierna.  Which makes me a heroine.  Just one little
problem-I'm Lordan's sister.

She'd already heard some of Lordan's peers teasing him about his "older
brother Kero."  It made him uncomfortable, for all that he was deeply,
truly grateful, for all that he'd offered her anything she wanted,
right down to half the lands.  And it shamed him.  He should have been
the one to rescue his bride.  Wasn't that the way it went in the tales?
Not his sibling.

Not his sister.

She could talk until she was blue in the face about how it had been
Kethry's sword that had done everything.

None of that mattered-because she had gone out on The Ride in the first
place, without the help of the sword.

That's what they were calling it now, "The Ride."  There were even
rumors of a song.

Dierna did not want her in the bower.  Not that Kero wanted to be in
the bower.  She most assuredly did not fit in there.

But she keeps looking at me as if she thinks I'm-what was it that Tarma
said, the other day?  She'chorne.  Like I'm going to suddenly start
courting her.  Like I make her skin crawl.

Kero gulped down half the wine in her goblet, and a page immediately
reached over her shoulder and poured her more.  The rich fruity scent
rose to her nostrils, and tempted her not at all.

I wish I dared get drunk.

The hired guards didn't want her in the barracks.  It was not that it
was "unwomanly" for her to be there by their standards.  They had
enough women with them already.

It was that she didn't fit there because of her status.

She was noble, and she was family, and she didn't belong with the
hirelings.

And her old friends among the servants kept treating her like some kind
of demi-deity.

I don'tfit here anymore, she thought, a notion that had begun to make
its own little rut through her mind, she'd repeated it so often.  I
just don't fit here.  If I stay here much longer, I think I may go mad.
Itfeels like I'm being smothered.  Tarma was right.  You can put a hawk
in a birdcage, like a songbird, but it's still a hawk.

She caught a movement down at the second table, and saw her grandmother
and her friend easing out of their seats.  It didn't look like a trip
to the necessary; it seemed more final.  Somehow she knew where they
were going.

Back to the Tower.  They weren't needed here anymore, either-so they
were making a graceful, unobtrusive exit.

I wish I could do the same-That was when it hit her.

Why can't I do the same?  Why can't I just go?  She sat up straighter,
feeling her cheeks warming with excitement.

I have to return Grandmother's sword anyway-so why don't I follow after
them?  Maybe they'll be willing to teach me things.  Didn't Tarma say
they used to have a school?

The more she thought about it, the better the idea sounded.  And the
more intolerable and confining the idea of remaining here became.
Finally she excused herself from the table-her seatmate didn't even
notice-and slipped out of the Great Hall and into the corridor
beyond.

Once there, she hiked her encumbering skirts above her knees, and ran
for her room.  There were no servants in the hall to see her, and
although she split one sleeve of the gown, she no longer cared.  Let
Dierna give it to one of her maids.

I certainly won't wear it again.

She slipped out of it as soon as she reached her room, tossed it in a
heap in the corner, and dragged her saddlebags out from under the bed.
She rummaged through chests and wardrobe in a frenzy, discarding most
of what she encountered without a second thought, casting what she'd
decided to keep on the bed.

It was amazing how little she owned that she wanted to keep.  Her
armor, Lordan's outgrown castoffs, a few personal treasures and the
jewellry and books Lenore had left her .. . it all fit into two
saddlebags with room to spare.  She started to take a last look around
her room-and realized that it held nothing of her or for her anymore.

So she turned her back on it, and strode out, chain mail jingling with
a cheer she began to feel herself.

Out in the stable, even the grooms were absent, enjoying their own
version of the wedding feast.  All the better;

that made it possible for her to saddle up Verenna and ride out without
anyone noticing.

The mare came to her whistle and stood quietly while she saddled and
bridled her.  She felt Verenna's tense eagerness as she mounted, as if
the mare was as ready to be free of the place as Kero was.  She touched
her heel lightly to the mare's flank; Verenna leapt forward.  They
trotted across the courtyard, cantered to the gates.  She was at a full
gallop as they passed the gates in the outer wall.  Kero laughed as
they burst out into the sunshine, wind whipping her hair, Verenna
striding effortlessly under her.  Nothing was going to stand in her way
now!

But she pulled Verenna up abruptly at the sight of the two mounted
figures waiting for her at the crossroads.

with dread, she approached them at a walk.

SWuhdadteinflythseiycktell me to go back?  What if they don't want me?
What if" What kept you?"  asked Tarma.

Six

This was not precisely what Kerowyn had pictured when she'd asked for
teaching.

"Chopping wood I can understand," Kero said slowly, hefting the
unfamiliar weight of the ax in her right hand.

She eyed her appointed target, an odd setup of two logs braced against
the tree, and shifted her hand a bit farther down on the haft.  It
wasn't a very big ax, and she had the sinking feeling that it was going
to take a long time to chop her way through the pile of log sections
stacked up at the edge of the clearing.  She'd already put a dent in
the pile over the past few days, using a larger ax in a conventional
manner, but this tool baffled her.  It wasn't much heavier than the
hand axes some of Rathgar's men had fought with.

"I've been cutting wood for you since I got here, and I can see that
you still need firewood.  But why brace the logs so that I'm cutting'
at that angle?"

Warrl-Tarma's enormous wolf-creature-snorted, flopped himself down in a
patch of sun, and laid his ears back in patent disgust.  His kind were
called kyree, so Tarma had told her-and she needed no testimony as to
his intelligence; she'd seen that herself with her own eyes.

She'd gotten used to his presence over the past weeks, and now she
could read his expressions with more ease than she could read Tarma's.
It would appear that she was being particularly dense, though for the
life of her she couldn't figure out what she was missing.

Tarma chuckled evilly, and leaned against the woodpile.

If Kero had tried that, she'd probably have knocked half the logs down.
The pile didn't shift a thumb's length.

"But what if you've got it wrong?"  the Shin'a'in asked
conversationally.

"What if we don't need you to chop firewood?"

"What?"  Kero replied cleverly.  She blinked, and did a fast revision
of her assumptions.

"You mean you heat that great stone hulk with magic?  But I thought you
said-" "That it takes more effort to do something magically than it
does to just do it, yes," Tarma replied, a maddening little smile on
her face.

"No, we don't heat it with magic, yes, we use wood, and we still don't
need you to chop it.  We hire it done.  A couple of nice farmer lads
with muscles like oxen.  So why would I be having you chop wood, and
why would I be giving you different sizes of axes to do it with?  And
now why would I start asking you to work at odd angles?"

Kero blinked again, and the answer came to her in a burst of
memory-recollections of Lordan working out against the pells.

"Because you want me to strengthen my arms and shoulders," she said
immediately.

"All over, and not just a particular set of muscles."

"And because while you're doing so, you might as well be useful.
Besides, if I make you really chop up wood, you won't hold back.
Against the pells you might.

Against me, you already do."  This time Tarma laughed outright, but
Kero couldn't resent it; somehow Kero knew the Shin'a'in wasn't
laughing at her expense.  It was more as if Tarma was sharing a
sardonic little joke.

"Out on the plains we were set to working bellows at the forge, toting
water for the entire camp, or any one of a hundred other things.  Be
grateful it's wood-chopping I've got you doing.  Ax calluses you're
getting now are going to be in about the same places that you'd want
sword-calluses.  " Kero sighed and took her first, methodical blow. Now
that she knew why she was engaging in this exercise in frustration, it
wasn't quite so frustrating.  And, she vowed silently, I'm going to be
a lot more careful in placing my hits.  I just might impress her.

She certainly wasn't impressing her grandmother.

Kethry had tested her in any number of ways, from placing a candle in
front of her and telling her to light it by thinking of fire, to
placing various small objects in front of her and asking her to
identify which of them were enchanted.  She'd evidently failed
dismally, since Kethry had given up after three days and told her she'd
be better off in the hands of the Shin'a'in.

But she won't take that sword back, Kero thought in puzzlement,
swinging the ax in an underhand arC, repeating the motion over and
over, switching from right to left and back again under Tarma's
watchful eye.  It's hers, but she won't take it back.  I don't
understand-it's obviously magical, and no one in her right mind would
give something like that away-but she keeps saying that it spoke for
me) and it's mine.

So, marvelous.  It spoke for me.  Now what am I supposed to do with
it?

"Faster," Tarma said.  Kero sped up her blows, trying to keep each one
falling in exactly the same place; right on top of and within the
narrow bite she'd incised on the sides of the logs.  Those logs were
strapped tightly to either side of what had once been a tree.  When it
had been alive, it had somehow managed to root itself in the exact
middle of this clearing and had taken advantage of the full sun to grow
far taller than any of the trees around it.  Perhaps that had been a
mistake.  From the look of the top of the stump, some two men's height
above her head, it had been lightning-struck.  That top was splintered
in a way that didn't look to be the hand of man.

Maybe Grandmother got in a temper one day..  .

This was not where Tarma schooled her new pupil and practiced her own
sword-work; this was just what it seemed, a kind of primitive back
court to the Tower, with a large outdoor hearth for cooking whole deer
on one side, the pile of firewood ready to be chopped on the other, and
in the center, the old, dead tree with iron bands around it.  A big
old, dead tree.  Kero could circle what was left of the trunk with her
arms-barely.

"That's not too bad," Tarma observed.  She pushed herself off the
woodpile, and gestured to Kero to stop, then strolled over to the two
logs and began examining the cuts closely.  Kero wiped sweat from her
forehead with her sleeve, and shook her arms to keep them loose.

"That's not too bad at all.  And considering what a late start you
got-can you finish those in double time?"

She gave Kero the kind of look Dent used to-the kind that said, be
careful what you say, you'll have to live up to it.  Kero licked salty
moisture from her upper lip and considered the twin logs.  They were
chopped a little more than halfway through.  The target she'd been
creating was just above the iron bands holding them tight to the tree
trunk.

So when I get toward the end, they'll probably break the rest of the
way under their own weight.  She squinted up at the sun; broken light
coming down through the thick foliage made it hard to tell exactly
where the sun was.  It was close to noon, though, that was for
certain.

Her stomach growled, as if to remind her that she had gotten up at
dawn, and breakfast had been a long time ago.

The sooner I get these chopped, the sooner I can have something to eat.
Some bread and cheese; maybe sausage.

Cider.  Fruit-and I know she magics that up; pears and grapes and
just-ripe apples all served up together are not natural at any time of
year.

"I think I can," she said, carefully.

"I'll try."

Tarma stepped back, and nodded.  Kero set to, driving herself with the
reminder of how good that lunch was going to taste Especially the
cider.  At double time she was getting winded very quickly; there was a
stitch in her side, and she couldn't keep herself from panting, which
only parched her mouth and throat.  Her eyes blurred with fatigue, and
stung from the sweat and damp hair that kept getting in the way.
Finally, though, she heard the sound she'd been waiting for; the crack
of wood, first on one side of the trunk, then on the other.  As she got
in one last blow, then lowered her arms and backed off from the tree,
the two half-logs bent out from the center trunk, then with a second
crack, broke free and fell to the ground.

Kero rather wanted to fall to the ground herself.  She certainly wanted
to drop the ax, which now felt as if it weighed as much as the tree
trunk.  But she didn't; she'd learned that lesson early on, when she'd
dropped a practice sword at the end of a bout.  Tarma had picked it up,
and given her a look of sheer and pain-filled disgust.

She'd never felt so utterly worthless in her life, but worse was to
come.

Tarma had carefully, patiently, and in the tone and simple words one
would use with a five-year-old, explained why one never treats a weapon
that way, even when one is tired, even when the weapon is just pot
Metal and fit only to practice with.

Then, as if that wasn't humiliation enough, she put the blade away and
made Kero chop wood and haul water for the next three days straight,
instead of chopping and hauling in the morning, and practicing in the
afternoon.

So she hung onto the little hand-ax until Tarma took it away from
her.

"All right, youngling," she said in that gravelly voice, as Kero raised
a hand at the end of an arm that felt like the wood she'd just been
chopping.

"Let's get back to the Tower and a hot bath and some food.  You've
earned it."  Then she grinned.

"And after lunch, a mild little workout, hmm?"

Kero finished getting her arm up to her forehead, and mopped her brow
and the back of her neck with a sleeve that was already sopping wet.

"Lady," she croaked, "Every time you set me a 'mild little workout," I
wind up flat on my back before sundown too tired to move.  You're a
hard taskmaster."

Tarma only chuckled.

Lunch in the Tower was as "civilized" as even Kero's mother could have
wished.  The three of them sat around " a square wooden table in one of
the upper balconies, sun streaming down on them, a fresh breeze drying
Kero's hair.  Despite the fact that she had braided it tightly, bits of
it were escaping from her braids and the breeze tugged at them like a
kitten with string.  She kept trying to get it back under control, but
it persisted in escaping, and finally she just gave up and let it fly.
There was no one here to care how respectable" or not-she looked.

She felt much the better for her hot bath, though her muscles still
ached in unaccustomed places from that little exercise this morning.
Furthermore, she knew veRY well that she was going to hurt even more
tonight.  But it was a small price to pay for freedom.

Freedom from the bower, from boredom, from pretending I was something I
wasn't.  That thought led inevitably to another.  So what am I now?
What am I supposed to be doing with myself?  And one more- Why wasn't I
content with being someone's lady?

lIKE Dierna, An uneasy set of thoughts-and uncomfortable " thoughts.
But problems that, for the moment, she could do nothing about.  She
forced her attention back to more immediate concerns.

Like lunch.

I don't know where Grandmother gets her provisions, but Wendar would
kill to find out.  On a platter in the center of the table were cheese,
sausage, and bread.  Simple fare, certainly not the kind of things one
would exPect a powerful mage to savor-but they were the best Kero had
ever tasted.  It wasn't just hunger adding flavor, either; even after
one was pleasantly full, the food at Kethry's table tasted
extraordinary.

Beside the platter was a second, holding fruit; not only apples, pears
and grapes, but cherries as well.

Definitely not natural Those are fresh apples, pear season is over,
grapes are ripe, but cherries won't be for another moon, and apples
don't ripen until fall.

But the sun felt wonderful, the apple she'd just cut into quarters was
pleasantly tart, and Kero didn't much want to think about anything for
a while.

I'm going to enjoy this, however it came about.  Father was wrong about
Grandmother, and he was probably just as wrong about mages in
general.

Think You're ready for some family history?"  Kethry said, casting a
long look at her from across the old table, as Kero reached for a piece
of sausage.

"I think I have a fair number of surprises for you.  For one thing, you
have some RAther-unusual-cousins.  Quite a lot of them, in fact."

Kero froze in mid-reach.

The sorceress sat back in her cushioned chair, tucked flyaway hair
behind one ear and smiled at her expression.

In her russet gown of soft linen she looked nothing at all like a
feared and legendary mage.  She looked like the matriarch of a noble
family.

And I must look like a stranded fish, Kero thought, trying to get her
mouth to close.

Don't look so stricken, child," Tarma said, and reached across the
table, picked up the sausage, and dropped it into her hand.

"There's no outlawry on the family name.  It's just-well, you have a
lot more relatives than you know about.  Those cousins, for
instance."

I do?"  She gathered her scattered wits, and took a deep breath, only
then becoming aware that she was still clutching the sausage.  She put
it down carefully on her Plate.

"I mean-you said something about daughters and granddaughters earlier,
but Mother never said anythingI didn't know what to think.  How many?
Did Mother have a sister or-" "Your mother had six brothers and
sisters, youngling, " Tarma interrupted, grinning from ear to ear at
the dumbstruck look on her pupil's face.  She played with one end of
her own iron-gray braid as she spoke.  The tail of hair was as thick as
Kero's wrist, and as gray as the coat of Tarma's mare.

"Your grandmother and I are Goddess-sworn sisters, and I know I've
explained that to you already.  " When Kero finally nodded, she
continued.

"Well, what I didn't tell you was that before I met her, my Clan was
wiped out by the same bandits she'd contracted to stop."

"It was one of my first jobs as a Journeyman," Kethry put in, after
Tarma paused for a moment, staring off at a long cloud above the
trees.

"They had taken over a whole town and were terrorizing the inhabitants.
Tarma followed them there, and I managed to intercept her before she
managed to get herself killed."

"Huh.  You wouldn't have done much better alone, Greeneyes, " Tarma
replied sardonically, coming back to the conversation.

"Well.  We decided to team up.  It worked, and we actually managed to
take out the bandits and survive the experience.  That was when we
figured we'd make pretty good partners."

"Then things got a little complicated," Kethry chuckled, popping a
grape into her mouth.

"A little complicated?"  Tarma raised both eyebrows, then shrugged.

"I suppose-in the same way that stealing a war steed can get the Clans
a little annoyed.  Anyway, the main thing is that we got back to the
Plains, she got adopted into the Shin'a'in, and she vowed to the elders
that she'd build a new Clan for me.  Eventually she met and wedded your
grandfather Jadrek, and damn if she didn't just about manage to
repopulate Tale'sedrin all on her own!"

Kethry chuckled, and actually blushed.

"Jadrek had a little to do with that," she pointed out, raising an
eloquent finger at her partner.

"Well, true enough, and good blood he put in, too."

Tarma stretched, tossed the braid back over her shoulders, and clasped
both gnarled hands around her knee.

"That's another story.  We three raised seven children, all told.  When
the core group claimed the herds, we added adoptees from other Clans,
orphans and younglings who had some problems and wanted a fresh
start.

Tale'sedrin is a full Clan; smaller than it was before the massacre,
but growing.  Kind of funny how many young suitors we got drooling
around the core and the corebloodbut then, to us, a blond is exotic."

"But-I don't understand-" Kero protested.

"If my uncles and aunts are all Shin'a'in, why aren't I?  How did I end
up here instead of there?"

"Good question," Tarma acknowledged.

"The way these things work is that even though Keth vowed her children
to the Clan, what she vowed was that they'd have the right to become
Clan, not that they had to.  It's the younglings who decide for
themselves where they want to go.  We don't make anyone do anything
they aren't suited for-the Plains are too harsh and unforgiving for
anyone who doesn't love them to survive there.  So-when we've got a
case like Keth's, vowed younglings of adopted blood, the children spend
half their time with the Clans until they're sixteen, then they choose
whether they want to become Shin'a'in in full, or go off on their own.
Five of those aunts and uncles of yours chose Shin'a'in ways and the
Tale'sedrin banner when they came of age to make the choice."

"Mother didn't.  And?"  Kero asked curiously.  Why would anyone choose
to stay here?  The Keep may be the most boring backwater in the
world.

"I was getting to that."  Tarma gave her one of those looks.

"Of the two that didn't go with the Clans, one picked up where his
mother left off, and took over the White Winds sorcery school she'd
founded and set up at the Keep-just moved it off onto property he'd
swindl-ahem.  "

She cast a sideways glance at Kethry, who only seemed amused to Kero.

"Excuse me.  Earned.  That's your uncle Jendar.  It's not that he
didn't like Clan life, it's that he's Adept-potential, and all that
mage-talent would be wasted Out there.  There's another son, and he's
mage-gifted as Well.  That's your uncle Jadrek, only he's a Shin'a'in
shaman.

But your mother Lenore was last-born, your grandfather died when she
was very small and we had some problems with the school that kept us
busy.  Maybe too busy.  She-well-" Tarma coughed, and looked
embarrassed.  " Let's say she was different.  Scared to death of
horses, and had fits over the Clan style of living, so we stopped even
sending her out to the Plains.  Bookish, like Jadrek, but no logic, no
discipline, no gift of scholarship.

No real interest in anything but ballads and tales and romances.  No
abilities besides the ones appropriate to a fine lady.  No
mage-talent."

"In short, she was our disappointment, poor thing," Kethry sighed, and
twined a curl of silver hair around her fingers.

"She spent all her time at the neighboring family's place, and all she
really wanted to be was somebody's bride, the same daydream as all the
girls she knew.

I scandalized her; Tarma terrified her.  Finally, I fostered her with
the Lythands until she was sixteen, then brought her back here.  She
came back a lady-and suited to nothing else.  " Kero thought about her
mother for a moment, surprised that for the first time in
months-years-the thoughts didn't call up an ache of loss.  Even when
Lenore had been well, she'd been fragile, unsuited to anything that
took her outside the Keep walls, even pleasure-riding, and likely to
pick up every little illness that she came in contact with.  No wonder
she didn't like Tarma or her Clan.  Living in a tent for three moons
every year must have been a hell for her.

"So what were you going to do?"  she asked carefully.

"Mother wasn't the kind of person you could leave on her own.  She was
better with someone to take care of her.

Kethry smiled slightly, the lines around her eyes deepening.  " A
gentle way to put it, but accurate.  Frankly, I had no ideas beyond
getting her married off.  I wanted to find a really suitable husband
for her, one she could learn to love, but after one experience with
suitors, I despaired of finding anyone that would treat her so that
she'd survive the marital experience."  Her eyes hardened.

"That suitor, by the by, was Baron Reichert.  Not the Baron then, just
a youngster hardly older than Lenore, but already experienced beyond
his years.  One might even say, jaded.

"One might," Tarma agreed.

"I prefer 'spoiled, debauched , and corrupt.  He was never interested
in any thing other than the lands, and when he saw how delicate your
mother was, he damn near danced for joy.  " She scowled, and Kero read
a great deal in that frown.

"Need saw it, too; damn sword nearly made Keth pull it on him and
skewer him then and there.  First time that stupid thing's been totally
right in a long time, and us having to fight it to keep from being made
into murderers.

But given what's been going on, maybe we should have taken the
chance."

Kethry sighed, and leaned forward a little.

"Well, we were in a pickle then.  I knew Reichert would keep coming
back as long as she was un wedded and Lenore was just silly enough that
he might be able to persuade her that he loved her.  I was at my wits'
end.  I even considered manufacturing a quarrel and disinheriting her
long enough for Reichert to lose interest.  Then your father showed up,
escorting a rich young mageling, and looking for work when his escort
duties were done.  Strong, handsome, in an over-muscled way, full of
stories about the strange places he'd been, and amazingly patient in
some circumstances.  Personally, I thought he was god-sent."

"The fathead," Tarma muttered under her breath.

Kero winced a little; not because of what Tarma had said, but because
she couldn't bring herself to disagree with it.  She'd been here at the
Tower for several weeks, now, and with each day her former life seemed
a little less real, a little farther distant.  She supposed she should
be feeling grief for Rathgar, but instead, whenever she tried to summon
up the proper emotions, all she could recall were some of the stupid
things he'd done, and the unkind words he'd said so often to her.

I'm turning into some kind of inhuman monster, she thought with guilt.
I can't even respect my father's memory.

" He may have been a fathead, she'enedra, but he was exactly what
Lenore needed and wanted.  A big, strong man to protect and cos set
her."  Kethry looked up at the blindingly blue sky, and followed a new
cloud with her eyes for a moment.

"I offered to let him stay on for a bit, and the moment Lenore laid
eyes on him I knew she was attracted to him.  Give her credit for some
sense, at least-Reichert terrified her as much or more than you ever
did.  I was just afraid that he'd notice what he was doing, and manage
to convince her he was harmless."

"Tender little baby chicks know a weasel when they see one," Tarma
retorted, scratching the bridge of her beaklike nose with one finger.

"That's not sense, that's instinct.  Lady Bright, I suppose I should be
glad her instincts were working, at least.  One year in his custody,
and you'd have been out a daughter, and lands, and probably under siege
in this Tower."

"Probably," Kethry agreed wearily.

"Well, to continue the story, that young mage was the last pupil we
were going to take; we planned to retire within a few years.  So I let
Rathgar stick around-and I told Lenore I wanted her to run a little
deception on him."

"That part I know about," Kero exclaimed.

"If you mean that she pretended to be the housekeeper's daughter
instead of yours, so he felt free to court her-" Kethry nodded, and
Kero flushed.

"When I was little, that seemed so romantic .. .... Tarma snorted.

"Romantic!  Dear Goddess-I supposed she'd think of it that way.  We
were both afraid that if he knew she was Keth's daughter, he'd never
even think about courting her.  We just wanted her under the protection
of somebody who'd take care of her without exploiting her."

' It all would have worked fine, except for Rathgar himself," Kethry
said, shaking her head.

"If I'd had any idea how he felt about mages-well, she fell very
happily and romantically in love with him, and he was just dazzled by
her, and it all looked as if things were going to work out wonderfully.
He proposed, she accepted, and I told him who she really was-" "And the
roof fell in."  Kero felt entirely confident in making that statement. 
She knew her father, and had a shrewd guess as to what his reaction to
such a revelation would be.  Outrage at the deception, further outrage
that this mage was his beloved's mother.  Before long he'd have
convinced himself that Kethry had some deep-laid plot against him, and
he'd have done his best to pry his poor innocent Lenore out of her
mother's "deadly" influence.

" I didn't see it coming," Kethry admitted.

"I should have, and I didn't.  And at that point, it was too late.  My
daughter was deep in the throes of romantic love, and

Rathgar was her perfect hero.  Anything Lenore heard from me on the
subject threw her into hysterics.  She was certain that I wanted to
part them."

"She thought he made the sun rise and set," Tarma said with utter
disgust, her hawklike face twisted into an expression of distaste.

"It's a damned good thing he was an honest and unmalicious man, because
if he'd beaten her and told her she deserved it, she'd have believed
him.

How could any woman put herself in that kind of position willingly?  "
"I suppose I should have expected it," Kethry said gloomily.

"I set the whole mess up in the first place.  You know what your people
say-"Be careful what you ask for, you may get it."  For the first time
she had someone around who thought she was wonderful just as she was,
helpless and weak, and wasn't trying to force her to do something
constructive with her life.  Of course she thought he hung the moon."

Tarma threw up her hands.

"I still don't understand it.

Keth went ahead with the marriage, because anything was safer than
letting Reichert have another chance.  Well, that was when Lenore
decided Keth and I were old fools and began listening only to Rathgar,
and when he saw he had the upper hand, he started making demands.
Finally it came down to this: when Lordan was born, he made Keth
promise never to set foot on Keep property without an invitation."

"So that's why-" Kero's voice trailed off.  A great many things started
making sense, now.

"I think he was afraid I'd try and take her away from him," Kethry
said, after a long silence filled only with the sound of the wind in
the leaves below them.

"I really do think he didn't care as much about the property as he did
about my daughter.  On the other hand, I know that he always resented
that every bit of his new-won wealth came from me.  I think he kept
expecting me to try and take over again, to control him through either
the wealth, Lenore, or you children."

Probably.  That was the one thing he hated more than anything else,
being controlled by someone.  Maybe because he got a bellyful of taking
orders when he was Younger, I don't know.  I do know that he'd never
have believed Grandmother didn't have some kind of complicated plot
going.

Tarma got up, stretched, and perched herself on the stone railing of
the balcony.

"Well, I'm not that generous, " she growled.

"The man was a common mere; a little better born than most, but not
even close to landed.

And that was what he wanted all his life-to win lands, and become
gentry.  That's what most meres want, once they lose their taste for
fighting.  Whether it's a farm they dream of, or a place like the Keep,
they all want some kind of place they can claim as their own, and
that's the long and the short of it."

Kero shifted uneasily on her wooden bench, and put down the last of the
sausage, uneaten.  She had the vague feeling she ought to be defending
Rathgar, but she couldn't.  Both of them were right.  She knew beyond a
shadow of any doubt that Rathgar had adored her mother-but she also
knew his possessive obsession about his lands.

And she knew that there would be no way that Kethry could ever have
convinced him that she didn't care about the property so long as her
daughter was happy.  He simply could not have understood an attitude
like that.  Kero had heard him holding forth far too many times on the
folly of some acquaintance, or some underling, giving up property for
the sake of a child.  And his reasoning, by his own lights, was sound.
After all, if one gave up the property now, how could one provide for
that same child, or leave it the proper inheritance?
"Destroy a
birthright for the sake of the moment?"

she'd heard him say, once, when the Lythands had settled a dispute with
a neighbor by deeding the disputed land to a common relation.

"Folly and madness!  Your children won't thank you for it, when they've
grown into sense!  " And she was sure now that this was the source of
his deep-seated bitterness-that he owed everything, not only to his
wife's mother, not only to a woman, but to a mage.

And one who had earned it all honestly, herself.

That must have rankled the most.  Mages were not to be trusted; mages
could change reality into whatever suited them at the moment.  Mages
were the source of everything that was wrong with the world.

"That's how and why your folk ended up with a breeding-herd of
Shin'a'in horses," Tarma said, startling her out of deep thought.

"I don't know if you know how rare it is for us to sell a stud, but we
let him have one-an un gelded cull, but still, a stud.  He wouldn't
listen to Keth about the lands, he didn't have her resources, and he
didn't have her capital.  He was operating on the edge of disaster,
squeaking through season after season, never making a profit.  We had
done fine, but we'd had the Schools.  This land is too rocky to be good
farm land;

the tenants barely managed to make ends meet.  Finally I had the Clan
bring in a herd of the best culls and sell them to him at a bargain
price.  He figured he'd outbargained the ignorant barbarians.  We
didn't care; that got him something he could use to maintain the Keep
and Lenore without~ stripping the lands bare or abusing the tenants.
Then, when you and your brother were of an age to train your own
beasts, I arranged to have a couple of good young mares slipped into
the next batch he bought.  " She lifted her face to the sun and breeze,
and Kero thought she looked very like a weathered, bronze statue.

Tough, yet somehow graceful.

"It wasn't all that hard to do," Kethry said wryly.

"Really, it wasn't.  After all, we were making trips back to the Clan
every year to see the rest of my brood.  It was more than worth the
fuss to get him convinced you two should have them and then convince
him it had been all his own idea.  It was about my only way of doing
anything for you after I pulled back to the Tower and promised to leave
you all alone."

"So what do you think of all this?"  Tarma asked, finally turning those
bright blue eyes back toward Kero.

"It isn't often a person gets an entire Clan as relatives, and right
out of nowhere, too."

"Am I ever going to get to meet them?"  she asked impulsively.

"The others, my uncles and aunts and all-" Tarma laughed.  "oH, I
imagine.  Eventually.  But right now you and I have a previous
appointment."

Kero felt a moment of disappointment, then smiled.

After all, it wasn't as if everything had to happen all at once.  Look
how much has happened in just the past few weeks!  I think I can wait a
little longer.

"Then we'd better get to it before we both get stiff," she replied, and
grinned.

"Or before I get a chance to think about what you're going to do to me
at practice!"

The one thing Tarma was an absolute fanatic about was cleanliness.  She
insisted Kero take a bath after morning work and afternoon training,
both.  There was no shortage of hot water at the Tower, unlike the
Keep-that was one magical extravagance Kethry was more than willing to
indulge in.  Once Kero got over her initial surprise, she found that
she liked the idea of twice-daily baths.  Hot water did a great deal to
ease aching muscles, and the evening bath was a good place to think
things over, with a light dinner and good wine right beside the
enormous tub.  Kethry left her granddaughter alone after dinner, saying
when Kero asked her that "everyone needs a little privacy.  " Kero was
just as glad.  She tended to fall asleep rather quickly after those
long soaks, and she doubted she'd be very good company for anyone.

With unlimited hot water, she found she was following Tarma's example;
drawing one bath to get rid of the dirt and sweat, then draining it and
drawing a second of hotter, clean water to soak in.

The bathing chamber in her room was far nicer than the corresponding
room at the Keep.  It was as big as her sleeping chamber, easily, and
the tub could have held two comfortably.  That tub looked as if it had
been hollowed out of a huge granite boulder, then polished to a
mirror-smooth finish.  There were convenient flattened places, just the
right size to rest a plate and a cup, at either end of it.  Water, hot
and cold, came out of spouts in the wall above the middle.  You simply
pulled a little lever, attached to something like a sluice-gate, and
the water ran into the tub.  The water itself came from a spring in the
mountain above.  Kethry had shown her the cisterns at the top of the
cliff the Tower had been built into-telling her they were part of the
original building.

The original building.  And she doesn't know how old it is.
That's-amazing.  It made Kero wonder who those builders were-and what
they'd been like.

They certainly enjoyed their comforts, she mused idly, sipping her
wine.  Set into the wall of the bathing chamber was an enormous window
made of tiny, hand-sized, diamond-shaped panes of glass.  Glazing the
windows had been Kethry's addition; the previous occupants had either
seen no need for glazed windows, or had been unable to produce them.
Tonight Kero had noticed a full moon rising, and once she'd drawn her
second bath, she blew out the candles to watch it and the stars.  With
all the incredible things those Builders were able to do, I can't
imagine why they wouldn't have been able to make a little glass.

I wonder if they were so powerful that they could actually keep the
winter winds out of the Tower by magic?

Moonlight filtered through the steam rising from her bath and touched
the surface of the water, turning it into a rippling mirror.  She had
to laugh at her fancies, then, for the answer was obvious to anyone but
a romantic.  Of course; glass breaks, and Grandmother said herself she
had no idea how long the place stood empty.  There are more than enough
crows and robber-rats around here to steal every last shard.  Blessed
Agnira, some of Mother's silliness must have rubbed off on me.

She laughed aloud, and the water sloshed at the sides of the tub as she
reached for the carafe of wine to pour herself a second serving.  That
was when she noticed that she was nowhere near as sore and stiff as
she'd expected to be.

I must be getting use to this, she thought with surprise.

By the Trine-I was beginning to think I'd never stop aching!  Funny,
though-even when I was so sore I wanted to die, I still was enjoying
myself... This afternoon had been the first time Tarma had actually
given her a lesson in real sword work  Admonishing her to "pretend I'm
one of those logs," the Shin'a'in had run her through some basic moves,
then brought her up to speed on them.  Before the afternoon was over,
she had been performing simple strike-guard-strike patterns against
Tarma at full force and full speed-and she thought her teacher seemed
pleased.  It had been even better than yesterday, when Tarma started
her on tracking.

Once Kero knew what to look for, it had been surprisingly easy to track
the movements of a deer, a badger, and Warrl himself across a stretch
of forest floor.

Of course, none of them had been trying to hide their trails.  Kero had
a notion that if Warrl wanted to hide his traces, the only way anyone
would be able to track him would be by magic.

Most satisfying about today's exercises had been that the skills she'd
acquired had been all her own.  The sword was hanging on the wall of
her room, and Kero wasn't going to take it down until she didn't need
its uncanny expert assistance-at least where fighting was concerned.

Is that what I want to do?  she asked herself suddenly.

Is that what I want to learn?  She pondered the question while the moon
climbed higher in the window, and the square of silver light crept off
the water and onto the floor, leaving her end of the bathing chamber in
darkness.

I suppose it makes sense, she thought with a certain unease.  After
all, it's always been physical things that I've been best at.  Riding,
hunting, hawking-that knife fighting I pried out of Dent.  The only
"proper" thing I was ever any good at was dancing.... The one thing
she'd been able to surprise Tarma with was her expertise with bow.  And
then she asked me why I hadn't taken a bow with me when I went after
the bandits.

When I said that it just never occurred to me, I thought she was going
to give up on me then and there.

Kero sighed.  It's so hard to have to think of people as your enemies
... at least she isn't being as nasty as Dent was to Lordan.

Dent had been absolutely merciless on his young pupil, never giving him
second chances, cursing and sometimes striking him with the flat of a
blade, driving him to exhaustion and beyond.  And yet once practice was
over, he was unfailingly courteous, a kindly man, who'd praise Lordan
to his face for what he'd done right, remind him of what he'd done
wrong, and then go on to tell Rathgar of Lordan's progress with exactly
the same words, praise with the criticism.

He never treated me that way-but why does it feel as if he wasn't doing
me any favors by letting me get off lightly?  She closed her eyes and
sank a little lower into the hot water.  Maybe-because half of what
Tarma's teaching me is undoing mistakes I learned to make?  Well, at
least I can see some progress.  I get a little better each day, she
shows me something new each day.  And she's giving me the same kind of
talks afterward that Dent used to give Lordan.

That felt good; warm and satisfying.  There were no "buts" attached to
Tarma's compliments.  When she said that Kero was doing something well,
she meant it, with no qualifications.

I just hope I'm not boring her too much.  At least I'm patient.  Lordan
used to get so mad when he couldn't do something right that he'd storm
off the field and go duck his head in the horse trough.  And she can't
say I'm not determined.

The moon finally rose to a point where there was no light shining in
the window at all.  The bathing chamber was in complete darkness.  And
the wine was gone.

I guess it's time for bed, she decided.  Before I fall asleep in the
tub.

She found the plug at the bottom of the bathtub with her toes, took the
bit of chain attached to it between her big toe and the rest, and
pulled.  When Tarma had shown her the drain at the bottom of the tub,
she'd been both amazed and amused-the tubs at home had to be bailed by
hand, then tilted over on their sides to drain completely.

She couldn't imagine why no one had ever thought of something like this
before.

She stood up, slowly; a thick towel hung from a rod at the side of the
tub; it gleamed softly in the darkness, and she reached for it, then
stepped out onto the tiled floor.  That was the only thing wrong with
this chamber;

the tile made the floor cold!

Cold enough that she dried herself off quickly, and hung the towel back
where it belonged.  Tarma had given her one of those looks when she'd
thrown it on the floor, and Kero had managed to deduce that there
weren't many servants in the Tower.  Thereafter she'd put things away
properly.

She pulled on the old shirt she used to sleep in, and walked slowly and
silently across the floor to her own room; Tarma wanted her to practice
moving quietly whenever possible, so that doing so became habit rather
than something she had to think about.  Kero had decided on her own
that learning to move quietly in the dark would be a very good idea, so
she practiced a little every night.

Once past the doorway, she turned to light the candle she'd left on a
shelf by the door.  And when she turned back with it in her hand, she
thought she'd jumped into a nightmare.

Teeth, that was all she saw at first; huge white fangs, gleaming in the
candlelight.  And eyes the size of walnuts, shining with an evil, green
glow all their own.

Seven

She shrieked, jumped back into the wall behind her, and dropped the
candle, all at the same time.

The flame went out immediately, leaving her in the dark.  She felt for
the wall and edged along it toward the door, hoping to escape into the
bathing chamber before whatever it was realized she was moving-and
wondering what awful thing had happened that this thing had gotten past
Tarma and her Grandmother.

"Children," snorted a voice from-somewhere.  It seemed to come from
everywhere at once.  She froze.

"Child, I am not the Snow Demon.  I don't eat babies.

I just came here tonight to talk to you."  She didn't move, and the
voice took on a tone of exasperation.

"Will you please light that candle again and go sit down?"

"W-who are you?  " she stammered.

"Where are you?  I I "Right here."  Something cold and wet prodded her
between her breasts, and she nearly screamed again.

"It's Warrl, you little ninny!  You see me every day!"

"Warrl?"  She reached out-cautiously-and encountered a furry head at
about chest level.  It certainly felt like Warrl.

And while you're at it, you can scratch my ears."

It certainly sounded the way she'd imagined Warrl would talk.  If Warrl
could talk.

"How are you-" she began.  He interrupted her.

"I'm Mindspeaking you," he said, impatiently.

"It's exactly what you could do if you wanted to, and the other person
had the Gift of Mindhearing."  She felt a brief Movement of air and
heard the faintest little ticking sound, a sound that might have been
the clicking of claws on the floor.

"Do light that candle and come to bed, there's a good child."

She went to her knees and groped about on the floor until her left hand
encountered the candle.  Once lit, she stood up with it in her hand,
and discovered that Warrl had resumed the position he'd been in when
she first entered the room.  Sprawled on her bed, taking up fully half
of it.

"Make yourself comfortable," she said sarcastically, more than a little
nettled now that her heart had started beating again.

"Thank you, I have," he replied with equal irony.

She crossed the floor and put the candle into the sconce in the
headboard, refusing to look at him the entire time.

Only when she had climbed up into bed, and settled herself'
cross-legged on the blanket, did she finally meet his eyes.

"So if you could talk all this time, why haven't you.

she demanded.

"There wasn't any reason for you to know I could," he replied calmly.

"Now there is."

"And what, pray tell me, is that reason?"

"What did I do?"  she whispered, head still ringing from his "shout."

His ears came back up.

"Every time you feel safe and begin to concentrate on some complicated
problem that involves your emotions, you do exactly what you just
did.

you think "out loud.  " Very loud, I might add, far louder than you
know; I would imagine that one could hear you all the way to the next
Keep if one was so minded."

'"I do?"  She shook her head; it didn't seem possible.

"You do," he insisted.  Almost as loudly as I just shouted.  " And
unlike my "shout, " which was meant only for your mind, your thoughts
are heard by anything receptive.  You are fortunate that your
grandmother is not Gifted with Mindspeaking, or your secret would be no
such thing."  He flattened his ears, and looked pained; his brow
wrinkled in a way that would have been funny under any other
circumstances.

"It is very discommoding.

And uncomfortable.  I won't dispute your right to keeping your
abilities to yourself, since they don't involve magecraft, but I must
insist that you get training.  Quickly.

Before you cause an unfortunate incident."

"I want to know why you have been concealing your Gift."  Kero bit back
her first reply, which was that she had Her heart stopped again.  She
couldn't pretend not to understand him; she had the feeling that if she
tried to lie mind-to-mind she'd get caught.  And she knew very well
what he was asking, her mother's books had called this ability to hear
thoughts a "Gift."

So she temporized, trying to buy time to think.

"I

haven't been hiding anything," she countered.  It was the truth; Kethry
hadn't asked her if she could hear thoughts, or given her any tests to
see if she could.

Meanwhile, her mind was running in little circles, like a mouse caught
in the bottom of a jar.  If Grandmother finds out about this, she'll
make me become a mage, and I don't want to become a mage, I want to be
like Tarma-The kyree laid his ears back and winced.

"PLEASE!"

he "shouted" at her, making her wince, but bringing that frantic little
circle of thoughts to a halt.

He sighed gustily.

"Much better.  Thank you.  Child, I have no intention of betraying your
secret to Kethry, if that is really what you want-but what you just did
is precisely the reason why I wanted to speak with you."

goowttnenwatsrani'tnignog.  Obviously what she had learned on her od
enough.

Not if someone like Warrl can hear me all the way to the Lythands'.

"I can probably take care of it myself," she said cautiously.

He lifted his lip just a trifle, and snapped at the air in annoyance.
She shrank back instinctively.  His fangs were as long as her thumb,
and very sharp.

"Don't you realize I wouldn't be here if that were true?  There is no
way you can train yourself And untrained-well, half-trained-you are in
terrible danger.  You are just very lucky that the mage you killed
wasn't strongly Mind Gifted  If he had been-well, you'd probably be
serving his every whim right now.  It is ridiculously easy to take over
the mind of someone who is Gifted, but untrained; your barriers are
weak, and you have no secondary defenses.  Right now You are more
vulnerable than someone with no Gift at all.  And you display that fact
to the universe every time You become distressed!"

But that just led her right back to the same problem;

she didn't want Kethry to know about this.  And who else was there that
could train her?

She shook her head.

"I can't-" He growled, and sneezed, as if he had smelled something he
didn't like.

"Must you be so dense?  I'm offering to train you myself.  No one else
will ever know, not even my mind-mate~."

"You are?"  She could hardly believe it.

"But why?

He put his head down on his paws, and sighed.

"Self-defense, child.  Self-defense.  I am increasingly weary of trying
to shut you out, and you have at times awakened me out of my rest. Now,
in the interest of peaceful sleeping, shall we work on that so-called
shield of yours?

You're going about it all wrong."

And I thought I was overworked before, Kero thought with a little
groan, as she opened bleary eyes two weeks later on a morning that had
arrived much too soon.  She'd trained herself to wake as soon as the
first light of sunrise came through her eastern window.  It seemed to
hit her closed eyelids candle marks earlier every morning.

The worst part of it is, if Tarma knew Warrl was keeping me up half the
night, she'd probably let me sleep later.  But if I tell her-no, I
can't.  I don't know what she'd think about this, and I know she'd tell
Grandmother.

Kero rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, and sat up slowly.  By the look
of the clear, pink-tinged sky, this was going to be another perfect
day-which meant Tarma would be feeling pretty frisky.  Kero was
beginning to look forward to rainy days; even more to days of cold and
damp, with a heavy morning fog.  Both conditions made Tarma's joints
ache-she would stay in bed until late morning, and confine Kero's
workouts to sessions in the practice ring against the pells or other
targets.  It wasn't particularly nice to be pleased when her teacher
wasn't feeling well-but Kero had found that guilt in this case was
easily outweighed by the pleasure of sleeping in.

For the past week, she'd been freed from the chopping and
wood-carrying; now she practiced against the pells and in sword-dances
in the morning, had an hour or two of book-training directly after
lunch, and practiced against Tarma in the afternoon.  She no longer
wondered what she was going to do with herself-she was going to become
a mercenary, like Tarma, and like some of those women Kethry had hired
to protect Lordan and the Keep.

The only question in her mind now was-what kind of mercenary?  The
books that Tarma was teaching her from were studies in strategy and
tactics-the ways to move and fight with whole armies.  At this point,
Kero couldn't see why she'd need anything of the sort.

But maybe Tarma had some kind of plan.  Kero was perfectly content to
learn whatever Tarma wished to teach her, and let the future take care
of itself.  Tarma was always saying that "no learning, no knowledge is
ever wasted."  If nothing else, it probably wouldn't be a bad thing for
an ordinary fighter to know how whole armies moved, so she could
anticipate her orders.

She stretched and arched her back, then wormed her way back down under
the warm blankets.  I'll just relax a little longer, she thought, and
reveled in the "silence" in her mind.  She hadn't realized just how
much she'd been "overhearing" until after Warrl showed her the right
way to protect herself; ground, center, and shield.  For years there
had been a kind of buzzing in back of all her thoughts, as if she was
hearing a tourney crowd from several furlongs away.  Now it was gone,
and the relief was incredible.

She hadn't quite realized how useful this particular ability could be
to a fighter, either, until Warrl showed her.  He'd proved she could
use it to get a tactical advantage in many situations; from doing as
she had during the rescue and "reading" the area for enemy minds, to
reading her opponent during a combat and countering his moves before he
even made them.

But she wasn't entirely happy about using it that way.

She caught herself falling asleep again, and jerked herself back up
into wakefulness.  She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of
bed before she succumbed a second time.  A brief trip to the bathing
chamber and a splash of cold water solved the problem; the water was
cold enough to make her gasp, but she was certainly awake now.

I don't like the idea of reading someone's thoughts without them
knowing, she decided, while climbing into her breeches and tunic.  It
doesn't seem fair.  Maybe if the circumstances were really
extraordinary, like going after Dierna alone, it would be all right.  I
mean, with odds like that, you have to use every advantage you've
got.

But if I was just one-on-one-no, it's not right.

She tightened the laces on her tunic, and reached for stockings and
boots.  Besides, if I used it a lot, pretty soon I wouldn't be able to
hide its existence.  Then what?

People would hate me, or they'd be afraid of me.  It wouldn't be an
advantage anymore, it'd be a handicap.

No, I don't want that; I've had my fill of being different.

That led to the same problem that had been troubling her since she came
here.

What's wrong with me?  she asked herself unhappily, as she laced her
boots tight to her legs.  Why is it that I don't want what everyone
else does?  Every other girl seems to want a husband and a house full
of babies.  Even Grandmother and Tarma had families, and if Tarma
hadn't been Swordsworn, she'd have raised her own children instead of
helping with Grandmother's.  She shook her head, her earlier cheer
gone.  I don't like children, and if anyone else knew that, they'd
think I was some kind of monster.  I hate being cooped up inside, and I
don't want to have to spend my life taking care of everybody except
myself!  But all the priests have to say about it is how women should
rejoice that they can sacrifice themselves for their families.  Blessed
Trine, am I the one who's crazy, or is it everybody else?

But since there was no possible way to answer that question, she jerked
the laces of her boots tight with a snarl of frustration, and went out
to take out her ill-humor and uncertainty on the pells.

Tarma's private practice ring was indoors rather than outside; a second
hollowed-out cave beside the stables, this one with the walls left
rough and convoluted.  She'd long ago tired of practicing in the cold
and wet-and the mere thought of practicing in the snow was enough to
make her shiver.  Besides, back when she and Keth had held the Keep,
she'd gotten used to having an indoor practice ground.  This one was
much smaller, but she didn't need room for twenty pupils anymore.

Kero was going through her paces; one of the Shin'a'in sword-dances.
And as Tarma watched her, the Swordsworn's heart sang with pride.
Granted it was one of the simplest of the exercises, but Kerowyn
performed it so flawlessly that it looked as effortless as breathing.

The girl's a natural, she thought with a kind of astonished pleasure.
Years and years of training younglings, and never a natural in the
lot-and now, at the end of my days, I not only get to teach one, but
she's an adoptee.

My Clan.

She'd been waiting for Kethry to get up the nerve to ask about the girl
for weeks.  Keth had been vaguely disappointed that Kerowyn proved out
null so far as magecraft went, though she'd admitted to her partner
that the girl seemed more relieved than anything else.

Now, at last, she'd come down to watch Kero work out; and Tarma sensed
that she was ready to ask the question.

" Well," Kethry said, as Kerowyn moved into the next exercise in the
cycle, this one a little harder than the last.

"She looks like she's doing all right.  That isn't Need, is it?"

"No, it's a painted wooden practice blade," Tarma told her.

"I made it the same size, heft and shape, so she could get used to the
weight and balance.  Need's up on her wall-her decision, and she says
the damn thing stays there until she's sure of her own abilities and
she knows that what she does is due to her skill, not the sword working
through her.

"So?"  Keth replied.

"So, what?"  Tarma countered, teasingly.

"So how is she?"  the mage snarled in annoyance.

"Is she any good, or not?"

To Tarma's utter amazement, her throat closed, and her eyes filled with
tears.  She couldn't speak for a moment, and Kethry bit her lip in
dismay.

"oH, no," she whispered.

"When she didn't have any mage-talents, I was sure-what are we going to
do with her?  " Tarma wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and
coughed to get her voice working again.

"Keth, she'enedra you've got it backward.  The girl's good.

hell frost she's better than good.  One year, just one year of
teaching, and Companies are going to stand in line to have her."  She
pulled Kethry into one of the alcoves formed by the irregular walls of
the cave, so that kERO wouldn't notice them watching her from the
shadows.

"Look at her; look at her move.  She's a natural, Keth, the kind of
pupil that comes along once in a teacher's lifetime if she's lucky.
She's never had anything other than some indiferent training in
knife-fighting, but she's taken to the sword as if she was born with
one in her hand.  She's doing things now that most of my old students
couldn't have done after two years of teaching.  She could probably
earn a living right now, if all somebody wanted was a basic recruit."

"And,in that year?"  Kethry watched her granddaughter rather than
Tarma.

"Depends," she replied after a moment.

"In that year she'll be able to go to the best Companies and they'll
take her for officer training.  They won't tell her that, of course,
but she'll be an officer a lot faster than you or I made it.  She's not
only a natural with a weapon, she's a natural on the field."

sHE POKED kETHRY with her elbow to regain her attention.

"By the way, WarrL said to tell you that you were right; she's a
Mindspeaker.

He also said to tell you that he's taking care of the training."

Kethry relaxed.

"Good, and I appreciate his delicate sense of what to promise.  You
know, I was afraid you were unhappy because she was awful, and you
didn't know how to tell me."

Tarma chuckled.

"Hardly.  And hardly unhappy.  TO get a student like her is amazing
enough-but that it turns out to be one of ours-well, the only thing
that would make me happier would be if Jadrek were here to see her. "

"He probably knew before we did.

Keth smiled a little.

did.

And thank Warrl for me; I was afraid she was a Mindspeaker, but since
I'm not, I had no way to tell.  I thought she was shielded, but that
could just have been the fact that she was concentrating.  She's better
off in Warrl's hands-paws-than mine."

"I think he has his paws full," Tarma said, recalling what WarRL had
told her this morning.

"As stubborn as ever you were, mind-mate, and as taciturn.  She won't
tell me anything, I have to pry it out of her.  Thank the gods there's
only one of her, and I don't have to teach her mind-magic.  She refuses
to learn the offensive techniques."  He had snorted his opinion of her
attitude.

"She has all the morals and compunctions as one of those half-crazed
Heralds!"

"In that case, I have a proposition to make to you.

Kethry took a deep breath before she continued.  Tarma restrained a
sigh; Keth only did that when she was going to ask something she didn't
think her partner would like.

"Would you be up to teaching two?  Your second pupil will already have
had several years of good instruction, so he'll be about at Kero's
level, I'd guess."

Tarma considered that for a moment.  I'd like to devote all my
attention to her-but she needs some competition.

"Depends on WHO the pupil is, and how much free rein I have with
etition will be hairomu.udt iwsilelaskieeerptoheteraochn thwero,toaensd
She poked Kethry hcaovimnpg someone else damned good for her,
especially if she thinks she's haVing to compete for my attention. But
I can't have a brat taking my concentration away from her, and frankly,
I won't put up with a brat anymore.

"I got a 'begging' letter from Megrarthon," Kethry replied, watching
Kero, and picking absently at a shiny bit of quartz embedded in the
rock wall.

"It arrived a couple of days ago, but I had to get up the nerve to ask
about Kero first."

"So what's the King of Rethwellan want with us?"

Tarma asked, a little surprised.

"Was it from "His Majesty the King, Megrarthon Jadrevalyn' or my old
student Jad?  And did he mention his overhand?"

' From your old student, and he said the gout in that broken shoulder
is just too bad; he's never going to get the overhand swing back.
Hopefully, he'll never need it.  " Kethry sighed; and Tarma knew why.
The King's letters had always been very open with both of them, and
lately they'd been profoundly unhappy.  Rethwellan politics were
torturous at the best of times, and he was regretting that his father's
sword had ever spoken for him.

Three state marriages, two of them loveless, had given hiM a surfeit of
sons and daughters, and one of the sons was making life difficult for
him.  Tarma and Kethry were two of a scant handful of people he could
be that open With; Tarma had changed his diapers more than once and had
tutored him in the way of the sword, Keth had nursed him through his
first love and subsequent broken heart.

Together they had helped put his father on the throne before he was a
year old, which made them very old friends of the family.

"That middle son of his is being a-" "Grek'ka'shen, " Tarma said in
disgust, said carrion eater combining the worst aspects and habits of
every scavenger known to the Shin'a'in.  It ate things even vultures
wouldn't touch, it slept in a bed of rotting detritus " from its
foraging, and both sexes were known to eat their own young on a whim.
;

Kethry nodded.

"So he's written to you.

"Not lately, but yes, I got a letter while I was down the Plains.  I
just didn't see any reason to depress you with it."  Tarma grimaced.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if the reason the Rethwellan royal line
has so much trouble is because of the wretched things they name their
children."

That's as good a theory as any," Kethry replied, managing not to smile.
The names Jad had given his boys were bad enough, but the eight girls'
names were worse, all full of historical significance and all as
unpronounceable as kyree howls.  Those awful names were an ongoing joke
between the two of them.

"Faramentha's as bright and trustworthy a young man as you'd ever hope
to see, and Karathanelan is making up for him by causin Jad three times
the grief his older brother gave.  His latest antic is to torment the
youngest boy verbally until the youngster explodes and attacks him. Now
the poor lad is getting a reputation for being a hothead and a bully,
because Thanel is-' "A handsome, languid vicious little fop, playing on
the fact that he's shorter and lighter than the other boy," Tarma
interrupted.

"Remember, I've seen him, when I went back up with Faram to deliver him
to Jad and see Him made heir.  That's why I told Jad I wouldn't have
him here.  At thirteen he'd already made up his mind that since he
wasn't the heir, he was going to sleep and charm his way to a crown. He
probably will, too.  Some little fool of a princess with a senile old
father is going to fall for his pretty face, clever wit and graceful
manners, and spend the rest of her life pregnant while he plays bed
games with her ladies, torments her lap dogs, and spends her treasury
dry.  " Kethry shook her head.

"From everything Jad says, you're right.  I told him it was a mistake
to let Irenia raise Thanel instead of fostering him out, and now the
mistake is irreversible.  Well, the long and the short is that he hopes
he can find some place to send Thanel that will keep him out of
mischief-but until he does, he needs to get the youngest out of
Thanel's reach."

Otherwise there's going to be fratricide."  Tarma nodded.  It was a
logical solution, and rather elegant.

Especially since it would get the hot-headed boy some much-needed
discipline and training.

"So he wants us to take the youngest.  Thatd be Darenthallis, right?
Absolute baby of the bunch?"

"Right.  He's not mage-talented, so he'll be yours.

Kethry tilted her head to one side.

"Are you up to this?

Tarma stretched.  feeling every joint creak.

"For Jad's sake-and for the boy's.  From what Jad's said, the youngster
is a lot like Faram, which means he won't be at all hard to teach.  I
understand that the boy does have a quick temper, which makes him an
easy target for Thanel.  I wouldn't see any lad have to put up with
that if I can help it.  I don't like bullies, and Thanel's the worst
kind of bully-a clever one.  Although I must say, a lot of this is
Jad's own fault.  He wouldn't have gotten into this mess if he hadn't
been trying to compete with you in the number of offspring he could
produce."

Kethry smiled, the tension draining out of her.

"I was hoping you'd say that.  Now, just one other possible problem.

My granddaughter is not what I would call 'unattractive," and she's
very probably not only a virgin, she has no idea of-" Tarma grinned
evilly; she knew what was coming, and she had no intention of letting
Keth slough this job off on her.  Especially not when she'd agreed to
teach a second youngster all by herself.

"Then you'd better tell her, hadn't you?  After all, you're her
grandmother.  And you know very well when I start to make the two
youngsters work together what's going to happen.

"But-" Kethry said, faintly.

Tarma kept right on going.

"I think the experience Will be good for both of them, actually.  The
boy has probably been playing a poor third to Faram-the-heir and
Thanel-the-beauty.  It'll be nice for him to have a young lady paying
attention to him.

"But- Kethry repeated.

"And you have to admit, I'm hardly the one to give Kero the basics of
nature.  I'm celibate, remember?"

Tarma was enjoying her partner's discomfort.  Keth had landed her with
the job of explaining those basics to every boy that ever passed
through their schools, and since there were usually twice as many lads
as girls passing through their hands, Tarma found herself with that
uncomfortable duty far oftener than Keth.  Now the shoe was on the
other foot, and Tarma intended to enjoy the fact.

"Besides," she finished, "if your own daughter was such a dunce as to
leave her completely ignorant, it's up to you to rectify the
situation."

Kethry's mouth tightened in dismay.

"You're right, of course.  And if she's going to join a Company, she's
going to have to know all of it."

"Damn right she is," Tarma replied, becoming serious.  " From
camp-hygiene to post-rape trauma.  And since you worked with the
Healers in the Sunhawks, you're better equipped for that than I am.
Those aren't the kind of problems lads are going to face, and they
aren't the kind of problems I ever had to deal with on my own.  But you
can take it slowly, I think.  Give her the basics and pregnancy
prevention, and take care of the rest later.  " She grinned.

"Think of it as my fee for agreeing to take Daren on."

Kethry shook her head.

"Still a mercenary."

Tarma chuckled.

"That's how you tell a mercis dead;

he just stops collecting paychecks.  "

Kero knew that there was something in the air; Tarma had been a little
absentminded lately, with that slight frown she always wore when she
was thinking.  But once she'd satisfied herself that she wasn't the
cause of the frown, she relaxed.  Whatever it was that was bothering
Tarma, it was not under her control.

So she kept a weather eye out, but concentrated on the things that were
in her power to deal with.  She had speculations, but nothing concrete
to go on.

Finally all speculations came to an end, when she showed up at the
practice ring with her arms full of equipment to find Tarma there
already, fully armored (complete with full helm), working out.  And
Tarma wasn't alone.

There was a young man with her; that was surprise enough.  He looked
around Kero's age, and she stiffened reflexively as they both stopped
what they were doing and turned at the sound of her footstep.  He was
rather handsome, in a lanky, not-quite-finished sort of way.  His long
hair was somewhere between brown and blond, his eyes between gray and
hazel.  He was taller than Tarma, and moved like a young colt that
still isn't quite certain where his feet are going to go when he puts
them down.  His armor was good-very good, use on it, but well
maintained and in perfect condition.  And there was a surcoat lying
crumpled up with some other odds and ends in one of the little alcoves.
A surcoat that was as well made as the armor, and looked as if it was
blazoned with some kind of familial device.

All of which added up to one conclusion: he was some kind of nobility.
Kero did not like the implications of that.

Tarma waited for Kero to come up to them before speaking.  She pushed
the face-guard of her helm up, and gave Kero a cool, appraising look.
The young man did the same with his helm, then shifted his weight
uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Kero," Tarma said, in a neutral, even voice, "This is
Darenthallis-Daren to us.  He'll be training here with you.

Kero's first reaction was of resentment.  Why?  Her second was of
jealousy.  We were just fine with the two of

US.

She stepped forward slowly, keeping her expression neutral, but not her
thoughts.  They don't need the money-and now Tarma is going to be
spending half her time with him, which means I won't be learning as
much from her.  It isn't fair!  By the look of him, he could have any
teacher he wanted!  Why should he steal mine?

She eyed his armor with envy; up close, it was even better than she'd
thought, combination plate and chain mail, the chain mail so fine it
looked to have been knitted, with articulated plate that had to have
been specifically fitted to him.  And he wasn't finished growing
yet-which meant that someone, somewhere, didn't care how much it cost
to keep fitting him with new armor every time he put on a growth spurt.
Then she recognized the name-after all, there weren't that many young
men named Darenthailis in the world, and there was only one likely to
have armor of that quality.

His Highness, Prince Darenthallis, third son of the King.

Which explained how he'd gotten Tarma to agree to teach him, and
virtually guaranteed that the Shin'a'in would be spending the lion's
share of her time with him.

The privilege of rank.  Kero's resentment trebled.  I have to earn my
way here, and he walks in and takes over.

But she kept it out of her face and manner; she'd learned to school her
expressions long ago.  Rathgar took a dim view of resentment and
rebellion in his children.

Daren smiled; he looked self-confident and sure of his superiority.
Kero's temper smoldered.  Well, we'll just see how superior you are.
Especially once we get into the woods.  If you've ever had to track
anything in your life, my fine young lord, I'd be very much
surprised.

She cleared her throat, and made the first move.

"I'm Kerowyn, " she said, nodding a little, not holding out her hand;
she could have freed one to shake his, but she chose not to.

"Daren," he said.

"Are you one of Lady Kethryveris' students?  " Ignoring the fact that
I'm carrying armor.  Assuming I couldn't possibly be anything other
than a nice little ladylike mage.

"I'm her granddaughter," she replied acidly.

"And I'm Kal'enedral Tarma's student."

Tarma's left eyebrow rose a little, but otherwise her face was
completely without expression.

"Well, now that you've met," she said quietly, "why don't we get down
to business."

Kero's resentment continued to simmer over the next several weeks.
Daren wasn't any better than she was, especially not at archery.  But
he kept acting as if he were, giving her unasked-for advice in a
patronizing tone of voice that said What's a little girl like you doing
man's work, anyway?  and made her blood boIl.

But she kept her temper, somehow; always turning to

Tarma after one of those supercilious little comments, and asking her
advice as if she hadn't heard Daren's.

Unfortunately, from time to time this backfired.  Tarma would
occasionally give her a slow, sardonic smile, and reply, "I think Daren
hit it dead in the black."  Daren would smirk, and Kero's ears would
burn, and she would have to bite her lip to keep from "accidentally"
bringing her shield up into that arrogantly squared chin.  And then
she'd pull her face-guard down and do her damnedest to give him the
trouncing of a lifetime.

At night, before Warrl arrived for her evening lesson in mind-magic,
she'd lie back in her bath and seethe.

it's not fair, she'd repeat, like a litany.  He's had the best trainers
from the time he was able to walk,.  I've only had Tarma for a few
moons!  Why should I have to share her?

And what makes him so much better than I am that money and power didn't
buy for him?

But that was the problem, wasn't it; life wasn't fair, and power and
gold bought whatever they needed to.

From people's skills to people's lives.  And if anyone happened to be
in the way, it was too bad.  Money had doubtless bought the near-ruin
of her family; power was Probably keeping the real perpetrator safe.
And now both were conspiring to steal her future if she lay down and
let it happen.

I won't, she resolved every night.  I'll make him compete with me for
every moment of time.  ]"I'll be so much better than he is that Tarma
will see she's ~ wasting her time with him and concentrate on me again.
I'll do it.

I have to.

It helped that he was as helpless as a baby in the woods, and when he
started he couldn't even track the most Obvious of traces.  She'would
give him advice in the same kind of patronizing tone he used with
her-and she laughed inside to see how he bristled.

She was planning on doing just that this morning, as she skipped down
the stairs to the stable, humming a little tune under her breath. Today
was going to be a daylong stalk-and-trap session, a "hound and rabbit
game, " Tarma called it, and Warrl was going to be the "rabbit."

Daren hadn't yet figured out that Warrl was anything more than a very
large, odd-looking dog, and Kero wasn't going to tell him.  After all,
they were supposed to be using their minds and paying attention to
things, and if he hadn't been able to figure out that the kyree was
something rather different by now, she didn't see any reason to
enlighten him.

Besides, it would give her an edge.  That edge, combined with her
tracking skills, should enable her to beat him to the quarry by whole
candle marks

The meeting point was the stables; Kero reached them ahead of both
Daren and her teacher.  A brief look out the window this morning had
told her all she needed to know about the weather-today was going to be
a typical late-fall day for these parts; cold, wet, and miserable.

Even though there were no clouds overhead, Kero had seen them on the
horizon, the kind of flat, gray clouds that meant an all-day drizzle.
So she'd dressed for it; a waterproof canvas poncho over lambs wool
shirt, and heavy sweater, sheepskin vest, and wool hose and breeches,
and her thickest stockings inside her boots.

Daren had dressed for the cold, but not an all-day chill in wet
weather; he was wearing mostly leather, which looked very good on him
and would keep him warm at first, but would do nothing for him once it
was soaked.

His only concession to possible drizzle was a wool cloak, a bright
russet that would stand out in the gray-brown woods like a rose in a
cabbage patch.  And which was going to get caught on every twig and
thorn unless he was very careful.  Kero's gray poncho wouldn't; it was
belted tight to her body at the waist, and thorns wouldn't catch so
easily on the tightly-woven, oiled canvas.  Kero hid a smirk with some
difficulty.

Tarma glanced at her in a way that Kero couldn't read, but said
nothing.  Daren just took in the peasant-style clothing, and gave her
an amused and superior little smile.

Kero had been toying with the notion of warning him about the oncoming
rain, but that smile made up her mind for her.  If he's too stupid to
read the weather, and too cocksure to ask advice when he sees someone
dressed for weather he didn't expect, he can suffer, she thought with
angry anticipation.  And I can't wait to see him shivering and chafing
in that fancy wet leather.

"I told you yesterday that this was going to be another
cnhtocurnrudptainndg rhaebrbtith'o~egahmtse following Warrl, " Tarma
said, i .  I didn't tell you that it would be under different rules.  "
Kero stiffened, and dropped her thoughts of revenge.

She noted that Daren lost his little smile, and fixed his eyes on Tarma
as if he was trying to read her mind.

"This is going to be a 'hostile territory' game," the Shin'a'in
continued.

"Rule one: you're in enemy territory, behind their lines, following a
spy.  Assume that anything you do or say may give you away to the
enemy.

Rule two: leave no traces yourselves; assume the enemy may have someone
trailing you.  Rule three: this is a real scouting mission, which means
you are not working alone.  Rule four: both of you come back, or you
both lose the game."

At "rule three" Kero realized what Tarma was pulling on them.  At "rule
four " Daren figured it out.  The glare of outrage he gave her was only
matched by the exasperation she dealt him in return.

She can't-I'm going to be saddled with this overbearing fool all day
long?  And if I don't keep him from falling on his face, I'm going to
lose the game?  She wanted to tell her teacher exactly what she thought
of the idea, and only one thing kept her quiet.  The sure and certain
knowledge that Tarma was testing her, as she had been tested at the
crossroads.  Only this time the test was not for courage, but for good
sense, and the ability to take orders.

Such considerations did not hamper Daren.

"You can't mean that!  he said angrily.

"I've had years of training, and you expect me to drag this little
tagalong and take care of her-" "I expect you to take the orders you're
given and follOW them, young man," Tarma replied evenly, with no
display of emotion at all.

"I expect you to keep your mouth shut about it.  I have my orders from
your father.

You are to treat me as your commanding officer at all times, and I have
your father's full permission to do whatever I like with you.  Be
grateful this is all I've ordered you to do.  How do you ever expect to
give orders that will be obeyed if you never learn how to follow them
yourself?"

Daren stared at her with his mouth hanging open for a moment, while
Kero finned.  Tagalong, am I?  Years of training, hmm.  Then why can't
he even follow a rabbit track a furlong without losing it?

"I've given you your orders," Tarma said, putting one finger under his
chin and shutting his mouth for him.

"Remember the rules.  " She turned on her heel.  and went back up the
staircase, leaving the two of them alone in the stable.  Daren's stormy
expression did not encourage conversation, so Kero just shrugged and
headed out into the valley.

Daren followed, overtaking her in the tunnel, so that when they emerged
he was in the lead.  Kero hung back, deliberately , so that he would
have to wait for her.  After all, under the rules, if he ran off
without her, he'd lose.

I'm beginning to see some advantages here, she thought, as her anger
cooled.  Provided I can keep my own temper.

The clouds were already moving in; the sky was gray from horizon to
horizon, or at least as much of it as Kero saw beyond the black
interlacing of leafless trees.  Daren waited impatiently for her beside
the hidden stable door, and pointed at Warrl's obvious claw marks in
the dust beside the path.

"He went that way," the young man said, and plunged off into the
underbrush, leaving a telltale thread from his cloak on the very first
thorn bush he passed.

Kero would have left it, except that she remembered #k- Leave no
traces.  And since she was being graded on his moves as well as her
own.

She sighed, and picked the russet thread out of the thorns before she
passed on.  She was still sucking a stuck finger when she caught up to
him.

"You left this," she said sardonically, holding it out She saw that
Warrl's tracks vanished here, as his trail crossed a dry streambed. The
obvious answer was the thing any reasonably smart animal would do-run
along the streambed for a while, then leave it at some point that
wouldn't show much disturbance.  A bed of dry leaves, for instance.

But Warrl wasn't an animal.

Kero studied the trail, and noticed that the tracks were blurred, the
claws dug in a bit too deeply.

He walked backward in his own tracks, the beast!  she thought with
admiration.  I didn't think he could do that!

Instead of following downstream (as Daren was moving upstream and
obviously expected her to take the other direction), she traced the
tracks back, and found where Warrl had leapt out of them and into-yes-a
pile of dry leaves off to the side of the trail.  There were several
old, wet leaves on top of the dry ones, and a few more scattered
against the direction of the last winds, showing that the leaves had
been disturbed.

She waited beside the telltale traces until Daren came storming back.
By that time the expected drizzle had been falling for about a candle
mark and as she had anticipated, his cloak and his leathers were soaked
through.

He was shivering, and the leather was probably chafing him raw wherever
it touched bare skin, and his temper was not improved by his
discomfort.

"You were supposed to take downstream!"  he shouted.

"I had to take both!  You lazy little bitch-you're supposed to be doing
something, not standing around waiting for me-" "He left the path
here," she said, clenching her hands to keep from hitting him.

"He walked backward in his own tracks, and then jumped off the trail
into that pile of leaves.  " Daren looked at her scornfully.

"I'm not some green little boy who believes in Pelagir-tales.  I'm a
prince of Rethwellan, and I've been trained by some of the finest
hunters in the world.  You-" She lost her temper, and grabbed the
lacings in the front of his leather tunic, then dragged him past the
pile of leaves, surprise making him manageable for the necessary few
steps.

"Does that look like a Pelagir-tale, little boy?"  she hissed, pointing
at the very clear paw Print in the mud.

"Seems to me you'd better start growIng up pretty quickly, so you know
what to believe and what not to believe.  I've beaten you at this game
five % times out of six, and you know it, so don't you think you'd
better stop playing the high and mighty princeling and start paying
attention to somebody who happens to be better at this than you are?"

He pulled out of her grip, his face growing red.

"Since when does half a year of training give you the right to act like
an expert?"  he shouted.

"Since-" That was all she had a chance to say.

Something very dark, and very large suddenly loomed up out of the
bushes just behind her.  She never had a chance to see what it was; the
next thing she knew, she was flying through the air, and she had barely
enough time to curl into a protective ball to hide her head and neck
before she impacted with a tree.

After that all she saw was stars, and blackness.

Eight

This was the worst headache she'd ever had and the most uncomfortable
bed.  It felt like a bush.

A leafless, prickly bush.

What happened?

Kero tried to move, and bit back a moan as every muscle and joint
protested movement.  It felt as if the entire left side of her body was
a single ache.  And her head hurt the same way it had when one of the
horses had kicked her and she'd gotten concussed.

"Well?"  That was Tarma's voice.

"You two certainly made a fine mess out of this assignment."

She opened her eyes, wincing against the light.  Tarma stood about
twenty paces away; just beyond her was Daren, lying up against another
tree, as though he'd impacted and slid down it.  Fine mist drooled down
onto her face; droplets condensed and ran into her eyes and down the
sides of her face to the back of her neck.  Her mouth was dry, and she
licked some of the moisture from her lips.

Looks like he got some of the same treatment I did, Kero decided, and
shivered.  Even wet, her wool clothing would keep her warm, but she
must have been lying on the cold ground for a while and it had leached
most of the heat out of her body.

"You've managed to botch everything I told you to do, " Tarma said
coldly, arms crossed under her dark brown rain cape.  Her harsh
features looked even colder and more forbidding than usual.  Her
ice-blue eyes flicked from one to the other of them.

"First you don't even bother to set up a plan, or agree on who is going
to do what.  Then you, Daren, storm off into the game leaving behind a
trail a baby could follow, so that Kero has to spend twice the time she
should covering it for you.  Then you, Kero let Daren waste his time in
a fruitless search when you "ew from the moment you saw Warrl's tracks
that he was chasing a wild hare.  Then you both start arguing at the
tops of your lungs.  An army could have come up on you and you'd never
have known it until it was too late."

She glared at both of them, and Kero didn't even try to move under the
dagger of that stare.

"Keth was working with me on this, she continued, pitilessly.

"We decided to make this run dangerous for you, to teach you that if
you fouled up, you'd get hurt;

just like real life.  You triggered one of her booby traps with your
arguing.  And that's exactly what it caught; two boobies, two fools who
couldn't even follow simple orders to keep their mouths shut.  Well, I
have a further little assignment for you: get home.  There's just one
catch.  Until you cooperate, you won't be able to find your way back."
She smiled nastily, and turned on her heel, stalking off into the rain.
In the time between one breath and the next, she was gone, as if the
drizzle itself had decided to step in and hide her.

Kero struggled out of the bush she'd flattened in her fall.  Twigs
scratched her, as she slowly pulled herself up onto her knees, then
from her knees, shakily, to her feet.

Her head ached horribly, and she guessed that she was one long bruise
from neck to knee along her left side.

The only good luck she'd had was that she'd fallen into that bush in
the first place.  There had been enough dead leaves and grass between
herself and the ground to keep her out of the mud.  Bits of leaves
clung all over her, making her look as if she'd slept in them.  She
brushed herself off as best she could, and waited for Daren to join
her.

He used the tree trunk to steady himself as he got to his feet; he
wavered quite a bit getting there, and looked as if he felt just as
shaky as she did.  When he saw she was watching him, he glared at her,
and limped off after Tarma without taking a single backward glance at
her.

That little bastard!  she thought, indignantly.  Well, two can
play-Then she looked around.

She had been in and out of these woods for the past several months.
They weren't that far from the back door to the Tower.  It was late
autumn, most of the leaves were off the trees, which should have made
it easier to see through the woods in spite of the rain.

She didn't recognize anything now.  She was totally, inexplicably,
lost.

And in three breaths, Daren came storming out of the mist, head down,
limping along like a wounded and angry bull, and ran right into her.

"Hey!"  she yelled, indignantly.  He caught her as she started to fall,
then shoved her away.

"What are you doing, running into me like that?"  he shouted.

"Run-you pig!  You ran into me!"  she spluttered.

"You weren't anywhere in sight!"  he yelled back, turning red again.

"You just jumped out of nowhere!"

"I did no such-" but he was gone again, as fast as his bruised legs
would take him, this time going in the opposite direction to the one
he'd been traveling when he ran into her.

That- she couldn't think of any name that was bad enough to call him.
That swine!  That rat!  Unreasonable, pigheaded, overbearing, arrogant-
She looked around, angrily, dashing water and wet hair out of her eyes
with the back of her hand.  That vague shape looming up through the
rain, beyond and above the trees-that might be the cliff of the
Tower.

I think.... It changed from moment to moment, shrinking and growing,
and sometimes vanishing entirely behind the trees.  Well, I have to go
somewhere.  I'll bet I make it back, no matter what Tarma said.  And
I'll bet he doesn't.  All I have to do is head for the Tower and watch
for where we were.  Or find Tarma's tracks.

She limped off, keeping her eyes alert for signs of disturbance that
marked their travel.  She found plenty of little snags of wool, a sure
indicator that Daren had been there.  And she found traces of his
footsteps, and of her own.

But she found nothing identifiable as Warrl's or Tarma's tracks, and
though she stopped frequently to reconnoiter, she saw no landmarks that
looked familiar, and no sign that the Tower cliff was any nearer.  She
might as well have been on the other side of the world.  She couldn't
even tell if she was wandering in circles.  The forest seemed utterly
lifeless; the steady dripping of rain on dead leaves hiding any other
sounds when she stopped and listened.  She couldn't even tell where the
sun was;

the sky was a uniform gray everywhere.  Her head throbbed, and her
stomach knotted with nausea; walking was torture" but at least it kept
her warmer than standing.

When she stopptd to try and hear past the falling rain, she was
shivering in moments.

Finally, for lack of anything better to do, she took out her
belt-knife, and began to mark the tree trunks.  At least this should
keep me from going around in circles, she thought, slogging her way
through heaps of soggy leaves, shivering with the cold rain that kept
trickling down the back of her neck.  As long as I keep going in a
straight line, I'll come to something I recognize.  I have to find the
place eventually.  Either I'll run into the cliff, or I'll run into the
path, or I'll find the stream.  If I don't do any of those things, I'll
get to the road.  I have to cross either the stream, the road or the
path.  There's no other way off Tower lands.

Or so she thought.  Until she stopped to ease her bruises, side aching
so much she wanted to cry, and rested a while leaning up against a tree
trunk.  And when she felt a little less tired, and started to mark the
trunk, she happened to look at the other side, first.

And saw her own six-armed star chipped carefully into the bark as Tarma
had taught her; the least amount of damage to the tree that she could
manage and still have the mark visible.  It was still so fresh that the
wind hadn't disturbed the fragments of bark still clinging to the
tree.

She looked around in a panic, sure she couldn't possibly have touched
that tree.  The place was in no way familiar.  But the mark was
indisputably there.

She clung to the rough bark, suddenly faint and dizzy.

But this isn't possible-I know I'd have seen that huge pig-shaped rock,
or the little cave under it!  And the tree with the hawk's nest in the
fork!  And there's no way I could forget that clump of holly, it's the
only green thing I've seen all afternoon!

Nevertheless, it was her unique marking.  In a place she'd never
seen.

She closed her eyes, the dizziness and nausea increasing.

She fought them down, telling herself not to panic.

But when she opened her eyes again, fear clutched her heart and made it
pound painfully in her temples, for her sight was darkening, too.

Then she realized that it was not her eyesight dimming the sun was
setting, dusk closing in rapidly, and she was nowhere nearer to getting
home than she had been from the moment Tarma left them.

Tarma-she can't mean to leave us out here all night-we're both hurt,
and we haven't eaten all day.  She'll come and get us.  She'll come and
get me, surely-none of what happened was my fault.  I followed the
rules.

For one moment, she let herself believe that.  Then, as she thought
about how angry her teacher had been beneath that mask of indifference,
she knew with a sinking heart that there would be no rescue tonight. We
aren't children.  One night in the forest isn't going to kill either of
us.  We'll just wish we were dead.  And even if I followed the rules, I
didn't make sure he did.  When I saw he wasn't going to measure up, I
should have forfeited the game by turning around and going home.

She heard a thrashing sound behind her, then, the noise of someone
forcing his way through undergrowth rather than looking for paths.  She
knew what it was before she turned.  No animal would ever make that
much noise, and no animal in the forest limped on two legs.

It's a good thing we're not really in enemy territory-they'd have heard
him a long time ago.  She moved to the other side of the tree and put
her back up against it to watch the dim shape grow more distinct as it
neared.

Finally it was close enough to make out clearly.

She put her knife away and watched Daren stumble toward her, shivering
visibly inside his soggy woolen cloak-no longer a handsome russet, it
was mud-stained and snagged in too many places to count.  And Daren
looked much the worse for wear.

He didn't act as if he saw her.  He didn't act as if he saw anything.

" Hey," she said wearily, as he started to blunder past her.  He
stopped dead in his tracks, and blinked as if he was surprised to see
her.

Maybe he was.  The more Kero thought about it, the mOre certain she
became that her grandmother had a hand in this confusion of what should
have been familiar territory.

Hadn't she read in one of Tarma's books on warfare about a spell that
fogged the enemy's mind, and made him unable to recognize his
surroundings?

"K-k-kero?"  Daren said, stuttering from the cold.

"Are y-y-you still lost, t-t-too?"

"I guess so," she replied reluctantly.  Full dark was descending, and
with it, more rain.  Harder and colder, both.  Somebody needed to make
a decision here, and it didn't look as if Daren was up to remembering
his own name.

We need to get out of this, and we need to find someplace to hole up
for the night, otherwise we're going to wander around until we drop.
The only place at all close was that enormous rock she'd noticed
earlier; the size of the Keep stables, and right now that little hollow
place under it was the closest thing they were going to get to real
shelter.

"Look," she said, grabbing him by the elbow and pointing at the stone
outcropping.

"There's just enough room under that rock that we can both squeeze in
out of the rain.  Right now even if I knew where I was, I wouldn't be
able to find my way back.  In a candle mark you won't be able to find
your hand at the end of your arm."

For a moment, it looked as though Daren was going to protest-he frowned
and started to pull away from her.

But evidently he was at the end of his resources; he gave in as she
tugged at him, and they both stumbled through the downpour to the
shelter of the overhang.

It was a lot drier in the little cave than she had thought, and the
cave itself was larger than she had estimated.  As she crawled on hands
and knees into the hollow, feeling her way with her left, dry sand
gritted under her probing.

Dry, relatively clean sand; there didn't seem to be anything in here
but a pile of dry leaves blown into the back.

No snakes, for instance-and mercifully few rocks.  There was enough
room for both of them to get completely out of the weather if they
squeezed in tightly enough, and the leaves cushioned them from the
worst rough edges of the rock wall.  Without being asked, Daren pulled
off his soggy cloak and draped it over both of them.  Shamed a little,
she squeezed some of the water out of her outer sweater and handed it
to him-wet wool stretched, and he managed to get it on over his
tunic.

Her prediction of coming darkness proved true; within moments after
they took shelter, it was impossible to see anything out beyond the
mouth of the cave.  For that matter, it was impossible to see anything
in the cave.

"At least we don't have to worry about bears or wolves or anything,"
Daren said after a long silence.  Both of them had finally stopped
shivering, even though Kero doubted that either of them was really
warm.  She thought, with a longing so sharp that it hurt, of hot tea
and her hot bath, and a fire in the fireplace in her room.  This isn't
fair.  I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't for him playing the fool.  I
wouldn't be bruised and battered if he'd had any sense.

Still, being surly wasn't going to accomplish anything.

And if he decided she was insulting him and left in a huff, she'd
freeze.  Together their bodies were keeping the little hollow of their
shelter tolerable.  By herself she'd shiver herself to pieces.

"You think we're safe because nothing with any sense would be out in
this rain?"  Kero asked.

"You're probably right.  Unless there's any truth in the stories about
water-demons-and I doubt either of us would be of much interest to a
water-demon.  " "Not even water-demons are going to stumble around in
this," Daren replied, his voice dull and dispirited.

"Dear gods, I hurt.  Even my hair hurts.  " "I know what you mean,"
Kero told him, glumly.

"The colder I get, the stiffer my bruises get.  " She hesitated a
moment, then said, "You know, we could have handled this better.  "
"You mean you- " He stopped himself.

"I guess You're right.  We.  I just-I never thought you were serious
about all of this.  And I didn't think there was any way you could keep
up with me.  You're a girl.  " "So?  Half of the meres Grandmother
hired for the Keep are girls, " Kero retorted curtly.

"Half of the meres that put your father on his throne were girls.  His
sister, the Captain of the Sunhawks, was a girl.  I'd have thought it
would have occurred to you by now that being a girl doesn't mean your
mind is dead, or that you can't handle anything more dangerous than a
needle."

"You're going to become a mercenary?"  His voice spiraled up and broke
on the high note.

"But-why?"

"Because I have to keep myself fed and clothed somehow, your highness,"
she said sourly.

"Nobody's going to give me anything.  My father was a common mere
himself before he married my mother, and Grandmother's the only family
I've got besides my brother.  I'm not going to live out my life on her
charity or as the old maiden aunt if I can help it.  I've seen too many
old maiden aunts, taking care of every chore the wife finds
inconvenient.

And I really don't have any interest in selling anything other than my
sword."

She thought by his coughing fit, followed by an embarrassed silence,
that she'd made him blush.

Finally he cleared his throat, and asked, "Just exactly what are you?
You speak like a noble, but you dress like a peasant half the time-a
male peasant at that."

"That's because dressing like ;a peasant is a lot smarter than you
think in conditions like this 'hound and hare' game," she pointed out,
shifting a little to ease an ache in her hip.

"The grays and browns blend right into the forest.  And you can't fight
in skirts and tight bodices.  Or hunt, or ride, or do much of anything
besides look attractive.

You'd discover, if you ever bothered to look closer, that a lot of the
peasants working in the fields that you think are men and boys are
actually women."

"They are?"  Evidently this had never occurred to him.

"How in hell are you supposed to swing a scythe with a skirt in the
way?"  she asked him.

"You'd have your skirt in ribbons.  As for us, we were supposed to be
thinking ' enemy territory," right?  So I was dressed like a peasant,
hard to see, and if anyone did see me, they might not think I was
anything dangerous.  And I was warm, might I add; peasants know how to
dress for bad weather.

And there you are in a bright red cloak, in the middle of a dead
forest.  I suspect we'd have been tagged for that alone.  " "oh."  He
sounded gratifyingly chagrined.

"SO you just found out for yourself how well those hunting leathers of
yours keep you warm in the rain," she persisted.

"You didn't pay any attention to the weather this morning, you didn't
ask Tarma about it either, did you?  I've never once heard you ask what
the weather was going to be like when we were going to be out all day.
It's been unseasonably good since you arrived, if you want to know the
truth."  "You could have told me," he replied sullenly.

"Why?"  Her own repressed anger was warming her better than all her
shivering.

"You come in here and take my teacher's time away from me, you treat me
like I'm too stupid to know that you're insulting me with your superior
attitude, you act like you expect me to be excited about the so-called
'privilege' of training with you.

Why should I tell you anything?  Why should I share my edge with you?
You haven't done a thing to deserve it."

He stiffened as she spoke, and she waited for the outburst she knew
would followed her words.

It never came.

"Why is it that you're here, Kerowyn?"  he asked slowly.

"All I know is that you're Lady Kethry's granddaughter.

I thought-I guess I thought you were just playing at this business of
learning from Tarma, but you're talking about really going out and
selling your sword-" "I'm not talking about it, I'm going to do it,"
she told him firmly.  Her stomach growled, reminding her that it had
been a long time since she'd last eaten.

"I don't have much choice in the matter, not unless I want to live on
my brother's good will until he decides to find an appropriate husband
for me.  If anyone would take me at this point."  there's no telling.
I've certainly scandalized all of Dierna's family.  And of course that
assumes I'd sit right down and marry whoever he found for me, like a
good little girl, which I don't think I'm minded to do."

And if some of the hints about the Baron that Grandmother ~ dropped are
true, I suspect he'll have an interest in keeping me from producing any
competition for the Keep.  Kethry had never actually accused the Baron
of anything, but Kero was perfectly capable of putting facts together
for herself, including a few that Kethry didn't know about.  The Baron
had been quite interested in the proposed marriage, and had sent a very
handsome set of silver as a gift-yet had sent no representative to the
wedding.

Which argued for the fact that he might well have known that something
was going to happen.

And he was in an excellent position to plan for it to happen.  She was
very glad that Tarma had hired all those guards those very competent
guards.  Doubtless Kethry was keeping a magical eye on the place as
well, since the promises she'd made to Rathgar were void with his
death.

"I don't know why your brother would have any trouble finding a
husband-" Daren began.

Something about the way he said that crystallized the problem that had
been going around in her head for weeks.  She interrupted him.

"What if I don't want him to 'find me a husband'?  What if I'm
perfectly happy without a husband?  Why should everyone think I'm
supposed to be overjoyed about getting wrapped up in ribbons and handed
off to some man I've never even met?  I'm not so sure I'd want to be
handed off like a prize mare to anyone I have met!"

"But I thought that was what every girl wanted," he said, with what
sounded like honest bewilderment.  '"MY sisters all do, or at least,
that's all they talk about."

"Not Tarma," she reminded him.

"Not Grandmother.

Not your Aunt Idea.  And not me.  Does every man drool at the idea of
going out and hacking people to bits?"

"Well," he admitted[, "No.  My cousin-" "Well, nothing," she
interrupted again.

"Every man doesn't want the same thing.  Then why should every woman
want the same thing?  We're not cookies, you know, all cut out of
identical dough and baked to an identical brown and sprinkled with
sugar so you men can devour us whenever you please."  She was rather
proud of that simile, and preened a little in the dark-but the talk of
cookies made her hunger all the worse.

"No," he replied.

"Some of you are crab apples

For once her mind was working fast enough.

"At least crab apples don't get devoured," she snapped.  Though I'd eat
crab apples right now, if I could find them.  She'd have turned her
back on him, if she could have, but there wasn't room in their
shelter.

"It's not any easier on a man, you know," he said after a sullen
silence broken only by the steady pattering of rain on dead, soggy
leaves.

"We get presented with some girl our parents have picked out for us, we
have no idea what she's like, and we're expected to make her fall
deliriously in love with us so that she goes to the altar smiling
instead of crying.  And then we're supposed to live up to whatever
plans our fathers have for us, whether or not we actually fit what they
have in mind.  I'm just lucky.  Faram's the best brother in the world,
and I don't want the crown-he thinks I'd make a good Lord Martial, and
I've always been pretty good at strategy, so I'm not going to have to
do anything I hate.  And since I'm the youngest, nobody's going to be
expecting me to pick out a bride until I want one.  Poor Faram's got to
choose before Midsummer, and the gods help him if there isn't at least
a sign of an heir by Winter Solstice."

All this came out in a rush, as if he'd been holding it in for much too
long.  Kero realized as she listened to him that she felt oddly sorry
for him.

Maybe too much power and position is as bad as too little.

"So what are they forcing you into?"  she asked quietly.  " There must
be something."

He sighed, and winced halfway through as the sigh moved ribs that
probably hurt.

"I like the idea of planning things, and I like fighting practice, " he
said.

"It's like a dance, only better, because in court dances you spend an
awful lot of time not moving much.  But-I've never-actually killed
anyone-" "I have," she said without thinking.

"It's not like in the ballads.  It's pretty awful."

She felt him wince again.

"That's what I was afraid of," he confessed.

"I'm afraid that-I won't be able to-" He swallowed audibly, then seemed
to realize what she'd said.

"You've killed someone?"  he said, his voice rising again, "Well, the
sword did-" "You're that Kerowyn?"  he squeaked.  She couldn't tell
from his voice if he was pleased or appalled.

"I'm what Kerowyn?"  she asked.

"I didn't know there were more of me."

"The one the song's about, the one that rescued the bride for-" he
faltered.  "-for her brother-with her grandmother's magic sword."

" I guess I must be," she said wearily, "since there can't be too many
Kerowyns with magic swords around.

The sword did most of it.  It was more like it was the fighter, and I
was the weapon."

"If I'd known you were that Kerowyn," he began.

"I

wouldn't have-"You see?"  she said through a clenched jaw.

"Why should it have made any difference in the way you treated me?
Deciding that someone's serious just because they've had a bloody song
written about them is a pretty poor way to make judgment calls, if you
ask me.  Grandmother and Tarma had plenty of songs written about them,
and most of them Were wrong."

"It's just-just that when I heard the song-I wished I could meet you,"
he whispered.

"I thought, that's a girl that I could talk to, she doesn't have any
stupid ideas about honor, she just knows what's right.  And then she
goes and does something about it."

"Well.  you're talking to me now," she replied sourly, hunching herself
up against the bed of leaves, wishing she could find a position that
hurt a little less.

"I guess I am."

Another long silence.

"So what was it really like?"

"if I hadn't been sweating every drop Of water out of me, I'd have wet
myself," she told him bluntly.

"I've never been so scared in all my life."

Somehow it was easy to tell him everything, including things she hadn't
told ]her grandmother, the anger she'd felt at Rathgar for being so
stupid as to die and leave them all without protection, the same .
anger at Lordan for being unable to take up the rescue himself.  She
didn't cry, this time; she wasngt even particularly saddened by the
losses anymore.  It might all have happened to someone else, a long
time ago, and not to her at all.

He told her about his father, his brothers; quite a bit about Faram,
not so much about Thanel.  She guessed, though, from what little he did
say that Thanel was a troublemaker, a coward, and a sneak.  The worst
possible combination.  Fortunately, their father seemed well aware of
that; Kero just hoped he'd considered the possibility that Thanel might
well try to arrange for an "accident" to befall his older brother.
Daren didn't say anything about that, and Kero decided that it wasn't
her business to bring it up.

They dozed off sometime during the night; for Kero it was an uneasy
sleep, she woke every time he moved, and every time one of her bruises
twinged.  And it was hard to sleep when her stomach kept gnawing at her
backbone.  When the sky began to lighten, she just stayed awake.  The
moment it was bright enough to see, she nudged him; he must have been
as awake as she was, because he pulled the cloak off them without a
single word, and they both crawled out of their shelter.

The rock they'd hidden under was no longer pig shaped

it was a very familiar castle-shaped outcropping that Kero had seen a
hundred times.  They were no more than a few furlongs from the Tower.

Daren blinked stupidly at the rock; undoubtedly he recognized it, too,
but he didn't say anything.  So far as Kero was concerned, this only
confirmed her suspicion of last night, that Kethry had cast some kind
of glamour over the area that wouldn't lift until they cooperated.

Well, they were cooperating now.

She caught Daren's eye; he nodded.  They got themselves as straightened
up as possible, then dragged themselves back to the Tower, figurative
tails between their legs.  Kero wasn't sure what Daren was thinking-and
saw no reason to try and find out-but she had to admit that they'd
pretty much brought this whole mess on themselves.

And she had a shrewd guess as to what was going to be awaiting them.

She was right.  Daren preceded her; he stopped for a moment behind the
outcropping that hid the entrance, said something too low for Kero to
hear, then went on in.  She followed, with the relative warmth of the
stable closing around her like a cozy blanket.  Tarma stood impassively
just inside the stable door, leaning against the rock wall as if she
had been there all night and was prepared to go on waiting.

She looked them both up and down, face unreadable.

"There's food in your rooms," she said.

"Get a hot bath and feed yourselves, then get your rumps back down
here.  I'll be waiting in the practice ring."

After the bath and the food, Kero felt a little closer to human.  Today
wasn't going to be pleasant, but as she climbed stiffly into warm-dry
-clothing, she had to admit that she'd spent worse.

And I know damn well that if we don't exercise those bruised muscles,
we're going to stiffen up.  Then tomorrOW will be twice as hard.

She closed the door of her room behind her, and ran into Daren on the
staircase down.  Daren was bewildered, she could read it in his
face-and resentful; she could read that in the way he carried his
shoulders, stiff and hunched.

"What's the matter?"  she asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her, as if he halfway expected her to
ridicule him.

"If I was home," he said hesitantly, "after something like last night,
I'd have been, well, fussed over.  They'd have sent servants up with my
favorite food, gotten someone to massage me, probably sent me to bed-"
He stopped, and she realized her expression had probably betrayed some
of her disgust.  She made herself think about what he was saying, and
realized that he wasn't to blame for the way other people had treated a
prince of the blood.

"Look," she said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible.

"Do you think that's what would happen in battle conditions?  You're
going to be in worse shape than that at the end of each day if there's
ever a war fought."

He obviously took the effort to think about what she had just said, in
his turn, and stopped on the staircase.

"I guess.  you right," he replied.

"There wouldn't even be any hot baths, much less all the rest.  We'd
probably be sleeping in half-armor, and eating whatever the bugs and
rats left us."

"Exactly.  If this had been a foray during a war, we'd have been lucky
to get the food and dry clothes.  " She looked at him in the dim light,
and shrugged.

"I guess-I guess if I'm supposed to be learning how to command armies,
maybe I'd better start getting used to a couple of hardships now and
again."

There was the sound of sardonic applause from below them, as the light
from the landing was blotted out.  Tarma stood for a moment on the
first step, still clapping slowly, then took the stairs up toward them
at a very leisurely pace.

It's about time you finally figured out why you're here, young man,"
she said, one corner of her mouth turned up in something that was not
quite a smile.

"Now, I have a bit of news for you both.  Your day is only beginning.
"

The exercises she set them were harder than anything she'd given them
before, and any resentment or residual anger Kero had felt was lost in
the general exhaustion.

Daren was in worse shape than she was, since his bruises were deeper
and more extensive.

By the time she crawled-literally-up the stairs to her room, she was
quite ready to fall into her bed and sleep for a week.

But her day wasn't over yet.

She was as tired as she'd ever been in her life, including when the
entire Keep, stag and family, had gone out to get the tenants' harvest
in to save it from a storm.

Given a choice, she'd have gone straight to bed, stopping just long
enough to eat something and drink enough wine so that she didn't ache
quite so much.

But she knew she didn't have a choice; another hot bath would do more
good for her bruises and stiff muscles than all the sleep in the world,
and unless she wanted to wake up aching a lot more than when she'd gone
to sleep, she was going to have to take the time for another bath.

She'd just eased herself down into that bath when she had a visitor.
Not two-legged this time, but four.

She didn't even realize he was there; when he wanted to be could move
as silently as a shadow.  She was lying back in the tub with her eyes
closed when he Mind Spoke her, startling her so that she jumped.

"Might one ask what, exactly, you thought you were doing out there
yesterday?  Besides playing the fool, of course."

"Me?"  she spluttered.

"I was the one playing by the rules.  He-" "By the letter, perhaps. Not
the spirit."  The kyree sat like a great gray wolf just out of range of
any stray splashes.

"You knew very well that I'm not simply some kind of well-trained
performing animal.  Why didn't you tell Daren that?"

"Do you think for a moment he would have believed me?"  she asked
angrily.

"Up until last night he didn't think I had a mind, so why should he
credit you with one?"

"It was your job to convince him," Warrl said coldly.

"That is what teamwork is about.  If you have knowledge your fellow
does not, you are obliged to enlighten him."

"Why?"  she retorted.

"It would have wasted time.  I knew what you were, that was enough."

"Why?  Because withholding information could get both of you killed.
What if something incapacitated you?  What if I, as the enemy, used the
fact that you withheld that information to split the two of you up?
That was exactly what happened, didn't it?  You let him follow a wild
hare and sat down and waited.  If I had been a real enemy, I would have
disposed of him, then come up behind you and disposed of you.  But you
were too busy feeling superior to worry about that, weren't you?"

"Me?  I-" The accusation was as unfair as anything else that had
happened in the last day.  She was trapped between anger and tears, and
the tears themselves were half caused by anger.

He continued to sit, and stare, an immovable icon of conscience.

"You finally get in a position where you have the upper hand, and you
misuse your opportunity.  You could have found a way to convince him
that you knew what you were talking about, and you could have done it
in such a way that he would have felt surprised and grateful.  After
that, he would have been much more attentive to any suggestions you
made.  Instead you jeopardized him, yourself, and the mission, all out
of pique."

"No, I couldn't!  I-" She was completely unable to continue; she tried,
and choked up.

"When you become a mercenary, whether you work alone or with a Company,
you will often be forced to cooperate with those you dislike.  You will
find yourself working for those who hold you and your skills in
contempt.

If you continue on in your present pattern, you will, if you are lucky,
succeed only in getting yourself killed.  If not-you may bring down
hundreds with you."

Warrl's eyes glowed, blue as ice and hard as the finest steel.

"I advise you to think about this," he said, after a long pause during
which she wasn't even able to think coherently.  He waited again, but
when she didn't reply, he simply rose to his feet.  So smoothly did he
move that not a hair was disturbed; he could easily have been a statue
brought to life by magic.  He pierced her with those once more, and
padded out as silently as he had arrived.

She pulled the plug on the bath, too upset and tense now to relax.  The
water flowed out smoothly, with scarcely a gurgle as she climbed out.
She seized the waiting square of cloth and jerked it from the hook
beside the tub, then toweled herself dry, rubbing hard, as if to rub
those unkind, untrue accusations out of her mind.

Unkind, untrue, and unfair.  She stalked out of the bathing chamber and
flung herself down on her bed, seething.  I'm not the one that went
pelting up the trail, leaving tracks and traces a child could read! I'm
not the one that decided he knew what was happening without bothering
to consult his partner!  I'm not the one that decided to divide the
party-he wanted me to go downstream while he went up!

She turned over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

The more she thought about Warrl's little lecture, the angrier she
became.

What gives him the right to sit in judgment over me anyway?  What gives
an overgrown wolf the right to dictate what I should and shouldn't have
done?  How could he possibly understand?  He isn't even human!

She was still simmering when exhaustion finally caught up with her and
flung her into sleep.

Daren appeared the next morning at the common room;

breakfast was a self-serve affair she sometimes shared with Tarma and
her grandmother.  Daren sported sunken cheeks and enormous dark circles
under his eyes.  Since she didn't have a mirror, Kerowyn couldn't have
said if she looked the same, but she was very much afraid that she did.
It had not been a restful night, to say the least.

"Well, you look like hell," Kero greeted him over the buffet table,
handing him a piece of hot bread.

"Thank you," he replied.

"If you're curious, it's mutual.

Where in hell does she get all this food?  I haven't seen a single
servant since I got here."

"Magic, I suppose," Kero replied.

"Although .. .

You know, not that much of it has to be cooked.  Just the bread and the
oat porridge.  Everything else could be set beside the bread ovens to
warm.  I've never seen the kitchen; it could be just on the other side
of that wall.  I have no idea how they'd vent ovens this deep in the
cliff that would be magic, but I've seen stranger things in this place.
" "Like the bathing chambers?"

"Hmm."  She eyed the table; the ham and bread would reappear at dinner,
the fruit and cheese at lunch, the hard-boiled eggs would keep for
quite a while, and the oat porridge would be gone at this meal.  All
four of them liked a good big bowl of it, laden with sugar and swimming
in cream.

"One cook and two helpers could take care of all this and more, and
still have time for the 'helpers to double at light cleaning and
laundry," she said.

"We all clean our own rooms, that means the only places a servant would
have to clean would be the common rooms."

Daren blinked at her in surprise.  She dished out her own bowl of
porridge, loading it down with maple sugar and sweet raisins, leaving
just enough for him.

"How do you know all that?"  he asked.

"All what?  Household nonsense?"  Tarma and her grandmother had
evidently just finished; they were disappearing together through one of
the doors that was always kept locked.  Kero knew what was on the other
side of that one, though-her grandmother's magic workroom.

She'd visited it once, and had no desire to do so again.

Daren completed his selection and followed her to one of two small
tables beside the hearth.

"I thought you said you weren't interested in marriage and a family."

"I'm not.  I took care of the Keep for five years after Mother died,
and for most of two years before that."  She made a face, and cut a
careful bite out of her ham slice.

"I hated it.  But I learned it anyway.  Why do you look like you spent
the night tossing?"

"Because I did," he replied.

"Rotten dreams."

She put her knife and fork down.

"You, too?"

He nodded, then stopped in mid-chew to stare at her.

Finally he swallowed, and asked, "Were you in the middle of some kind
of battle?  In a scout group?  And you went off looking for something
in a party of about six?"

She nodded.

"And you were there, and we had an argument about something?"

"Yes.  And then?"  He leaned forward.

"Then-you wouldn't listen to me, or I wouldn't listen to you; I can't
remember which.  But the party split, and we both missed something
really important, because when we got back, we'd lost half the scouts,
and we discovered that the enemy had cut around behind us-" "And
everyone on our side was dead."  He sagged back in his chair, his eyes
closed.  "oH, gods.  I thought it was just a dream-" "It was just a
dream," a new voice entered the conversation.

Kethry's.  Daren jumped, then tried to leap to his feet.

"Sit," Kethry ordered him; she was in russet today, the color Daren's
cloak used to be, but as if to underline what Kero had told him
earlier, she was not wearing a gown, she was in breeches and a long
tunic.

"If it had been a prophetic dream, certain warnings would have been
triggered, and I would have known."

"If it wasn't prophetic," Kero asked hesitantly, "What was it?  "
Kethry smiled, as if she had expected exactly that question.

"A warning," she said.

"This place-seems to trigger things like that.  It's happened perhaps a
dozen times since we moved here.  It's not showing any possible future
so far as I've been able to tell-it's showing you the general outcome
of a negative behavior pattern."

"So what we saw isn't going to happen to us?"  Daren asked hopefully.

"No, not likely," Kethry repeated.  "and you won't dream it again
unless you continue the pattern."

"But if we do, we get the same dream over and over?"

At Kethry's nod, Daren grimaced.

"Pretty effective way of getting someone to break the pattern."

"Evidently the builders of this Tower thought so."

Kethry patted him on the shoulder in a very motherly fashion, turned
and vanished back through the heavy wooden door leading to her
workroom.

Daren sighed, and turned back to Kero.

"Will it help to say that I've been a blockhead and I apologize?"

She considered him with her head tilted to one side for a moment.

"Will it help to tell you I've been just as Pigheaded as you?"

He smiled.

"It's a start."

"Good," she replied.

"Let's build on that.  " Then she laughed, feeling a burden lifting
from her mind.

"Besides, I'd do a lot more than just apologize to avoid another two
days like the past two!"

But Warrl was destined to have the last word, although he was nowhere
in sight.

"It's about time," said a sardonic voice in her mind.

Humans!"

If Daren wondered why she was choking on her porridge, trying not to
laugh, he was too polite to ask.

Nine

Kero studied the sand-table, the terrain laid out in miniature, the
tokens that stood for civilians, stock, fighting men and women.
Bloodless warfare, she thought to herself.

All the fighting reduced to numbers.  Is that how generals see us?

Had it been a year since that quarrel with Daren?  It must have been,
since it was winter again.  Tarma had gradually begun teaching them
other things; strategy and supply, tactics and organization.  Every
daylight hour was spent in some kind of study; from their weapons'
practices to reading the fragmentary accounts of the wars of the
ancients.  Even their "leisure" hours usually had something to do with
their studies.

"All right," Tarma said, leaning over the sand-table.

She indicated the tokens that represented the enemy forces, tokens she
had just put in place.

"There're the opposing forces.  What have you got, Daren?"

He studied his tokens, cupped in the palm of his hand, and placed them
carefully in the sand.

"Five companies of foot, one of horse, one of specialists.  In country
like that, the horse is useless.  " He placed a token with a painted
horse's head on it behind the "lines."

"I need another company of foot and two of specialists if I'm going to
hold you off.  Mountain fighters, irregulars, if I can get them."

"Which means you hire.  Kero, what have you got for him to hire?" Tarma
leaned over the table, resting her weight on her hands, and watched
Kerowyn through narrowed eyes.

She represented the Mercenary Guild and the free swords  " According to
the list you gave me, he can get what he wants, but he's going to have
to make some choices."  She studied the roster, and wondered what he
was going to pick-and what his resources would bear.

She didn't know what he had to draw on; Tarma did, but while she was
playing the enemy, she would pretend she didn't know.

He studied his handful of papers again.

"So, what are my options?"  he asked her.

"First, therE's a full bonded Company of foot, they're at-hire, and
their base is within three days' march of your position; you'll have to
send a messenger across the Border, though, so I hope your relations
are good with King Warrl over there."  She grinned at the kyree, who
was playing all the neutrals in this little game.

"I'll think about it," Warrl replied genially.

"Depends on what nice present he sends me."

Kero grinned; she knew Daren couldn't hear the kyree, which made
WarrL's comments all the more amusing.

Daren consulted his list again.

"I can afford to send him a bribe of some fine beef-stud stock under
pretense of a trade mission.  That's in my private holdings and won't
make me raise taxes."

Warrl laid his ears back and looked hurt.

"Bribes?  How, crude.  I don't know .. . well, I suppose I must, crude
or not."  He stood on his hindlegs, put his forepaws on the edge of the
table, and nudged the little flag that signified " clear passage."

"Thanks, your majesty."  Daren studied his sheaf of papers with a frown
on his face.

"All right, I can pay For the foot Company with surplus in the
treasury.  So what about these irregular fighters?"

"That's where you get the choice, she told him.

"You can either hire two more bonded Companies, you can hire one bonded
Company and one free-lance, or YOU hire the free-lance Company and set
up recruiting posts hire enough free-lancers to put another temporary
lancers Company together.  The bonded Company will work with the
free-lance Company, but not with a put-together force.  There's more
than enough of the individual freelancers in your area.  Free-lancers
would be cheaper, about half the cost of Companies the same size."  She
looked up at him.

"That's the first time I recall Tarma giving us that option.  She's
always had bonded Companies in the game, no free-lancers."

"Quite true," Tarma replied, nodding.

"You've gotten used to those options.  Time to spice up the game with a
little more reality.  By the time you need them, Daren, bonded
Companies will usually have been hired by someone else."

Daren pursed his lips.

"Hmm.  The treasury is getting mighty lean Tarma, what's the difference
between free-lancers and a bonded Company?"

"Free-lancers are just that: individual hire-swords.

Some of them may have bought into a Company, some may be totally on
their own.  They're cheaper because they haven't posted bond with the
Mercenary Guild."

She stood up, and Kero noticed her flinching a little.

Her joints must be hurting again.  I keep forgetting how old she is.
We're going to have to start working out against each other more, now
that the weather's turned cold.  Save our teacher for the things only
she can teach

US.

"Thank you," Warrl said softly into her mind.

"Kero, did you say some of those free-lancers were a Company, or am I
dealing entirely with individuals?"

Daren asked.

"I don't want to hire individuals; it would take too much time to get
them coordinated and I'd have to detail one of my own officers to
command them.  According to these notes, I don't have that kind of
time, and I don't think I have an officer to spare.  And besides, I
know I remember you saying that the bonded Company won't work with
something just thrown together."

Kero looked at the list again.

"One Company, the rest on their own."

Daren winced.

"Well, I'll be hiring one bonded Company, anyway.  Now, what's the
difference between a free-lance Company and a bonded Company?"

Tarma licked her lips.

"It's easier to tell you what freelancers aren't.  A bonded Company has
posted a pretty hefty bond with the Mercenary Guild, on top of the
individual dues each hire-sword's paid into the Guild.  What that means
is that they have to follow the Guild Mercenary Code.  If they violate
that code, the Guild pays the injured party damages, then takes it out
of the bond.

Then they take it out of the offending party's hide, and they are not
gentle, let me tell you!  And if you violate Your contract, the Guild
will fine you, and you won't be able to hire bonded fighters for at
least a year.  Maybe more, depending on the severity of the offense."

"What's this "Code," anyway?"  Kero asked.

"You've never mentioned that before.  You've talked about the Guild
code of conduct for individuals, but not a Company code."

pimple.  Whatever is in the terms of the "It's pretty I contract is
followed by both parties, to the letter.  Bonded Companies do not
pillage in the countryside of their eTployer, and pillage only in enemy
territory with permission of the employer.  That takes care of cutting
your own throat in a civil war.  " Tarma looked at both of them.

"Can you figure out why?"

Kero was marginally quicker.

"Easy; if you keep everybody on your side from looting, the locals are
going to come over to you, and that's going to make big problems for
the opposition if they aren't doing the same."

"Good.  And really, what's the point of wrecking your own tax base? All
right; if a bonded Company or one of its members surrenders, they are
permitted to leave the battlefield unmolested and report to a neutral
point.

They'll get ransomed by the Guild; that's why the individual members
pay their dues every year.  You know about the individual Code, so I
won't go into that."

Tarma leaned against the sand-table.

"They won't switch sides in mid-contract, they won't follow a mutiny
against their employer, they won't fight a suicide-cause, but they'll
do their damnedest to get their employer out of a bad situation in one
piece.  Because of the twin Codes, bonded Companies are more reliable
and trustworthy than unbonded.  That's why they're expensive."

Daren examined the table again.

"I've got a bad situation here.  I think maybe I'd better take out a
loan, or go find a buyer for some Crown properties and go the distance
for two bonded Companies."

"What would you do if I set up the situation like this?"

Tarma moved two of her counters away and placed them farther along the
Border.

Daren studied the table again.

"Hire one bonded and one free-lance, and see if I couldn't negotiate
with my neutral neighbor to take a stand.  Those two Companies are
threatening his territory, too."

"Good.  What about this?"  She pulled the counters off the table
entirely.

"The bonded foot and the free-lance guerrillas.  Then I'd arrange
things this way-" He set up his counters against hers, accepting the
two mercenary counters from Kerowyn.  "-and I'd put the free-lancers
right here.

They're not going to pillage my countryside because that's all rocky
hillside; once I move the sheepherders out, there's nothing there to
pillage, which means every profitable move for them to make will be
against the enemy and not against me.  " He moved around the table, and
looked at the situation from Tarma's angle.

"What's more, they can't mutiny, they're on the end of the supply line
and all I have to do is cut them off.  I think they're relatively safe
to trust there."

Tarma studied his setup, and smiled, slowly.

"Excellent.

Let's play this and see how it runs.  Kero?  The first move is
yours."

Kero had the most interesting time of it; according to Tarma's profile
sheets, the free-lance guerrillas were a newly-formed Company, and
fairly unreliable, but the bonded foot were an old, established Company
with a nice subgroup of scouts that made up for the deficiencies of the
free-lancers.  And Daren had set up a situation in which the very worst
that could happen would be the free-lancers deserting; with a howling
wilderness between them and civilization, they were, Kero judged, less
inclined to do that.  They played the game out over the course of two
hours, and in the end, Daren's side won.

During that time he'd even found the bribe that would bring Warrl in on
his side, so the victory cost him less than he'd feared.

"Good, all the way around," Tarma applauded.

"I'm proud of you both.  Daren, did you see why Kero's Companies did
what they did?"

"Pretty much, though I was kind of surprised at the versatility of the
foot.  " He smiled over at Kero, who returned it, feeling warmed by
it.

"That's one thing you'll often find in a good bonded Company; they've
trained together with many weapons, and they have their own support
groups.  " Tarma yawned.

"Even the best Companies have gotten shafted now and again; the Guild
imposes fines, but that's after the damage has been done.  That's why
they like to have everything they need under their own control."

"Well, those two extra hedge-wizards may have saved the day."  Daren
yawned, too, and Kero fought to keep herself from echoing it.  It had
been a long day, but a good one.  This victory against Tarma on the
sand-table had been the dessert to the meal; they didn't often win
against her.

"I'm off to bed, children," the Shin'a'in said, blowing out the extra
lanterns, leaving only the four set onto the corners of the table for
light.

"Savor your victory; I'll get you tomorrow."

"No doubt," Kero laughed.

"So far you've beaten us five games out of seven."

"Keeps you on your toes," the Shin'a'in retorted on her way out the
door.  Warrl grinned at them, and padded after her.

Kero collected the tokens, while Daren smoothed out the sand in the
table.

"Good game," he said, handing her a token that had gotten half-buried
in the sand.

"You know, it's a lot more fun being your friend than your enemy.

"In the game, or in general?"  she teased.

"Both.  He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.  She
returned the hug-but there was a different feeling about the way he
held onto her tonight, keeping her close a breath or two longer than he
usually didg sliding his hands down her arms before letting her go.

"Tired?"  he asked, something in his voice telling her than he hoped
she'd say no."

"Not really."  She put the flags and tokens away in a drawer under the
table, and looked up at him expectantly.

She wasn't tired, either-not with him looking at her the way he was.

"Feel like talking a while?"  she asked hopefully, her muscles tensing
a little with anticipation.

Was she reading more into his words than was really there?

"If you don't mind."  It wasn't her imagination, there was an odd light
in his eyes, an appreciative glint she'd been seeing quite a bit,
lately.

"Your room or mine?"

"Yours," she said.

"It's cleaner."  She laughed, but the way he kept watching her was
sending an oddly exciting chill up her spine.  She stretched, and came
close to giggling at the way his eyes widened.  She blew out the rest
of the lanterns, and headed for the door.

"Only marginally," he replied-but instead of letting her precede him,
he caught her hand in his as she walked past him.

She stopped for a moment, then gave his hand a squeeze.  He returned
it, and caressed her palm with his thumb as she tugged at his hand and
got him moving out the door.  She shielded her mind with studious care;
right now she couldn't afford any leakage..  ..

She knew what was going on; she'd begun to hope he found her attractive
several moons ago, and it was a distinct thrill to see him responding,
though she truly wasn't trying to flirt.  Even if she hadn't figured it
out, Tarma had taken care to let her know a couple of days ago.

"You're young, attractive, and here.  " she'd said bluntly.

"He's young, attractive, and not very sure of himself though I doubt
he's a virgin.  You're a friend, so you aren't threatening.  If you
want to go to bed with him, go right ahead.  But make sure you're
protected.  " She'd been relieved-but disappointed.

"Is that all it is?  Just-availability?  " Tarma had shaken her head.

"Child, even if it was love everlasting-which we both know it isn' the
a prince of the blood, and you're going to be a common mercenary.

He can't afford to marry you, and you shouldn't be content with
anything less.  Your potential is enormous, or that damned sword of
Keth's wouldn't have spoken for you.  You have no right to fritter your
life away as Prince Daren's mistress.  You have things to do-so enjoy
yourself now, but know that when it's over, you're going to go out and
do them.  " But with Daren's hand holding hers possessively, and then
Daren's arm around her shoulders as they climbed the stairs together,
it was difficult to keep Tarma's advice in mind.

There was another side to it all as well-a kind of relief.  I'm all
right, I'm not she'chorne or anything.  I'm not so different from the
other girls after all.  Daren wants me, and I want him.... That was not
such a bad feeling, being wanted.  He liked her as a friend, and wanted
her as a woman-a good combination, if she could keep it from getting
serious.

She'd followed part of Tarma's advice; she was protected.  That much
Lenore had taught her; the moonflower powder all the time to control
moon-days as well as preventing pregnancy, or child-bane
afterward-though moon-flower was better for you, easier on the body.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Kero was glad that there
weren't any servants; there was no chance that they'd be interrupted or
gawked at knowingly.  She had the feeling anything like that would put
Daren off entirely.

She felt overheated; flushed and excited, and with odd little feelings
in the pit of her stomach and groin.

Daren had to let go of her to get his door open, and that seemed to
make him shy again; he followed her inside without touching her and
made a great fuss of clearing off a chair for her to sit in.

He carefully avoided looking at the bed, and she followed his example,
pummeling her brain for some way to make him feel comfortable again. If
it had been warmer, she would have suggested they go out on his
balcony-his room had one, hers didn't.  But it was freezing out there,
literally; the ice on the ponds would be thick enough to skate safely
on, come morning.  Cold hands and feet were not conducive to romance,
and the temperature out on the balcony was likely to chill the hottest
lust.

Her throat tightened, and she flushed for no reason.

Suddenly she was afraid, though of what, she couldn't have said.  To
cover the fact, she ignored the chair and sprawled out on the sheepskin
rug in front of the hearth, half re clinging against a cushion.

Talk.  Say anything.

"If you could be anything in the world," she said, staring at the
flames, as he sat down hesitantly beside her, "What would it be?
Anything at all-~anything you wanted, king, minstrel, beggar,
whatever."

He thought about it; she took a sidelong glance at him, and saw that
his face was set in a frown of concentration.

"You know, I think I'd be a merchant.  I'd get to travel anywhere, see
everything I ever wanted to.  I'd be a rich merchant, though," he added
hastily.

"So I could travel comfortably.  " She chuckled.

"Like one of Tarma's proverbs: "What good is seeing the wonders of the
world when you're too saddle sore to enjoy them?"

" He laughed, and relaxed a little, letting his hand rest
oh-so-casually on hers.

"What about you?"

"Being a rich merchant would be nice," she agreed.

"But I'd rather be the kind of person that travels just because she
wants to.  Not tied to a caravan or a trading schedule.  " " Ah, " he
said, nodding wisely.

"A spoiled dabbler."

"A what?"  she said, sitting up straight, pulling her hand away.

"A dilettante," he teased.

"A brat.  A-" He didn't have any chance to go on, because she hit him
with a pillow.

That attack engendered a wrestling match which he, heavier and
stronger, was bound to win-unless she resorted to tactics which would
have ended any further plans for the evening.  But it was a great deal
of fun while it lasted-the more so because she discovered his one
weakness, and turned the contest into something much more even.

He was ticklish.

Very ticklish, especially down both sides and on the bottoms of his
feet.

She managed to get his shoes off while tickling his sides.  Protecting
one meant that the other weak point was vulnerable, and the moment he
curled up into a ball, she grabbed his feet and ran her nails along the
soles.

When he thrashed helplessly and got his feet away from her, his sides
were exposed.  Before long, she'd turned the tables on him.

She tickled him unmercifully, until they were both laughing so hard
their sides ached.  Finally neither one of them could breathe, and they
tumbled together on the rug, completely unable to move.

"You-" he panted, "-cheat."

"No such-thing," she replied, trying to brush her hair out of her eyes
with one hand while she held onto his bare foot with the other.

"Just-obeying-my teacher.  " ' Exploiting the enemy's weakness?"  He
was getting his breath back faster than she was, and he managed to eel
around so that her head was in his lap.

"But KeroI'm not your enemy."

"Aren't you?"  she began, when he stopped all further conversation with
a kiss.

It was in no way a chaste or innocent kiss.  It picked up where the
last of their tentative explorations had left off, and carried them to
the logical conclusion.  Kero let go of his foot, and groped for the
laces of his tunic.  His hands slid under her shirt and cupped her
breasts with a gentleness that vaguely surprised her, stroking them
with his callused thumbs.

The tunic-lacings foiled her hands, which seemed to have lost all
dexterity.  She broke off the kiss, and cursed the things; he laughed,
and got out of the tunic without bothering to unlace it, tossing it off
somewhere into the dark.  The loose shirt, a copy of her own, was easy
enough to slide her hands under-which she did, holding him closer to
her, feeling her blood heat at the play of muscles under his skin.

"Beast," she said, and went back to the kiss.  He sank slowly to the
floor, taking her with him, his hands moving against her skin under her
shirt.  She pushed his shirt up out of the way, the better to touch
him.  He rolled over to one side to give her hands more room to roam.

This time he broke free with a yelp as his bare back came into contact
with the stone floor.

"I hate cold floors," he said ruefully, as she giggled at his woebegone
expression.  Then he scrambled to his feet, and pointed off into the
dark.  She couldn't see his face from that angle, and she couldn't see
past the light cast by the fire, so she jumped to her feet Only to find
herself scooped up, and launched across the room, to land in his bed. A
moment later, he was beside her.

"oh, my," she said, "Where do you suppose this came from?"

He didn't even bother to answer, and in a moment, she didn't really
want him to.

Shirts and breeches were everywhere, being tossed out of bed or shoved
to one side.  Somehow she managed to get out of her clothing without
tearing anything; he wasn't so lucky.  He couldn't get the
wrist-lacings on his shirt to untie, and with a muttered oath, he
snapped them.

His hands and mouth were everywhere; well, so were hers.  Every touch
seemed to send a tingle all over her, seemed to make her want more.

They explored each other, a little awkwardly sometiMes;

she hit him in the nose with her elbow, once, and he knocked her head
against the foot board.  Kero hardly felt it when she collided with the
carved wood, every inch of skin felt afire, and she was propelled by
such urgent need that she could have pursued him over the side of a
cliff and never noticed.

It hurt, when he took her-or she took him, whichever;

she wanted him as much as he wanted her.  But it didn't hurt that much,
and he was as gentle as his own need would let him be.  And she began
to feel something else, something she yearned after as shamelessly as a
bitch in heat.  Just out of reach It was all over too soon, though, and
she was left feeling as if something had been left undone; unsatisfied
and still hungry somehow.

Sated, he just rolled happily over into the tumbled blankets, and went
right to sleep.

She could have killed him.

Twice.

She curled up on her side, stared into the dark, and listened to him
breathe.  And wondered, What did I do wrong?

Later, she figured out she hadn't done anything wrong.

Practice, as with anything else, made both of them more proficient,
better able to please each other.  Eventually the outcome equaled the
anticipation, and neither went to sleep unsatisfied.

She finally understood what all the fuss was about and the obsession.
She understood-but she felt herself somehow apart from it; her desire
was satisfied, but whatever it was that awakened real passion in others
had not touched her.

And nothing ever quite made up for the letdown of that first night.

And he never understood, or even noticed.

Winter became spring, then seemed to run straight into autumn without
pausing for summer.  There were never enough hours in the day for
everything.  Kero often wondered what possessed her, to have consented
to this.

She often wondered if she were doing the right thing.

She had no doubt that a conventional life would be far, far easier.

And I wouldn't have to rise with the sun unless I really wanted to.

The wooden practice blades were nowhere in sight, which was a little
odd.  Kero exchanged puzzled glances with Daren, then looked away
before the glance could develop into anything more intimate.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this as "Just friends, " she
thought, staring at the sandy floor of the practice ring.  Grandmother
was worried about me getting my heart broken, but it seems as though
it's going to be the other way around.  I really like Daren-but-But.

Blessed Agnira, I'm a cold-hearted bitch.  I ought to be on my knees
with thanks that he's in love with me, or thinks he is.  Instead, all I
can think of is "how can I pry him loose?"

On the other hand, Tarma was right.  There is no way I would ever be
allowed to marry him Not that I'd want to.

Tarma's entrance broke into her ruminations, and she looked up
gratefully at her teacher.  All this thinking is making my head hurt.
Daren, who had been reaching for her arm, stiffened, and pulled away a
little, and Kero breathed a sigh of relief.

Tarma's eyes flicked toward Daren, though she gave no other sign that
she'd noticed him moving.

"I think you're ready now for something a little more serious," the
Shin'a'in said gravely.

"It's about time you both got used to handling the weapons you're going
to fight with.

Not that you're going to practice all the time with them," she added,
holding up a long hand to forestall any questions, " But you're going
to be working out at least a candle mark every day with them.  I can
approximate the weight and balance of your real weapons with your
practice swords, but I can't duplicate it-and your bodies will know the
difference.  " She handed Daren a long-sword, two-edged, but with a
point as well.  The blade was magnificent, and the jewel in the hilt, a
ruby so dark as to be nearly black, was worth Kero and all of her
family combined.

For her part, she took up Need with a certain amount of trepidation.
Although she felt a kind of tingle when she first set hand to hilt, the
sword showed no other signs of life.

Which suited her very well.  Over the course of that single night,
she'd had her fill of being the tool instead of the wielder.

"Tarma," she said, hesitantly.

"Is this a good idea?  I mean, I thought I was supposed to be learning
swordsmanship, but if I'm going to use Need-" Tarma chuckled.

"Don't worry about it.  First ofF, you'll be bouting against me, not
Daren, and she won't let you harm a woman.  Secondly, she works in
peculiar ways.  Now that you've established your talents as a swords
woman she'll never help you fight again.  Ah, but magic now, that's
where she'll protect you.  So far as I know, there isn't a magicker in
the world can harm you while you hold her."

"So that's how it works," she murmured without thinking.

"Exactly.  That's why she did both for you when you went after Lordan's
bride; you were neither fish nor fowl yet."  Tarma grinned.

"Now, since she's no more than a very good blade in your hands-defend
yourself, girl!"

Blessed Agnira, it's been a long day.  Kero hung her sword in its rack,
pulled her armor off and draped it over its stand, and stretched. Tarma
was right about having to get used to Need's weight and balance.
There's a distinct difference between her and that practice blade.  She
stretched again, reaching for the ceiling, feeling shoulders pop.  That
hot bath is going to feel so-She started for the bathing chamber-and
realized she was still holding her sword.

That's odd.  She frowned.  I could have sworn I hung her up.

She turned back toward the wall rack, and tried to place the sword in
its cradle.  Tried.

She couldn't make her hands let go.

"oH, no you don't," she muttered.

"You've done that to me once.  No more."

She put the sword in the rack, and concentrated on freeing her left
hand, one finger at a time.

Let.  Go.  Of.  Me.  She stared at her hand as if it didn't belong to
her, concentrating until she had a headache, a sharp pain right between
her eyebrows.

One by one, she loosened her fingers; one by one she pried them off the
scabbard.  As she released the last of them, she felt something in the
back of her mind stretch, and snap.

She pulled her right hand away, quickly, before the sword could take
control of her again.

"I'll thank you to keep your notions to yourself," she told it
frostily, ignoring the incongruity of talking to an inanimate object.
Then she turned, and walked deliberately back to the bathing chamber.
She "heard" something, as she "heard" thoughts, faint and at the very
edge of her abilities to sense it.  It sounded like someone grumbling
in her sleep ... disturbed, but not awakened.

She ignored it and drew her bath.

Whatever it was, it went away while she was undressing, and by the time
she slid into the hot water she wondered if she'd only imagined it.

But as she lay back, relaxing, she began to feel a kind of pull on her
mind, as if something had hold of her and was trying to tug her in a
particular direction.

Since the direction was her bedroom, she had no doubt who that
"someone" was.

She ignored it, and it grew more persistent; then painful, like a
headache in the back of her skull.  Stop that, she thought sharply,
sitting up in the bath.  The pain eased off, but the tugging was still
there.  She sat back and thought for a few moments, then she put up her
very best shields, the shields even Warrl had not been able to break
through.

The tugging stopped.  She waited for several moments, but whatever the
sword was doing did not seem to be able to penetrate the shielding.

You ruled my grandmother, sword.  You're not going to rule me.  She
closed her eyes, leaned back again, and let the bath relax all her
muscles for her.

Finally the water cooled, and she felt relaxed enough to sleep.  She
opened her eyes and stared at the wall, thinking.  I can't keep shields
like this up forever.  If I'm lucky, I won't have to.  If I'm not,
though, this is going to be an interesting little power struggle.

She lowered her shields, slowly, waiting for the sword to resume its
insistent nagging.  You may be older, with all manner of magic behind
you, she thought at it, but I'll bet I'm a lot more stubborn than you
are.

Nothing it's a good thing Daren was too tired after practice to be
interested in bed games tonight.

She waited for a moment, then left the shields down and climbed out of
her bath.  This is too easy.  It's not going to let me off this easily.
She dried herself, and went back into her room to lie down on the bed.
If I were Need, what would I do?  A straight-on attempt didn't work
anytime she starts on me again, I can bring my shields up and block her
out.  So the next logical move would be to try something subtle.

it occurred to her, as she pulled the covers up a bit tighter around
her ears, that it was possible she had inadvertently weakened the
sword's hold on her by not using it during the first few moons she'd
owned it.

Those books of Grandmother's-they had something about soul-bonding in
them.  I think I still have them, in fact.  She sighed.  The bed was so
warm-and the room was already getting chilly.  And she was so awfully
tired.... Still-I need the information more than I need the sleep.  She
gritted her teeth and flung back the covers resolutely, flinching as
she swung her legs over and put her feet on the cold floor.  At least
the Tower was heated a lot better than the Keep.  There, this deeply
into winter, she could put a mug of water down beside her bed, and it
would be frozen all the way to the bottom by morning.

She wrapped herself up in a robe, groped for the candle on the table
beside the bed, and took it to the fireplace.

She scraped away enough of the ash to expose a coal and lit her candle
at it.

The books were right where she thought she'd left them; pushed into the
corner of the bookcase next to her desk, ignored in favor of the
volumes on the history of warfare and strategy and tactics that Tarma
had given her to read.  She'd been working her way through them with
the interest and enthusiasm she hadn't been able to muster for the
books of poetry and history her tutors had assigned her.

I think it was the red one, she decided, studying them as she tried to
recall which one held the information she wanted.  But-oh, never mind.
There're only three of them.  If there was one thing that studying
under Tarma had taught her, ~ was never to discard a book.  You never
knew when something in it-even in so innocuous a volume as a book of
poetry-could prove useful.

She pulled them out and scurried back to bed with them, putting the
candle-holder beside the bed, and pulling the blankets up over her
legs.

She began leafing through the first book, looking for the section on
enchanted objects and soul-bonding.  It was where she remembered it,
and she read it carefully this time, paying special attention to
anything that might apply to Need.

Finally she closed the book, put all three of them on the table, and
blew out the candle.  She turned over onto her side and watched the
embers glowing in the hearth, while she thought about what she had
read.

It seemed that, by her determination to learn sword work on her own,
she had inadvertently weakened the blade's hold on her.  According to
several sources quoted in that book, the first few moons were the
critical ones in a soul-bonding.  Close physical proximity was required
after the initial contact, as well as frequent use of the object in
question.

So by hanging her on the wall, and not touching her, I kept her from
getting the hold on me that she had on my grandmother.  And probably
everyone else that had her over the past however-many years.

So the soul-bond had been set in, but lightly.  Had Kero been a
magic-user, this could have been an unfortunate situation.  It might
even have been a disaster, depending on how much the magic-user in
question was likely to depend on the sword's ability to take over and
provide fighting expertise.  It was probably just as well that Kethry
had been deeply soul-bonded to the thing, given some of the stories
Kero had heard from her, and from Tarma.

But to protect Kero from magic, it simply needed to be in physical
proximity to her.  Which meant it probably didn't need to be bonded to
her at all "Except that it wants to know just who it's fighting for.

And it probably needs to have some kind of bond to make sure it can
protect the bearer at all levels.  But it's got a light bond, so to
protect me, now, it's got everything it has to have.

It probably wasn't going to like that, though.  Given what Kethry told
her about the way the sword had behaved in the past.... I'll bet it's
going to fight me, trying to get what it wants.

I'm not going to give in.  Now, I wonder-should I give this thing up?

If I can.... Kethry had never said anything about the sword deciding to
switch owners before the present owner was ready to lose it.

It could happen.  All it would have to do would be to decide that it
doesn't want to protect me right at the moment some sorcerer has me
targeted.  Well, that was true enough-except that would also be
violating the blade's own purpose.

Given that it's refused to work against some fairly nasty characters
simply because they were female, I don't think it's likely to drop me
in the middle of danger.

That still didn't answer the question of whether or not she wanted to
be rid of the thing.

I don't think so.  It's too valuable.  And-I don't mind Paying for that
value with a little altruistic work now and again.  Truth to tell, it's
something I'd probably do on my own anyway.  The sword is just going to
tell me when it needs to be done, and who needs help.

It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open, especially
since there didn't seem to be a good reason to stay awake any longer.

But as she drifted away into sleep, she couldn't help but wonder just
how much of a fight the sword was going to give her.  And who was going
to come out the victor.

The next four weeks were a constant reminder that a Potent Shin'a'in
curse was, "May your life be interesting.  "

The moment she fell asleep at night, she dreamed.

Vivid, colorful dreams of women in peril, in which she rode up, and put
their peril to rout.  Dreams of a life on the move, in which all
innkeepers were friendly, all companions amusing, all weather
perfect-in short, a life straight out of the ballads.

Finally, on Warrl's advice, she took the sword down off the wall, and
unsheathed it.  With it held in both her hands, she thought directly at
it, unshielded.

I'm not thirteen, and you're not going to gull me with hero-tales, she
told it firmly.  Save them for minstrels and little children.

Was it her imagination, or did she hear a sigh of disappointment as she
hung the blade back up on the wall?

In any event, the dreams ended, only to be replaced by darkly realistic
ones.  Night after night, she was witness to all the evil that could be
inflicted on women by men.  Abuse and misuse, emotional and physical;
rape, murder, torture.  Evil working in subtler fashion; marriages that
proved to be no more than legalized slavery, and the careful
manipulation of a bright and sensitive mind until its owner truly
believed with all her heart in her own worthlessness.  Betrayal, not
once, but many times over.  All the hurts that could be inflicted when
one person loved someone who in turn loved no one but himself.

This was hardly restful.

And during the day, any time she was not completely shielded, the sword
manipulated her emotional state, making her restless, inflaming her
with the desire to be out and on the move.

But she wasn't ready, and she knew it.  Even if the blade didn't.

Every day meant fighting the same battle-or rather, mental wrestling
match-over and over; the sword saying "Go," and Kero replying "NO."

And to add the proper final touch, Daren was all-too obviously becoming
more and more infatuated with her.

And infatuation was all that it was, Kero was pretty certain of that.
She had a long talk with her grandmother about the differences between
love and lesser emotions, and to her mind, Daren did not evidence
anything other than a blind groping after someone he thought was the
answer to all his emotional needs.

Or as Tarma put it, much more bluntly, "He's barely weaned, and you're
a mature doe.  In you, he gets both mate and mama.  I hate to put it
that way, child, but emotionally you're years ahead of him.... Young
Daren isn't in love with you, little hawk, he's in love with love.  "
Kero hadn't said anything, but she'd privately felt Tarma had wrapped
the entire situation up in one neat package.  Daren would make someone
a very good husband when he grew up.  She was fairly certain that when
he did so, it would happen all at once-but he'd have to be forced into
the situation.

Meanwhile, he wasn't going to.  Not with someone like her around.

He was making some hints that had her rather distirbed, hints she
hadn't confided to anyone.

Hints that he would be willing to actually marry her, if that was the
only way he could keep her.  As if he thought she could be kept!  That
was keeping her awake at night as much as the dreams were.

Then, one night, he did more than hint.  He told her that he would talk
to his father about ennobling her if she'd just come with him to the
Court.  And there was only one reason for him to make that offer that
she knew of.  He was serious about her.

And she didn't love him.  She liked him well enough, but her answer to
the question "Could you live without him?"  was most decidedly "yes."
If he left tomorrow and she never saw him again, she would miss him,
but she'd go right back to her sword-practice without a second thought,
and her sleep would hardly be plagued by dreams and longing.

She got up early the next morning, after a particularly bad night, to
pace the cold floor and try to get herself sorted out.

It was at least a candle mark till dawn, but she just couldn't lie
there in bed anymore.  She lit the candle and got dressed in the chill
pre-morning air, and began walking the length of her room, pacing it
out as carefully as if she was measuring it.

I like Daren, she thought, rubbing her arms to warm them.  He's clever,
he's intelligent, he's flexible-he's not bad in bed, either.  He
wouldn't ever hurt me deliberately.

But the sword had filled her few sleeping hours with some fairly
horrific scenes.  And if she married Daren, there was no way she could
do anything about problems like the ones the sword was showing her.

The prince's wife just can't go riding off whenever the mood takes her.
In fact, I doubt very much that the prince's wife would be able to
enjoy half the freedom Kerowyn does.

That's really what it came down to: privilege, or freedom?

The relief of being "like every other girl," or the excitement of being
like no one else, of setting her own standards?  Power and wealth, or
the ability to, now and again, right a wrong?

If she married Daren, she would never again be able to totally be
herself.

If she didn't, she'd spend the rest of her life keeping her head above
water, and wondering if the next sword thrust, the next arrow, was
Death's messenger.

Security, or liberty?

It was enough to give anyone a headache, and she had an incredible one,
when, in the pearly-gray moment of pre-dawn, someone tapped lightly on
her door.

She nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to answer it; she was
expecting Tarma, but it was Daren.

He was white and shaking, and from the tear streaks on his face and his
reddened eyes, he'd been crying.  He tried to compose himself, his
upper lip still quivering as he tried to breathe more calmly.

Kero stood, frozen, with her hand still on the door latch.  She
couldn't even begin to imagine why Daren would look this way; surely he
hadn't been upsetting himself that much over her, had he?  But his next
words told her everything she needed to know.

"Kero-" he said, hoarsely, as tears began to trickle down his face once
again.

"Kero, it's-my father's dead.  "

Ten

For one long moment, she couldn't seem to do anything but stand there
stupidly, staring at him.  Then his shoulders began to shake with
silent sobs, and she reacted automatically, pulling him inside, taking
him over to the bed and getting him to sit down on the side of it.

"What happened?"  she asked, bewildered.  Last she'd heard, the King
was in excellent health, and Prince Thanel had been safely married off
to the Queen of Valdemar.

Dear heavens, that was over a year ago.  Closer to two.  Daren expected
to be called home then, but it didn't happen, and that was when he
started making hints about getting me ennobled.  Have we been here that
long?

She tallied up the seasons in her mind, and realized with a bit of
shock that she had been Tarma's pupil for over three years.  She
glanced reflexively at the mirror built into the wardrobe, and the
Kerowyn that looked back at her, hard, lean, eyes wide with surprise,
was nothing like the ill-trained girl that had arrived here.

Never mind that.  Right now I have to get some sense out of Daren.  She
held Daren against her shoulder and let him cry himself out; that was
the best thing she could do for him right now.  As the pink light of
dawn filled the room, he got a little better control over himself, and
groped after a handkerchief.  As usual, he'd forgotten one.

She'd never been quite so conscious before of the fact that he was
younger than she by at least a year.  At this moment he felt more like
her brother than her lover.
"Th-than el he stammered at last.

"It was all Thanel.

He's dead.  A'week or so ago.  He tried to murder his wife."

He what?  But his wife- "He tried to assassinate the Queen of Valdemar?
" she exclaimed.

"Dearest gods-but what does that have to do with your father?"

"When they told Father, he-I don't know, something happened.  Maybe his
heart g-g-gave out on him.  There's a branch of Kethry's mage-school
not far from the capital;

they sent word there and one of the mages sent word to Kethry and she
w-w-woke me."  He choked up again, and couldn't get anything more past
his tears.  She patted his back absently, one part of her intent on
comforting him as best she could, but the rest of her mind putting
together all the possible ramifications.

Valdemar isn't particularly warlike, and they just finished that mess
with the Tedrel Companies.  Tedrel Companies, " indeed.  Trust Karse to
find an entire nation of low-life scum, and hire them on as
free-lancers .  then complain when Valdemar routs them and they turn
back on Karse to loot their way home.  Serves them right-She gave
herself a mental shake and got back on the right trail.  But that was
just before Daren came.  Valdemar took some pretty severe losses, and
they can't possibly have recovered enough to declare war.

Right.  So-Thanel tries to take out his wife, I assume so that he can
take the throne.  He must have failed.  I need to know who caught him
and what they did with him.  The King gets the news, and promptly
collapses, then dies, which puts Thanel's brother on the throne ... no
love lost there, which means he could possibly placate Valdemar.

Damn.  I need to know how Thanel tried, and whether or not he had any
help, either from here, or from inside Valdemar itself.

She tried to calm Daren down a little, but he was incoherent;

she hadn't realized he cared that much for his father.  So she just
held him close, rocking him back and forth a little; it felt like the
right thing to do, and it seemed to soothe him as well.  He didn't
utter a sound after she stopped asking him questions, and that made her
heart ache all the more for him.  Those silent sobs bespoke more
emotional pain than she had ever felt in her life.... Finally he
stopped trembling; the storm of voiceless weeping that shook him went
the way of all storms.  She continued to hold him until she felt a
little resistance, as if he wanted to pull away from her.  Then she let
him go, and he slowly raised his head from her shoulder.

Sun streamed in Kero's window; ironically, it was going to be a
beautiful day, but all prospect of enjoying it had just flown with the
migrating birds.  Daren winced away from the light, his eyes
dark-circled, swollen and red, his face still white as the snow
outside.

"I think you should get some rest," Kero said quietly.

"I know you don't think you'll be able to sleep, but you should at
least go lie down for a while."

He bristled a little, which she took as a good sign.  At least he
wasn't going to fall over helplessly and let her take charge of his
life.

"Really, if you don't at least go put a cold cloth on your eyes, you
aren't going to be able to see out of them, she insisted.  Finally, he
nodded, and stood up.

"You'll come get me if you hear anything, won't you?"

He seemed to be taking it for granted that she would be with her
grandmother and Tarma.

That was as good an idea as any.

"I will," she promised, and got up to lead him out the door.

They parted company at his door, and she raced down the hall to the
stairs, then took the stairway down as fast as she could without
killing herself.

The common room was empty, but there was light coming from under the
door leading to Kethry's "working rooms."  Kero hesitated a moment,
torn by the need to find out more information, and her reluctance to
pass that doorway.  Finally curiosity won out, and she tried the
latch.

The door swung open at a touch, and Kero pushed it aside.  At the far
end of the room, Kethry was seated at a small, marble-topped table,
bent over a large black bowl, and Tarma sat beside her, face utterly
impassive.

There was a light source inside the bowl itself; Kethry's face was
illuminated softly from below, her unbound silver hair forming a soft
cloud about her head.  Kero Coughed delicately; Kethry ignored her, but
Tarma looked up and motioned to her to join them.

She picked her way gingerly across the cluttered room.

She was never entirely sure how much of the clutter was Of magical use,
and how much was simply junk, relegated here to be stored.  That huge,
draped mirror, for instance-of the suit of armor that couldn't possibly
have fit anything human, or even alive, since the helm was welded to
the shoulders and the face-plate welded shut besides.

Mostly she tried not to look at much of anything.  There were some
stuffed animals-she thought they were animal son shelves along the
walls; shapes that didn't bear too close an inspection if one wanted
pleasant dreams.

As she neared the two women, she saw that there was movement down in
the bottom of that bowl; the light eddied and changed, casting odd
little shadows across Kethry's face.  When she finally reached them,
she saw with a start of astonishment that there was a tiny man looking
up at Kethry from the bowl, gesturing from time to time and making the
light change.  Behind the man was a kind of glowing rose-colored mist,
and the light appeared to be coming from that soft and lambent haze,
"It's only an image," Tarma said softly, as Kero Cun a stool and placed
it beside her.

"It's Keth's son, your uncle Jendar.  " ,-so, according to the Herald,
the prince had been part of this conspiracy for some time.  One of the
other Heralds, their Weaponsmaster, somehow got wind of the
assassination attempt, and when Selenay rode out for her exercise, he
took a group of young warriors with him and followed her at a discreet
distance.  So when the conspirators ambushed her, they got something of
a surprise first of all, none of them expected Selenay to be much of a
fighter, second, they didn't expect the rescue party.  Thanel was
fatally injured during the fight.  He died a couple of candle marks
later."

"That's just as well," Kethry replied, her posture relaxing just a
bit.

"Is there any sign that Thanel might have gotten any help from
Rethwellan?"

"None that anyone there has come up with, and no one at Court seems
very inclined to look for it here."

The bearded figure cocked his head to one side, a gesture that made him
look very like his mother.

"Mother, do you want me to look into it?"

"No, not really," she replied.

"I'd just as soon leave that to Valdemar.  At this point it isn't a
threat to Ret-hwellan or the royal family, and I hope you'll forgive me
for being insular, but that's really all I care about.

Jendar shook his head.

"If you insist.  I will have to admit that I'd just as soon not deal
too closely with the heralds.  They're well-intentioned, and really
good people on the whole, but they're too intense for my taste.

Too much like you when that sword wanted you to do something.  " "And
the one time I was in Valdemar was enough for me," she replied.

"I'm glad I was just barely across the border.  Have you ever been
there?"

He shivered.

"Once, like you, just barely across the border.  I kept feeling eyes on
the back of my neck, but when I'd try to find out what was watching me,
I could never find anything.  I got the feeling that whatever it was,
it was very unfriendly, and I had no intention of staying around to
find out what it was and why it felt that way.

"It gets worse if you work any magic," she replied soberly.

"Quite a bit worse.  By the way, this is your niece, Kero.  " The tiny
man peered up at Kero out of the depths of the bowl.

"Looks like she takes after the Shin'a'in side," he said, with what
Kero assumed was a smile of approval.  " Kero, if you are ever in Great
Harsey, look us up.  The school is just above the town, on the only
hill within miles.  We're not hard to find, there're only about forty
of us here, but the town itself doesn't number above two hundred.  "
She swallowed, with some difficulty.

"Uh-thank you.

I-uh-I'll be sure to do that."

The man laughed merrily, and Kero saw then that he had his mother's
emerald-green eyes.

"Just like every other fighter I've ever met-show her magic, and she
curls up and wilts."

"Yes, and what do you do when someone has a sword point at your throat?
" Kethry retorted with a hint of tired good humor.

" I do my best to make sure I'm never in that particular situation,
Mother dear," he replied.

"So far that strategy has worked quite well.  Kero, child, if magic
bothers you, I suggest you try Valdemar.  They seem to have some kind
of prohibition against it up there.  In fact," he continued
thoughtfully, "I seem to have one demon of a time even mentioning magic
to them.  Don't know why.  It might be interesting to see what happens
to Mother's nag of a sword north of the border."

"That's an experiment I'd rather not see tried," Kethry told him.

"Is that all you have for us?"

"That's all for now," Jendar said, dropping back into a serious mode.

"I'll contact you the usual way if anything more comes up.  I know
they'll want the young man here as soon as possible; get him on the
road tomorrow, if you can.  You might tell him, if he seems interested,
that his brother is definitely assigning him to the retinue of the Lord
Martial with a view to making him Lord Martial in a few years.  I'd
guess three years at the most;

the poor old war-horse is on his last legs, and losing Jad has done
something to him.  He was looking particularly tottery this morning.
Tarma, I hope the young man is up to the challenge.  " "He's up to it,"
she said firmly.

"I wouldn't turn him loose if he wasn't.  Remember, I held him back
when Thanel went north because he wasn't ready."

"Good enough, I'll let the word leak into the Council.

Take care, Mother.  " The man bowed once, and the light in the bowl
winked out.

Kethry raised her head, slowly, as if it felt very heavy.

"Thank the Windlady I'm an Adept," she said feelingly.

"The Pool of Imaging took it out of me when I was young.  I hate to
think what I'd be feeling like these days.  " What-oh, right.  Adepts
can pull on energy outside themselves to work magic, Kero remembered.
Learning the capabilities of the various levels of mages was something
both Kethry and Tarma had insisted she and Daren learn.

"Knowing what your enemy's mages can and can't do may help you win a
fight with a minimum of shed blood, " Tarma had stressed.

"Daren, that blood should be as precious to you as your own, if only
because each fighter lost is a subject lost-Kero, you're talking about
the fighters to whom you are obligated in every way, and they in turn
are your livelihood, so a fighter lost may well represent next year's
income lost.  Sounds cold, I know, but you have to keep all of that in
mind.  " "What was that?"  Kero asked carefully.

It's a spell only Masters and Adepts can use," Kethry said, pulling her
hair off her forehead and confining it with a comb.  She looked
terribly tired, and her eyes were as red as Daren's had been.

"It's basically a peacetime communication spell-it's draining, it's as
obvious as setting off fireworks, and it leaves both parties open to
attack.

But the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages to my way of
thinking."  "You can talk to the other person as easily as if you were
face-to-face," Kero said wonderingly.

"I had no idea that was possible.  " "Like a great many spells, it's
one we tend to keep quiet about, " Kethry told her with a wry twist to
her lips.  There are a fair number of war-leaders out there who
wouldn't care how dangerous the spell was to the caster, if that was
the kind of communication they could get.  " "I can see that-was that
really my uncle?"

"In the flesh-so to speak-and kicking," Tarma said.

"He's the one that took over your mother's White Winds school and moved
it up near the capital.  He's got a fair number of friends on the
Rethwellan Grand Council, so as soon as anything happens, he knows
about it.  Useful sort of relative.  " "I just wish he was a little
less interested in politics, and more in the school," Kethry said a bit
sharply.

"One of these days he's going to back the wrong man."

"Maybe," Tarma replied evenly.

"Maybe not.  He has unholy luck, your son.  And he's twice as clever as
you and me put together.  Besides, you know as well as I do that to
keep the school neutral the head has to play politics with the best of
them.  The only reason you survived down there was because you were
protected by the crown, and if that wasn't playing politics, what
is?"

"I yield," Kethry sighed.

"You're right, as usual.  It's just that I hate politics."

"Hate them all you want, so long as you play them right, " Tarma
replied.

"All right, little hawk," she continued, turning to Kero, "Now you know
as much as we do.  Need anything else?"

Tarma hadn't said anything, nor had Kethry, but Kero sensed that they
wanted to be alone.  She had no idea how well they had known the King,
but he had been Tarma's pupil, and they had known his father very
well.

All things considered, it was probably time for a delicate
Withdrawal.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Thank you."

"How's the lad?"  Tarma asked as she turned to leave.

"He's probably fallen asleep by now," she said, recalling that she'd
left him sprawled over his bed in a state of exhausted numbness.

"I think he'll do a little better knowing Faram wants him.  From what
he's said, he's a lot closer to his brother than he was to his
father."

"Not surprising," Tarma said cryptically.

"Well, I'll let him know the news when he wakes up."

That was a definite dismissal, and Kero left as quickly as she could
without actually hurrying.  It was with a certain relief that she
closed the door on Kethry's workroom.

She walked slowly toward the fireplace, feeling at something of a loss
for what to do next.  She was the only person in the Tower-except,
perhaps, for the seldom seen servants-who was left entirely untouched
by the King's death.  Untouched, though not unaffected, for this
affected Daren-She went up to her room, pulled a chair up to her
window, and sat gazing out her window at the snowcovered meadow below
the Tower, not really thinking, just letting her mind roam.  She sat
there the rest of the morning and on into the afternoon, before
thoughts crystallized out of her musings.  Uncomfortable thoughts.

The King was calling in his brother, and Daren would be leaving in the
morning, which left her the only student at the Tower.  There wasn't
much more that Tarma could teach her now that she wouldn't learn just
as quickly through experience.  There were things she needed to learn
now that only experience and making her own mistakes would teach her.

In short, it was time for her to leave as well.

Leaving.  Going out on my own.  The thought was frightening.
Paralyzing.

At that moment, someone tapped on her door, shaking her out of her
trance.

"Yes?"  she said still partially caught in her web of thoughts, and the
visitor opened the door slowly and cautiously.

Kero?  " Daren said softly, shaking her the rest of the way out of her
inertia.

"Come in."  She turned away from the window, searching his face, though
she really didn't know what she was looking for.

"Are you-" "I'm all right," he said, walking toward her, slowly.

As his face came into the light, she saw that he looked a great deal
calmer.  In fact, he looked as if he had come to terms with the news,
and with his own feelings.

"I really am.  They told me that Faram wants me home.

As he said that, his face changed, and there was hope and a bit of
excitement beneath the mourning.

"That-I was kind of afraid Faram had forgotten me," he said shyly.

"It would be awfully easy to.  And-and I thought, he's had one brother
turn on him, he might not trust me anymore either.  I wouldn't blame
him, you know, and neither would anyone else.  I'd be tempted, if I
were in his place, and I knew he was safely tucked out of the way with
two of my father's old friends keeping an eye on him.  I thought that
might even be the reason Father sent me out here in the first place, to
get me out of the way, with someone he trusted making sure I didn't
turn traitor on him.  I thought maybe that was why he didn't send for
me when Thanel went off to Valdemar."

Kero nodded, slowly.  That was sound reasoning; in fact, in his place,
she'd probably have suspected the same thing.

"But Faram wants me.  More than that, he wants me to apprentice to the
Lord Martial."  There was suppressed excitement in his voice, and a
light in his eyes It's just about everything I ever dreamed of, Kero-"
"And you deserve it," she interrupted him, with as much emphasis as she
could muster.

"You've worked for it; you've earned it.  Tarma herself would be the
first to tell you that."

"And now you can come with me," he continued, as if he hadn't heard
her.

"There's nothing stopping me from having you with me.  Faram studied
under Tarma, he knows Kethry, we won't even have to go through that
nonsense of getting you ennobled so we can be married-" Married?

"Whoa!"  she said sharply.

"Who said anything about getting married?"

That brought him to a sudden halt.  His eyes widened in surprise at her
vehemence.

"I thought that was what You wanted!"  he said, in innocent surprise.

"I want you with me, Kero-there isn't anyone else I'd rather be married
to-', "Do you want me enough to have me apprenticed alongside you?" she
asked pointedly.

He stared at her in shock, as if he could not believe what she was
saying.

"You know that wouldn't be possible!"

he exclaimed.

"You're a girl!  Women can't do things like that!"

"I'm your yqual in blade and on horseback," she replied with rising
heat.

"I'm your better with a bow and with tactics.  Why shouldn't I work at
your side?"

"Because you're a girl!"  he spluttered.

"You can't possibly-it just isn't done-no one would permit it!"

"Well, what would I be able to do?"  she asked.

"Sit on the Council?  Act as military advisor?"

"Of course not!"  He was shocked-despite all their talking, all the
things they had done together-by the very idea.  Not so enlightened as
we appeared to be, hmm?

"Well, will I be able to keep in training?"  She waited for him to
answer, and didn't much care for his long silence.

"All right, what will I be able to do?"

"Ride some, and hunt-genteel hunting, with hawk and a light bow," he
said, obviously without thinking.

"Nothing like the kind of hunting we have been doing here.  No boar, no
deer, good gods, that would send half the Court into apoplexy!  You
can't offend them."

"In other words, I wouldn't be able to do a single damned thing that
I've been trained and working at for the past three years," she pointed
out bitterly.

"I can't offend them-by 'them' I assume you mean the men-by competing
with them.  You want me to give up everything I've worked for all this
time, and even my recreations."

"You could advise me in private," he said hastily.

"I

need that, Kero, just like I need you!  And we could practice together.
" "In private, so no one would know your lady wife can beat the
breeches off you two times out of three," she said acidly, deliberately
telling the truth in the most hurtful way possible."

"Of course, in private?"  he replied angrily.

"You can't do things like that where people can find out about them!

After all, you won't be a common mercenary.  DO you think I want anyone
to know-" "That I'm your equal, and their superior.  How good I am."
She stood up.

"In short, you want a combination of toy soldier and expensive whore;
your delicate lady in public and whatever else you want out of me in
private, with no opinions or thoughts of my own-except in private.

Thank you, no.  I told you that night we first talked that I wasn't
prepared to sell anything other than my sword.  That hasn't changed,
Daren.  And it isn't likely to."

She rose to her feet and stalked toward the door, so angry that she no
longer trusted her temper with him and only wanted to be away from him
so she wouldn't say or do anything worse than she already had.  She
grabbed her cloak as she passed the door, and he made no move to stop
her.

She was walking so fast, and was so blind with suppressed fury, that
she didn't realize until she was down in the dimly lit stables and on
her way out the tunnel to the rear entrance that she had also snatched
up Need on her way out.

She paused.  For one moment that startled and alarmed her.  Was the
sword controlling her-had she so lost her temper that she'd lost her
protections against its meddling?

Then common sense reasserted itself.  Just good reactions, she decided.
Finally I've gotten to the point where, when I head out of my room, I
snag a weapon without thinking about it.  She flung the cloak over her
shoulders, fastened the clasp at her throat, and belted the sword
beneath it.  Doesn't it just figure, she thought angrily, as she strode
out into the chill late-afternoon sunlight, that when I finally get to
the point that I'm reacting like a professional fighter, Daren pulls
this on me?  Offering me anything I want-as long as I don't do anything
that embarrasses him.  Like act like a human being capable of thinking
for herself.

Another thought occurred to her, as she pictured the kind of pampered
pet Daren seemed to want her to become.

Dierna would have given her soul for an opportunity like this....
Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, just outside the hidden
entrance to the stables, the wind molding her Cloak tight to her body.
So what's wrong with me?  Why don't I want this easy life on a
platter?

She shivered, and pulled the cloak closer about her as another whip of
breeze nipped at her.  Why am I going out to fight for a living?  Why
do I want to?  What kind of fool am I, anyway?

She resumed her walk, but at a much slower pace.  She paced the
hard-packed path through the forest with her head down, eyes fixed on
the frozen snow, but not really seeing it.  If he's offering this to
me, it pretty much negates what I first told him, that I'm going to be
a mercenary because no one is going to keep me fed and clothed he's
offering that.  I don't have to do this.  So why do I still want to?

She raised her head and looked around, half hoping for some kind of
omen or answer.  There were no answers coming from the silent forest,
only the mocking echoes of crows in the distance and the steady
creaking of snow underfoot.  There were no answers written against the
sky by the bare, black branches, and no revelations from the clouds,
either.  She walked onward, following the familiar path to the river
out of habit, her nose and feet growing numb and chill.

Well, she decided finally, I suppose one reason is that I'm good at
fighting.  It would be a damned shame to let that talent go to waste.
It would be stupidity to let someone else do the job who isn't as good
at it as I am.... The wind died to nothing, and her cloak weighed down
her shoulders as if embodying all of her troubles.  That thought led
obliquely to another.  I'm good at fighting.  Of course, it would be
nice if there wasn't any fighting, if bandits would stop raiding, and
people would stop making war on each other, and everyone could live in
peace.

But that isn't going to happen in my lifetime-probably not for a long,
long time.  So it makes sense for people who are good at fighting to go
out and do it-because if they're good at it, that means the fewest
number of other people die.

That was essentially what Tarma had said to both of them, a hundred
times over; that her job and Daren's was to learn everything they could
about advance planning, to protect those serving with and under them,
to keep their casualties to an absolute minimum.

But there are going to be people like bandits, like the Karsites, who
don't care how many people die.  People with no conscience, no honor. I
know that a lot of folk think meres don't have either-but if that's
true, then why the Codes ?

It was all beginning to come together, to make a vague sort of sense.
She stopped again, and squinted her eyes against the westering sun.
There's always going to be fighting.  I can't see the world turning
suddenly peaceful in my lifetime.  People of honor have to be a part of
that, because if they aren't, the only ones fighting will be the ones
who don't care, who have no honor, and no concern for how many others
die.  Right.  That's why I'm doing this.  In a funny kind of way, it's
to protect the Diernas and Lordans, the people who would be the
victims.  Even if I'm getting paid to do it, it's still protecting
them.

Because if all the fighting is done by people with no conscience, there
won't be any safety anywhere for the people who only want peace.

That was the answer she was looking for.  She felt tension leaving her,
as she turned her back on the setting sun, and headed home with her
shadow reaching out before her, black against the blue-tinged snow.

I'm good now, but I have to become very good.  Special.

So special that I can pick my Company and my Captain, pick someone with
a Company so good he can choose when he won't take a job, because it's
for the wrong side and the wrong causes.  Just like Grandmother and
Tarma did.

And that was why she wouldn't give in to Daren, and to what he was
offering.  The love he was offering came with restrictions,
restrictions on what made her unique.

If he truly loved what she was, rather than what he thought he saw, he
would never have placed those restrictions on her.

And last of all, I don't love him, she thought soberly.

I like him, but that's not enough.

If she took him up on his offer of marriage, she would be offering him
considerably less than true coin.  She didn't love him, she didn't
think she could ever learn to love him.  In time, she might even come
to hate him for the lie he was making her live.

What if one day he outgrew this infatuation, and found someone he
really did love?  That would be a tragedy as horrible as anything in
any of the romantic ballads.

Worse, really; there they'd be, living double lies, and trapped in the
agreements they'd made when neither of them was thinking particularly
clearly.

What if she found someone?

But that notion made her grin, sardonically.  Right.  Me in love. About
as likely as having my horse decide to talk to me.  I may not be
she'chorne, but I don't think there's been a man bOrn that could be my
partner, and I won't settle for anything less than that.

No, liking Daren was entirely the wrong reason to go through with this
charade of his.  It would be just as false as putting on a dress and
pretending to be something she wasn't for the sake of appearances.

And it was ironic that the things that made her so different and that
he now deplored-were the things that had attracted him to her in the
first place.

If he wants a woman to be different, why does he want her to be the
same as every other woman?  she asked herself, as she stood just inside
the stable door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness
inside.

Men.  Why can't they ever learn to think logically?

Daren found himself caught between anger and bewilderMent.

First Kero stormed off and left him standing in the middle of her room,
torn between frustration and feeling foolish.  He couldn't understand
what was wrong with her; why couldn't she see that she was going to
have to adjust herself to what people expected of her?  The world
wasn't going to change just because she was different!

He'd offered her something any woman in her right Mind-and certainly
every single woman at Court-WOuld have pledged her soul to have, and
she stormed off because he'd told her the truth of the matter, and how
she would have to change.

He waited for her to come to her senses and return, to apologize and
take his hands and say she never wanted to fight like that again But
she didn't come back, and she didn't come looking for him after he
returned to his own room.  Tarma showed up, toward sunset; she looked
older, somehow and he guessed that his father's death had hit her
preTTY hard.

"Well," she said.  'it's official.  Faram wants YOU UP there yesterday,
so you'd better get yourself packed up.

You'll need to be on the road tomorrow."

"Will I need an escort?"  he asked, a little doubtfully.

He didn't really want one, and a retinue would slow him down.

Tarma shook her head.

"I don't think so.  You can take care of yourself quite well,
youngling, and if you have any enemies out there, they won't be looking
fOr one man and his beasts, they'll be looking for a damned parade.  "
He sighed.

"Well, I guess this is the end of my stay here.  I've-not precisely
liked it, but-Tarma, I appreciate all you've done for me.  I can't
really say how much, because I won't know exactly how much you've
taught me for years yet."

She smiled a little.

"Then you're wiser than I thought, if you've figured that out.  Wise
enough to know that you'll be better off packing up now so you can
leave straight away in the morning.  " "Does Kero know I'm leaving
tomorrow?"  he managed to get out.  Tarma looked at him oddly for a
moment, then nodded.

"I told her," the Shin'a'in said, her expression utterly deadpan.

"She didn't say anything.  Did you two have a fight?  " He started to
tell her what had happened between them, then stopped himself, why, he
didn't really know, unless it was just that he didn't want anyone else
to Know about this particular quarrel.

"Not really," he said.

"It's just I haven't seen her all afternoon..  .. " He let his words
trail oFF so that Tarma could read whatever she wanted to in them.

She nodded.

"Good-byes are a bitch," she said shortly.

"Never got used to them, myself.  Travel well and lightly, jel'enedrA.
I'll miss you."

She gave him a quick, hard hug, and there was a suspicion of tears in
her eyes.  Then she left him alone in his suddenly empty room.  Left
him to pack the little he had that he wanted or needed to take with
him.  Not the clothes.  certainly, except what he needed to travel with
Faram would have him outfitted the moment he passed the city gates in
the finest of silk and wool, velvet and leathers.  Not the books; they
were Tarma's.  The weapons and aRMor, some notes and letters.  A couple
of books of his own.  His life here had left him very little in the way
Of keepsakes And where was Kero?  Why didn't she come to him?

She didn't appear at his door any time that evening; he finished
packing and tried to read a book, but couldn't concentrate on the
words.  Finally he took a long hot bath, and drank a good half-bottle
of wine to relax.  He thought about his father; he and Kero had that in
common as well, after the first shock, he was ]having a hard time
feeling the way, perhaps, he should.  He hardly knew the King-he'd
spent more time away from Court than in it, mostly because of Thanel.
Faram had been more of a father than Jad.  The King had been the King,
and word of his death was enough to shock any dutiful subject into
tears.  If it had been Faram, now-He finished the bottle, tried once
more to read, then gave up and climbed into bed.  He more than halfway
expected Kero to drift in through his door after he blew out the
candle.

She has to come, he thought.  She has to.  She loves me, I know she
does.  And our lovemaking has always been good-once I get her in bed, I
can make her see sense, I know I can.

But no; though he waited until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore,
despite tension that had his stomach in knots and his shoulders as
tight as braided steel, she didn't come.

By morning, he'd finally begun to believe that she wouldn't.  That he'd
said the unforgivable.

He hadn't expected her, but as he was saddling up his old palfrey,
Tarma came down the stairs to the stable to see him off.

He'd never had more than cursory contact with Lady Kethry, and he
wasn't surprised when she didn't appear at her partner's side, but he
was unexpectedly touched to see Tarma again.

"Couldn't let you go without a parting gift, lad," she said.

"You'll need it, too.  Take Roan.

"Take Roan?  " He could hardly believe it.  The gelding he'd been
using

IS

was a fine saddle -bred of her Clan breeding; he was astonished and
touched, and very nearly disgraced himself by breaking into tears
again.

"Dear gods, we've got Ironheart and Hellsbane, plus a couple of mules.
He'll be eating), his head off in the stable if you don't take him."
She led the gelding out of his stall and tethered him beside the
palfrey.

"Look at him, he'd be perfectly happy to do just that.  I'd say it's
your duty to save the overstuffed beggar from his own stomach."

"In that case," he said, "I guess I have no choice."

"Never try to cross a Shin'a'in, boy," she told him gravely.

"We always get our way."

"So I've learned.  " He dared to reach for her bony shoulders and hug
her; she returned it, and they both came perilously close to damp
eyes.

"Now get out of here before I have to feed you again," she said,
pushing him away, gently.

"Star-Eyed bless, but the amount of provisions we've had to put in to
keep you fed!  You and that gelding make a matched set."

It was a feeble joke, but it saved him, and he was able to take his
leave of her dry-eyed, saddle up Roan, and ride off down the path to
the road.

Then, as he stared back at the Tower, his eyes burned and stung after
all.

She didn't come.

She hadn't even come to say good-bye.

He turned his back on the place resolutely.  She'd made her choice; he
had to get on with his life.  Only his eyes kept burning, and not all
the blinking in the world would clear them.  He was rubbing them with
the back of his hand, when like the ending to a ballad, he heard
hoofbeats behind him-hoofbeats he recognized; the staccato rapping of
Kero's little mare's feet on the hard-packed snow.  He'd know that
limping gait anywhere, any time;

Verena had favored her right foreleg ever since an accident in his
second year here, and he knew her pace the way he knew the beat of his
own heart.

He turned his gelding to greet her, his heart filled to bursting.  She
came to her senses!  She's coming with me!

I won her over-Then as she came into view, he felt a shock, and stared,
his eyes going so wide he thought they were going to fall Out of his
head.

It was Kero, all right.  With her face made up like one of the Court
flowers, her hair in an elaborate arrangement that must have taken
hours to do.  In a dress.  A fancy, velvet dress, a parody of
hunting-gear.  It was years, decades out of date, and she must have
gotten it out of her grandmother's closet.

She looked like a fool.  It wasn't just the dress, it wasn't even
mostly the dress, old and outdated as it was.  It was that she was
simpering at him, her eyes all wide and dewy, her lips parted artfully,
her expression a careful mask of eager, honeyed anticipation.

"Oh, Daren, " she gushed, as she rode within hearing distance.

"How could you ever have thought I'd stay behind?

After all you've offered me, after all we've meant to each other, how
could you have ever doubted me?"

She rode up beside him and laid a hand on his elbow, a delicate, and
patently artificial gesture.

"I thought over what you'd said, and I realized how wise you are,
Daren.

The world isn't going to change, so I might as well adapt to it!  After
all, it isn't every day a prince of the blood offers to make me his
consort!"

She giggled-not her usual hearty laugh, or even her friendly sensuous
chuckle, but a stupid little giggle.

Her mare sidled a little, and she let it, instead Of controlling it.

That's when it dawned in him.  She was acting exactly the way those
little ninnies at Court had been acting-vacuous, artfully helpless,
empty-headed, greedy-Sickening.

He pulled away from her, an automatic, unthinking reaction.

Abruptly, her manner changed.  The artificial little fool vanished as
completely as if she had never existed.  Kero looked at him soberly,
the absurd riding habit, painted cheeks and ridiculous hair all
striking him as entirely unfunny.  Verenna tried to sidle again , and
this time Kero controlled her immediately.

"I just gave you everything you said you wanted me to be' yesterday.
That's exactly the way you asked me to behave.

"In public!

he protested.

"Not when we're together."  ' " Oh no?"  She tilted her head to one
side.

"Really?

And how private is a prince of the blood?  When can YOu be absolutely
sure that our little secrets won't be disCOVered?

When can YOu guarantee that we won't be interrupted or watched from a
distance?"

He was taken rather aback-and vivid recollectiOns came pouring back, of
private assignations that had become public gossip within a week, of
secrets that had been out as soon as uttered, of all the times he'd
sought privacy only to find watchers everywhere.  Roan stamped
impatiently, reflecting his rider's unease.

"Even if you can get away from your courtiers," she persisted, her
brows creased as she leaned forward earnestly in her saddle, "even if
you can escape the gossips, how do you keep things secret from the
servants?  They're everywhere, and they learn everything-and what they
learn, sooner or later, the entire Court knows.  " She sat back in her
saddle, and watched his face, her eyes following his.

"Besides, what you live, you start to become.  The longer I act like a
pretty fool, the more likely I am to turn into one.  Is that really
what you want from me?"

"No!"  he exclaimed, startling Roan into a snort.

"No, what I love about you is how strong you are, how clever you are,
how much you're like a friend-the way I can talk to you like another
man-" He stopped himself, appalled, but it was too late.  She was
nodding.

"But this is what you asked me to become," she replied, taking in
dress, hair, and all with a single gesture.

"Daren, dear heart you don't really want me as a lover, you want me as
a friend, a companion.  But I can't be a companion in your world-I can
only be something like this.  " He tried to say something to refute
her, but nothing would come out.

"Daren, you have a companion and partner waiting for you-someone who
needs your help and support and the fact that you love him, and needs
it more than I ever will," she said softly, but emphatically.

"Your brother is and will be more to you than I ever can.  Or ever
should.

And once we'd both gotten to the Court, you'd have found that out.  I
could never be more than a burden to you then,

and it would frankly be only a matter of time until my temper made me
an embarrassment as well."

"I-you-" he sputtered a while.  then shook his head, as his gelding
champed at the bit, impatient to be off.

"I-I guess you're right."  he said, crestfallen.

"I can't think of any reason why you should be wrong, anyway.  ' He
looked down at his saddle pommel for a moment, then defiantly met her
eyes.

"But dammit, I don't have to like it!"

"No, you don't," she agreed.

"But that doesn't change anything.  " She stared right back into his
eyes, and in the end, he was the one who had to drop his gaze.

"Daren," she said, after a moment of heavy silence, broken by the
stamping of horses, creak of leather, and jingle of harness, "Wait a
couple of years.  Wait until I've found my place.  Then I can be your
eccentric friend, that crazy female fighter.  Princes are expected to
have one or two really odd friends."  She chuckled then, and he looked
up and reluctantly smiled.

"I suppose," he ventured.

"You might even do my reputation some good."

"oH, definitely."  The smile she wore turned into a wicked grin.

"Just think how people will react when they know I'm your lover.

"Prince Daren, tamer of wild mere women!"  I can see it now, they'll
stand in awe of your manhood!

He blushed-all the more because he knew damned well it was true.

"Kero-" he protested.

"Are we friends again?"  she said abruptly.

He blinked, his eyes once more filling with tears, and this time he did
not try to pretend they weren't there.

"Yes," he said.

"Although why you'd want a fool like me for a friend-" "oH, I have to
have someone I can borrow money from," she said lightlly-then reached
across the intervening space between them and hugged him, hard And when
she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes as well.

"Just you take care of yourself, you unmannered lout," she whispered
hoarsely.

"I want you around to lend me that money."

"Mercenary," he replied, just as hoarsely.

She nodded, and backed her horse away slowly.

"Exactly so, my friend.  Exactly so."  She halted the mare just out of
reach, and waved at him.

"And you have places to go, and people waiting for you, Prince
Daren."

He turned his horse and urged it into a brisk walk, looking back over
his shoulder as he did so.  He halfway expected to see her making her
way toward the Tower, but she was still sitting on her horse beside the
path.

When she saw him looking, she waved once-more a salute than a wave.

The departing salute he gave her was exactly that.  Then he set his
eyes on the trail ahead.  And never once looked back.

Kero waited until Daren was out of sight, then turned her horse's head
toward the Tower.

I'm not sure what was more surprising-him developing good sense, or me
developing a silver tongue.  She hadn't quite known what she was going
to say, only the general shape of it.  She certainly had not expected
the kind of eloquent speech she'd managed to make.

One thing that was not at all surprising; she was already missing
Daren-but she wasn't as miserable as her worst fears had suggested.
Which meant, to her way of thinking, that she was not in love with the
man.  Deep in the lonely hours of the night she'd had quasi-nightmares
about successfully sending him away, then discovering she really
couldn't live without him.

She sighed, and Verenna's ears flicked back at the sound.

"Well," she told the mare, "I guess now it's my turn to figure out
exactly what I'm going to do with my life.  " And Need chose that
moment to strike.

Kero had a half-heartbeat of warning, a flash of something stirring,
like some old woman grumbling in her sleep, just before the blade began
exerting its full potential for pressure.  She managed to keep it from
taking her over entirely, but she could not keep it from disabling
her.

It did its best to overwhelm her with a desire to run away from all
this, to be out running free; a desire so urgent that had she not
already fought one set of pitched battles with the sword, she'd have
probably spurred Verenna after Daren, overtaken, and passed him.  Now
she knew these spurious impulses for what they were, and she met them
with a will tempered like steel, and a stubborn pride that refused to
give in to a piece of metal, however enchanted.  She had just enough
time to toss Verenna's reins over her neck, ground-tying her, before
the sword took over enough of her body that making Verenna bolt for the
road was a possibility.

Then she sat, rigid and trembling, every muscle in her body warring
with her will.  It wasn't even going to be possible to get back to the
Tower and get help from Kethry-assuming Kethry, having spent years
under the blade's peculiar bondage, even could help.  Damn you, she
thought at the blade, as her body chilled; and Verenna shuddered,
unable to understand what was wrong with her rider, but sensing
something, she didn't at all like.  Damn you, I know who and what I am,
and what I want and even why I want it-and if a man I like isn't going
to be able to pressure me into changing that, no chunk of metal is
going to be able to either!

Muscle by muscle, she won control of her body back.  She closed her
eyes, the better to be able to concentrate, and fought the thing,
oblivious to everything around her.

Finally, candle marks later, or so it seemed-though the sun hadn't
moved enough for one candle mark much less the eight or nine it should
have taken for the fight-she sat stiffly in her saddle, the master of
her own body again.  She waited warily for the sword to try again, as
her breath and Verenna's steamed in the cold-and she sensed that the
sword would try again, unless she could devise some way of ending the
struggle here and now.

She stripped off one glove and placed her half-frozen hand on the hilt.
Listen to me" you, she thought at the blade, and sensed a kind of
stillness, as if it was listening, however reluctantly.  Listen to me,
and believe me.

If you don't stop this nonsense and leave me alone, and let me make my
own decisions, I'll drop you down the nearest well.  I mean it.  Having
a blade that will protect me from magickers may be convenient, but damn
if I'm going to lose control of my life in return!

She sensed a dull, sudden heat, like far-off anger.

Look, you know what I've been thinking!  I agree with your purpose,
dammit!  I'm even perfectly willing to go along with this agenda of
helping women in trouble!  But I am, by all that's holy, going to do so
on my terms.  And you're going to have one hell of a time helping women
from the bottom of a well if you don't go along with this.

The anger vanished, replaced by surprise-and then, silence.  She waited
a moment longer, but the sword might as well have been a plain old
steel blade at that point.

Not that it felt lifeless-but she had a shrewd notion she'd made her
point.

"Silence means assent," she said out loud, and put her glove back on.
Then, bending over and retrieving the reins, much to Verenna's relief,
she sent the mare back toward the Tower.

But the last thing she expected was to be met at the stable by Tarma.

The Shin'a'in took Verenna's reins from her once she'd dismounted, and
led the mare toward her stall, all without saying a word.  Kero waited,
wondering what was coming next.  A reproach for not taking Daren up on
his offer?  That hardly seemed likely.  But Tarma's silence portended
something.

Tarma tethered Verenna to the stall, but instead of unsaddling her at
once, put a restraining hand over Kero's.

"I'd have said this within the next couple of months," she began, "But
sending Daren back is just letting me say it sooner.  You're ready,
little hawk.  Think you're up to losing the jesses?"

Kero blinked.

"To go where?"  she asked, after a moment of thought.

"Knowing you, you have a plan for me."

Tarma nodded.  her ice-blue eyes warming a little.

"Experience is going to be a better teacher than I am, from here on,"
she said, "And I've been looking around for a place for you for the
past couple of moons.  As it happens, the son of a good friend of mine
just took over a bonded Company.  They're called the Skybolts; they're
scout-skirmishers, like my old Company, the Sunhawks.

Lerryn Twoblades is the Captain's name; he's got a reputation for
honesty, fair dealing, and as much honor as anyone ever gives a mere
credit for.  He'll have you, and gladly, if you want to go straight to
a Company."

"And if I don't?"  Kero asked, curious to know just what her options
were.

Tarma shrugged.

"You could go out on your own, and I have some referrals for the Jewel
Merchants Guild caravans, but your skills would be better used in a
Company like the Skybolts.  You could go home, if you really want.

YOU could go after Daren, you're even dressed for that, " she said
wryly.

"But it's time for you to go-before you stop wanting to."

Silence hung thick in the stable; even the horses sensed something was
afoot, and weren't making their usual noise.  Finally, Kero nodded.

"I thought this would happen in the spring but I'm ready-or as ready as
I'll ever be.  And I'll gh t~ the Skybolts; I'd have to be a fool to
turn down an offer like that."

Tarma relaxed, and smiled.

"I try not to train fools," she replied.

"And-Kero, you're of the Clan-I want you to take Hellsbane."

"What?"  Kero asked, incredulously.

"I can't do that!

"Why not?"  Tarma retorted.

"You've been training with her all damned year; you're better with her
than I am.  Leave Keth your Verenna-a saddle horse isn't going to do
you much good as a mere, anyway, you'll spend far too long getting her
battle-trained.  I'll still have Ironheart, Keth is never going to need
a battle mare again, and to tell you the truth, she's always been a
shade uneasy about riding them.  She'll be just as happy with Verenna,
and your girl will be a lot happier with us."

Warrl appeared like a shadow behind the Shin'a'in.

"She's right, you know.  Hellsbane is warrior-trained, like you.  It
would be a shame for her potential to be wasted."

Kero shook her head, part in disbelief, part in amusement.  " I can see
I've been outvoted."

Tarma's hoarse voice roughened still further with emotion.  " You're
kin of my Clan.  You're the closest thing I'll have to a daughter.
You're my only true protege.

And you're the best damned warrior I've ever trained.  I want you
equipped with the very best.  " Then she smiled, and her voice and eyes
lightened again.

"Besides, after you see the rest of the gear Keth and I got you,
Hellsbane is going to seem like an afterthought!  " Kero found it very
hard to speak, or even swallow.

don't know what to say-" she began.

Tarma pulled the saddle off Verenna, and led the relieved mare back
into her stall.

"You can start with 'thank you," and we'll take it from there.  Think
you'd be ready to take the road by the end of the week?"

"I-" Kero faltered.

"I-"

"If you are," Tarma continued, "Keth can start the messages out to
Twoblades, and we can start fitting your fancy new armor to you so you
don't disgrace us when you get there."

&"I can be ready," she managed.

"As ready to leave as I'm likely to be.  I wish-I wish I didn't have to
leave.

Or that I could take you with me Tarma snorted.

"Not likely.  I did my share on the lines.  Chick can't go back in the
shell, and a young hawk can't un fledge  Time for you to try your
wings."

Time for me to see what it's like out there on my own.

Time, maybe, to really live" And maybe fly," she said, thinking
aloud.

"Oh, you'll fly, little hawk," Tarma answered.

"You'll fly.

BOOK TWO

Two Edged Blade

Eleven

"Great Jaesel," Shallan said, her bright blue eyes widening in awe at
the sight of what blocked the well-pounded trail, "What in hell is
that?"

She must have unconsciously tightened her legs, because her high-strung
gelding bucked, then bounced a little sideways, blundering into
Hellsbane.

Trouble- Kero exerted immediate pressure on the reins, so the mare only
laid her ears back, rather than reacting with the swift snap of teeth
she would ordinarily have indulged in.

Shallan swore, made a fist and thumped her restive mount between his
ears, and the fractious beast subsided.

Once again the scouting party turned their collective attention toward
the untidy sprawl of humanity across their path.

"Sprawl" was definitely the operative term, Kero decided.  There was a
tangle of about twenty or thirty men, some standing, most in variations
of "fallen," all interlaced with ten-foot (thankfully) headless
pikes.

"Didn't the sergeant from Bomam's Bastards say something about
recruiting from the area last night?"

asked a male voice from right behind Kero.  Gies, she identified
automatically; of the twins, he had the deeper voice.

"I think so," replied his identically -swarthy brother, Tre, and she
knew she'd picked the right name for the right twin.

"The sergeant wasn't real optimistic.  " "I'd say he had reason not to
be," Shallan replied, shaking her ice-blonde head in disgust.

"And from the look of this, we'd better detour before they get
themselves sorted out and stand up."  A few more of the men got
themselves untangled from the rest and stood aside.

Their sergeant wasn't shouting-mostly because, from the crimson color
of his face, Kero reckoned that he was holding off a fit of apoplexy by
will alone.

"Aye to that," Kero said.  She was nominally the head of this group,
but only during the actual scouting foray, and they weren't in the
field at the moment.

"Let's take the back way."

The four scouts turned their horses' heads and went back the way they'd
come in, following the pounded-dirt track between hacked-off patches of
scrubby brush.  Behind them the sergeant finally regained his voice,
and began using it.

The four Companies Menmellith's Council had hired for "bandit
eradication" had bivouacked in a canyon, but not a blind one; there
were at least four ways into the area that Kero knew of, and she had no
doubt the twins knew a couple more.  The "back way," which was the
other, nominally traveled, route in, took them over some rough ground,
but their horses could handle it; they were all Shin'a'in-bred.

A few furlongs along the scrub-lined dirt trail (which steady commerce
over the past few days had pounded into the soil), the human track was
bisected by a game trail that led off through the weather-beaten bushes
and tired, stunted oaks.  That "back way" was good for a goat or a
mountain-deer, but not terribly attractive to humans afoot or humans
with horses, which made it unlikely that they'd run into any more
delays getting back to camp.

In fact, the back way was so quiet there was still wildlife living
along it.  Birds flew out of the trees as they passed, and a covey of
quail watched from beneath the shelter of a thorn-bush.

"Gods," Shallan said, thumping her horse again as he shied at a rabbit
bolting across their path.

"Gods.  Green recruits.  Thanks be to Saint Keshal that Lerryn won't
put green 'uns in the field."

"Could be worse," Tre observed.

"Could be levied troops from Menmellith and Rethwellan out here."

Shallan groaned, but Kero shook her head.

"Menmellith, maybe, but not Rethwellan.  Rethwellan won't even
officially be our hire.  Officially, they've 'loaned' the Council the
cash to pay for us.  Got that from a letter."

She didn't say from whom.  Everyone in the Skybolts knew about her
friendship with Daren-and knew equally well that she wouldn't trade on
it.  But she could, and would, pass along any information he happened
to drop, whether by accident or design.

"oH?"  Shallan and the other two looked studiously indifferent, which
told Kero they hadn't heard this particular tidbit of gossip.

"Why's that?"

"Simple enough.  We all know that Karse is funding these
'bandits'-assuming they aren't already part of the Karsite army.  But
outside of these Borders?"  Kero shrugged.

"Anyway, that's why it's us, and why Rethwellan's out of it.  We're not
official units of any army.

Whatever we do, it can't cause a diplomatic incident.

And if we happen to get carried away, and it turns out that the
subsequent bodies were part of the Karsite army, well, Karse has
violated the Code so many times that the Guild not only wouldn't fine
the offenders, they might even be rewarded.  Unofficially, of
course."

"Of course," Tre agreed brightly.  Kero looked back over her shoulder.
The identical smiles on both twins' faces could only be described as
"bloodthirsty."

Or maybe it was just greed.  It wasn't too often that a bonded Company
had free rein to loot, but that's exactly what the Menmellith
Council-their putative employer shad given them.  Not that Kero blamed
them.  Probably half of what was in the possession of the "bandits" had
belonged to folk hereabouts first.  If anybody got it, the locals would
rather it was friends than enemies.

Rethwellan had granted Menmellith client-state status and semi-autonomy
shortly after Daren had been born.

Supposedly this was a kind of thanks-offering for the birth of a third
son; in actuality, now that she'd seen the state with her own eyes,
Kero suspected that the King had seized on the first available excuse
to liberate his land from a considerable drain on the royal coffers.
Menmellith was mostly mountain, hellishly hard to travel in, constantly
raided by Karsite "bandits," and probably impossible to govern or tax
effectively.  Now it was governed by its own fractious, taciturn folk,
served as a buffer between Karse and the lusher lands of Rethwellan,
and the King need only hire the occasional mere ComPany to clean things
out now and again, instead of being forced to keep a detachment of the
army there on perManent duty.

"We're fairly useless at the moment, you know, Shallan said, as her
horse picked its way daintily across a dry streambed that formed part
of the trail.

"They're just sending the scouting parties out to make sure
everything's still where it's supposed to be."

"I know,"Kero sighed.  If there was one thing she'd learned with the
Skybolts, it was that warfare consisted mostly of waiting.

"I'm not even supposed to report to anyone unless we do see something
odd.  I suppose it wouldn't be so damned bad if we could see something
going on, but the bastards are not coming out of that canyon.  " "Can't
say as I blame them," Gies said laconically.

"IF I'd got m'self trapped in a blind canyon, wouldn't be comin' out
either.  They c'n hold us off long as the food'n'water last, an' we
just might get bored an' go away.  " Shallain laughed; not a sound of
amusement, it was a particularly ugly laugh.

"Between them, the Wolflings and the Bastards are likely to make things
real uncomfortable for them in there.  Then when they pop out, we'll be
waiting.  And so will the Earthshakers.  " Kero preferred not to think
too much about that.  It was going to cost the two Companies of foot
quite a bit in blood to shake the "bandits" out of their lair.  By
contrast, the Company of heavy cavalry and the Skybolts' skirmishers
had it easy, if dull.  But when the "bandits" did emerge, they'd be
like any desperate and cornered creatures, and Shallan was likely to
get a bellyful of fighting.  But it wouldn't profit anyone to say that
out loud, so Kero held her peace, and kept her eyes on the uncertain
trail.  The last thing she needed to do would be to panic Hellsbane.

"Stand," Kero told Hellsbane.  The gray stamped restlessly once more,
but then obeyed with no other sign Of rebellion.  Kero tapped her right
foreleg, and the war steed lifted the massive hoof and set it in Kero's
waiting hands.

She pulled the hoof pick out of her belt, and began cleaning the packed
muck out of it with studious care.

There was a lot of gravel around here, and Kero did not intend to find
herself with a lamed horse because of a moment's carelessness.  Shallan
had already lost the use of her remount that way.

"I could really get to hate Menmellith," she told Hellsbane
conversationally.  The gray flicked her ears back with every evidence
of intelligent interest.

"I can see why Jad let them hare off and become a client-state.

There's nothing here but sheep, rocks, and bone-headed shepherds.
Certainly nothing worth keeping.  Why Karse keeps trying to invade
them, I'll never know.  " She thought for a moment, then added, "Unless
it's just one more example of how crazy the Karsites are."

She finished with the right fore hoof and moved back to the hind.

"Stand, " she repeated, with a little more force this time, as some
noise from the next camp over made Hellsbane roll her eyes and fidget.
She straightened long enough to see what all the fuss was.

A small forest of poles was marching straight for the picket lines, and
horses up and down the line were starting to stamp and look nervous.

Blessed Agnira-pike men again?  That's Joffrey's Wolflings.

What fool sent pike men to drill next to picketed horses?  Don't they
know how much battle-trained horses hate pikes?  They're going to have
the whole line spooked in a minute!  She was just about to head them
off, by intercepting them and launching into a powerful flood of abuse,
when someone beat her to it.

"HAlt, damn yer 'ides!  I said right march, not bleedin' left!  " The
line came to an abrupt and picture-perfect halt.

The Wolfling's pike-sergeant strode around the back of the (now
stationary) formation, face red as a sunset, veins bulging out on his
forehead.

"Jecrena's bleedin' arse, he bellowed, "ye'd think ye was a lot o'
plowboys, not perfeshnal sojers!"  From there his tirade went into
extreme sexual and scatological detail as to the habits and probable
ancestry of his charges.  Kero leaned against Hellsbane's rump,
listening in astonished admiration.  His language was colorful,
original, and quite entertaining.

She'd been with the Skybolts for quite a few years now, and had never
quite heard anything like it.

I should be taking notes, she thought, watching the sergeant get his
men turned back in the right direction.

The horses were definitely calming down, now that the pikes were going
the other way.  You never hear anything like that around our camp.

But that was at least in part because horseback skirmishers didn't
drill the way pike and line swordsmen did.

No sergeants, for one thing.

Kero went back to Hellsbane's hooves, glad to have thought of something
to do.

"There's a lot of waiting involved in warfare, " Tarma had said many
times over.

Kero had never quite believed her at the time.

She did now.

Well, it could be worse, she consoled herself.  We could have
Rethwellan regulars with us.  Then every mere in the Companies would be
getting the lojitg-nosed look when he dared poke his head out of camp.
What in hell is it that makes every conscript farmboy who can't tell
his brain from his backside and wouldn't know what three quarters of
the Code meant think he's morally superior to a mere?

She sighed; the question wasn't worth losing sleep over.  Every mere
ever born was a misfit; that's why most of them wound up as meres in
the first place.  Lady knows I'm no exception, she thought glumly. Last
time I went home, Dierna acted like I was going to eat the baby, and
Lordan carried on as if he thought I was planning on stealing the boys,
the horses, the sheep, or all three.

Each time she visited, she was more of a stranger, and after the last
time, she'd just about made up her mind never to go back again.

My only real friends are here, anyway, she reflected, picking at a bit
of gravel lodged in Hellsbane's left hind hoof.  The war steed switched
her bound-up tail restlessly, but didn't object.  Kero had remarked
once that Hellsbane's behavior was a lot more like a dog's than a
horse's, and Tarma had only smiled and replied cryptically, "Why do you
think we won't let them breed to anything but their own kind?"  After
that, Kero had taken extra care when spring came around and Hellsbane
went into season.

Then she discovered that such care was entirely unneeded.

The war steed was perfectly capable of fending off unwanted advances,
and she evidently hadn't yet found the stallion that measured up to her
own high standards.

Hooves clean, Kero loitered on the lines, re plaiting the gray's tail,
and watching the Wolflings drill.  Those long pikes were a lot harder
to manage than anyone but a fighter could imagine.  All in all, it made
her grateful to be with the Skybolts.

Twoblades' Company actually began as what Idea's Sunhawks came to be;
an entirely mounted force of specialists.

In every one of the campaigns Kero had served in up until now they'd
been constantly busy; their greatest asset was that they were versatile
as well as highly mobile.  Every one of the Skybolts could double as a
scout, and when they weren't on the battlefield, they could ride
messenger detail.  Not this time, or at least, not now.

There were constant scouting forays, of course, just to make sure that
the enemy hadn't found a way out of the trap, but that was the only
thing like work going on for the Skybolts.  That unwonted leisure was
beginning to have an effect on the Company.  Which is why I'm out here,
and not in camp.  In general, there were only three pursuits available
to a mere when forced into idleness:

gambling, drinking, and sex.  Kero was too shrewd to be lured into the
first, too cautious for the second, and as for the third I'm an odd
fish in a pond full of odd fish she thought, a little sadly.  Between
the sword and this so-called Gift of mine..  ..

The Gift was the main reason she didn't drink; when she did, her
carefully-wrought shields came down, and the guard came off her tongue.
Only once had she let that happen; she'd frightened a tavern full of
hard-bitten soldiers into sobriety with the things she'd said about
them.

Only some fancy verbal footwork the next day enabled her to convince
them that they'd misheard most of it, and luck had given her the rest.
So she didn't drink at all now; at least, not to get drunk and not in
company, which set her apart from most of the rest of the Company.

She was terrified of what would happen if they ever did find out the
truth.  Meres have too many secrets to appreciate anyone, even someone
they trust, to be rummaging around in their minds.  Every one of us was
driven Into this life by something, and most of us don't want anyone
else to know what that is.  Even me.  If anyone ever found out about
this "Gift" of mine, I don't know what I'd do.

The sword now-that set her apart in another way.  She was Kethry's
granddaughter-that was no secret-and by now everyone seemed to have
heard the song of "Kerowyn's Ride.  " It would have been impossible to
hide the fact that she still had the blade; she wore it all the time,
and wouldn't take it off (so common gossip had it) if she went to bed
with someone.  Well, that wasn't quite true but she'd learned that
being too far away from it could be torture.

There'd been a really bad rainy season a couple of years ago; they'd
had to cross a flood-swollen river, and Kero'S packhorse had gone
under.  That was before she'd taken to wearing the blade all the
time;

SHe'd thought for the crossing that it was safer strapped to the packs.
She'd just barely made it onto the riverbank when the pain of the over
strained soul-bond started.  The Company Healer had thought it some
sort of curse, until she'd gasped out an explanation of just what it
was she'd lost-between spasms of blinding agony that left her helpless
even to speak.  The entire Company had gone out into the storm to look
for the damned thing and bring it back.

They'd found it, before sunset-but that put her in a position of debt
she was determined to repay.  After a lot of careful thought and
consultation with the Company hedge-wizard she'd found a way; she'd
coaxed the blade (with much emphasis on how many females were in the
Skybolts) into extending its anti-magic protection to include a fair
amount of ground in her immediate vicinity.

Actually, her protections covered more area than the Company mages
could, which made her rather popular when the mage-bolts began to
fly.

Thinking about that, she patted the hilt of the sword the way she
patted Hellsbane's neck.  Now that I've got you cooperating, my lady,
you're even more usefUl than " you were to Kethry.  I've heard more
than one Skybolt say he'd sooner trust your abilities than that
hedge-wizard of ' ours.

For a moment, at the back of her mind, she seemed to hear a kind of
sleepy murMur of pleasure; but it was too faint for her to be certain.
She'd never yet figured out how much-or how little-intelligence the
sword had.  or how much it understood or even heard of what she said to
it.  These occasional little whispers, like the vague Mutterings of a
sleep-talker, were the closest she ever got to communication.

Many of the Skybolts were a little fearful of the blade, as well as
respectful of it and its powers.  So that set her apart as well.

Then there was the problem of sex Not within the Company.  There's too
much potential for trouble, and I have to live with these people.

There were pairings within the Company, and some of them worked very
well.  But some of them didn't, and WHEN that happened, it spilled over
onto everyone else.

And in the middle of a campaign that could get people killed.

Tarma had warned her about that, too, and she'd been right.

"You don't sleep around in the Company, " she'd said.

"They're your family, and you don't bed your brothers.  Or sisters, "
she'd added as an afterthought.

Wise advice.  But it made Kero very much a loner and in a case like
this, bivouacked leagues away from civilization, it also didn't leave
her very much to do.

All my jewelry-carving equipment is back at the winter quarters; I
never thought i'd need it now.  I suppose I could go find the Healer
and get her to teach me how to knit those ankle-braces, she thought,
combing her fingers through Hellsbane's coat.  Or I could roach the
mare's mane.  Or I could poultice the stone-bruise on Shallan's
remount.  Or I could find some flat river pebbles and draw up another
set of hound-and-stag stones for someone.

Come to think of it, Shallan wanted a set.

As if the thought had summoned her, Shallan strolled up to the picket
line, currycombs in hand, hoof-pick in her belt, short, white-blonde
hair gleaming like a cap of silver-gilt in the sun.

What's the word?"  Kero asked her.

"Anything new on the grapevine?"

Word is that we're supposed to take prisoners," she REplied, tossing
one of the currycombs to Kero.

"Word is there's some pretty good circumstantial evidence that these
whore sons really are Karsite regulars, but nothing direct.  Lerryn
wants to prove it, and the rest of the Captains are in agreement."  "So
we take Prisoners?"  Kero asked.

"Which means afterward, we make somebody talk."

"Contract says they're bandits," Shallan pointed out with bloodthirsty
glee.

"Karse says they're bandits.  Bandits don't fall under the Code.  Which
means when we've got 'em, we make 'em talk.  However."

' And if it tturns out they're Karsite regulars?"  Kero persisted.

Shallan shrugged fluidly, the leather of her tight black tunic moving
with her shoulders.

"Five years ago, 'bandits' murdered just about every man in Feidar's
Teeth after they'd surrendered.  Three years ago a half-dozen men from
the Doomslayers-actually prisoners of war, and waiting for Guild
ransom-were tortured by Karsite priests.  And what was ransomed later
was a clutch of completely mindless husks.  Two years ago, more of
these 'bandits' overran the Hooters' winter quarters and killed the
civilians-while the Hooters themselves were out putting down a
rebellion in Ruvan, and weren't even near Karse.  " Shallan's voice
betrayed the tense anger her face and posture wouldn't reveal.

"Each time, the Guild levied a big fine.  Each time Karse just paid it.
No denial, not even a comment-they just paid it.  " Kero frowned,
dusting her hands off on her mud-brown leather breeches.

"That's odd."

"Odd?  Great gods, it's a slap in our face.  It's like they're saying
we're so lowly, such vermin, that they want everyone to know what they
did.  " She dropped her voice, so that Kero had to lean closer to
hear.

"Look, Kero, I know I'm a year younger than you are , but I've been in
the business since I was fourteen.  My mama was a Sunhawk.

I've seen a hell of a lot, most of it not real pretty by civilian
standards, and most of it doesn't bother me any more.  This is my job,
you understand?  And I don't get worked up about things that go on in
it-but I'll tell you right now, for what I've seen the Karsites do to
my friends and their friends, well, I'd kill 'em for free and dance on
the graves after."

Kero knew Shallan was tough, for all that Shallan was a head shorter
than she was, and looked frail enough for a wind to blow away.  That
fragility was entirely false;

Shallan was as tough as the black leather she wore.  and as impervious
to damage, and in all the time she'd been with the Skybolts, Kero had
never seen Shallan frightened.

But she was frightened now, afraid of the Karsites, and all her brave
words about "killing them for free and dancing on the graves" couldn't
hide that.

For a heartbeat or two, Kero felt trapped by the blue intensity of
Shallan's eyes.  Then she broke free of that hypnotic gaze, aided by
Hellsbane's restive stamping.

shall an could do that, now and again; but only when she felt so
strongly about something that it was worth living or dying to her.

"I don't know about taking prisoners," she said quietly, turning away
and going back to work on the gray's dusty hide.

"The more I hear of the Karsites, the less I want to do with them.
Almost seems like if you acted like they do, you'd be in danger of
becoming like them.

But if Lerryn wants prisoners-well, that's an order, isn't it?

"Aye, that," Shallan agreed.  Kero did not like the tone of her
voice.

Dear gods, she sounds like she'd be perfectly happy to volunteer for
the crew whore going to be "persuading" these prisoners to
talk--assuming we catch any.  And now that I think about it, she's not
the only one to sound that way about these so-called bandits, or the
Karsites in general

She felt a little sick.  For all that they were the enemy, for all the
atrocities they had meted out, she couldn't picture herself handing the
same treatment back to them.

Kill them, yes, but cleanly.  She couldn't agree with Shallan's
attitude.  They're so damned vindictive about this, all of them.  But
maybe I'm the one who's out of line, here.  Shallan's lover lost a
sister in some fight or other there're others in the Skybolts that lost
friends and family along through here, over the past five years or so.
Maybe it's me.  Maybe I just don't feel that angry at them because I
just can't seem to get really attached to anyone, not even my own
blood-kin.

She leaned into the strokes of the currycomb, and thought back to the
incidents that had started her on this whole career, trying to
recapture exactly how she felt when she saw her brother wounded, her
father dead.

Just-responsibility.  That's all I really felt that I can remember.
That someone had to take care of the mess, and I was the only one
possible.  Dear gods, what's wrong with me?  Why am I so cold?

Maybe it's just that I've never really had anyone get close enough that
I could honestly say I loved him, except Mother.

But that doesn't seem natural either.  Other people seemed to be
falling in and out of love all the time, but for her, nothing ever
seemed to get involved but her body, and sometimes, her mind.

The first lover is supposed to be such a big thing-but with Daren there
didht really seem to be more at stake than friendship and-well-the
desires of the moment.

She cast a glance over at Shallan when she thought the other woman
wouldn't notice.  Her companion could and did-wax passionate about
causes and people at the drop of a gauntlet.  This got her into trouble
more often than not, but Shallan had no intention of changing,
maintaining that it was better to live life hard and completely.

Kero was just the opposite; after those flare-ups with Daren she had
never again actually fought with anyone.

She saved her anger and her energy for the battlefield;

off the field, she thought everything through, planned for every
possible contingency, then went coldly and self reliantly straight for
her goal.

Sometimes I go after what I want with such single-mindedness that I
frighten myself, she thought, watching Shallan grooming her horse as if
by brushing out every speck of dirt she could wipe the Karsites from
the face of the earth.  I'd hate to see what the others think of me.

Uncomfortable thoughts, and not likely to improve her disposition.  She
was glad to have them interrupted by a shout from the direction of
camp.

She looked up over Hellsbane's shoulder, as Tre waved, his dull scarlet
shirt identifying him even at a distance.

He'd never yet worn the thing out on scout, but he inevitably changed
back into it as soon as they hit camp.

"Kero!  Shall  Back to camp on the double!  Meetin She waved back to
show that they'd heard, and tossed the currycomb to Shallan.  The
younger woman caught it deftly, and the two of them ducked under the
picket line and trotted toward the mess tent.

"I wonder what it's about?"  Shallan said, trotting along with an ease
that reminded Kero of Warrl's lazy lope.  Her eyes glinted with an
eagerness that Kero thought held just a hint of battle madness.

"Maybe they've decided to put on a push so we can get this over with! "
At that point, they reached the edge of the growing crowd, so Kero was
saved from having to make a reply.

Most of the Skybolts had already gathered at the mess tent when they
arrived.  They worked their way around to the side; as leader of a
scout party, Kero had just enough rank to get in fairly close to their
Captain.

Lerryn Twoblades did not look like much of a fighter.

He wore the same scuffed leathers as any of his Company;

his only concession to rank was a round pin of carved silver Kero had
made him, showing two crossed swords bisected by a lightning bolt. Thin
and not particularly tall, and just now at rest, he wasn't very
imposing, either.  But when he rose to speak, it was immediately
apparent that he was whipcord and steel over bone, and moved with a
lazy grace that spoke volumes to anyone who had studied hand-to-hand
combat.  Those limpid brown eyes missed nothing; those foppish curls
covered a skull with frightening intelligence inside it.  There wasn't
one single horse in the entire camp he couldn't handle, up to and
including Hellsbane, which had surprised the hell out of both Kero and
her horse.  And all he had to do was say three words, and it was no
secret why the Skybolts were fanatically devoted to their Captain.

He scanned the crowd slowly to let the muttering die away.  Only when
he had relative silence did he speak, in a calm, but carrying voice.

"We've voted, and we've decided to make a push," he said.

"Otherwise we let these whore sons force us to piss away our troops
against them, while there may be groups out there we haven't bottled up
taking pieces out of the Border."

There was the start of a cheer-when he raised his hand for silence.  He
got it, too-something that never failed to impress Kero.

"The Skybolts won't be fighting," he said firmly, "and I'm not taking
any volunteers to go on temp to the other Companies.  And that's an
order.  "agnira-there're going to be some objections to that, and for
sure- And there were; a storm of them.  People began shouting and
waving their hands to get his attention, for all the world like a crowd
of unruly children.

Lerryn simply let the hotheads have their say, then held up his hand
again.

"It's not our kind of fight," he told them, his eyes moving from) face
to face so that in the end, every one of them would have been willing
to swear that the Captain talked to him, directly.

"We aren't trained, any of us, in the kind of line fighting there's
going to be.  Most of us are runty little bastards," he continued, with
a rueful grin that included himself with them.

"We couldn't take on a big man in a shoulder-to-shoulder situation, not
when we've built careers and training on speed and agility.

We couldn't use our short-swords or horse-bows, and those little round
target shields would be damned useless against maces and axes.  We
can't do any damn good with unfamiliar weapons, afoot, against heavy
infantry.  And if you all really think about that, and are honest,
you'll agree with me."

There was more muttering, and some vehement headshaking, but not much.
Lerryn's words made sense even to the most belligerent among them.

The Captain spread his hands in a gesture that said wordlessly, Look, I
don't like this any more than you do but we all know the facts when we
see them.

"We've done our job," he said.

"No one can fault us-we're the ones who tracked them, and we're the
ones who harried them and trapped them here in the first place.  It's
time for the others to do their job, and now we have to get out of the
way so they can do it without interference.  Hmm?"

He tilted his head slightly to one side; there was more
muttering-Shallan, predictably, was one of the mutterers but it quickly
died away.

"Don't think we're getting off easy," he said, "I'm deploying half of
you as outriders to make sure nobody gets away.  If there's a breakout,
you'll be fighting-and you outriders are as important as the front
liners.  More.

That's the place where we'll have a good shot at taking prisoners.  We
don't want anyone to escape to take word back to-wherever.  " Tactfully
not saying what everyone is thinking.  Kero's lip twitched.  We can say
it, but because he's Captain, he can't.  Not till it's proved.  That
"wherever" is Karse, and if they get back with word of this, the
Karsites may send a bigger force before we're ready for it.

Lerryn looked them all over once again, the breeze blowing his long
hair back from his face.

"The rest of you, get the camp packed up and ready to move on the
instant.  Pack up your friends, if they're out on patrol.

Once the siege is broken, we'll be moving as fast as we can, back to a
secured zone."

Again, not saying what he can't-but he expects there to be prisoners,
and I'll bet my next bonus he's been told we'll have custody of them.
We're the fastest, and if we can get the prisoners to a secure lockup,
we can have them singing like wood larks before the Karsites even know
we have them.  I'd bet on Abevell for that secure lockup.

Town's practically carved into the side of the mountain.

Lerryn waited for any further comment,-but the Skybolts knew their
leader, and that his decisions were final.

Later, when they were all behind friendly walls, they'd find out why
those decisions had been made.  Until then, they were willing to take
it on faith that there were reasons.

" Dismissed," he said, and singled out a dozen scout-leaders with a
pointed finger before they all dispersed.

Those chosen followed him back to his tent.  The rest milled restlessly
for a moment, then drifted back toward the camp in twos and threes to
begin the breakdown.

Kero was not among the select, but she hadn't expected she'd be; after
all, her group had already been out this morning, and Lerryn wasn't the
kind of Captain to impose double duty on someone without a compelling
reason.  She was relieved, both that the Skybolts were not going to be
involved in the fight, and that she wasn't going to be part of the
harriers.

It's too much, she decided, making noncommittal answers to Shallan as
they walked through the orderly rows of tents to their own.  Running
people down on horseback, like I was hunting rabbits-helifires, I don't
even hunt rabbits on horseback!  I'm just glad I don't have to be Part
of that.  I think maybe the Captain figured that out, too.  He gave me
that kind of look.  I don't think he likes it either.

Shallan's tent was the closest, and the blonde dove into it with
another moan of complaint.  "-and just my luck, Relli's with Hagen,
which means she'll be in on it and I'll have to pack her stuff up!"

Sure enough, the tent was empty, and Shallan threw herself at her
lover's belongings with grim determination.

Kero took herself off before she could be coerced into helping.  Relli
was something of a clotheshorse, and Kero did not want to take
responsibility for the least little crease that "ruined" a tunic.

Her own tent was the same size as Shallan's but seemed larger, since
she had it to herself.  Technically these were four-man tents, but only
if you stacked everyone together like logs, and no one had more than a
single backpack of possessions.  Two fit fine; one was perfect, so far
as Kero was concerned.  Lerryn didn't care about sleeping arrangements
so long as everyone was under canvas and someone took responsibility
for the tent itself.  If they took on anyone without his own shelter
and they ran out of Company tents, Kero might be ordered to share, but
until then, she had her privacy.

She was glad of it, as she packed her belongings down with practiced
ease, and began rolling her bedding.  The trapped bandits were going to
be massacred.  She knew how .  completely logical that was.  And she
didn't like it.

If she'd had a tent mate she'd have had to talk about it, and she
didn't want to.  The sooner I can shake the dust of this place from
Hellsbane's hooves, the better I'-mSuddenly she heard something on the
edge of the camp.

Confused shoutinp-, too far away to make out words, but there was no
mistaking the tone.  There was something wrong, desperately wrong.

For only the second time since she'd joined the Skybolts, she dropped
her mental shields and searched for a coherent picture among the jangle
of thoughts-looking for the person who knew what was going on.

Lerryn.

She found him, on the picket line, directing incoming scouts who were
galloping up to the line in panic while the Company hedge-wizard sent
up the emergency "come in" signal beside him.

The thoughts in his mind were clear and organized, as cool and un
panicked as her own would be if she were in his place.  Though what she
read there would have sent anyone else into the kind of panic the rest
of the camps were showing.

For all the guesses had been right-these were no "bandits" the
Companies had pinned, these were Karsite regulars.  But somehow, some
way, they had gotten word of their position across the Border, and
Karse had sent out a real army to close in behind and catch the
Companies in a pincer maneuver.  The odds, depending on who Lerryn
talked to, were either two or three to one, in the Karsite favor.

Kero pulled out of Lerryn's mind as invisibly as she had insinuated
herself in, glad now that she had not given in to temptation and had
brought only what Hellsbane could comfortably carry.  The tent would
have to be abandoned, of course.  There was no percentage in standing
and fighting, and there was only one way of dealing with this trap
before they were all caught in it.

Run.

Each Captain cared only for his own at this point which was the biggest
weakness of a force comprised of meres.  Kero could not help but pity
the heavy infantry, the Wolflings-they had no one to cover for them and
harry their pursuers.  She had no idea how they would get away.

On the other hand, she thought, with a twinge of guilt at her
selfishness, I don't want to be the one covering their rear, either.

She flung herself out of her tent with all of those things Of her
worldly goods that she needed to survive on her back and in her two
hands; no more, with the addition of a ration pack for herself and her
horse, than Hellsbane could carry and still run.  Everything else she
left without a second thought.

Not everyone was so pragmatic; she and Shallan had to physically tear
Relli away from her wardrobe and drag her toward the picket lines.  The
Wolflings, in the next camp over, were already on their way out,
pouring over the "back way," as fast as their feet could march.  The
Skybolts of all the Companies were the likeliest to survive intact;
with each of them mounted on light, agile horses, and with so much
broken ground available to hide them.  That is, the Company would
survive; as always, the survival of an individual was problematical.

Shallan and Relli were nearly the last to arrive; Relli took one look
at Lerryn's grim expression, and shut her mouth on the last of her
laments.  Without another word, the trio accepted their ration sacks
from the quartermaster, tied their packs behind their saddles, and
mounted

UP.

Lerryn waited until the last straggler joined them, before mounting his
own beast-a rawboned roan a hand taller than anyone else's beast-that
was renowned for being able to lose any rider but Lerryn within ten
heartbeats of mounting.

"We're in trouble, people," he said without preamble.

"The Karsites have the main road blocked, the back way is full of foot
troops.  and the other four tracks in have watchers on them.  We stayed
till last to give the foot a head start and let our own scouts get in.
Now it looks like we're stuck.  Suggestions.

"East, for Karse," Gies said.

"They won't be expecting that.  And we found a game trail over the top
of the cliff at the northeast end of the valley: We never bothered
using it, 'cause it's a bitch to get up."

"We'll take it," Lerryn said instantly.

"Gies."

The scout took the lead, the rest fell in behind him in a loose
formation, as the last of the Wolflings vanished over the game trails.
Kero wished luck on their departing backs.

They were all going to need it.

Twelve

There had been watchers on that game trail; not as many as on the other
ways out, but enough.  Gies thought he had all of them tagged, and
Lerryn sent Skybolts out to take care of them-but either Gies had
missed one, or someone slipped up.  One of the watchers had gotten away
from their counter-ambush.

No one knew until they'd gotten out of the valley and were headed
toward one of the roads that would bring them back to safety.  That was
when they discovered that the Karsites had mounted skirmishers, too.
With more bows, and faster horses, and-most telling of all-more men.

The escape had turned into a rout; fighting, then running, then
fighting again.  Somehow they all managed to stay together; desperation
gave them speed and cunning they didn't know they had.  They managed to
leave their attackers behind in confusion, giving them just enough lead
to get reorganized.

They headed north at top speed, taking advantage of a stream to break
their trail, at least temporarily.  At sunset, Lerryn had split the
force, taking half of them with him, leaving half with his second in
command.  Shallan and Relli had gone off with the Captain; Kero had
stayed with Icolan Ar Perdin, the second, a dour little man who had
survived more routs than Kero cared to think about.  The half with
Lerryn had ridden south; lcolan took his group northward again, and a
little east.

They hoped to confuse their pursuers enough to give both halves time to
get to safety.  But bad luck followed leolan's troops, for the Karsites
made up their minds quickly on discovering the split trail, and chose
their half as the ones to follow.

Bad luck, or a curse, Kero thought, as she guided Hellsbane afoot
through the darkness, stumbling now and again over a root or a rock.
Some of the others were already muttering things to that effect, for it
seemed uncanny, the way the Karsites had been able to find them after
the split.  No matter what they did, how carefully they covered their
trail, if they stopped to rest even for a moment a scout sent along the
back trail would return with the unwelcome news that they were still
being followed.

She held her mare's rein loosely; Hellsbane's ears and nose were
infinitely superior to hers.  and Hellsbane had twice been able to
detect followers before Kero had.

Unless I unshielded, and looked for them with my thoughts.  No-I'm
afraid to.  What if they've got someone stronger than me with them?

Warrl had warned her about the dangers of meeting someone unfriendly,
with a far more powerful Gift.  Such a one could take Kero over,
hearing with her ears, seeing with her eyes.

For everyone's sakes, I can't take the chance, she decided As long as I
don't crack my shields, I'm safe.  If I do-I could be risking more than
myself.  I could betray the entire group.

That was something she would not chance, however tempting it was to use
that ability of hers to check on their pursuers.

Hellsbane's natural sensitivities of ear and nose were why they were
tail most ready to call an alert in case the Karsites found them yet
again.

It might have been a curse following them; it might also have been the
workings of Sunlord Vkandis, the Karsite god.  Kero was pretty certain
that she had seen priestly sorts among those "bandits" but hadn't had
any hard evidence although she'd reported her suspicion.

Lerryn had just shrugged; he'd never had any dealings with a deity or
demi-deity, friendly or otherwise, and so was inclined to doubt the
power of clerics.  But Kero had a feeling that it had been the priests
of the Sunlord that had gotten word back to Karse of the siege, and not
by physical messengers, either.  As Kero had every reason to know,
there were other means of communication besides physical messengers.

They were practically on the Karsite Border, and KerO had heard from
Tarma the kind of proprietary interest a deity could have for Her
people-and the ways in which She could, if She chose, intervene-down on
the Dhorisha Plains~ If the Sunlord chose to enlighten His priests as
to the location of their avowed enemies-well, it certainly wouldn't be
unheard of.

or there was another, more arcane, explanation.  The religion of the
Sunlord forbade the use of magic.  But the ability to work magic was
both an inborn Gift as well as the result of study.  So where did all
the mages born in Karse go?

Kero had her suspicions, and had ever since she found out about the
prohibition.  The mages born with the Gift went into the priesthood, of
course; the priests of the Sunlord could easily say their magics were
god-granted miracles, and no one would be any the wiser.

That could be the other reason for being pursued; they could have a
mage on their trail-and since the hedge wizard Tarres had gone with
Lerryn's half of the Skybolts, it didn't take much guessing to figure
which half would be followed.  The half without the mage attached would
be much easier for another mage to track, especially since Tarres was
undoubtedly working his earth magics to hide the meres from mage-sight.
Kero had tried to communicate with her sword to get the damned thing to
cover their trail magically, but it had been as unresponsive as an
ordinary piece of steel.

The trail ahead opened up into a clearing; suddenly there were stars
overhead instead of interlacing tree branches.  Kero picked out the
sounds of many horses and a few whispers, and deduced that lcolan had
decided to halt them.

" What's up?"  she whispered, as soon as she came within range of the
closest shadow-shape.

"Conference," the shape whispered back, one hand On its horse's nose to
keep it silent.  Not a halt for rest, then.  That was a disappointment,
but hardly a surprise.

Kero turned Hellsbane around and pointed her head along the back trail
making use of the mare's superior senses to keep watch for the rest of
the party.

"Guard," she said into the gray's ear, and slipped the rein over her
arm, leaving Hellsbane relatively free.  While the mare guarded the
trail with ears and nose, Kero slipped her water bottle off the front
of the saddle and took a long-wished-for drink.  Her stomach was too
knotted with fear and tension to even think about eating, but some of
the others had taken advantage of the brief rest to snatch a mouthful
or feed a handful of grain to a horse.

Finally the word went around the circle; "There'S a fork in the game
trail.  We're splitting again."

Kero sighed; it was a logical move, but not one she relished.  And it
meant they'd be moving on into the night.

She patted Hellsbane s neck comfortingly; the mare wasn't going to like
this either.

They split twice more during the grueling, half-blind trek through the
darkness, and when dawn trickled pale pink light over the hilltops and
through the thick trees, there were no more than twenty riders left in
Kero's group.  She didn't know any of them terribly well, except the
leader, the head of all the scout-groups, a colorless woman known only
as Lyr.

She mounted with the rest at Lyr's signal, and they formed a group
around her.

"I know' you all tired," the scout-leader said in a flat voice , But we
still have at least one party on our tail.  I'm going to try
something;

back there in the dark they may have lost track of who was following
what, and if you're with me on this, I want to head straight across the
Border into Karse itself."

The hard-bitten man in worn leathers on Kero's right coughed as if he
was holding back an exclamation or objection.  Lyr turned her
expressionless eyes on him for a moment.

"I know what you're thinking, To be," she said, with no sign of
rancor.

"You're thinking I'm crazy.  Can't say I blame you.  Here's my thought:
if we head straight across the Border, open like, and stop trying to
hide the back trail they may think they've gotten confused in the dark
and they're following one of their own groups.  BOrder won't be
patrolled that thickly here; they save the heavy patrols for farther
in."

"They do?"  said a stocky girl that had just joined before the
beginning of this caimpaign, a brown-haired, brown-eyed, brown-skinned
girl with "farmer" all over her.  But she had to be good, or she
wouldn't be a SkY bolt.

"Why?"

"Bandits," Lyr said succinctly.

"Real ones.  Karsites let 'em stay here, both to confuse the issue when
their regtdars come across raiding, and to discourage their own people
from trying to cross over into someplace else.  So there's a kind of
buffer zone along here that the Karsite patrols don't bother with.  "
The girl nodded, her lips tightening a little.

"Which means that's something we'll have to look out for, too.  " Lyr
shrugged.

"It's them, or the real Karsites behind us.  Bandits would only kill us
if we lost."

"A good point," the girl replied bleakly, and from her tone, Kero
guessed that this was yet another Skybolt who had personal experience
of the Karsites.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Kero said quietly when Lyr looked to
her, and she saw several others nodding, including the brown girl.

"Then let's go for it."  Lyr turned her horse around, and sent the
beast trotting east, toward the Border.  During the night, they had
gone from dry, scrub-covered hills to lusher lands, thickly covered
with the kind of trees Kero felt justified in calling a "tree.  " The
hills were taller, too, and although they were also rockier and more
precipitous, the soil seemed richer here.  If this was the kind of
territory Karse was trying to claim, Kero could understand their
reasoning, although she obviously couldn't agree with it.  Within a few
furlongs, the game trail came out above a real trail, one with the
signs of shod hoofprints on it.  Instead of avoiding the trail, as they
had been, Lyr led them right down onto it, and they rode along single
file as if they belonged here.  Kero, who was riding tail again, had to
keep reminding herself not to turn and look behind.  It felt as if
there were eyes and arrows trained on her back the moment they broke
out of cover, even though she knew their followers couldn't possibly
have gotten within line-of-sight yet.

Only the presence of birds and an occasional rabbit or squirrel along
the trail gave her any feeling of real comfort.

If there had been someone ahead of them, there Wouldn't be any birds to
startle up as they were doing.  If there was someone following them off
the trail, the birds WOuld be similarly disturbed-and the only birds on
the Wing Kero saw were those who were going about normal business, not
those whose straight-line flights showed them to be frightened into
taking wing.

She saw Lyr watching the birds, too and coming to the same conclusions,
for the scout leader's shoulders relaxed marginally.

Gradually, as the morning lengthened, and the sun rose above the trees)
she lost that feeling of having watchers behind her.  Lyr stopped the
group from time to time-but she didn't send one of the others back to
look for pursuers as Kero had expected she would; she went herself.

The first two times she returned with the faintest of frowns, but the
third, just before noon, she returned with just as faint a smile.

She let them all stop when their path intersected with a clear, cold
river, which horses and riders were equally grateful for.  She didn't
say anything, but everyone knew;

they were~ no longer being followed, and it was safe to rest for a
little, eat, and rest and water the horses.

Watering the horses came first for all of them.  At the beginning of
their flight, quite a few of the Skybolts had remounts with them-very
few horses had the stamina of Hellsbane, and most scouts had two or
even three extras.

Now those remounts were gone, lost in the fighting, and after a steady
night of riding, the beasts were weary.  Not lathered, but worn,
without any reserves.  When Lyr finished watering her horse, unsaddled
and quietly tethered it and spread some grain for it to eat, the rest
of the group sighed with relief and followed her example.  Their horses
were their life-and it had Worried all of them to have to treat them
this way.

"Who wasn't out yesterday?"  Lyr asked, and got four hands in reply.

"All right," she said.

"You four are first guard.  Wake four more about mid-afternoon-who're
my volunteers?"  Kero was about to raise her hand.  but someone else
beat her to it.  So instead, she tethered Hellsbane, munched a handful
of dried fruit, and laid herself down on what looked like bracken with
her bedroll for a pillow, pausing only long enough to loosen the straps
of her armor a little.  She was asleep as soon as she'd wriggled into a
marginally comfortable position.

It seemed as if she'd just closed her eyes, but when she woke to a hand
shaking her right shoulder-right was for "safe" waking, left for when
you wanted someone to wake up quickly and quietly because of a bad
situation she sat up and rubbed her eyes without a grumble.

Her waker was To be, and he smiled sympathetically as she blinked at
him.  However short a time it had seemed, the sun was a lot farther
west than it had been when she'd dropped off to sleep, and there was no
doubt she'd gotten the full amount of rest promised.

Satisfied that she was awake, To be moved on to the next fallen body.
Kero levered herself up out of the bracken, wincing a little at bruises
and rubbed places, and glad she was still too young to suffer from
joint-ache from sleeping on the ground.  And gods be thanked for
keeping me in one piece through all this-may you continue to do so! She
walked stiffly to streamside, up current of where the horses were, and
knelt down on a wide, flat stone on the bank.  To be joined her as she
gathered a double-handful of cold water and splashed it over her face. 
It felt wonderful, especially on her gritty eyes.

"Fill your water skin," he advised.

"Lyr says we're right off our maps, and she has no idea when we'll hit
water next.  " Kero nodded, and splashed her face again, wishing she
dared bathe.  Going dirty could be dangerous as well as unpleasant; if
the enemy used dogs or pigs as guards, or if their horses were trained
(as was Hellsbane) to go alert at an unfamiliar scent, you were a fool
not to bathe as often as you could.

But there was no hope for it; there was no time.  She compromised by
taking just long enough to strip off her armor and change the tunic and
shirt underneath; Lyr and several of the others were already doing the
same, so it was safe to assume she wouldn't take Kero's head off for
causin an unnecessary delay.  Dirty shirt and tunic were rolled as
small as possible and went into the bottom of the pack.

Food and drink came next; Hellsbane got her full ration of grain first,
plus Kero pulled a good armful of grass for her, then Kero dug out a
handful of dried meat and another of dried fruit.  She resaddled
Hellsbane while both of them were eating, promising the mare a good
grooming as soon as possible.  A kettle was making the rounds; when she
accepted it from the brown girl, it proved to be half full Of some kind
of herb tea.  Kero raised an eyebrow at her, but the girl shrugged; so
Kero dipped the tin cup in it and drank it down.

it was feka-tea; double-strength and unsweetened, it was bitter as
death and a powerful stimulant.  Some of the scouts used it on long
patrols; Lyr must have found someone with a supply-assuming she didn't
have any herself-and made up a sun-brew while they all slept.  A

black kettle left in the sun to steep made tea as strong as anything
boiled, and Lyr was too canny to risk a fire.  they'd probably all need
this tea before the night was over.

too little sleep had killed plenty of times, as someone nodded out and
fell behind the rest on a trek like this one.

When the kettle finished its round Lyr took it from the last to drink
and beckoned them all close to her; they stood shoulder to shoulder in
a huddle, like children before a game.

"We're in Karse now, in the buffer zone," she said quietly.

"There'll be no fires while we're here, nothing, to bring us to the
attention of anyone-a Karsite patrol wouldn't have a fire either; they
make cold camps always unless they're~ in a siege.  We're going a
little farther east, riding this trail until just after sunset.  Then
we'll be turning north, through the night, then west as soon as we hit
anything that looks like a road.  Once we start going west, we'll be
traveling entirely by night.  The Karsites do that, sometimes, and
it'll be harder for someone to tell that we aren't a patrol of theirs
if we meet them after dark.  If that happens, is there anybody who
speaks Karsite better than me?"

The brown girl spoke up.

"Me Mum's Karsite," she offered.

"Can you give me a bit of a speech about going west to harass the
heathen, with all the Sunlord crap attached?

The girl spouted off a bit of liquid gabble; difficult to believe that
a people as intransigent and violent as the Karsites had such a
beautiful language.  Kero didn't understand it, but Lyr evidently did;
she nodded in satisfaction.  " Better than me by a good furlong; right,
if we run into a patrol, you're the leader.  Think you can reckon what
to tell 'em without me coachin you.

"Aye," the girl asserted sturdily, blushing a bit.

mum us eta tell us what them officers was like-bit like Reth hwellan
reg'lars, only stuffed full of that religious dung and stricter about
orders and rules.  So long as I keep insist en it's orders we're
followin', and praise Vkandis often enough, should be all right.  The
half of 'em can't read nor write, so havin' verbal orders isn't going
to make 'em think twice."

Lyr looked satisfied, and patted the girl on the shoulder.  " Right,
then, let's mount up and make some time."

They turned to their horses-and that was when Hellsbane flung up her
head and screamed a warning.

Kero didn't even stop to think; she just threw herself across the
clearing and into the saddle.  She didn't quite make it before the
horse lunged; she only got halfway over, clinging with both hands and
gritting her teeth as the mare threw herself sideways to avoid a swung
ax.  The ground had sprouted armed men, it seemed-Hellsbane's scream
had been the only warning before the attack.  Lyr must have left
someone as a guard, but just as surely, those guards were dead now.

Hellsbane pivoted.  Kero managed to use the mare's momentum to swing
herself properly up into the saddle;

she pulled Need then, and looked for a target.  Battle fever took over;
she was wide awake and alert, feeling as fresh as if she'd risen from a
feather bed with a full night's sleep behind her.  There was someone
else operating behind her eyes now, someone who took a fierce enjoyment
in dealing death and evading it.  Later, she'd be tired and a little
sick-but not now.  Not now, when her heart raced and the blood sang in
her ears, and everything seemed sharper and clearer than it ever was
outside of a fight..  ..

She had plenty of targets to choose from.  As motley as these attackers
were, they had to be real bandits, but they outnumbered the Skybolts,
and they knew how to fight.  In general, a mounted fighter has the
advantage over an unmounted man, but these bandits knew how to negate
that advantage.

In fact, even as she looked for a target, she spotted a
snaggle-toothed, bearded man swinging for Kero with a hooked pike
designed to catch in her armor and unhorse her.

Assuming Hellsbane let him..  ..

The mare saw him as soon as Kero did; she reared a little in place, to
warn her rider, then reared to her full height, flailing out with both
hooves and crow-hopping forward on her hind legs as she did so.  He was
not expecting that, and froze, mouth open, staring at the horse.

Those powerful hooves caught and[ splintered the pike, then came down
squarely on the head of the wielder.

He collapsed, going down without a sound.  Hellsbane dropped down on
his body, just to make sure of him;

then spun on her hindquarters to take out the ax-wielder she'd evaded
earlier with her formidable teeth, while Kero took care of a
sword-bearer who had come up on the opposite side.  The fool shouldn't
have been flinging a sword around his head; Kero took off the
swordsman's hand, while Hellsbane snapped inches away from the axman's
face.  The axman tried to get out of her way, stumbled backward and
fell, and she surged forward to trample him.

A large shadow-hoofbeats-Kero sensed someone coming up from behind, but
Hellsbane was already ahead of her; the mare lashed out with her hind
feet and caught another horse squarely in the jaw.  Kero clung to the
saddle while the mare pivoted again, quick as a snake, bringing her
into striking position as the injured horse started to stumble.
Hellsbane lashed out with fore hooves this time, and caught the horse
in the neck and shoulder.

The other horse started to fall.  The rider was flailing both arms for
balance, and wide open; Kero's slash opened his stomach, leather armor
and all.  Hellsbane scrambled over their bodies, pivoted again, and
Kero found herself facing a pair of swordsmen.

This time she signaled Hellsbane to charge them; they weren't quite
ready, and she figured they'd scatter if they saw the mare coming for
them.  They did; Kero cut at one as she passed, though she didn't think
she'd done him any real damage.

That gave her a bit of breathing space, and now that she had a chance
to look up, she saw that she was alone, and no longer in the clearing.
The others were just barely within sight, far downstream.  Somehow
she'd gotten separated from them-and it seemed as if the bandits
thought she was a far better prospect and were concentrating their
efforts on her.

Maybe it's Hellsbane, she thought, parrying yet another sword-stroke,
just now noticing that her arm was getting tired and heavy.  She's a
tempting target, even if they don't know what she is.  Dear gods, what
am I thinking?

I've got to get back to the rest!

She urged the mare in the direction of the others, but once again they
were cut off, and Kero had a confusing impression of being forced, step
by step, toward the bank of the river.

The river!  If I can get to it, I'll at least have one direction they
can't come at me from!

She gave Hellsbane the signal; the mare needed no further urging.  She
gathered herself and surged toward the beckoning water, while the
bandits tried to intercept them.  She wouldn't have any of it; though
they prevented her from making that bank, she got within a few feet,
running two of the bandits right off the bank in the process.

She screamed, and rushed again, heading farther downstream, away from
the vanishing Skybolts, but once more toward the riverbank.

Kero blinked as they burst through the brush and came out on a low
bluff above the water.  This didn't seem to be the same river they'd
camped beside; it was much wider and deeper, the opposite side farther
than Kero would care to swim, seeing how rapid the current was.

But this higher bluff made a good place to make a standHellsbane had
other ideas.  She had no intention of stopping on the top of the bluff.
She plowed through the last of the bushes, kept charging straight on,
and plunged over the edge, headfirst into the cold water.

"Well," Kero said to her horse, as she was wringing out her shirt, "At
least we lost them."

Hellsbane munched soaked grain and dry grass, stolidly ignoring the
results of Kero's none-too-gentle ministrations.

The mare had quite a few wounds after the encounter; cuts and slashes,
and a few scrapes.  None of her injuries were too deep, but Kero had
stitched them anyway.  Hellsbane was amazingly good about being
doctored;

she didn't even object too strenuously to having minor wounds stitched
up.

As for herself, she'd come out of it pretty much unscathed other than
being half-drowned.  Soaked, but unwounded.

Bruised and battered by the rocks in the river, tired to death and
cold.  She hadn't lost any equipment this time, which was no small
blessing, but she was completely lost.

She had no idea of where she could be, either.  She had a vague idea of
where they had gone in, at least in relation to a mental map she'd been
constructing, but once off that map, she might as well have been on the
other side of the world.  The river's powerful current had swept them
downstream, to the south, the opposite direction she'd last seen the
rest of the troop heading.  Hellsbane had hit the water right where it
swirled away from the bank in an irresistible flow, and once out of the
grip of it, she could not get the mare turned to take the western bank
that she'd jumped from.  There was no help for it;

the mare was convinced that the western bank held nothing but enemies
and would not swim back to it.  Kero had given up, and let her make for
the opposite shore.  By the time Hellsbane had made the eastern bank,
they'd been carried at least a league downstream.

Now the western sky was a bloody red above the trees;

night would be falling soon, and she was out in the middle of Karsite
territory, completely alone, with every possession she still owned
soaked through and through.

Even if she'd had a map, it wouldn't have survived.

There were a few notable exceptions to the destruction;

her bow had been wrapped in oiled cloth, which had fortunately survived
the plunge.  It was all right, as were her little medical pack and her
fire kit.  But everything else was a wet mess.  Unfortunately, that
included the rations.

The journey-bread was inedible; the rest, jerked meat and dried fruit,
and Hellsbane's grain, was in a sad state.

The little that was left would last a couple of days before going bad;
after that, she and Hellsbane would have to live off the land.

"I could look on the bright side, she said to the mare.

"At least we have water.  And I got that bath."

But I'm cold now, with no chance to warm up.  The best I can do is
wripii-a my clothes as dry as I can , stuff myself on what food hasn't
been ruined, and walk Hellsbane north.  If I'm lucky, my clothes will
dry on me without sending me into a chill.

Then she thought better of that idea.  There's only me, and no road.
Maybe not.  Maybe I'd just better see if I can't rig up a shelter and
try for a trail or a path in the morning.

Tarma had taught her how to rig a shelter in about any territory; in a
forest, it wasn't too difficult a task.  A little work with her ax and
she had enough supple willow and pine' branches to weave into a
lean-to. As the last sliver of the sun vanished on the horizon, she
fabricated a woven mat that should cut the wind, and shed most of the
rain if she happened to be completely out of luck.  With the last of
the light she gathered dry leaves and layered first leaves, then all
her clothing, then another layer of leaves beneath it.  The
water-soaked jerky was even less appetizing than it was when dry, but
she wolfed it down anyway.  It was still food, and if she didn't eat
it, she'd have to throw it away.

She hung Hellsbane's saddle blanket under a bush, and turned the saddle
upside down to dry.

That was all she could do at this point, except to tell Hellsbane,
"Guard."  The mare went on the alert, and Kero crawled into her bit of
shelter, already shivering.  She was sure she'd never get warm, and
equally certain she'd never sleep.

She was wrong on both points.

North or south?"  she asked Hellsbane.  The mare flicked her ears
forward but made no commentary.

Her clothing was dry, her bedroll still soggy.  Hellsbane's blanket was
dry, though, so after she saddled the mare and strapped the packs on
her, she opened up the bedding and draped it over Hellsbane's rump,
like a pathetic attempt at bar ding  The mare craned her head around
for a look, and snorted in disgust.

There was a vague tugging sensation that Kero recognized as coming from
Need.  West, it urged.  She took one look at the river, even wider here
than where she'd gone in, and told it to hold its tongue.  Or whatever
it used for one.

She mounted, settling herself over bedding and all, hoping they
wouldn't encounter anything unfriendly.  If they had to make a run for
it, they'd lose the bedroll.

"South, I guess," she said out loud.

"I haven't a chance of catching up with the others, and they WOULDN'T
wait for me.  We were going north and east, so if I south and can get
back across this river, I should be in the right area to make for the
Border again."

Nothing answered her, not even a bird.  She could hear birds elsewhere,
off in the forest, but her movements had frightened them into silence
here.

it made her feel like a creature Of ill-omen, a harbinger of death.
Something even the birds avoided Until she caught sight of a bold
green-crested jay swooping down out of the trees to steal a bit of the
ruined, discarded journey-bread.

Then she laughed shakily, and cast off her feelings of IMpending
disaster.  Hellfires, she thought, as the mare picked her way between
the trees, I've already had my quota of disasters.  I should be about
due for somE good luck.

But the imp of the perverse wasn't finished with her yet-or else,
perhaps~ there truly was a curse in operaTION.

She found a path_a well-worn path leading from the river-and followed
it just out of sight, afoot, leaving Hellsbane tethered in a safe place
hidden by the underbrush.

it was just as well that she hid the horse-because the path led to a
village, one with formidable wALLS.

the village was placed across the only real road south.

She discovered, by watching the place for half the morning, that it was
a very active~ village-the headquarters, so it seemed, for the local
Karsite patrols.  The riders coming in and going out were not in
uniform, but they rode with military discipline and precision, AND kERO
twice saw priestly robes among them.

She cursed to herself, but crawled back to where she had left Hellsbane
and retraced her steps to her cold camp, where she destroyed every sign
that a scout had been there.  There was no hiding the fact that someOne
had been here, but she did her best to make it look as if the camp
might have been the work of children.

I only hope that Karsite younglings run off to play soldier in the
woods the way we did she thought grimly, as she sent Hellsbane picking
her Way through the forest, trying to keep her on things that wouldn't
show hoof prints-stone, pine needles, and the like.  She'd muffled the
mare's hooves in leather bags, which should confuse things a little,
but Hellsbane hated the "boots" and Kero wouldn't be able to keep them
on her for very long.

The river turned west, but the terrain forming its bank worsened and
they had to leave it and move farther east.

by mid-afternoon they hit another trail.  This one also had the tracks
of horse hooves on it, but they were broad hooves, unshod, and
hopefully marked only the passage of farm animals.

Late afternoon brought increasing signs of haBitation, once again Kero
tethered the mare deep in the brush and went on alone, afoot.

The territory away from the river was turning drier;

there were woods down in the valleys, but the hills theMselves
supported mostly grass and bushes.  She climbed a tree when she picked
up sounds of humans at work, and realized, as she surveyed this newest
village from the shelter of its highest boughs, that this change
VEGetation was going to make traveling even more difficult.

it would be hard to stay hidden, and impossible to disguise the mare as
anything but what she was.

This village was much smaller than the first, and did not appear to be
harboring any of the Karsite forces other than a single priest.  He
herded every soul in the village halls, and into the center of town as
the sun went down, leading them in a long-and evidently
boring-religious service.

Kero snickered a little, watching some of the worshipers nodding off in
the middle of the priest's main speech.

When the last edge of the scarlet sun finally sank below the horizon,
he let them go.  They lost no time in seeking their own little
cottages.

Kero watched them until full dark, then went back for Hellsbane,
satisfied that no one would be stirring out of doors except to visit
the privy.  As darkness covered the cottages, her sharp ears had caught
the sounds of bars being dropped over doorways all across the village.
These People feared the dark and what it held-therefore darkness was
her friend.

Therefore I won't be getting any sleep tonight, she Added with a sigh,
as she took Hellsbane's reins in her hand and moved cautiously toward
the sleeping village, walking on the side of the road and ready to pull
the mare into cover at the first sign of life other than herselF wonder
how they get the troops to travel at night if the FOlk are so afraid of
the dark?

commol, Then again, maybe the troops are what they're afraid

Of.  The village itself was not the kind of untidy sprawl of houses she
mps used to; this place was a compact huddle of thirty or forty
single-storied cottages, mostly alike, ranged on three sides of the
village square.  The fourth side was taken up by four larger homes, and
what Kero presumed to be the temple, and the entire village was
surrounded by an area that had been cleared entirely of brush and
trees, leaving nothing but arass.  The arrangement made it possible for
her to scrt the edge of the village without leaving the shelter of the
trees, and still see anything moving~ among the houses.

The place was uncanny, that much was certain.  Once again she had the
feeling that there were eyes out there, but this time she also had the
feeling those eyes were somehow missing her.  There was definitely
something in that village; something that held the inhabitants silent
and hidden in their houses, something that scanned the night for
anything that didn't belong there.  Like me, she thought, glad she'd
put Hellsbane's "boots" back on,

and equally glad that the mare was too well-trained to give her away
with a whicker to the farm beasts.  It's looking for something like me,
only it can't find me.

Maybe-maybe Nei?d's finally doing something.  Damned if I'ni going to
drop shields to find out It seemed to take half the night to creep past
the village;

and once past, she didn't relax her vigilance in the least .  She
stayed in the shadow of the trees for furlongs, then she mounted the
mare and rode out on the road to the east, and she didn't leave that
cover, not even when the village was long past.

That vigilance paid off shortly before dawn, when she thought she heard
hoofbeats ahead of her.  The sound faded after only an instant, but she
found a gap in the brush and dismounted to lead the mare into its
concealment.

There she waited.

And waited.

She began to feel like a fool, but not even that would send her out
onto the road again before she knew without a shadow of a doubt that
there was no one else on it.

Then-she felt that searching again, and froze.  Once again it passed
over her, but she felt as helpless as a mouse stuck in an open field,
knowing there's a hawk overhead ready to stoop the moment it moves.

The feeling passed, but before she could take Hellsbane out onto the
road, she heard hoofbeats, the same as before, but much
nearer-practically on top of her position.

Some quirk of the hills echoed them up in time to warn me, she realized
numbly.  Blessed Agnira!  If I hadn't heard them-It was a long time
before she could convince herself to move.

East and north, a little west, then north again; never any closer to
her goal, never any idea of where she really was.  She was in sheep
country now-there were fewer priests, which was a blessing, but
shepherds are lonely and inquisitive folk, the kind she wanted to avoid
at all Costs.

Twice she dropped all caution and used her Gift to help her raid farms
for food.  Each time she felt that searching , eye" pass over her some
time later, as if she had inadvertently set off some kind of alarm by
her use of Thoughtsensing.  After the second time, she resolved to
tighten her belt further.  Nothing was worth feeling that presence out
there, looking for her.

Hellsbane was a hardy soul, and could live quite happily on grass alone
since she wasn't seeing heavy activity.

In fact, fully half the time Kero walked and led her instead of riding,
especially at night.

She slept by day, whenever she could find cover enough to hide the
mare.  She dreamed almost every night; vague, odd dreams involving
Need, Need and an old woman, and a very young girl barely into her
teens.  They weren't very coherent dreams, and they involved things
that seemed to be right out of the wildest of legends, so far in the
past that they bordered on incomprehensible.

It was after the first of those dreams that she encountered the first
priestess-as opposed to priest-of Vkandis.

She had slept most of the day, knowing that there was another village
to pass that night, and at sundown had WOrked her way down toward that
village to keep watch until everyone was safely tucked up for the
night.  Right on schedule, a cowled and robed figure appeared from the
rock-walled temple and assembled the villagers.  She wondered idly if
this, village's sunset service was going to be as dull as the other
ones she'd overseen when the figure threw back its cowl to reveal a
head of wild.  scarlet curls and an unmistakably feminine face.

Shock held her in place; further shock kept her frozen for a moment, as
the priestess raised her head and stared directly at the place where
she lay concealed.

Only the sun saved her; there was a service to conduct, and Kero was
under the impression that if there was an earthquake, battle-charge or
erupting volcano in progress at sunset, the followers of Vkandis would
still conduct their devotions to the last ray of light.

Halfway into the service, Kero managed to shake off her paralysis, and
crawl back to where she'd left Hellsbane tethered.  This time she did
not wait until sunset;

she mounted Hellsbane and rode farther eastward, giving the village a
wide berth, and pulling every trick Tarma had ever taught her to
confuse and conceal her trail.

Thereafter, following every one of those dreams, she'd encounter a
female devotee of Vkandis.  And every single one of them seemed able to
detect either her, or the sword.

It was unnerving, not the least because she hadn't known-nor had anyone
else to her knowledge-that there were women placed so highly in
Vkandis' priesthood.  Up until this time everyone she'd ever talked to
had spoken of the cult as being exclusively male, and certainly the
little anyone outside of Karse knew of it painted the credo as being
thoroughly misogynistic.

Certainly the Karsites had very little use for women in general.  and
positively despised fighting women like the ones in the ranks of the
Skybolts, reserving particularly gruesome treatment for them when
caught.

And yet-the order of Vkandis was a militant order.

Every one of the women Kero had seen had worn a sword.

The order of Vkandis deplored the use of magyic-yet she had felt magic
searching for her, and these women seemed perfectly willing to employ
something like enough to magic as to make no difference.

it appeared that whatever the outside world knew of Karse and the state
religion, there were things going on within it that were not to be
discovered until one penetrated into the country itself.  What those
things meant, Kero had no idea, except that she had better keep her
head down and her behind well-hidden, or she wasn't going to be telling
anyone of her discoveries.  Except, tartlementperhaps, an inquisitor.

I think I've been in hiding forever, she thought dispiritedly, from her
concealment among the rocks above the road.  Sundown would be soon, and
then she could get on her way.

For all the good it does me.

Hoofbeats signaled a Karsite patrol; she'd learned that the military
were the only groups that traveled mounted.

She watched yet another of those woman-priests riding by her, this one
evidently in too much of a hurry to do more than raise her head in s as
she passed Kero's hiding place in the rocks above the road.  And once
again, she wondered what the presence of high ranking women in the
priesthood meant.

Maybe all that it means is that they haven't much use for women except
inside boundaries.  Like it's fine for women to do anything for the
glory of the Sunlord, but outside the priesthood they'd better not even
think of doing anything besides stay at home and breed more worshipers
for the Sunlord..  ..

Not for the first time, she wondered if she ought to abandon Need.
She'd had half a dozen very narrow escapes so far, and she had the
feeling that the only reason she hadn't been caught was the blade's
belated realization that just because these were women, they were not
friendly toward Need's current bearer.  But if she did abandon it, the
thing would only end up in the hands of some poor, ignorant child, who
would very probably be dead the first time one of the male Priests took
advantage of his power and position to abuse one of his flock.  Kero
had long ago realized the same thing could have happened to her if
Tarma hadn't been Playing guardian that night.  The blade had no sense
of Proportion and seemed to have a varying regard for the safety
and-health of its bearer.

Or worse, the thing could end up in the hands of one of these
priestesses, and Kero couldn't even guess what would happen then.

Anything, she reflected, brooding down on the now empty road.  I think
Need is a whole lot older than even Grandmother guessed.  That,probably
accounts for a lot of the things it does.  Anything that old has a set
of priorities and plans that are a whole lot different from those Of us
whore likely to die if someone puts a hole in us.

in fact, the more she thought about it, the easier it was to imagine
some of the things it was likely to do.

Take over one of those priestesses and lead a religious crusade, for
one thing.  The Karsites tend to go in for that sort of amusement in a
big way.  Seems to me that was how the Sunlord ended up as the state
religion in the first place.  At least I think I remember one of those
history books saying something like that; and that's when the Karsites
really got strange.

She snorted to herself.  Figures.  Make someone a devout, fanatical
anything, and his brain turns to mulch.

Well, I sure's fire don't want to be the cause of another crusade among
the Karsites.

And there was no indication the sword would even let her go in the
first place.  If she tried to abandon it, she might end up in agony.

Dusk was falling, and it was time to be on her way.

Over the past few days, the sparsely-forested hills had been giving way
to alpine groves, with mountains looming up in the distance.  Kero had
the feeling she was very near the Karse-Valdemar border; she was
certainly far enough north.

She'd never expected to get up here in her lifetime.

I wish to hell I wasn't here now.

She put her head down on her arms, and allowed herself a painful lump
in her throat.  I want home, I want out of here!  she wailed inside her
mind.  I want to see the winter quarters, and Shallan, and Tre-I want
cooked food and a real bed-I want a bath-I want to sleep without having
to wake every few breaths because I think I hear something She was
tired right down to the bone, and her nerves were like red-hot wire.
She started out of sleep lately at the least little sound, but she knew
if she didn't keep herself at this kind of a pitch, she'd lie down one
night and wake only with the point of a Karsite sword in her throat.

But worse than the rest was despair, the feeling that she'd never get
back, never see familiar faces again, never see home, or what passed
for it.  And the loneliness.  She'd thought she was cold, unfeeling-now
she knew differently.

She might not need people as desperately as Shallan did, but she needed
them all the same.

Usually she could shake the mood after letting it have her for a few
moments, but not tonight.  Tonight despair followed her down off of the
hill to the little valley and the brook she'd left Hellsbane tied
beside.  It rode as her companion, unseen, but profoundly felt, as she
followed behind the Karsite patrol-behind always being the safest place
to be, with the Karsites.  It covered her with a gloom as thick as the
dusk-and it was almost the death of her.

It was only when Hellsbane snorted and balked, and the sword threw a
jab of agony into her head, that she pulled up and realized that there
were voices ahead of her.  She rode Hellsbane off into the forest, and
dismounted, leading the horse quietly under the pines and up onto a
tiny game trail above the floor of the valley and the road running
through it.  The crushed pine needles gave off a sharp scent that made
her pause for a moment.  That scent could disguise the mare's and make
it possible for them to work around the patrol ahead of them without
alerting the Karsites' horses.

She took handfuls of needles stripped from the bough, crushed them
between her palm and her armor, and rubbed the resulting mass over
Hellsbane's coat.  The mare sneezed once and gave Kero a rather
astonished look, but didn't really seem to object.

That accomplished, she spotted a good place to overlook the road;
tethered the mare, and wriggled her way down to it on her stomach.

A rock outcropping offered little in the way of concealment, but the
dusk itself provided that.  She got into Place just in time to see the
patrol that had passed her earlier, returning with a prisoner.

A very obvious prisoner; a man, tied to the saddle of a much-abused
mule.  A man dressed entirely in white.

Thirteen

Something about the white uniform tugged at a half buried memory in the
back of her weary mind.  Something to do with a priesthood?  No, that
can't be it.

She was still trying to make the connection, when she saw something
else moving below her; something moving so silently that if it hadn't
been for the color-or lack of it-she'd never have spotted it.  And if
it hadn't been for the man, she wouldn't have thought- horse" she have
thought-" ghost., Or fog.  That was what it resembled; a bit of fog
slipping through the trees.

But put white-clad man together with white horse, and even a tired,
numb-brained mere knew what that meant.

This prisoner was one of the Heralds, out of Valdemar.

And the Karsites appreciated the Heralds even less than they
appreciated female fighters.

That horse is no horse at all, at least not according to

Tarma she thought, keeping her eyes glued to the vague white shape as
it flitted from one bit of cover to another.

She said it was-leshy'a, I think.  A spirit.  Huh .  Looks pretty solid
for a spirit.  Doesn't look particularly magical, either.

The Karsite troop had stopped in the middle of the road, and were
conferring quietly, with anxious looks cast up at the mountainside
above them, and back behind them, where they had been.  The-what was
it?  Companion, she remembered now-the Companion froze where it was.
The man seemed oblivious to it all ' slumped in his saddle-but Kero had
the oddest feeling that he wasn't as badly hurt or as unaware as he
seemed.

But it's going to take a lot more than wits and a magic horse to get
you out of this one, my friend, she told him silently.  An army would
be nice.  Or at least one friend free and able to convince the Karsites
he is an army.

Or she-Instantly she berated herself for thinking like a fool.

This man had no claim on her or her sympathy.  Valdemar hired no meres,
and probably never would.  She had no loyalty to his land and no
personal feeling for him .. .

except that the Karsites were not going to be gentle with him.  And
there but for Need and the blessings of the gods, rode she..  ..

Damn it, you're almost out of here!  You aren't an army, you aren't
even in good fighting shape right now, and he isn't a female, so Need
won't give a fat damn about him.

The priestess gave a peremptory order, cutting off all further
discussion.  The rest of the party dismounted and began leading their
horses off into a little blind canyon, probably to make camp, while she
took charge of the prisoner.  She rode up beside him, pulled his head
up by the hair, and slapped his face, so hard it rocked him in his
saddle-.-he would have fallen but for the grip she had on his hair. The
slap echoed among the rocks as she let go, and he slumped forward over
the pommel.  Even as far away as Kero was, there was no mistaking the
priestess' smile of cruel anticipation.

Kero made up her mind then and there.  Fine.  He's a Herald.  There's
probably going to be a reward if I rescue him, and even if there isn't,
he can get me out of here through Valdemar.  I'm getting him away from
that bitch.

Part of her yammered at the back of her mind, telling her that she was
insane for doing this, for even thinking about rescuing the stranger.
After all, she wasn't in the clear yet, she was all alone, and the idea
of rescuing someone else was sheerest suicide.

She ignored that part of herself, and wriggled backward, keeping
herself right down on the rock and ignoring scrapes, until she was out
of sight of the road.  But though she ignored good sense, she did not
ignore caution there was no telling if the Karsites had deployed a
scout to check the woods.  She kept as low and as quiet as a hunted
rabbit, slipping from one bit of cover to the next, working her way
toward Hellsbane by a circuitous, spiraling route.

The woods seemed empty of everything but birds-of course, another
scout, a good one, might not have disturbed them any more than Kero
did.  Still, there was no one out here that she could spot, which
probably meant that the Karsites felt secure enough not to bother with
perimeter checks.  Which meant they also might not bother with
perimeter guards.  If so, her task took on the aura of the possible.  "
When she reached her horse, she tied up Hellsbane's stirrups, fastening
them to the saddle, before muffling the mare's hooves in her "boots."
Hellsbane pricked up her ears at that; she knew very well what it
meant, though it wasn't something Kero did often.  She was to guard
Kero's back, following her like a dog, until Kero needed her.  Tarma
had drilled both of them remorselessly in this maneuver; it wasn't
something every war steed could learn to do, but Hellsbane was both
obedient and inquisitive, and those were marker traits for a mare that
could learn the trick.  Hellsbane had learned her lessons well.

The priestess and her charge had already moved on, but it wasn't at all
hard to guess where they had gone even Lordan could have figured it
out.  The troop had trampled down vegetation on both sides of that
little path leading off the main road.  Kero waited, watched and
listened long enough for her nerves to start screaming.  She crossed
the road in a rush, like a startled deer, then went up the side of the
hill, planning to follow their trail from above.  Hellsbane followed,
making no more noise than she did.

She found them at the end of the path, bivouacked in a little blind
canyon, thick with trees.  And by now the sun was setting somewhere
beyond the trees; it was slowly growing darker.  That was bad enough-it
was going to be damned difficult to get him loose in a setup like that,
and harder still to get him out-but worse was that there were more of
them now than she'd seen in the original group.  Where they came from,
or whether they were already here when the priestess and her charge
arrived, she had no idea.

It didn't much matter.  The odds had just jumped from, five to one to
about twenty to one.

Hellfires, she thought, watching some of the "new" ones tie their
prisoner "securely."  The Karsite idea of
pastehcyu;re'n'klwesasticednouBY THE SWORD arms bound behi2n4d9

11 togwhidtoe-smetaksteakheesr,joints ache in symhis back over a thick
tree limb wrists secured to ankles so that his only possible posture
was kneeling, and no position could be comfortable, even if he was as
boneless as Tre.

That was no way to treat anyone you intended to keep for very long.
Which argued that they didn't intend to keep him for very long.

I can still walk away from this, she told herself, settling her chin on
her hands, the smell of old leaves thick in her nostrils.  I'm not
involved yet.  They haven't seen me, and not even his horse knows I'm
there-and he isn't a woman, so Need won't give me any trouble about
leaving him..  ..

But the more she saw, the less palatable the idea of leaving him in
their hands became.  Whatever else he was, this Herald was a fellow
human being, and a pretty decent one if all the things Tarma and Kethry
had said about his kind were true.  From the look of things, the
priestess was about to try a little interrogation and Kero knew what
that meant.  She'd seen the results of one of those sessions, and was
not minded to leave even a stranger to face it.

besides, if these bastards were stopping this close to the Border to
question him, there must be an urgent reason to do so.  Which meant
that the reward for his release would be a good one, and the
information he held in his head must be valuable to someone.  And if
she could get him loose, he must know the quickest way out of Karseand
across that Border into Valdemar, where she'd be safe, if not
welcome.

And from there she could get home..  ..

that clinched it, the thought of "home" set up a longing so strong it
overwhelmed any other consideration.

there has to be a way, she thought darkly.  There has to be.  She
watched through narrowed eyes as the woman rolled up the arms of her
robes and picked up one of the irons she'd laid in the fire, examining
it critically, then it~1Hauce replacing h. So far, that priestess
hasn't even looked up once.  So either she can't sense me, or Need-or
whichever of us these women are somehow detecting-or else she's too
busy.  Either way, if I'm very careful, I might be able to do a little
reading of their thoughts.

Maybe I'll overhear something that'll help.

She unshielded carefully, a little bit at a time, and sent a delicate
wisp of thought drifting down among them, the barest possible
disturbance of the currents down there-) And suddenly her little finger
of thought was seized and held in a desperate mental grip.

Blessed Agnira!  Panic gave her strength she didn't know she had.  She
snatched her mind away, and lay facedown in the leaves, heart pounding
wildly with fear.  Her first, panicked thought was that it was the
priestess; her second, that it was some other mage down below there.

But there was no sign of disturbance in the camp, and no one shouted a
warning or pointed in the direction of her hiding place.  She throttled
down her panic, and extended her probe a second time, "looking" for the
presence that had seized her.

It snatched for her again, a little less wildly, but no less
desperate.

"Who are you?"  she thought, forming her statement clearly, as Warrl
had taught her.

"Eldan.  Who are you?  I thought I was the only one out here!"

"Kerowyn-" "You have to help me get loose," he demanded, interrupting
her, his mental voice shaking, but firm beneath the fear.

"I've got to get back to report!"

"Fine,..  she told him.

"What's it worth to you?  Or should I say, to Valdemar?"

That stopped him.

"What?"  He seemed baffled rather than shocked.  He literally did not
understand what she meant; that was crystal clear from his thoughts.

"What is it worth to you to be freed?  How much she repeated
patiently.

"Money, my friend.  What's the reward for getting you loose?  I'm not
in this for my health.

There're easier ways of making a living."

"I-" he faltered, "I-I thought you were a Herald-" Silence then, as he
began to take in the fact that she plainly was something else.

"Obviously not, friend.  To clarify things for you, I'm a professional
soldier.  A mercenary.  Now do you want me to get you free, or not?"
She couldn't resist a little barb.  Those irons are going to be very
hot in a moment."

She waited for him to respond, and it didn't take long.

He named a figure.  She blinked in surprise; it was more than she would
have considered asking, and she would have expected to be bargained
down.  Either he's more important than I thought, or he has an inflated
opinion of his own worth.  Either way, I'm holding him to it.

"Bond on it?"  she asked.

He gave his bond, seeming a little miffed that she'd asked.

"My Companion will help you on this, too," he added.

Well, that only bore out everything Tarma had told her about the
spirit-horses.

"All right-" she said, and noted that he seemed a little surprised that
she took that last so calmly.

"Here's what we'll do.... The Karsites had counted on the fact that
they were in a blind canyon to protect them from attack on three of the
four sides, and probably were assuming that since the canyon was
thickly wooded, that would make fighting difficult for an opponent. But
while the slope Kero was hidden on was indeed steep, it was not too
steep for a Shin'a'in war steed  And she had trained in the woods.

They charged "silently," without a cry, Kero knowing that the Karsites
would not recognize the crashing of her horse through the underbrush
for an attack until it was too late.  She had her bow out, and neither
her aim nor her arrows had suffered from lack of practice.  The enemy
fighters silhouetted themselves most considerately against the fire;
she picked off four of the Karsite guards, two of them with heart-shots
and two through the throat, while still on the way in.

Already battle fever had her, and her world narrowed to target;
response.  There was no room for anything else.

Meanwhile, commotion at the mouth of the canyon signaled the
Companion's charge.  Kero had felt a little guilty about putting the
unarmed horse there, but the Companion was not going to be able to cut
Eldan free, and she was.

Hellsbane skidded to a halt beside the kneeling Herald, and Kero swung
her leg over the saddle-bow and vaulted off her back, letting off
another arrow and getting a fifth score as she did so.

Weeks~ spent behind the Karsite lines had given her a rough command of
their language; she heard the shouts, and realized that from the
plurals being used that they had mistaken the gray war steed for a
white Companion,

and herself for another Herald-it would have been funny, if she'd had
any time to think about it.

She slashed at the Herald's bonds, while the Companion charged down and
trampled two more Karsites in his way, and Hellsbane reared on her
haunches and bashed out the brains of a third.  The ropes to his ankles
and wrists were easy enough to handle, but just as she was getting
ready to saw at the thongs, binding Eldan's arms to the log, two more
of the Karsites rushed her.  She tossed a knife at the Herald's feet
while parrying the first Karsite's rather clumsy attack.  He was easily
dispatched, but his friend arrived, and another with him-Hellsbane got
there first, half-reared and got the first from behind, and the
Companion fought his way to the Herald's side.  Now at least she didn't
need to worry about having to guard him while he cut himself free.

She thought she'd been hit a couple of times, but the wounds didn't
hurt.  Since they weren't slowing her down, she ignored them as usual.
The horses were doing the job of four or five fighters, charging and
trampling every sign of organization and scattering people before them
like frightened quail-and Kero began to think this was going to
work-Then she wheeled to face an opponent she sensed coming up behind
her And her sword froze her in mid-slash.

The new opponent was the warrior-priestess.  A woman.  And Need would
not permit her to carry out her attack.

LetmegoyoustuptdBITCHofahunkoftin!  she screamed mentally at the blade,
seeing her death in the smiling eyes of the priestess, in the cruel
quirk of her lips, in the slow, preparatory swing of the priestess'
mace-Then a tree limb swung down out of the gathering darkness, and
with a resounding crack, broke in half over the woman's head.

The priestess dropped the mace, and fell to the ground like a stone.

Need let Kero go, muttering into the back of her mindin sleepy
confusion, then subsiding into silence.

' Thanks," she told the Herald, with all the sincerity she could
manage.

"Anytime," he replied, grinning.

But there were still far too many Karsites in this camp, and the
stunned disbelief that took them when their leader went down wasn't
going to last much longer.

Kero made a running jump for Hellsbane's saddle, vaulting
spraddle-legged over the mare's rump and landing squarely in place. The
Herald followed her example a half breath behind.

And she couldn't help it-she indulged in a bloodcurdling Shin'a'in
war-cry as they thundered out the canyon mouth, running over two more
Karsites who weren't quick enough to get out of the way.

Let 'em figure that out.

"Have we gone far enough, do you think?"  she asked Eldan wearily,
about a candle mark before dawn.

"I certainly hope so," he replied, his voice as dull and lifeless as
hers.

"And I doubt very much they're going to follow our trail.  Where in
Havens did you learn all that?  That trail-muddling stuff, I mean."

"It's my job," she reminded him, and looked up at the sky, critically.
There were still stars in the west, but the east was noticeably lighter
above the thick pines.  It was time to find somewhere to hide for a
while.

"We need a cave, or a ledge overhanging some bushes, or something," she
continued.

"We're going to need to hide for at least two days, maybe three, maybe
more, so it's going to have to stand up to some scrutiny.  I want a
cave, I really do."

He looked bewildered, and not particularly happy.

"Two days?  Three?  But-" She cut him short.

"I know what you're thinking.  Trust me on this one.  I'm hurt, you're
hurt, and the Karsites are going to expect us to make straight for the
Border.

We need time to recover, and we need time for our trail to age.  If we
hole up back here, and stay here, we'll get in behind them.  They won't
look for us to Come from that direction."

Herald Eldan was hardly more than a dark shape against the lighter sky,
and she realized that she really didn't know what he looked like.  He
shook his head dubiously, then shrugged.

All right, you obviously know what you're doing.  You did get me out of
there .  He gestured grandly.

"Lead on, my lady."

Ordinarily, that would have caused her to snap I'm nobody's lady, much
less yours, but something about Eldan-an unconscious graciousness, a
feeling that he'd treat a scullery maid and a princess with the same
courtesy, made her smile and take the lead, afoot, with Hellsbane
trailing obediently behind like an enormous dog.

She knew what she was looking for, when she'd started searching here
among the cliffs off the road, following the barest of game trails. and
she had the feeling she'd find it in these uneven limestone slopes. A
cave.  Somewhere they could hide and rest and not have to worry about
searchers.  Above all, though, their hiding place had to be big enough
for the horses, too-maybe Eldan's Companion could make himself into a
drift of fog and escape notice, but Hellsbane was all too solid.

She tried several places that looked promising, but none of them were
near big enough.  She began watching the sky with one anxious eye; the
rising sun had begun to dye the eastern horizon a delicate pink, and
once the Karsites had completed their morning devotions, the hunt would
be well and truly up.  There was one advantage: a small one.  Bats
would be returning to their lairs for the day, and bats meant caves.

There was a ledge-and she thought she saw a dark form flit under it.

She fumbled her way up to it, tired limbs no longer responding,
reactions gone all to hell.  Predictably, she tripped, completely lost
her balance and grabbed for a bush.

She missed it entirely.  She fell down the slope with a strangled cry,
rolling over and over, landing in a tangle of bushes-And falling
through the clutching, spiky branches, into blackness with a
not-so-strangled shriek.  She got a face full of gravel, and rolled
farther, finally hitting her head, and seeing stars for a moment.

She lay on her back in the darkness, her ears ringing, wondering what
she was doing there.

"Kerowyn?"

She blinked, trying to remember where she was, and who that voice could
belong to.

"Kerowyn?"  The voice certainly sounded familiar.

She sat up, and her head screamed a protest-but it all came back.
Eldan, the rescue-Right.

"I'm in here!"  she cried, hearing her voice echo back at her from
deeper in the darkness with an elation not even her aching head could
spoil.

"Are you all right?"  She looked in the direction of the voice, and saw
a lighter patch in the dark.  That must be the entrance, screened off
by bushes so thick she hadn't even guessed it was there.

"Pretty much," she replied, getting carefully to her feet, and sitting
right back down again, prudently, when her head began to spin.

"Can you bring the horses in here?  Right now my knees are a little
shaky.  " "I think so."  There were sounds of someone thrashing his way
through bushes, leaving, then returning.

"It looks big enough.  Hang on, I'm going to make a light."

She winced at the sudden flare of light, and looked away, toward the
rear of the cave.  Interestingly, she couldn't see an end to the
darkness.  When she looked back again, Eldan had a candle in one hand,
and was leading Hellsbane in, the horse whickering her protest at being
taken through scratchy bushes, but obeying him readily enough.

Which was a miracle.

"She should be breaking your arm, you know," she said conversationally,
as Eldan coaxed the mare down the slippery gravel slope to the bottom
of the cave.

"She's trained not to obey anyone but me, or someone I've designated
that she's worked with in my presence.  She should be trying to kill
you, or at least hurt you."

, "One of my Gifts is animal Mindspeech, " he said, just as casually.
Then he dropped the reins, grinned at her thunderstruck expression, and
scrambled back up the slope, leaving the candle stuck onto a rock.

job"" she said weakly to the mare.

"Animal Mindspeech.  of course.  I should have known.

" Doesn't this hurt?"  Eldan asked, peeling blood soaked and dried
cloth away from a slash on her leg.  The wound wasn't deep, but it was
very messy; she was bleeding like the proverbial butchered pig And now
that they were safe, it definitely did hurt.

Quite a bit as a matter of fact.

"Yes she replied, from behind gritted teeth.

'it hurts.  " "Then why don't you yell a little-it might do you some
good."

"It isn't going to do any good to bawl, much as I'd like to," she
pointed out.

"And there might be someone out there to hear me.

He sighed, and repeated what he'd told her earlier.

"One of my Gifts is animal Mindspeech, my lady.  If there was anyone
out there, the wild things would know it, and i'd know it.  The only
creatures that are going to hear you are some deer and a couple of
squirrels."

"Call it force of ]habit, then," she replied, clenching her fists while
he continued to clean the wound as he talked.

She'd already done the same service for him, finding mostly bruises,
and a couple of nasty-looking cuts and burns where the priestess had
tried a little preliminary "work , on him.  He proved to be quite a
handsome fellow;

lean and muscular, a little taller than she was, with warm brown eyes
and hair of sable-brown, but with two surprising white streaks in it,
one at each temple.  He had high cheekbones, a stubborn chin, and a
generous mouth that looked as if he smiled a great deal.

"I don't think this needs to be stitched," he said, finally " Just
bandaged really well."

That's a relief.  " She allowed herself to smile.

Thanks for taking care of everything.  I'm sorry I had to find this
place with my head."

Eldan had spent a couple of candle marks pulling up armloads of grass
and bringing it into the cave for the horses, then hunting up food for
the humans.  That was when he'd assured her that his Gift of
understanding animal thoughts would keep him safe.  Somehow she hadn't
been too surprised that he'd brought back roots, edible fungus, and
fish.  Obviously if there was going to be any red meat or fowl brought
in, she would have to be the hunter.  And that would have to wait until
tomorrow, since she'd managed to give herself a concussion when she
fell.

But the ceiling of the cave was high enough that a fire gave them no
problems, and the hot fish, wrapped in a blanket of clay and stuffed
with the mushrooms, together with the roots roasted in hot ashes,
tasted like the finest feast she'd ever had.

"How in the Havens did you ever become a mercenary?"

Eldan asked, wrapping a bandage around her leg, and securing it.

"Sort of fell into it, I suppose," she replied.

"I expect this is going to sound altogether horrible to you, but I
happen to be good at fighting.  And I didn't want the kinds of things
considered acceptable for young ladies."

"Like husbands and children?"  To her mild amazement, Eldan nodded.

"My sister felt the same way.  It's just that-I can't imagine anyone
with the Gift of Mindspeech being comfortable with killing people."

"I don't use it, much.  The Gift, I mean.  Wouldn't miss it if it got
taken from me.  " She felt a little chill;

Eldan was the only person besides Warrl to know about this so-called
Gift, and the idea frightened her as nothing else in the past five
years could.

"Don't-let anyone know, all right?  " "There's no reason why I should,"
he assured her, and somehow she believed him.

"But I must admit, I don't understand why you'd want to keep it secret
if you don't use it that much."

"I live with mercenaries," she pointed out to him.

"People who value their privacy, and who generally have secrets.  "
"Ah.  " He nodded.

"Where, among the Heralds, such Gifts are commonplace, and we
understand that one doesn't go rummaging about in someone else's mind
as if it were a kind of old-clothes bin.  There's a certain Protocol we
follow, and even the ordinary, un gifted people understand that in
Valdemar.  " For a moment she tried to imagine a place where that would
be true, a land where she wouldn't be avoided for such an ability, or
considered dangerous.

She shook her head; places like that were only in tales.

"Well we're different " he admitted.

"Let me look at that slash along your ribs, hmm?

She pulled off her tunic and pulled up her shirt without thinking twice
about it; she'd have done the same with Tre orgies or Shallan. But when
Eldan cleaned the long, shallow cut with his gentle hands, she found
her cheeks warming, and she discovered to her chagrin that she found
his touch very arousing.

That's not surprising, she rationalized.  We both came very close to
death back there.  The body does that, gets excited easily, after being
in danger-I've seen Shallan vanish into the nearest bushes with Relli,
both of them covered in gore.  Coming close to death seems to make life
that much more important.  hell fires I've felt that way plenty of
times, I just never did anything about it because there wasn't anyone
around that I wanted to wake up with.

He's somebody I wouldn't mind waking up with.

She caught the way her thoughts were tending, and sternly reprimanded
herself.  But that's no reason to start with him.

"You know, my lady," whispered a little caress of a thought across the
surface of her mind, just because you've always been afraid of
something, that's no reason to continue to fear it."

For a moment she was confused, then angry with him for eavesdropping on
her thoughts, until she realized he was talking about Mindspeech, not
sex.  But the touch of his mind on hers was as sensuous.  as the touch
of his hands just under her breasts; the only other Mindspeaker she'd
ever shared thoughts with was Warrl, and he was not only un human , he"
was a neuter.  She had never felt anything quite so intimate as Eldan's
thought mingling with hers ... there were overtones that speech alone
couldn't convey.  A sense that he found her as attractive as she found
him; an intimation that his body was reacting to the near-brush with
death in the same way ... i +i..  hunt dies we're going to have to stay
in There until cr attention down, she thought absently, more than half
her attention being taken up with the feel of his warm hand her aching
ribs, and the silken touch of his thoughts against her mind.  It's
going to happen sooner or later' we're both young, and we're both
interested.  There's no earthly reason why we shouldn't.  If we don't,
things are only going to get very strained in here.

She caught his hands just as he finished bandaging her ribs, and
slowly, and quite deliberately, drew him toward her.

He was surprised-oh, not entirely, just surprised that she was so
forward, she suspected.  There was just a sudden flash of something
like shock, and only for a moment.

She deliberately kept her mind open to his touch, and after a brief
hesitation, his thoughts joined hers as their lips met, and he joined
her on her bedroll.

She prepared to kiss him, parting her lips, only to find he'd done the
same.  She chuckled a little at his evident enthusiasm; he slid his
hands under her shirt, over the breasts he had been trying very hard
not to touch a moment before.  She undid the fastenings of his breeches
and helped him to get rid of them, while he rid her of shirt and under
drawers.

Tired and battered as they were, they moved slowly with each other,
taking their cues from the things picked out of each other's minds.
Making love mind-to-mind like this was the most incredibly intimate and
sensuous experience Kero had ever experienced; and it was evident that
Eldan was no stranger to it.  In fact, given the evidence of her
senses, she'd have to account him as very experienced in a number of
areas, with a formidable level of expertise.

Quite a difference from Daren.

At some point, the candle burned out, leaving only the fire for
illumination; she hardly noticed.  She saw him just as clearly with
hands and mind as she did with her eyes.

One more thing that was different from Daren: incredible patience.  It
had been a very long time since her last lover; Eldan was
understanding, and gentle-and made certain she was fully satisfied,
sated, in fact, before taking his own pleasure, pleasure in which she
joined, thrilled by the overwhelming urgency she felt rushing into her
from his mind.  He arched his back and cried out, then slowed,
breathing ragged and spent, and came to rest atop her.  They lay
together entwined, and gradually Kero realized he was falling asleep
and fighting it.

She soothed the back of his neck with a delicate brush of fingertips,
and he sighed at the wordless exchange and gave up the fight.  He
withdrew from her, gently and still aware of all the sensations of each
others' bodies.  when she was certain he wasn't going to wake, she
carefully disengaged herself, found another dry piece of wood and threw
it on the fire, giving her a little more light to see by.  She reached
out and caught a corner of his bedroll, shook it out, and draped the
blankets over both of them.

she settled in beside him, she noticed the Companion stare at him and
sigh, before turning toward the entrance of the cave in a "guard"
stance.  That was the last thing she saw as she fell asleep.

when she woke, Eldan was already awake and about;

in fact, that was what had awakened her.  Wisely, he did not attempt to
move quietly-anything that sounded like stealth would have sent her
lunging to her feet with a weapon in hand.  She woke just enough to
identify where she was, and who was with her-then enjoyed the unwonted
luxury of taking her time about coming to full consciousness.  There
was no hurry; she certainly wasn't going anywhere..  ..

Especially not today.  Today she was one long ache, from the soles of
her feet to the top of her head.  Just bruises and muscle aches, of
course; the cuts would be half-healed scars by now.  Or, more
accurately, half Healed scars.  She suspected that the wounds she had
taken had been a great deal worse when she'd gotten them-but one of
Need's attributes was that she Healed the bearer of just about
anything, short of a death-wound.

She'd surreptitiously made certain that the sword was under her
bedroll, well padded to avoid making a lump,

before she'd undressed to have Eldan tend to her injuries.

She didn't have to be in physical contact with it for it to Heal her;
it just had to be nearby but under her bedroll was where she liked to
put it when she had hurts that needed to be dealt with.  She certainly
would never have slept with a concussion without Need's Healing.

She wondered what Eldan would make of her rapid recovery.

hope he'll just think a little self-Healing is one of my abilities. I'd
rather not have him asking too many questions about Need. Grandmother
said there was something odd about Heralds and magic, and I'd rather
not find out what it is.

Eldan had set about organizing the cave into a place where they could
stay comfortably for several days.  Just now he was heaping bracken
into a depression and covering it with a layer of grass, and after a
moment, she figured out why.  It was to be a bed, of course; much more
comfortable than a couple of bedrolls on the cold stone floor.  She
watched him, blinking sleepily, as he laid her saddle and his own
upside down to dry, and spread both horse blankets out to air.

"A nest, little hawk?  You're far more ambitious than I am," she said
with a yawn.

He looked up, and grinned.

"Here," he said, tossing her clothing.

"It's clean.  I washed it all while you were asleep.  " She shrugged
off the covers and ran a hand through her hair, grimacing at the feel
of it.

"I almost hate to get into clean clothing when I'm as dirty as I am."

"That's easily remedied, too," he told her.

"This is a limestone cave, and that means water.  There's a tiny
trickle at the back of the cave.  Enough to keep all of us supplied,
and clean up a little, too.  " One of the things she'd stolen on her
forays after food had been a bar of rough brown soap; harsh with lye,
but it would get her clean.  It had been in her packs; Eldan had
evidently found it when he'd rummaged around looking for the medical
supplies (such as they were).  He handed the soap to her, with a scrap
of cloth that had once been part of her shirt.  He didn't have much,
besides his bedroll and some clothing.

"Come keep me company," she said, heading to the back of the cave and
the promised water.  Sure enough, there was a little stream running
across the back of it, in one side and out the other with a rounded
pool worn by its motion.  Cold, too.  She winced as she stuck her hand
in it, but cold was better at this point than dirty.

"So how did you manage to find such attractive company?"

she asked, as she scrubbed ruthlessly at dirt that seemed part of her,
harsh soap, cold water, and all.

"Well, I was all tied up at the time-" "I meant the Karsites, loon,"
she said, splashing water at him.  He ducked, and grinned.

"Be careful, or you'll put out the candle," he warned.

"And I don't have many.  We really ought to make do with firelight. So,
you want to know how I happened to be keeping company with Karsites? 
I'll tell you what, you answer a question, and I'll answer one.  Fair
enough?"

"Well-" she said cautiously.

"I'd like to know where you got such good training in your Gift if you
never told anyone about it," he interrupted eagerly.

"Your control is absolutely amazing!"

"I told one other-person," she admitted, reluctantly, "Actually, he
came to me, because I was-uh-making it hard for him to sleep at night."
She ducked her head in the cold water, more than the chill of her bath
making her shiver.  Years of concealing her abilities had made a habit
of secrecy that was just too much a part of her to break with any
comfort.  The silence between them lengthened.

"Look," she said, awkwardly, her hair full of soap.

"I'd rather not talk about it.  It-it just doesn't seem right.  I
really don't use it that much, and I'd rather forget I had it."

He sighed, but didn't insist.

"I guess it's my turn, hmm?  Well, it's stupid enough.  Or rather, I
was stupid enough.  I was just across the Border, in a little
village.

Not spying, precisely, just picking up commonplace information, gossip,
news, that kind of thing.  " She turned to stare at him.

"Wearing that?  Blessed Agnira, what kind of an idiot are you?"

"Not that much of an idiot!"  he snapped, then said, "Sorry.  I wasn't
that stupid, no, I was wearing ordinary enough clothing, and I'd walked
in; I'd left Ratha out in the woods, outside the village walls.  I
thought my disguise was perfect, and I thought my contacts were
trustworthy, but obviously, something went wrong.  I think someone
betrayed me, but I'll probably never know for sure.  Anyway, when they
first hauled me outside the walls, there were only a couple of the
guards and no DdYtoTgHeEt SmWe010RoDse, and they g 02n6e3 ddlebags even
though they couldn't catch him.

opfriemsytessas; Ratha trie

"And when they found the uniform, they could of es You in it."  She
rinsed out her hair, and sist dr sing n't rio dried herself with the
rag he handed her.  With a smile of amusement, she recognized the rest
ofthhermruirnceedysihiernt.t "I can see their reasoning.  Makes it all
to the priestess that they really had caught a Herald.

He nodded, and she pulled the clean clothing on, dripping hair and
all.

"So, that's it.  Short and unadorned."

Except for the reason you were over here.  Just gathering " information
" hmm?  With the ability to read thoughts?  Not bloody likely.  You
were posted to that village to eavesdrop on everything you could, and
you're more of a fool than I think you are if you haven't realized
i'dfigure that out.  So you Heralds aren't quite as noble-or as
stupid-as you claim.  There's such a thing as morality, but there's
such a thing as expediency, too.  I just hope you save your expediency
for your enemies.

But she didn't say anything, just strolled over the uneven surface of
the cave floor to their fire.

"So how did you end up here?"  he asked, handing her a roasted tuber
and her water skin.

"The closest fighting I know of is on the Menmellith border, and you're
leagues away from there."

"Sheer bad luck," she told him.

"The worst run of luck I could have had except for one thing-nobody's
managed to kill me yet, that I know of."

He smiled at that, and she described the rout, the flight, the dive
into the river, and her continued flight deeper and deeper into enemy
lands.

-so I ended up here," she finished, "Like I said, sheer bad luck.  "
"Not for me," he pointed out.

She snorted."

"Well, if your chosen deity brought me all this way to save your hide,
it's going to cost you double.

I may not be able to collect from a god, but I can certainly collect
from you!"

He laughed.

"If any outside forces had any part in bringing you up here, it wasn't
at my request,~' he protested.  " I mean, not that I wasn't praying for
rescue but they caught me only yesterday, and you've been on the run
for-what?  Weeks?"

"At least," she said glumly.

"Seems like months.

Sometimes I think I'm never going to make it back home alive.

you will," he replied, softly.

She just shrugged.

"So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?  It hardly seems
polite to keep acting like he's no brighter than Hellsbane.

Eldan brightened.

"You mean, you "My weapons master told me about Companions," she said,
cutting him off.

"They're-s-s-" And suddenly, she was tongue-tied.  She literally could
not say the word.

"Special," she got out, sweating with the effort.  " absolutely the
intellectual equals of you and me.  Right?"

"Exactly."  He beamed.

"Ratha, this is Kerowyn.

Kerowyn, Companion Ratha."

"Zha 'had'allav'a, Ratha," she said politely, as the companion left his
self-appointed watch post at the entrance and paced gracefully toward
her.Shin'a'in, the greeting of my adopted Clan," she told both Ratha
and his Herald.  "it means, 'wind beneath your wings."  MY Clan's the
Tale'sedrin, the Children of the Hawk."

She didn't know why the Shin'a'in greeting seemed appropriate; it just
fit.  Ratha nodded to her with grave courtesy; Eldan's eyes widened.

Shin'a'in?  " he exclaimed, and turned to look at Hellsbane, dozing
over her heap of fresh-pulled grass.

"Then-surely that's not-" all right," Kero said with pride.

"She's a war steed "And probably the only one you'll ever see off the
Plains.

Her name's Hellsbane.  Smart as a cat, obedient as a dog, and death on
four hooves if I ask it of her."

"That much I saw."  He got up and walked over to the mare, who woke
when he moved, and watched him,

cautiously.

"Hellsbane," Kero called, catching the mare's attention.  , Kathal,
dester'edre.  " Hellsbane relaxed," and permitted herself to be
examined minutely.  Eldan looked her over with all the care Of a born
horseman.  Finally he left her to return to her doze and seated himself
back by the fire.

"Amazing," he said in wonder.

"Ugliest horse I've ever seen, but under that hide-if I were going to
build a riding beast for warfare, starting from the bone out, that's
exactly what I'd build.  " 'well MY weapons master claims that's what
the Clans did do," Kero said.

"The gods alone know how they did it, or even if they did it, but
that's what she claims."

"Amazing," he repeated, shaking his head.  Then he raised it.

"So, tell me about this weapons master of yours.

And how in the Havens did you manage to get adopted into a Clan?"

She smiled.

"It's a long story.  Are you comfortable?"

They were both a lot wearier than either of them thought.  He told her
to start at the beginning and she took him at his word.  She told him
about the ride' and to her embarrassment, discovered that the song had
made it as far as Valdemar.  Once past the decision to leave home and
beg some kind of instructions from her grandmother, she caught him
yawning.

"I'm not--that boring, am I?"  she asked, finding the yawns
contagious.

"No," he said, "It's just that I can't keep my eyes open.  " "Well, I
don't think any Karsites are going to creep up on us in the dark," she
admitted, "And it's well after sundown.  I never once noticed anyone
moving around after dark except army patrols.  And even they wouldn't
go off the roads."  She did not mention the strange and frightening
instances when she'd felt as if she was being hunted; she had no proof,
and anyway, nothing had ever come of it.

She got up and went to the tangled heap of blankets, intending to throw
them over that invitingly thick bed of bracken he'd made.  Eldan joined
her in the task, still yawning.

"They seem to think that demons travel by night," he said, shaking out
his blanket.

"It seems that people vanish out of their houses by night-whole
families, sometime sand are never seen again.  And not surprisingly,
the ones that vanish are the ones that are the least devout, or have
asked uncomfortable questions, or have shown some other signs of
rebellion."

She thought about the army patrols she'd seen moving about at night,
and was perfectly capable of putting the two together.

"Hmm.  Demons on horseback, do you suppose?  In uniform, perhaps?"

"A good guess," he acknowledged.

"Makes me very grateful I wasn't born in Karse."

Eldan spread the last of the blankets over the improvised bed and
tilted his head to one side.

"Not all the vanished end up dead, my lady," he said.

"Some of them end up in the priesthood."

"Not a chance!"  she exclaimed.

"I hadn't finished.  They retain their skills-but they've forgotten
everything about their old life.  Everything; it happened to someone I
was watching as a possible contact.

She had a Gift of Mindspeech, one that was just developing.  When I
next saw her, she didn't recognize anyone she had known before.  Her
mind was a complete blank-and her devotion to the Sunlord was total."
He nodded as she felt the blood drain from her face.

"You mean-everybody with these "Gifts' winds up in the priesthood-and
someone in the priesthood strips their minds?"  The idea was horrible,
more horrifying than rape and torture, somehow.  Rape and torture still
left you with your own mind, your own thoughts.

' Someone in the priesthood wipes their minds clean.

Everything that made them what they are is gone.  I've been able to
trigger old memories in someone suffering from forgetfulness after a
head injury-" (She filed that away for future reference .) "-but I have
never been able to do so in one of the priestesses."  He sighed.

"Some would say that they are still better off that way than dead, but
I don't know."

She shivered uncontrollably.

"I'd rather be dead."

He put his arms around her to still the shudders.

"Now I've told you something that's sure to make you have nightmares,"
he said apologetically.

"I am sorry.  I didn't mean to-' She snuggled closer in a lightning
change of mood, heat in her groin kindled by the warmth of his arms
around her, and the feel of his strong body against hers.

"You can do something to make me forget," she pointed out-and nibbled
delicately on his earlobe.

So I can," he laughed.

And proceeded to do just that.

Today there were hunters out there, though none were near the cave, and
neither of them wanted to risk going out.  Quite a few hunters were
prowling the hills, in fact-and at least a half-dozen priests.  The
escaped Herald and his rescuer, it seemed, were very much sought
after.

Ratha was the one who warned Eldan about the priests, fortunately
before the Herald tried any Thoughtsensing.

With that in mind, he pinpointed the enemy and identified the priests
through the eyes of the animals about them.  He would have liked very
much to touch the minds of their horses, so that he could overhear what
they were saying to each other, but both of them felt that particular
idea was far too risky.

"Maybe if you're ever in a trap you can't break out of," she said.

"In fact, I'll tell you what I'd have done if I'd been in your shoes
with your Gift back when they had you.  I'd have waited until they were
sure I was helpless, and then I'd have spooked their horses.  Run a
couple of them through the fire to scatter it, and they wouldn't have
been able to see you getting away.  Then I would have hidden real close
to the camp until I saw a good chance to get the hell out of there.
Like I told you, they don't expect a prisoner to stick around.  " Eldan
looked at her with considerable respect.

"There are times I wish I could convince you to come back with me, and
this is one of them.  I'd love to put you in charge of a class at the
Collegium.  " She shuddered.

"Thank you, no.  I'd rather face a siege.  " There were other, more
disturbing, searchers.  Twice, Kero "felt" those searching "eyes" she'd
sensed before this time they were angry, and she could feel the heat of
their rage preceding and following them.  The first time, she was
watching at the entrance to the cave and didn't get a chance to see if
Eldan felt them, too.  But the second time was just after dark, when
they were both lounging beside the barest coal of a fire, not wanting
to risk a light being seen, and.  she instinctively flattened herself
against the stone floor of the cave, blood turning to ice-water in her
veins.

She looked over at a whisper of sound, and saw that Eldan had done the
same thing.

"What is that?"  she hissed, as if speaking aloud would bring the thing
back.

"You felt it, too?"  He also seemed impelled to whisper his words.

"I don't know what it is.  It isn't any kind of Thoughtsensing I've
ever run up against before.  It doesn't seem exactly like
Thoughtsensing.  It's like-" he groped for a description "-like there's
actually some thing moving half in our world, and half in another, and
the reason we can feel it is because it happens to be leaking its
thoughts.  Like it isn't shielded."

She considered that for a moment.

"And demons walk at night," she said.

He stared at her.

"Demons are only in stories!"  he exclaimed indignantly, as if he
thought she was trying to make a fool out of him.  Then he faltered, as
she continued to watch him soberly.

"Aren't they?"

"Not in my grandmother's experience," she said, sitting up slowly,
"Though I can't vouch for having seen one myself.  But consider how
some of the people who vanish at night do so out of their own houses,
with no one else in the family aware that they're gone until the next
day."

He contemplated that for a moment, as he pushed himself off the floor,
and she watched his face harden.

"If that's got even the barest possibility of being true, then it's all
the more important that I get back to report."  He did not, at that
moment, look like a man she wanted to cross.

"I'm doing.  the best that I can," she pointed out without losing her
temper.

"After all, I have quite a bit riding on getting you back, myself!"

He stared at her for a moment, as if he wasn't certain just what she
was.  She watched curiosity slowly replacing anger in his expression.
Finally he asked, "If I hadn't agreed to your price back there, would
you have left me in their hands?"

It would serve you right if I said "yes, " she thought, but honesty
compelled her to answer otherwise.

"If I could have gotten you loose, without getting myself killed, I
would have," she said.

"But instead of taking you to Valdemar, I'd have convinced you it was
safer to go through Menmellith.  And once across the border and with my
Company, I'd have turned you over to the Mercenary Guild as a war
prize.  They would have ransomed you back to Valdemar.  I'd have lost
ten percent on the deal, but I still would have gotten paid."

He stared at her, shocked and offended.

"I don't believe you!"  he spluttered.

"I can't believe anyone could be so-so-" "Mercenary?"  she suggested
mildly.

That shut him up, And after a few moments, his anger died, and was
replaced by a sense of the humor of the situation.

"All right, I was out of line.  You have a right to make a living-"
"Thanks for your permission," she replied sarcastically.

I'm really getting just a little tired of his attitude..  ..

He threw up his hands.

"I give up!  I can't say anything right, can I?  I'm sorry, I don't
understand you, and I don't think I ever will.  I fight for a cause and
a country-"

" And I fight for a living."  She shrugged.

"I'm just as much a whore as any other men or women that make a living
with their bodies, and I don't pretend I'm not."

And maybe that's the real difference between us.  Meres are the same as
whores, people who devote themselves to causes are like one half of a
life bonded couple.  We do exactly the same things, just I do it for
money, and you do it for love.  Which may be another form of payment,
so-maybe he still should do something about that attitude.

She shrugged, feeling somehow just a little hurt and oddly lonely.  It
appeared that being able to read people's minds didn't necessarily make
for less misunderstandings.

Which is as good a reason as any to keep from using it so much I come
to depend on it, she decided.  If it can't keep two people who like
each other from making mistakes about each other, it isn't going to
keep me from making mistakes about other things.

"So," she said, when they knew there probably weren't going, , to be
any repetitions of their visitation, and both of them had gotten a
chance to cool down a little, "I don't know about you, but I am not
going to be able to get to sleep for a while.  Not after having that
cruise by overhead."

Eldan sighed, and looked up from the repairs he was trying to make to
his clothing, using a thorn for a needle and raveled threads from a
seam.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one feeling that way.  I was afraid you
might think I was being awfully cowardly, like a youngling afraid of
the dark.  " "If stuff like that is out in the dark, I'd be afraid of
it too!"  She relaxed a little.  He isn't going to be difficult.

Thank the gods.

"I don't know if being awake is going to make any difference to that,
but I'd rather meet it awake than asleep.  So let's talk.  You know
everything that's important about me-" He started to protest, then saw
the little grin on her face, grinned back and shrugged.

"All I know about you is that at some point in your life you decided to
make a big fat target out of yourself.

She fixed him with a mock-stern glare.

"So talk."

Eldan put down his sewing, and moved over to her side of the fire,
stretching himself out on their combined bedroll.

Also a good sign.

"To start with, I didn't 'decide' to become a Herald;

no one does.  I was Chosen."

The way he said the word made it pretty clear that he was talking about
something other than having some senior Herald come up and pick him out
as an apprentice.

To Kero it had the sound of a priestly Vocation.

"Before that, I was just an ordinary enough youngling, one of the
middle lot of about a dozen children.  We had a holding, big enough
that my father could call himself 'lord," if he chose, but he made all
of us learn what hard work was like.  When we were under twelve, we all
had chores, and over twelve we all took our turn in the fields with our
tenants.  One day I was out weeding the white root patch, when I heard
an animal behind me.  I figured one of our colts or calves had gotten
out-again-and I turned around to shoo him back to the pasture.  Only it
wasn't a calf, it was Ratha."  Eldan sighed, and closed his eyes.  As
the firelight flickered over his peaceful expression, Kero guessed that
memory must be one of the best of his life.

Silence for a moment.

"So what's Ratha got to do with it?"  she asked, when he didn't say
anything more.

can't just march up to Haven and announce you want to
be'aWHhearta'sld-"Oahn.dSOyroruyr.
fTahteheCrocmanp'atnibounysyCohuooasneaups.prYeonuticeship.

Only the Companions make the decision on who will or will not be a
Herald.  " ~Ratha whickered agreement, and Kero glanced over to see him
nodding his head.

Well, if they're like the leshya'e Kal'enedral, that makes sense.  A
spirit would be able to see into someone's heart, to know if he's the
kind of person likely to forget how to balance morality and expediency.
Ratha looked straight at her for a foment and his blue eyes picked up
the firelight in a most uncanny manner.  And he nodded again.  She
blinked, more than a little taken aback.

"When they're ready to go out after their Chosen,

Companions will show up at the stable and basically demand to be
saddled up.  It's kind of funny, especially to see the reaction of new
stable hands  " He chuckled.

"I

was there one day when six of them descended on the stable, each one
making it very clear he wanted to be taken care of right now thank you.
I had someone call in some of the trainees ~before the poor stable boy
lost his mind.  Anyway, I knew what Ratha's standing in the middle of
the vegetable patch meant, though to tell you the truth, I'd always
fancied myself in a Guard uniform, not Herald's Whites.  I think my
parents were rather relieved, all things considered; one less youngling
to have to provide for.  And we weren't that far from Haven, they knew
I'd be back for visits, probably even several times a week.

Mama made a fuss about 'her baby' growing up, of course, but it's
always seemed to be more as if she did it because she thought she
should.  "

Both of them grinned at that.

"Couple of my mates have had send-offs like that," Kero offered.

"And no doubt in anybody's mind that they weren't just as cared-for as
anyone else in the family, just when the tribe's that big, somebody has
to go eventually."

"And it's a relief when it's on their own.  Aye.  " Eldan nodded
vigorously.

"Other than that, things were no different for me than for any other
youngling at Collegium.

"Average in my classes, only thing out of the ordinary was the animal
Mindspeech.  Had a turn for disguise .  Got to know this little bit
named Selenay pretty well, gave me a bit of a shock when I found out
she was the Heir, though!

Knows the Queen by given name, hmm?  The thought was a little chilling;
it pointed up the differences between them.  To cover it, she teased,
"If I'd known that, your price would have been higher."

He opened his eyes to see if she was joking, and smiled when he saw
that she was.

"That's it," he concluded.

"That's all there is to know about me.  No famous Rides, "' no bad
scrapes until this one.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  " Kero
snorted.

"As if Heralds could ever be ordinary Right  Tell me another one."

"I collect rocks," he offered.

"Great pastime for someone who spends his life on horseback.

"I didn't say it was easy, " he protested, laughingly.

Kero laughed with him.

"I should confess, then.  I make jewelry.  Actually, I carve gemstones.
Now that is a portable hobby."

"I used to write bad poetry."

She glared at him.

I stopped."

She made a great show of cleaning her knife and examining the blade.

"Wise man.  if you'd told me you still did, I'd have been forced to
kill and eat you.  And the world would have been safer.  There's
nothing more dangerous than a bad poet, unless it's a bad minstrel."

She said that with such a solemn face that he began laughing.

"I think I can see your point," he chortled, "i think in your position
I'd start using my extra pay to put bounties on Bards!"

"I've thought about it," she said wryly.

"And not entirely in jest.  Traditional Bardic immunity can lead to
some misusing their power, and Bards have no one making sure they
behave themselves the way the Healers and you Heralds do."

Only the Guild," he acknowledged, soberly.

"They're pretty careful in Valdemar, but outside?  I don't know.  I'll
bet Karse is using theirs.  " They're using their Healers, " Kero
pointed out Healing done outside a temple of the Sunlord.  When they're
in the mood, they even go hunt down their poor little herb men and wise
women  The only reason they don't go after midwives is because the
priests can't be bothered with something that is only important to
females.

El-Dan's expression sobered considerably.

"I didn't know that.  There wasn't anyone like that in the villages I'd
been watching.  Makes you wonder.  About what else they're using, I
mean."

That it does," said Kero, .  who had a shrewd notion of what they were
using.  Dark magics?  It was likely.  And no one to stop them.  You
might as easily stand in the path of a whirlwind.

And all that was pitted against the two of them.

The night seemed darker, outside their cave, after that.

and when they made love, it was as much to cling to each other for
comfort as anything else.

The hunt stayed in their area for longer than Kero had
ewxepreecgtetdtinwghsiochmelekdinhdeorftiondbicelaiteivoe that the
priestesses n of where they were.

During that time, she got to know Eldan very well; possibly better than
he knew.  A mercenary learns quickly how to analyze those he will be
fighting against or beside and everything Kero learned led her to trust
Eldan more.

Despite having used his powers to spy on the Karsites, he was truly
sincere in his refusal to abuse them.  He hadn't been so much prying
into peoples' minds as simply catching stray thoughts, usually when
people were speaking among themselves.  As Kero had herself learned,
there was a "pre-echo" of what they were about to say, a moment before
the words emerged, and to someone with her Gift, those thoughts could
be as loud as a shout.

To Kero's mind, that was no more immoral than setting spies in taverns,
and establishing listening holes wherever possible.

As her concussion healed, they split the chores between them-the only
exceptions being hunting.  Eldan would happily eat what she killed, but
he couldn't bear to kill it himself.  That was fine with Kero; he knew
what Plants and other growing things were edible, and she didn't.  So
she hunted and he gathered, in the intervals between Karsite patrols, a
situation she found rather amusing.

Two days after the hunt moved on, they left their hiding place.  The
hunters had made no effort at concealing their tracks, which pleased
Kero no end.  That meant that the Karsites were convinced their quarry
was somewhere ahead of them, and they wouldn't be looking for them in
the rear.

They traveled by night, despite the demons, or whatever they were. Kero
had the feeling that Need was both attracting the things and hiding
herself and the Herald from them.  Kero did her best to recall every
little tidbit she'd ever read or heard about such things.

Some information didn't seem to apply, like Tarma's story about
Thalkarsh.  Whatever was being used to find them didn't seem terribly
bright, which argued for it being something less than a true demon.

Maybe a magical construct, but more likely an Abyssal Plane Elemental.
Just about any Master-level mage could command one of those, and they
weren't too bright.  They were attracted by places where the magical
energy in something or someone made a disturbance in the normal flows
of such energy-but once they were in the area, they would not be able
to find the source of the disturbance if it was strong enough to hide
itself well.  Just as it was easy to see a particularly tall tree from
a distance, but next to impossible to find it once you were in the
forest.

That was how she explained it to Eldan, anyway, but something forced
her to couch it in vague terms that could apply to the mental Gifts as
well as the magical.  Although she couldn't explain away the part about
it being magic-made itself, she found herself telling him glibly that
the thing might be a creature out of the Pelagirs, invisible and
intangible, but nevertheless there.  Where that explanation came from,
she had no idea, but she sensed that he accepted it a little better
than he would have taken anything that smacked of "true" magic.

They found a hiding place by the light of dawn-an overgrown hollow,
covered completely with leafy vines so that she wouldn't have guessed
it was there if she hadn't been paying close attention to the
topography of the land.  The vines themselves were supported by bushes
on either side of the hollow, but nothing actually grew down in the
hollow itself.  It wasn't as secure as a cave, and it certainly
wouldn't form much of a shelter if it rained, but it was big enough for
all four of them, and offered excellent concealment.

It was then, as they made love in sun-dappled shade, that Kero realized
there was something out of the ordinary in her relationship with this
man.  She felt much closer to him than she had ever felt to anyone,
except perhaps Tarma and Warrl, and found herself thinking in terms of
things he might want as much as things she wanted.

It was such a different feeling that finally she was forced to admit
she was falling in love with the man.  Not just lust (though there was
certainly enough of that in the relationship), but love.

Shallan would have laughed her head off.  She always claimed that one
day the "Ice Maiden" would thaw-and when she fell, she'd go hard.

Looks like she was right, Kero thought with a feeling very like pain,
curling up against his back, with her head cradled just behind the nape
of his neck and one hand resting on his hip.  Damn her eyes, anyway.  I
wonder how much money she had riding on it?

It certainly hadn't been hard to fall for him.  He was kind,
personable, clean, very easy on the eyes; a "gentleman" in every sense
of the word.  He treated her like a competent human being, neither
deferring to her in a way that made it seem as if he was patronizing
her, nor failing to say something when he disagreed with her.  He did
not treat her like a freak for being a fighting woman the way most
civilians did.

In fact, he treated her like one of the Skybolts would have, if she'd
taken one as a lover.  He treated her like a partner, an equal.  In all
things.

She moved a little bit closer; it was cold down in the hollow, but she
wanted spiritual comfort as well as physical.

Right now she was feeling very lost.... He knows my best-kept secret.
He's shared his thoughts with me.

Was that enough to make up for the differences between them?

Was anything?

Eldan crouched in the shelter of the branches of a tree beside Kerowyn,
and fretted.  I have to get back.  Selenay needs to know all this, and
she needed to know it a month ago.  Every moment wasted here could cost
us.

- But the Karsite patrols on the road below didn't seem in any mood to)
indulge his needs.  Even though the sun was setting, painting the
western sky in pink and gold, the riders on the blue-shadowed road
running between the hills below them showed no signs of heading back to
their barracks.  Kerowyn glanced over at him, and her lips thinned a
little.

"You're not making them get out of the way any faster by fuming," she
whispered.

"And you're tying your stomach up in knots.  Relax.  They'll leave when
they leave.  " She just doesn't understand, he thought, unhappily, as
the riders disappeared around a bend, heading north.  How am I ever
going to get it through to her?  She doesn't care when she gets
home-hell fires she hasn't even got a home" Look, I need to get back to
the "Bolts just as badly as you need to get home," she continued,
interrupting his train of thought.

"We could still try cutting back toward Menmellith-" If we go to
Menmellith, it'll take three times as long to get back.  Dammit, why
can't she understand?  He knew if he said anything, he'd sound angry,
so he just shook his head vehemently, and tried to put on at least the
outward appearance of calm.  She looked away, her expression brooding,
the last rays of the sun streaking through the boughs of the tree, and
striping her hair with gold.

He wondered what she was thinking.

She wants to avoid Valdemar.  I want to bring her in Valdemar with me.
If she can just see what it's like, she'll understand, I know she
will.

Somewhere north above the road, Ratha was scouting, uncannily invisible
among the trees.  He settled his mind, closed his eyes, and reached out
for the dear, familiar presence.

"Hola, hay burner

"Yes, oh, hairless ape?"  Ratha had seen an animal trainer with an ape
at one of the fairs, and the beast had sported a pair of twin streaks
in its hair that were nearly identical to Eldan's.  The Companion
hadn't let him forget it since.  Never let up, do you?"

"I'm trying to lighten your mood, Chosen," the Companion replied.

"You are going to _fret yourself right off that branch if you don't
calm yourself."  Is that second patrol showing any sign of moving?"  he
asked anxiously, ignoring the advice.

He felt Ratha sigh.

"Relax, will you?  They've settled in, but they haven't set up a
permanent camp.  I think they plan on moving before nightfall.  In any
case we can get by them above the road,.  I found a goat track."

Eldan stifled a groan.  The last time Ratha had found an alternative
route, they'd been all night covering a scant league of ground.

"How-ah- "challenging " a goat track?"

There was a hint of amusement in Ratha's mind-voice."

"Challenging enough.  It'll be good for you."

Eldan Sent an image of his still-livid bruises.

"That's what you said about the last one you found."

"I have four legs instead of two, no hands, and I weigh a great deal
more than you do.  If I can make it over, you can."  Ratha sounded a
little condescending, and more than a little impatient.

"All the fuming in the world isn't going to get us to Valdemar any
faster.  We'll get there when we get there."

"You sound like Kero," Eldan replied, opening his eyes a little and
taking a sidelong glance at the mercenary.

She had been watching him, and he saw her swallow and look away.  She
knew he was Mindspeaking Ratha, and as always, it bothered her.  I wish
she'd get over that, too.

"She's had many lessons in patience.  You could profit by her example."
Ratha hesitated for a moment, and Eldan had the feeling the Companion
would have said more, but was uncertain if he should.

On the road below them, the Karsites finally reappeared, going back the
way they had come.  That just left the patrol Ratha was watching.  As
the last of the sun dropped below the horizon, the wind picked up, and
gusted a chill down Eldan's neck.  He felt a little more of a chill at
Ratha's next words.

"You are very-fond of this woman," Ratha said, finally.

"I think I'm in love with her," Eldan told his Companion, cautiously,
relieved to have it out in the open between them at last, but not
certain he liked the phrasing or the tone of Ratha's statement.

"I-think you are, too," Ratha replied, obviously troubled.  " I am glad
for you, and yet I wish you weren't."

el-DAN had Never hidden anything from his Companion, and he didn't
intend to start now.

"Why?"  he asked, bluntly, determined not to let things rest with
that.

"What's wrong with her?  I know you like her."

"The patrol is moving off now," Ratha replied brightly.

"Thank you.  And you're changing the subject."  El-Dan wasn't about to
let Ratha get off that easily.

"I won't be able to move out of this tree for at least half a candle
mark

I'm not going anywhere.  Just what, exactly, is wrong with Kero?"

Ratha sounded reluctant to answer.

"She doesn't understand you-us.  She can't understand how we can be
loyal to people we've never seen, be willing to stand between them and
harm, and for no gain.  She does not understand loyalty to a cause. And
yet-" But, yet?"

"There is something about her that is very noble.  She abides by her
own code.  And she has been very good for you.  You are more-alive,
since being with her."

"I feel more alive."  Eldan pondered Ratha's statements;

caught Kero watching him with an odd little smile on her face, and felt
his heart clench.  This strange, frighteningly competent woman was not
like anyone else he'd ever encountered.  She was-like a perfect
Masterwork sword; she could have given any of the famous beauties at
Court tough competition, with her long, blonde hair, her finely
chiseled features, her pale aquamarine eyes- Competition?

No.  She'd never take second place to anyone.  She's not only
beautiful, she's polished.  There's nothing about her that hasn't been
honed and perfected " until it's the best it can be.  Beside her, any
other woman looks like a pretty doll; no fire, no spirit.  Except maybe
the Heralds-but His relationships with other Heralds had never gone
beyond friendship and a little intimate company.  And e almost always
had to initiate the latter.

Kero initiated lovemaking as often as he did; pouncing on him, giving
him soft little love-bites and growling like a large playful
cat-languidly rubbing his shoulders or scratching his back, then
turning the exercise into more intimate caresses.  He shivered a
little, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.  She was a
truly remarkable, exciting, bed mate But she was more than that.  She
treated him outside of bed like an absolutely equal partner, taking on
her share of the chores without a quibble, substituting things he
couldn't do-like hunting-without an argument.

And she had entered his thoughts the way no one else, man or woman,
ever had.  He wanted to show her his home, to see her excitement, her
reactions.  He wanted to share everything with her.

He wanted, most of all, to make her understand.  Because he wanted to
hear her say she was willing to be his partner from now on "I want to
get her into Valdemar.

I know once I get her there, she'll understand, she'll see what it's
like for us, and she'll understand everything."

"If she ever could, she-" The Companion cut the thought off, and Eldan
wondered what it was he almost said.

"She what?"

"It doesn't matter.  Not now.  Just an idle speculation.

I agree, we should get her into Valdemar if we can.  I think it would
make all the difference."  He felt Ratha's reticence, and didn't press.
Whatever it was, if it was important enough, Ratha would tell him in
his own time.

"You are clear, now," the Companion concluded.

"I will check ahead."

Eldan double-checked the road through the eyes of every bird and beast
he could touch, and confirmed Ratha's statement.  He opened his eyes
again, and touched Kero on the elbow, carefully.

"We can go," he said quietly.

"We've both checked.

"Good," she replied, a hint of relief in her voice.

"I

was beginning to wonder if I was going to spend the night in this
tree."

She caught the branch she was sitting on and swung down to the one
below.  Eldan followed her, marveling at her agility, and her ability
to move so well in the twilight gloom.

" Oh, I can think of worse places to spend the night than in a tree,"
he replied lightly, as he lowered himself down onto the ground beside
her.

"So can I, and I've probably been in most of them.

Can we take to the road?"  She dusted her hands off on her breeches,
and unwound Hellsbane's reins from the snag she'd tethered the mare
to.

"So far.  Ratha's going on ahead.  He says he's found a goat-track we
can use if more of those patrols show up."

She turned a sober face toward him.

"I hope he's finding cover for us in case more of those-things-show
up.

I don't want to meet one of them out in the open with nowhere to
hide."

"No more do I. " He shuddered at the thought of it, and marveled at her
courage, who'd encountered the creatures-whatever they were-alone,
without panicking.

She's incredible, he thought for the hundredth time, as he followed
directly in Hellsbane's tracks.  I have to get her back to Valdemar.  I
have to.  She'll never want to leave.... Fourteen

They're thinking at each other again, Kero observed, trying not to
cringe.  With Eldan sitting and the Companion lying beneath a roof of
living pine boughs, the Herald gazed deeply into Ratha's eyes, both of
them oblivious to everything around them.  The ground was invisible
under a litter of pine needles that must date back ten or twenty years.
They'd left Kero on guard while the two of them conferred.  If Kero
hadn't known the sky was clear, she'd have sworn there was a storm
coming; it was that dark under this tree.

She looked away after a few moments, and decided that halfway up this
same pine tree would be just about the best lookout point.  She should
be able to see quite a distance up the main valley from there.  And she
wouldn't have to watch Eldan and his Companion.

As usual, they'd traveled by night, stopping just before dawn to find a
place to hole up in during the day.  For the past night they'd been
paralleling the main road down the center of a series of linked
valleys.  The closer they got to the Valdemar border, the less
populated the countryside became-but the terrain was a lot rougher, and
the alternatives to the main roads fewer.  Their hiding place this time
had been a little pocket-valley off the main vale.

And it wasn't a place where Kero would have stopped if she'd had any
choice.  There was a shepherd's town-not a village, but a town, rating
a main square, a marketplace, and the largest temple of the Sunlord
Kero had seen yet-at the head of the valley.  This had been the best
they could do, and it hadn't been a terribly secure place to stay.  A
good-sized stand of tall pines with branches that drooped down to the
ground ensured that there was no grass here; there was no water either,
no one would stumble across them bringing his sheep to pasture The
pines themselves provided cover; one sheltered Hellsbane, one protected
Ratha, and one kept the two of them hidden beneath the tentlike
boughs.

But it was still open, and too close to that town to make any of them
feel comfortable.  Kero knew she slept lightly, and she was fairly
certain the same could be said of Eldan and Ratha.  After they woke,
Eldan seemed preoccupied, and finally asked Kero to stand watch while
he and his Companion talked.

Kero had a shrewd notion that strategy was not going to be the
subject-that she was.  She had gotten the impression more than once
that Ratha liked her, but didn't entirely approve of her.  Certainly
the Companion wasn't likely to approve of her as a long-term liaison
for his Herald.

He thinks a lot like his Herald, she reflected, climbing through the
scratchy pine boughs carefully, to avoid making the tree shake.  They
couldn't afford any carelessness;

there had been too many near-escapes in the past few days.  The hunters
were getting thicker, and more, not less, persistent.

Somehow, in the next couple of days, they had to make a try at the
Border.  Which meant that parting from him was only days away.  She
settled herself on a sturdy limb, and blinked her burning, blurring
eyes back into focus.

Blessed Agnira, what am I going to do?  Standing watch didn't occupy a
great deal of her attention, which meant she had more than enough left
over to worry.  I'm in love with this man.  He's in love with me.
Should be a happy ending in there somewhere, if this was only a
ballad..  ..

She bit her lip to keep from crying.  The whole relationship is
impossible, that's all there is to it.  It's all the same problems that
I had with Daren, only worse, because I do love him.  I want to be with
him more than I've ever wanted any other person in my life.

But that was the key: any other person.  Her independence had been
dearly bought, and she wasn't about to give it up now.

If she went with him, giving up her position in the Skybolts, what
would she do in Valdemar?  The regular army might not take her, and if
they did, she would undoubtedly find herself on the wrong end of rules
and regulations every time she turned around.  With her record, she
could ask for concessions from a Company that she could never get from
a regular army force.  Her peculiar talents did not fit into the
parameters of a regular army.  She wasn't a foot or line soldier, she
wasn't heavy or even light infantry, and she was in no way going to fit
into heavy or light cavalry.  She was a scout-well, that was a job for
the foot soldier.  She was a skirmisher-that was under the aegis of
either light infantry (bow) or light cavalry (sword).  She knew more
about tactics than most of the regulation officers she'd met, and that
would certainly earn her no points.  Lerryn encouraged the input of his
junior officers, but that simply wasn't so, outside of mercenary
Companies.

That assumed they'd even take her in the first place;

many regular armed forces wouldn't accept former meres because they
tended to have an adverse effect on discipline.

Which would leave me living on his charity.  Not a chance.  I won't
ever put myself in that position again.

Despite the lump in her throat and the ache in her chest at the thought
of parting from Eldan, the resolution remained.

Never.  I have my own life, and I'm going to lead it.

He just didn't understand what could lead someone to fight for a
living, and it didn't look as though he ever would She'd tried to point
out that if a relatively ethical person didn't do the fighting, that
would leave it to unethical people-he'd stared at her as if she was
speaking

Shin'a'in.  For her part, she could not understand his fanatical
devotion to an abstract: a country.  What on earth was there about a
piece of property that made it worth dying for?  Never mind that
territorial disputes were what paid for a mere's talents, more often
than not-she still didn't understand it.  In a way, she was as alien to
him as one of those Karsite priestesses.  She disturbed him more than
they did, because he knew they were alien-she was the woman he loved
and seemed completely rational to him-until she would say something
that completely seluded him, or he would say something that made no
sense to her.

There were other differences, too; serious ones.  Like his attitude
toward Mindspeech.  The way he shared his thoughts so freely with Ratha
made her skin crawl and her shoulders tighten defensively.  No one
should be able to get inside your mind that closely.

It makes you vulnerable, she thought, with a shiver of real fear.  What
happens when you open yourself that much to anyone?  Gods and demons,
the power that gives them over you)... even if they never use that
power, it's a point of weakness that someone else can exploit.  And
will.  There's never yet been a breached wall that someone doesn't use
to invade.

Then there was that fanatical devotion to duty of his.

He'd make it back to Valdemar if it killed him, just to get information
back there personally.  It isn't sane, she thought grimly.  It just is
not sane.  There are a dozen ways he could get that news back, and if
he took all of them, that would virtually guarantee it would get
there.

Maybe not as quickly, but it would get there.  But it has to be by his
own personal hands.... He frightened her; as much as she loved him, she
feared him, and feared for him.  She was torn between that love and
that fear, and when you added in her reluctance to place herself in a
position where she would be dependent on him, there was only one
conclusion she could come to.

It's impossible.  Oh, gods, it's impossible.  And I still love him....
She clutched the trunk of the tree in anguish, bark digging into her
palm, the pain keeping tears out of her eyes * She fought to keep
control, finally attaining it just as Eldan himself appeared under the
tree, waving at her to come down.

She took a couple of deep breaths to make sure the lump wasn't going to
return, and to steady her nerves.

Then she waved back, grinning down at him, as if nothing was wrong.

The faint frown left his brow and he grinned in return.

We've more important things to worry about, she told herself as she
slipped down the tree as carefully as she had climbed it.  Right up at
the top is staying alive to reach the Border in the first place.

A rock was digging a hole in Kero s stomach, but now she didn't want to
move to dislodge it.

"Where are they all coming from?  " Eldan whispered, as they watched
yet another of the Sun-lord's priestesses pause just below the entrance
to their current hiding place.  She pulled back the cowl of her robe,
and stared up at the face of the cliff above her.  It looked blank from
that angle; the ledge they were lying on obscured the entrance.

and Kero had seen it only because she had been up in a sturdy oak
spying out the land when she'd spotted it.  And it couldn't be reached
from the floor of the valley;

they'd had to backtrack and come up over the ridge to get down to it.

Hopefully that meant no one would look for it.  Except the priestess,
like all the others, seemed to have sensed something.

From up here, they couldn't make out her features;

they could just barely distinguish her face from her blonde hair.  The
scarlet robe she wore was a sure sign of high rank, though-the only
rank above scarlet wore gold, and there were never women in gold robes.
Against the green meadow below them, she looked like some kind of
exotic flower.

"I have no idea where they're all coming from," Kero whispered back.
That was at least half a lie; at this point she was fairly sure they
were tracking Need somehow.  It would make sense, since neither she nor
Eldan ever used unshielded Mindspeech.  Since magic was forbidden, it
followed that the priesthood had some way of detecting its use.  And
Need was created with magic; even when she wasn't actually doing
something, she must be "visible" to someone capable of detecting magic.
And no doubt she could hide herself, but she had to know she was
endangering her bearer, and her bearer wouldn't know that until a
priestess actually was in sight.

Kero held her breath, waiting.  Surely this time the camouflage would
break; they'd be spotted.  This red-robe was the highest ranking
priestess they'd seen yet; all the rest had been white-, blue-, or
black-rank.  Surely this time would mark the end.

The woman pulled her hood back up over her head, and rode off across
the meadow.

Kero let out the breath she'd been holding.

Eldan put his arm across her shoulders and hugged her wordlessly.  She
snuggled into his shoulder for a moment, content just to enjoy it, and
his warm presence.

But her mind wouldn't stop operating.

That's the third priestess today.  We see two and three search parties
every day.  It's getting harder and harder to find a place to hide by
dawn.

Some of that was to be expected; they were right on the Border now, and
there were regular Border patrols all the time.  Eld~n had mentioned
that, and mentioned, too, how he'd avoided them in the past.  But he
had not mentioned ever seeing the clergy out on these hunts before, an
omission Kero found interesting.

But although he was trying to pretend that this kind of activity was
entirely normal, it was fairly obvious that he was worried.  Quite
worried.

Which meant that a good number of these patrols were new, and probably
called out to find them.

He knew the priestesses were able to pick up something about them, but
he didn't know what, and so far Kero had been able to keep Need's
abilities from him.

So far he hadn't asked any awkward questions, and so far he didn't seem
to have made the connection that only the female clergy were detecting
whatever it was.  It helped that he seemed utterly incurious at moments
when she'd have expected a barrage of questions.  That was odd, but no
odder than the fact that she was literally unable to talk about
anything involving real magic to him.  Absolutely, physically, unable.
She'd tried, and in the end, couldn't get the words out of her mouth.

She suspected Need had a hand in both those conditions, though she had
no idea what it was doing, or why.

But she was getting used to that.

She didn't like it, but she was getting used to it.

And it was doubtless the fact that Need was attuned to women's problems
that was the reason for the priestesses detecting her, and not the
priests.

That maddeningly logical part of her kept right on reasoning as she
tried to enjoy the moment with his arm around her.  We've had three
narrow escapes, scoldingly.  Each one got narrower than the one before
it.  There's no doubt about it: Need is bringing in the priestesses.
We're never going to make it across the Border together.

He'd given his word to send her his ransom, and she had every reason to
believe his word was good.  She had no logical reason why she should
stay with him.  In fact, if she wanted to ensure his survival, she
should leave him.  With the target traveling westward, this little
section of the Border should be empty long enough for him to get
across.

She inched back into the cave, grating along the sandstone, with a
hollow feeling in the bottom of her stomach.

She'd known all along she was going to have to face this moment, but
that didn't make it any easier now that it was here.

She stood up and dusted herself off once inside.  It would be stolen
rations tonight, Karsite rations.  One of those narrow escapes had been
just this morning, and had ended in the death of the scout who'd
discovered them making their way across the ridge.  His body was in a
tiny hollow just below the trail, stuffed into a cave let barely big
enough to conceal him.  His horse had been run off in a state of sheer
animal panic, thanks to Eldan.

His rations now resided in their saddlebags.  Eldan had been a little
squeamish about robbing the dead, but she'd just taken everything
useful without a comment, and after a moment, he'd done the same.

Eldan joined her back in the tiny cave.  There was just barely enough
room for them and the horses, though she could never bring herself to
think of Ratha as a "horse.  " She never looked at him without a
feeling of surprise that there was a "horse" standing there, and not
another human.

Eldan handed her a strip of dried meat.  She accepted it, and pulled
her water skin out of the pile of her belongings.

" So," he said, around a mouthful of the tough, tasteless stuff, "It
looks like tomorrow isn't going to be a good day to try a crossing."

She swallowed her own mouthful.  It had the consistency of old shoes,
and was about as appetizing.  She found herself longing for the
Skybolts' trail-rations, something she'd never have anticipated doing.
At least those had been edible.

I We probably ought to hole up here for a while," she offered, feeling
her heart sink and tears threaten at the lie.

"Probably they'll give up when they don't find anything, and leave this
area clear for us to make a try."

Eldan nodded.

"That sounds right.  And we've got supplies enough.  All we need is
water, and one of us can go down after it about midnight."

"I'll do that tonight," she replied.

"I'm better at night-moves than you are."

He smiled in the way that made her blood heat.

"I'll agree to that," he said huskily.

"And we've got all day to wait.  What do you say to doing something to
make the time pass a little faster?"

"Yes," she said simply, and reached for him even as he reached for her,
desperation making her want him all the more.  For this would be the
last time, the very last time.... She shielded her thoughts and
exercised every wile she had to exhaust him, both out of a desire for
him that made her ache all over, and out of the need to make him sleep
so deeply that little would wake him-and certainly not her departure.

Then she dozed in his arms, wanting to weep, and far too tired to do
so.

Finally the sun set, and she woke out of a restless half sleep full of
uneasy dreams, fragments of things that made no sense.

She extracted herself from his embrace without making him stir, packed
up her things, and waited while the sky darkened and the rising moon
illuminated the meadow below.  Tears kept blurring her vision as they
trickled unheeded down her cheeks.  She wasn't even going to get to say
"good-bye."

She'd left a note for him, on top of the remaining rations, advising
him to stay where he was for as long as they held out, then make his
crossing attempt.  She told him that she loved him more than she could
ever tell him-and dearest gods, those words had been hard to write-and
she told him that she could not go with him.

"We're too different," she'd said.

"And we're too smart not to know that.  So-I took the coward's way out
of this.  I admit it; I'm running away.  Besides, I hate saying
good-bye.  And don't you forget you owe me; I have to replace my gear
somehow!"

She didn't look back at him, where he was curled up against the back
wall of the cave; that would only make it harder to leave.  Instead,
she saddled Hellsbane and strapped on the packs, then led her toward
the mouth of the cave, knowing that the familiar sound of hooves on
rock would never wake him.

But Ratha was suddenly there, between her and the entrance, blocking
her way.

Before she could react to that, a strange voice echoed in the back of
her mind.

"Where are you going?"  it said sternly, And why are you leaving in
stealth?"

She gulped, too startled by this sudden manifestation of Ratha's powers
to do anything more than stare.  But the Companion did not move, and
finally she was forced to answer him.

Mindspeech was not what she would have chosen if she'd been offered a
choice, but if she spoke aloud, she might wake Eldan, and then she'd
never be able to leave him.... So although it made her stomach roil to
answer the Companion that way, she ordered her thoughts and spoke" as
clearly as warrl had taught her.

"I have to go," she told Ratha.

"I'm putting Eldan in danger while I'm with him."

"He was in danger when you found him," the Companion pointed out with
remorseless logic.

"What difference does your leaving make?  * .

She took a deep breath, and rubbed her arms to get rid of the chill
this conversation was giving her.

"It's the sword," she said finally.  It's magic, and I'm fairly sure
that's what has brought the hunt down on us.  More than that, it is
magic that only works for a woman, which may be why the priestesses are
involved.  And it's very powerful, I really don't know how powerful."

The Companion's blue eyes held her without a struggle.

"So," Ratha said finally.

"Your sword must be attracting these women.  I agree that may be why no
priests have hit on the trail.  Why not abandon it?"  And leave it for
them to find?"  she flared.

"Do you want something like that in the hands of your enemies?

It may not let me go, but if it does, be sure it will have a new bearer
before the sun dawns.  My bet would be on a Priestess finding it, which
might be good for your land or bad.  I don't think any of us dare take
a chance on which it would be."

"True."  Ratha seemed to look on her with a little more favor.  And by
taking this sword of yours away, the hunters all follow you, and you
leave the Border here open to our crossing.  You sacrifice your safety
for ours, becoming a target leading away from us."

"I think so," she said with a sigh.

"I hope so.  I'm going to double back to Menmellith, which would have
been our logical move if we'd been blocked here.  That should make
sense to them, and since they've been following the sword and not an
actual trail, they'll follow me and ignore you."

The Companion nodded.

"You are very wise-and braver than I thought.  Thank you."

He moved out of the way, and she led Hellsbane past him, onto the
narrow ledge and the path that led up to it, still refusing to look
back.

"Good luck," she heard behind her as she emerged into the moon-flooded
night.

"May the gods of your choice work on your behalf, Kerowyn.  You are
deserving of such favor.  And may we all one day meet again."

That started the tears going again; she blinked her eyes clear enough
to see the path, but no more.  She had to move slowly, because she was
feeling her way, and she was profoundly grateful that Hellsbane was
surefooted and could see the path.  She couldn't stop crying until
she'd reached the ridge above the cave.  There, she took several deep
breaths, and forced herself to stare up at the stars until she got
herself under control.

It's over, and I've-finished it myself.  Ratha and his own sense of
duty will keep him from following.  It never had a chance of working
between us anyway, and at least I've ended it while we were still in
love.

She closed her eyes, and rubbed them with the back of her hand, until
the last trace of tears and grit was gone.  Then she set Hellsbane's
nose westward, and descended the ridge, heading for Menmellith.  Soon
the hunters would be following, and she needed a head start.

I've done brighter things in my life than this, she thought, cowering
in the shadow of a huge boulder and wishing that she wasn't quite so
exposed on the top of this ridge.  But this was the only place she had
been able to find that had any cover at all, and she had to see down
her back trail  Without Eldan, and his ability to look through the eyes
of the animals about him, she was finding herself more than a bit
handicapped.

The hunters had found her in the middle of the night, as she crossed
from the heavy oak-and-pine forests into pine-and-scrub.  She'd felt
those unseen "eyes" on her just about at midnight, and this time they
hadn't gone away until she had crossed and recrossed a stream, hoping
the old saw about "magic can't cross running water" was true.  By the
time dawn bloomed behind her, the human hunters were hot on her trail,
and not that far away, either.  The best she could figure was that the
"whatever-it-was" had alerted its masters, and they, in turn, had
alerted the searchers directly in her path.

Dawn saw her doggedly guiding the mare over low mountains (or very tall
hills) that were more dangerous than the territory she'd left behind,
because the shale-like rock they were made of was brittle and prone to
crumbling without warning.  She didn't dare stop when she actually saw
a search party top a ridge several hills behind her, and caught the
flash of scarlet that signaled the presence of the red-robe among them.
So there was to be no rest for her today; instead, she set Hellsbane at
a grueling pace across some of the grimmest country she'd ever seen.
This area was worse than the near-virgin forest, because she kept
coming on evidence that people had lived here at one time.  Secondary
growth was always harder to force a path through than an old forest;
tangly things seemed to thrive on areas that had been cleared for
croplands, or where people had lived.  This growth was all second- and
third-stage; pine trees and heavy bushes, thorny vines and scrubby
grass.  All things that seemed to seize Hellsbane's legs and snag in
Kero's clothing.

She had left Hellsbane drinking and got up on another ridge to look
back about noon, and as she peered around her boulder, she saw the
trackers still behind her, spotting them as they rode briefly in the
open before taking to cover.  This time they weren't several ridges
away; they were only one.

She swore pungently, every heartache and regret she'd been nursing
since leaving Eldan forgotten.  She had something more important to
worry about than heartbreak.

Survival.

Hellfires.  They're good.  Better than I thought.  And they were
gaining on her with every moment she dallied.

She slid down the back of the ridge and slung herself up on the mare's
back, sending her out under the cover of more pine trees.  And the only
thing she could be grateful for was that the day was overcast and
Hellsbane was spared the heat of the sun.

They're going to catch up, she 'thought grimly.  They know this area,
and I don't; that's what let them get so close in the first place.  I'm
in trouble.  And I don't know if I'm going to get out of it this
time.

She wanted to "look" back at her pursuers, tempted to use her Gift for
the first time in a long time-And stopped herself just in time.

That isn't me, she realized, urging Hellsbane into greater speed as
they scrambled down a gravel-covered slope.  Something out there wants
me to use my Gift, probably so they can find me.  Or catch and hold me
until they come.

She fought down panic; Hellsbane was a good creature, and bright beyond
any ordinary horse, but if she panicked, so would Hellsbane, and the
war steed might bolt.  If Hellsbane took it into her head to flee, Kero
wasn't sure she'd be able to stop her until she'd run her panic out.

And that could end in her broken neck, or the mare's, or both.

Kero kept Hellsbane in the cover of the trees, even though this meant
more effort than riding in the open.

She looked automatically behind her as they topped the next hill, and
saw not one, but two parties of pursuers;

both coming down off the slope she'd just left, and both parties so
confident of catching her now that they weren't even trying to hide.
They couldn't see her, but they could see her trail; she wasn't wasting
any time trying to hide it.  They were perhaps a candle mark ride from
her, if she stopped right now.  The temptation to leave cover and make
a run for it was very great.  If she let Hellsbane run, she might be
able to lose them as darkness fell.

Assuming that their horses weren't fresh.

Hellsbane had been going since last night, and she couldn't do much of
a run at this point.

They could.  And would.

Kero sent the mare across a section of open trail when they dropped out
of sight, hoping to get across it-before they got back into viewing
range.  This was one of the worst pieces of trail she'd hit yet; barely
wide enough for a horse, bisecting a steep slope, with a precipitous
drop down onto rocks on one side and an equally precipitous shale cliff
on the other.

No place to go if you slipped, and nowhere to hide if you were being
followed.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they got into heavier cover before the
hunters came into view.  She hadn't wanted to rush the mare, but her
back had felt awfully naked out there.

Thunder growled overhead; Kero looked up, pulling Hellsbane up for a
moment under the cover of a grove of scrub trees just tall enough to
hide them.  She hadn't been paying any attention to the weather, but
obviously a storm had been gathering while she fled westward, because
the sky was black in the west, and the darkness was moving in very
fast-How fast, she didn't quite realize, until lightning hit the top of
a pine just ahead of her, startling Hellsbane into shying and bucking,
and half-blinding her rider.  The thunder that came with it did deafen
her rider.

And the downpour that followed in the next breath damned near drowned
her rider.

It was like standing under a waterfall; she couldn't see more than a
few feet in front of her.  She dismounted and automatically peered
through the curtain of rain back down the trail behind her-Just in time
to see it disappear, melting beneath the pounding rain.  She stared in
complete disbelief as the trail literally vanished, leaving her
pursuers no clue as to where she had gone, or where she was going.

In fact, the part of the trail she and the mare were standing on was
showing signs of possible disintegration.... Taking the hint, she took
Hellsbane's reins in hand and began leading her through the torrent of
water.  Streams Poured down the side of the hill and crossed the
trail;

the water was ankle-deep, and carried sizable rocks in its churning
currents.  She found that out the hard way, as one of them hit her
ankle with a crack that she felt, rather than heard.

She went down on one knee, eyes filling with tears at the pain-but this
was not the time or the place to stop, no matter how much it hurt.  She
forced herself to go on, while icy water poured from the sky and she
grew so numb and chilled that she couldn't even shiver.

And grateful for the rescue; too grateful even to curse that errant
rock.  This-thing-came up so fast-she thought" peering at the little
she could see of the footing ahead of her, leading Hellsbane step by
painful step.  It-could almost be-supernatural.

In fact, a suspicion lurked in the back of her mind perhaps Need had
had something to do with it.  TFheire was no way of telling, and it
could all be just sheer coincidence.

Still, there was no doubt that it had saved her.

Always provided she could find some shelter before it washed her
away.

And wouldn't that be ironic, she found herself thinking wryly.  Saved
from the Karsites only to drown in the storm!  Whoever says the gods
don't have a sense of humor..  ..

Fifteen

I'm glad Hellsbane can see, because I can't.  Kerowyn's eyelids were
practically glued shut with fatigue.  She rode into the Skybolts' camp
in a fog of weariness so deep that she could hardly do more than stick
to Hellsbane's saddle.  The mare wasn't in much better case; she
shambled, rather than walked, with her head and tail down, and Kero
could feel ribs under her knee instead of the firm flesh that should be
there.

She rode in with the rain, rain that had followed her all the way from
beyond the Karsite Border.  Or maybe she had been chasing a storm the
entire time; she wasn't sure.  All she did know was that the rain had
saved her, and continued to save her as she traveled-washing out her
tracks as soon as she made them, for one thing.  It also seemed as if
it was keeping those supernatural spies of the Karsites from taking to
the air, for another; at any rate she hadn't felt those "eyes" on her
from the moment the rain started to come down.  And last of all, the
mud and rain had completely exhausted her pursuers' horses, who had
none of Hellsbane's stamina.

From the exact instant when the first storm hit, she'd been able to
make her soggy way across Karse virtually unhindered.  She hadn't been
comfortable, in fact, she spent most of the time wet to the skin and
numb with cold, but she hadn't had to worry about becoming a guest in a
Karsite prison.

Her only real regret: she'd had to ride Hellsbane after the first storm
slackened; that rock hadn't broken her ankle, but it had done some
damage.  A bone-bruise, she thought.  She wasn't precisely a Healer,
but that was what it felt like.  She'd hated putting that much extra
strain on the mare, but there was no help for it.

Luck or the sword or some benign god let had brought her across the
border at one of the rare Menmellith border posts

She'd introduced herself and showed her Mercenary Guild tag, and her
Skybolt badge; she'd hoped for a warm meal and a dry place to sleep,
but found cold comfort among the army regulars.

They damn near picked me up and threw me out.  Bastards.

They could at least have given me a chance to dry Off.

At least they'd told her where the Skybolts had gone to ground; she'd
ridden two days through more heavy rains to get there, so numb that she
wasn't even thinking about what she was likely to find.

The camp didn't seem much smaller; she'd feared the worst, that half or
three-fourths of the Skybolts were gone.  But it was much shabbier; the
tents were make do and secondhand, and the banner at the sentry post
was clumsily sewn with a base of what looked like had once been
someone's cloak.

The rain slacked off as they reached the perimeter of the camp itself.
Hellsbane halted automatically at the sentry post; the sentry was a
youngster Kero didn't recognize, probably a new recruit.  He seemed
very young.

to Kero.

So new he hasn't got the shiny rubbed off him yet.

And he looked eager and a little apprehensive as he eyed her.

Probably because I look like I just dragged through the ninth hell.

She dragged out her Skybolt badge and waved it at him.

"Scout Kerowyn," she croaked, days and nights of being cold and wet
having left her with a cough and a raspy throat.

"Reporting back from the Menmellith Border.

Before the boy could answer, there was a screech from beyond the first
row of tents, and a black-clad wraith shot across the camp toward her,
vaulting tent ropes and the tarp-covered piles of wood beside each
tent.

"Kero!"  Shallan screamed again, and heads popped out of some of the
tents nearest the sentry post.  Hellsbane was so weary she didn't even
shy; she just flicked an ear as Shallan reached them and grabbed Kero's
boot.

Kero, you're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," Kero coughed, slowly getting herself out of the
saddle.

"I feel too rotten to be dead.  " By now more than heads were popping
out of the tents and she and Shallan had acquired a small mob, all
familiar faces Kero hadn't realized she missed until now.

They crowded around her, shoving the poor young sentry out of their
way, all of them laughing (some with tears in their eyes), shouting,
trying to get to Kero to hug her or kiss her-it was a homecoming, the
kind she'd never had.

She looked around in surprise, some of her tiredness fading before
their outpouring of welcome.  She hadn't known so many people felt that
strongly about her, and to her embarrassment, she found herself crying,
too, as she returned the embraces, the infrequent kisses, the more
common back-poundings and well-meant curses.

They're family.  They're my family, more than my own blood is.  This is
what Tarma was trying to tell me, the way it is in a good Company; this
is what makes Lerryn a good Captain.

"I have to report!  " she shouted over the bedlam.  Shallan nodded her
blonde head, and seized her elbow, wriggling with determination through
the press of people.

Gies showed up at Hellsbane's bridle and waved to her before leading
the mare off to the picket line.

She knows him-yes, she's going.  she'll be fine.

Word began to pass, and the rest parted for her when they realized what
she'd said; a mere unit didn't stand on much protocol, but what it did,
it took seriously.  Somewhere in the confusion someone got the bright
idea that they should all meet at the mess tent; the entire mob headed
in that direction.  while Shallan took Kero off in the direction of the
Captain's tent.

"I've got the legendary good news and bad news."

They slogged through mud up to their ankles, and Kero blessed Lerryn's
insistence on camp hygiene.  In a morass like this, fevers and
dysentery were deadly serious prospects unless a camp was kept under
strict sanitary conditions.

The blonde looked up as the gray sky began dripping again, scowling in
distaste.

"So what do you want first?"

The bad, and make it the casualties."  Kero sighed and braced herself
to hear how many friends were dead or hurt beyond mending; this was the
last thing she wanted to hear, but the vEry first she needed to know.

Who am I going to be mourning tonight?  she asked herself, the thought
weighing down her heart the way the sticky clay weighed down her
steps.

"Right."  Shallan grimaced.

"That's the worst of the bad because number one he was Lerryn and
number two was his second, lcolan.  In fact, most of the officers
didn't make it out.  Its like every one of them had a great big target
painted on his back; I've never seen anything like it."  She glanced
over to see how Kero was taking the news-and Kero didn't know quite
what to say or do.  It was just too much to take all at once.

She felt stunned, as if someone had just hit her in the stomach and it
hadn't begun to hurt quite yet.  Lerryn?

Dear Agnetha- it didn't seem possible; Lerryn was everything a good
Captain had to be.  There was no way he should be dead.... "He?  His?"
she said "sharply, as the sense of what she'd just heard penetrated.
Shallan never worded anything by accident.

"Does that mean-" Shallan's head bobbed, her short hair plastered to
her scalp by the rain.

"Both the women made it.  The only problem is that the higher-ranked
one is-" "Ardana Flinteyes."  Kero took in a deep breath and held it.
That was bad news for the Company, or so Kero judged, and she was
fairly certain Shallan felt the same way.  Ardana should by rights
never have risen above the rank she'd held before the rout.  She's a
good fighter, but she's got no head for strategy, she blows up over the
least little thing and stays hot for months, and-I don't like her
ethics.  No, that's not true.  I don't like the fact that she doesn't
seem to have many.

"So Ardana's a top ranker

'worse, " Shallan said grimly, then looked significantly at the
Captain's tent, with its tattered standard flying overhead.  It wasn't
the crossed swords anymore.  It was flint and steel striking and
casting a lightning bolt.

"She's the Captain?"  Kero whispered, appalled by the prospect.

Shallan nodded, once.

Kero took a deep breath.  The Company had to go to someone.  At least
Ardana had experience, and with this Company.  It was better than
disbanding.  Well, it was better than disbanding.  She stopped where
she stared at the new standard, oblivious to the rain pouring down on
her.  After all, she was already soaked.

"The good news is that all the scouts made it," Shallan said hurriedly,
as if to get her mind off the uneasy prospect of Ardana as Captain.

"And I've got a tent, a whole one; it fits four and there's only me and
Relli.  You can come on in with us, we don't mind."

Kero sighed; she'd rather not have shared with anyone, but she doubted
there was a choice.  It was shelter, and the company was good.  She'd
rather have her own-but maybe she could manage that in the next couple
of days.

Obviously the Company had lost all of the equipment left behind during
the rout.

"I'll take you up on that," she said, surprised at the gratitude she
heard in her voice beneath the weariness.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders.

"Might as well get this over with while I can still stand."

She smoothed back her soaked hair with both hands, and smiled slightly
at the younger woman.  Shallan patted her shoulder encouragingly, and
led the way.

Kero stared up at the stained and mildew-spotted canvas overhead.  It
wasn't her tent, but it was waterproof, and Shallan and Relli had
gotten the mildew stink out of it somehow.  She was happy just to be
lying down, and dry, and warm.  Granted that the bedroll was looted
from who knew where, smelled of horse, and had seen better days; that
didn't matter.  Dry and warm counted for a lot right now.

The interview with Ardana had not proved the ordeal Kero feared it
might be.  Except that she ignored half of what I said about the
Karsites, where Lerryn would have had me in there till I fell over,
taking notes.  That was disturbing; more disturbing was that Ardana
really didn't seem interested in the things she had asked about.  It
was as if she was going through the motions, as if she had some other
opponent in mind than the Karsites.

But just about everyone had deduced from Hellsbane's condition what
Kero's must be like; when Ardana let her go, they'd sent Shallan over
to bring her to the mess tent-but then they sat her down and got her
fed, and didn't ask too many questions.  Then someone had brought in a
spare shirt, and someone else produced breeches and socks, and a third
party a heavy woolen sweater-They'd stripped her to the skin right
there in the mess tent, amid a lot of laughter and rude jokes about how
it would be more fun to bed her sword than her, right now.

"So change that!"  she'd retorted.

"You can all start buying me st elks  " Meanwhile she had been pulling
on the first warm, dry clothing she'd had in a week.

Then they ran her over to Shallan's tent under a pilfered tarp, so she
wouldn't get wet again.  It had all been a demonstration of caring that
had left her a little breathless.

Maybe that was why she was having trouble falling asleep.

I was right, she thought, staring at the mottled ceiling, listening to
the rain drum on it.  I was right to come back.  This is where I
belong.  I could never fit in with Eldan, with his friends, no more
than I could have with Daren and the Court.  I'd have only made both of
us miserable trying.

Her eyes burned; she sniffed, and rubbed them with her sleeve, glad
that Shallan and Relli were off somewhere else.  Probably in the mess
tent; they were both passable fletchers, and the Skybolts had lost a
lot of arrows..  ..

A lot of other things, too.  Kero thankfully shifted her thoughts to
the general troubles.  The Company was in trouble.  Equipment lost,
officers decimated, about a third of the roster gone and another third
on the wounded list-and Menmellith had declined to pay them more than
half their fee, on the grounds that they hadn't stopped the "bandits,"
and they hadn't come up with real proof that they were operating with
more than the Karsite.  blessing.

The Guild, when appealed to, had reluctantly ruled in Menmellith's
favor.

It could always be worse.  The Wolflings are going to have to find
another Company to combine with.  There IS hardly enough of them left
to fill out one rank.

Dearest goddess, I'm going to miss Lerryn.

There were a lot of people she was going to miss.  And right on the top
of the list was Eldan.

Her throat closed again, and she choked down a sob.

I love him, and it would never have worked.  I love him, and I'm never
going to see him again.  He probably thinks I deserted him under fire
or something.

She'd been hoping for some kind of message from him when she reached
the camp; he knew what her Company was, and messages moved swiftly
through the aegis of the Guild.  But there had been nothing.

He probably got back to Valdemar and came to his senses.  He's probably
sitting with friends now, with pretty little Court ladies all around
him, thinking what a lucky escape he had, that he could have been stuck
with this barbarian mere with a figure like a sword and a face like a
piece of granite.  She blinked, and a couple of hot tears spilled down
her temples into her hair.  He's probably so grateful I left that he's
burning incense to the gods.  He's probably even making jokes about me.
Like, "how many meres does it take to change a candle- " More tears
followed the first.  It doesn't matter.  I love him anyway.  I'll
always love him.

And I'm better off alone.  We both are.

She turned over on her side and faced the canvas wall, with one of the
blankets pulled up over her head so they'd think she was asleep if
anyone came in.  She muffled her face in her sleeve, and cried as
quietly as she could manage, with hardly even a quiver of her shoulders
to betray her; only the occasional sniff and the steady creeping of
tears down into her pillow.  And somehow she managed to cry herself to
sleep.

When she woke, the tent was dark, and there was breathing on the other
side of it.  The steady breathing of sleep; somehow Shallan and Relli
had come in and settled down without her being aware of it.

She didn't wake very thoroughly; just enough to register that she
wasn't alone, and remember who it was.

I'm not alone.  Somehow that was a comforting thought.  I have friends.
I can live without him.  That was another.  Holding those thoughts
warmed her; and warmed, she fell back asleep.

It was raining again.  A half-dozen of them were in the mess tent,
attaching heads and feathers to grooved arrow shafts.  Kero reckoned up
the weeks in her head, and came to a nasty total.

"This is the winter rains, isn't it?"  Kero asked Shallan , as they
reached for feathers at the same moment.

"We've gone over into winter, haven't we?"

Shallan's studious inspection of the arrow fl etchings didn't fool Kero
a bit.

"Come on," she said warningly.

"I'm going to find out sooner or later.  Cough it up."

"We've hit the winter rainy season, yes," Shallan replied, glancing
uneasily over her shoulder at Kero.

"It did come awfully early, but-" "But nothing.  If this is winter, why
aren't we in winter quarters?"  Kero lowered her voice, after a warning
look from Relli.

"What are we doing still out in the field?"

she hissed.

"Well," Shallan said unhappily, taking a great deal of time over
setting her feather.

"You know we didn't get paid enough.  And we lost a lot of manpower and
material" And?  So?"  Kero had a feeling she knew what was coming up,
and she wasn't going to like it.

"That's what the reserves are for, Right?"

"Well-uh-" Shallan floundered.

Finally Relli came to her partner's rescue.

"We aren't going to use the reserves she said tersely.

"Ardana has a line on a job."

That was what I was afraid of.

"In winter."

Shallan nodded.

"In winter.  It's south of here-" Kero just snorted.

"I come from south of here.  We're going to be fighting in cold rain if
we're lucky.  If we're not-snow, up to our asses, for the next three
months.

And ice.  I trained in weather like that, but most of the rest of you
didn't.  Think what it's going to do to the horses, if you won't think
of yourself!  " "It's not that bad," Relli said sturdily, though she
wouldn't look Kero in the face.

"It's in Seejay.  Flat as your hand, and not more than a couple of
inches of snow all winter.  And it's not supposed to be a hard job-it's
a merchant's guild thing.  Economic.  One side or the other is going to
get tired of paying, and we can go home.

Frankly, it's better.  to fight there in winter than summer-summer
you're like to cook in your armor.  " So instead we drown-provided we
don't die of exhaustion on a forced march down through Ruvan.

"So is this just a rumor, or have you got something more substantial?"
she asked.

"I'm pretty sure it's going down," Relli told her.

"I

got it from Willi."  ' Since willi was the Company accountant, it was a
pretty fair bet that the bid was in.  Kero sighed.

"I suppose it could always be worse-"

Three months later, she found herself wishing for that hip-deep snow.

She cleaned mud off her equipment and Shallan's', scouring savagely at
the rust underneath on Shallan'S scale-mail.  Rain dribbled down on the
roof of her tent, and down the inside of the shabby walls.  Practically
anything would have been better than the bog that was Seejay in
winter.

A cold bog.  One that froze overnight and thawed by midday, only to
freeze again as soon as the sun set.

And they were the only Company that had been hired.

That should have told us something from the start, she told herself,
for the thousandth time.  We should have walked before we took this
one.

Fighting beside them were the cheapest of free-lancers, one step up
from prison scum; drunks and madmen, vicious alley rats who'd knife an
ally quick as an enemy.

No point in depending on them-and no turning your back on them.  The
sentries caught the bastards sneaking around camp every night and most
days, and everyone had something missing.

Facing them were more prison-scum and a "company" of non-Guild
conscripts; old men too damned stubborn to quit fighting, and
bewildered farmers hauled in after the harvest.

That was the reason for holding this "war" in winter in the first
place: it was after harvest and trading season.

No money-making opportunities lost to combat, she thought cynically. As
witness the little "bazaar" just outside camp.  Everything they think a
mere could want;

from-flea-ridden whores to watered wine.

This entire setup had Kero completely disgusted.  Ardana's "deal"-such
as it was-had been for half pay and half resupply.  First of all, she
should have known never to trust them on that.  Secondly, she should
have gotten the resupply in advance.

The total had come to half their usual fee, which Ardana covered,
stridently defensive, by pointing out that they were under manned and
she couldn't ask the full fee for what was effectively half a Company.
Then the resupply" train had shown up-late-and there was nothing Ardana
could say that would defend what came in with that.

We got tents, all right-old enough to have served the Sunhawks in
Grandmother's-fighting days; patched, and rotting.

We got armor-cheap and rusted.  We got weapons-and I practiced with
better under Tarma; dull pot-metal that wouldn't hold an edge if you
got a gods'-blessing on it.  And food-stale journey-rations that could
have given the Karsites lessons in tasteless, barrels of meat too salty
to eat, flour full of weevils.  And as for the horses- Kero shuddered.
They'd had to shoot half of them, and half of the ones they'd shot had
been so disease- and parasite-riddled they couldn't even be eaten.

By then it was too late.  They'd given their bond.  If they defaulted,
the Skybolts' reputation-already suffering from the defeat in
Menmellith-would be decimated.

We should have defaulted, Kero thought angrily, cursing under her
breath as the metal scales on Shallan's armor came off in her hands. We
should have defaulted anyway.  Anything is better than this.  The Guild
would back us, once they heard about the 'supplies' The "war" had
turned out to be waged within a House;

two factions of the same merchants' guild.  Kero wasn' sure what it was
about-mines, or some other kind raw material, she thought-and she
wasn't sure she cared.

Neither side gave a rat's ass about the welfare of the troops they'd
hired-the Skybolts were just so many warm, weapon-wielding bodies to
them, and if they thought about it at all, they probably assumed that
the Company members welcomed a certain number of losses, as it made for
fewer to split the pay at the end.

Kero had been made the officer over the scouts, and that made it all
the worse for her.  She was the one who had to take Ardana's stupid
orders-distilled from the even stupider orders of their employers-and
try and make something of them that stood any kind of chance of
working.

Kero dug into her kit for some of the half-cured horsehide that was all
they had been able to salvage from those poor, slaughtered nags, and
laboriously patched it into the back of Shallan's mail-coat.  Then she
stitched the scales that had come of back into that, cursing when the
holes broke where they'd rusted through.

Fewer and fewer of her friends came back after each foray; she'd
managed to keep most of the scouts alive, but as for the rest-It was
pretty demoralizing.  Ardana didn't have any strategy worth the name.
The merchants dictated, and she followed their orders, directing the
Skybolts-skirmishers all-to fight like a Company of light cavalry.
They'd been cut down to two-thirds normal strength by the Menmellith
affair-now they were down to half of that.  Mostly wounded, thank the
gods, and not dead-but definitely out of the action.

She shook the corselet and growled under her breath.

Like the situation with her command, it was so tempting to just do what
she could and leave the rest to the gods-but Damned if I'm going to
leave my friend half protected

She cut the stitching on the faulty scales, took a rock from her hearth
to use as a hammer, a bit of wood to use as an anvil and a nail for a
awl, and punched new holes below the old ones, then stitched them back
on.

Miserable cheap bastards.  If I'd gone with Eldan, who'd be doing this
for her?

If she'd gone with Eldan-the thought occurred a dozen times a day, and
it didn't hurt any the less for repetition.

I didn't go with Eldan.  I came back to my people.  If Ardana won't
take care of them, I have to do what I can to make up for that.

And part of that was making sure her scouts stayed well-protected.  She
held up the corselet and shook it, frowning at it, just as Shallan
burst through the tent door, ripping one of the tie-cords loose as she
did so.

"We're being hit!"  she cried, as a fire-arrow lodged in the canvas of
the tent wall.  Kero lurched to her feet, just as something large and
panicked crashed into the tent wall.

Kero came to lying on her back, with her left arm and shoulder on fire.
Literally; there was a fire-arrow lodged in her arm.

She screamed, as much from shock as pain, and rolled over into the mud.
She put out the fire, but she broke the arrow off and drove the head
deep into her shoulder, and passed out again from the pain.

The next time she woke, she wished she hadn't.

she couldn't believe how much she hurt.  Without opening her eyes, she
took slow, deep breaths the way Tarma had taught her, hoping it would
make the pain ebb a little.

If I-just had Need-She had never been wounded before without having the
sword with her-and now she realized just what a difference that made.
She forced her eyes open, and blinked away tears of pain until she
could see.

Canvas.

She turned her head to the left, since turning it to the right only
made things hurt worse.  Evidently she wasn't the only victim of the
camp raid; there were a dozen others laid out in various stages of
injury within easy reach.

Someone stood up just beyond the last one; the Company Healer, Eren.
She tried to move a little too far, and gasped; he jumped as if he was
the one who'd been shot, and somehow turned in midair so that he came
down facing her.

He didn't say a word; just moved while her eyes blurred, and seemed to
materialize beside her.

"What is it?"  he asked, resting his hand lightly on her bandaged
shoulder.  The pain ebbed enough for her to speak.

"I need that damned sword," she whispered.

"It's-I need it, that's all."

he just nodded.  To her relief, since she hadn't told anyone about
everything the blade could do , "If you have it, can I get rid of
you?"

She nodded, and he narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment.

"Anything that saves my strength is a bonus.  I'll send somebody off
for it."

He took his hand away, and the pain surged over her in a wave.  She
just endured for half an eternity-then, with no warning at all, the
pain was gone.

She gasped again, but this time with relief, and opened her eyes
slowly.  Shallan knelt beside her, with one hand over Kero's right,
which in turn she was holding clasped to Need's hilt.

What happened?"  she asked, only now able to think of anything besides
her own pain.

"The last straw."  Shallan looked like she hadn't slept in a while.

"Or rather, several last straws.  First we got hit by the natives.
They're tired of having their farms trampled, their houses looted, and
their daughters raped."

"But we didn't-" she stopped at the look Shallan gave her.

"Much," ShaBan amended.

"You officers haven't been told everything.  No rape, anyway; the lads
know us women'd have them singing a permanent soprano when we found out
about it.  But when we're hungry and cold and mad as hell, things
happen.  Anyway, mostly it hasn't been us, they just didn't give a damn
about who it was."

"What happened, then?"  Kero asked, shamed past blushing.  Have we come
that low so fast?

"You were about the only real casualty in that particular raid.  We
lost a couple of horses, couple of tents, but mostly it looked worse
than it was.  All these-" she waved her hand at the wounded lying
beyond Kero "-were from the guerrilla ambushes they've been laying for
both sides.  You've been out of things for about four days.  They're
whittling us down by ones and twos is what they're doing.  Caught one,
the other day.  Twelve-year-old kid.  Said they're trying to make life
miserable for us, the Skybolts, so we'll pack up and leave.  He said
their leader figures when we leave, the fight's over.  " "I-can't fault
his reasoning.  " This was not why she'd gotten into fighting, to
destroy the lives of ordinary people.

Shallan shrugged.

"No more can I," she admitted.

Well, the absolute last straw just showed up today.  The merchant-men.
Demanding to know why we haven't won this thing for them, since we're
supposed to be so good.  " Outrage filled her and died just as quickly.
These fat, complacent sideline-sitters didn't know fighting, and didn't
care.  They probably worked their beasts the same-use them up, throw
them away.  After all, we're only meres.  No one is going to miss
us.... "Ardana's called a meeting," Shallan concluded, the shrewd and
calculating expression on her face telling Kero that she'd read every
thought as clearly as if she'd had Kero's Thoughtsensing ability. Think
you're up to it?

Kero attempted to sit.  And succeeded.  And for the first time in a
long time felt unleavened gratitude for Need.

give me a hand up, and a shoulder to lean on, and I'm in she asserted,
though her head swam for a moment.

Her shoulder didn't hurt, it itched, itched horribly, which made her
think that the sword was making up for the four days it had been away
from her, all at once.  With every moment she felt stronger, and as
Shallan helped her to her feet, she was able to ignore what pain there
was and keep herself upright with a minimum of help.

Which is just as well.  I have the feeling I'm not going By the time
they reached the mess tent, only iron will kept her from tearing the
bandage from her shoulder and scratching the wound bloody.  She ground
her teeth with the effort it took to leave the thing alone.

Shallan found a place for them by dint of glaring at a couple of the
skirmishers until they gave up their seats on the splintery half-log
benches.  A few more arrived after they did; not many, though, and when
Kero looked around, she realized with a start that the Company was down
to less than half the strength they'd had when they rode in here.
Ardana's incompetence had decimated them that badly.  But worse than
the numbers was the fact that many of the meres wouldn't meet her eyes,
or looked away after a moment.

There was no sense of unity as there had been whenever Lerryn held a
meeting.  Only unhappiness and unease, and a feeling of resignation, as
if they all knew the orders would be bad, and no longer cared.

Ardana finally showed up, with one of the merchants following like a
fat shadow, stalking to the front of the tent with a jerky,
stiff-legged gait that reminded Kero of a half-mad, half-starved dog
she'd seen once that was trying to face down a much bigger animal over
a bone.

Outmatched, but too crazy to admit it.

Ardana's scowl, which had become as much a part of her face as her
flint-hard eyes, didn't do anything to change that assessment.  She
knows she can't handle this, but she can't give it up, Kero thought
wonderingly.  She's so eaten up with the importance of being Captain
that she won't step down even though she's killing off her own Company.
What is wrong with the woman?  Did she get hit over the head when we
weren't looking?  What turned her into this monster?

The Captain tugged at the hem of her tunic constantly, trying to pull
out wrinkles that weren't there.  Like the I, it was a nervous habit
that had emerged after her elevation to Captain.

"Our employers aren't happy with our progress," the woman said, into
the sullen silence that followed her entrance.  " They say they have
reason to believe that we're slacking off.  " A few months ago, that
pronouncement would have been met with angry shouts.  Now-a low
rumbling, a weary growl, was all the Captain got as a response.  They
don't care anymore.  Not about our reputation, not about pride-they're
like saddle-galled horses, still going only because they're being
prodded and quitting hurts more.

Ardana's lips tightened in what Kero read as satisfaction when no one
said anything.

"I told them we're going to end this now.  Tomorrow I want every one of
you up and ready to ride-" And the orders she outlined were nothing
less than suicide.  A straight charge, right up onto the line, when
they had nothing backing them and their opponents had holed themselves
up in the ruins of a village.  The place was a maze of half-ruined
buildings; ideal for defense, and impossible for cavalry.  And that was
if the Skybolts actually were cavalry.

Kero listened with her mouth agape, unable to believe the monumental
stupidity of such a plan.  It's them, the merchants, she thought,
slowly, putting what she was hearing together with what she was not
hearing, but sensing from the merchant.  She opened her mind to him,
and was sickened by what she found there.  Dearest gods.  I should have
read their thoughts when they were here the first time.  I should have
because what she read was worse than anything she had imagined. These
men had no intention of paying the rest of their fee-but they were
going to solve the problem by making certain there was no Company left
to be paid.

So far as they were concerned, this final charge would solve all their
problems very neatly.  Most of the Skybolts would die; the rest would
drift away, leaderless-six months ago, that would have been
unthinkable, but demoralized as they were now, it was not only
possible, it was probable.  And the suicidal charge would also decimate
the enemy ranks enough that the free-lancers could mop them up, and
would[ probably be only too willing for the sake of the looting
involved.

I'm on the wounded list-I won't be going out there-that had been her
first reaction, when Ardana had outlined the "battle plan."  Now she
blushed with shame at her own reaction.  Even I've sunk that low,
thinking only of myself.  How can I fault the others?

But the fact that she was on the wounded list gave her a weapon this
fat merchant could never have anticipated.

She would sacrifice her career-but better that, than to see the last of
her friends going, down to physical and moral death.

By Guild rules, anyone on the wounded list could sever his contract,
though hardly anyone ever did.

Maybe if she walked, now, she'd wake them up, force them to see what
they were being lured into.

It was worth a try.

She stood up, and suddenly every eye in the room was on her.  Even
Ardana stopped in mid-sentence, and stared at her in mild surprise.

"I've never heard such a crock of shit in my life," Kero said, loudly
and bluntly.  She pointed an accusatory finger at the merchant.

"He is going to get every one of us killed."  She pointed at Ardana,
"And you are going to let him get away with it.  Lerryn has to be
spinning in his grave like an express~-wagon axle."

Ardana's mouth dropped open; beside her, the fat merchant registered
equal shock.  He wasn't thinking; just reacting.  Surprise that any of
these "stupid mercenaries" had seen what.  the "master plan" was and
outrage that the same stupid mercenary would have the audacity to
challenge him on it.

Kero looked around her, slowly and deliberately.

'in fact, I don't see anyone here I'd be willing to call a Skybolt."

She turned back to Ardana, ripped the badge off her sleeve, and threw
it at the Captain's feet.

"I'm severing my contract.  Go hire some of that scum outside the camp
to take my place.  If you can find one stupid enough to go along with
this."

She turned and started to shove her way through the crowd.  Behind her,
Ardana suddenly woke up, and stridently ordered her to halt.

She ignored the order-as she ignored those that followed, each more
hysterical and shrill than the last.

Finally orders were issued to someone else-to stop and arrest her for
court-martial.

That was when Kero turned back and stared her former Captain in the
eyes, putting hand to hilt.

"I wouldn't try that," she said, mildly, into the deathly quiet that
followed the simple action.

"I really wouldn't.  You won't like the result."

And she drew about an inch of blade.

Ardana went red, then white.  And her hand crept to her own hilt.

That was when a half-dozen of the scouts leapt to their feet, and tore
their own badges off, throwing them beside Kero's.  Then ten more, then
twenty, until the air was full of the sound of tearing cloth, and there
were too many people between them for Kero to even see Ardana, though
she could still hear her, stridently shouting for order.

Order which she was never going to be able to command again.

Kero turned and shoved her way past the remaining Skybolts, suddenly
terrified of what she'd done.

She still has a couple of loyal followers.  She has people that
merchant has bought.  She can order them to get me, make an example of
me-it's the only way she'll get anybody to-fall into line now She half
fell across someone's feet as she stumbled out toward her tent, to grab
whatever she could and make for the road north while Ardana was still
too confused to think.  The tent was not too far away, and while she
was winded by her weakness and her run, thanks to Need's work she was
fully capable of riding.  And Hellsbane could easily outdistance any
other horse in the Skybolts' Picket line, especially now.

she flung herself into the tent, and tore open her saddlebags Blessed
Agnira, she prayed, fervently, while she stuffed belongings into the
top.  Blessed Agnetha-only keep her confused .  Just give me that head
start

Sixteen

Hellsbane regarded the pile of dead and wilted grass under her nose
with uniquely equine doubt.  She gave Kero a sorrowful look, one as
filled with entreaty as any spaniel could have managed, and pawed the
hard-packed Snow.

"Sorry girl," Kero told her wearily, all too conscious of her own
hunger, and of the cold that made her feet and hands numb.

"That's all there is.  And you should be glad you can eat grass; you're
doing better than I am.  " She doubted that the war steed understood
any of that, but the mare was at least someone to talk to.  And talking
kept her mind off of how tired she was.

She'd avoided settlements since she began this run back up north,
figuring that whatever Ardana had decided to do about her, it wasn't
going to be to Kero's advantage.

They'd ridden from dawn to sunset every day since she'd left the
Skybolts' camp, while the rain became sleet, then real snow, and the
snow-cover grew thicker all the time.

She'd been grateful then for all of Tarma's training, for without it
she'd never have been able to live off the land in late winter.

She and Hellsbane were both in sad condition, but they were at least
alive and still able to travel if they had to.

The hard run was almost over now; by nightfall she'd be at the
Skybolts' winter quarters; she'd collect her gear and get on out of
there.  Once she had her gear, which included her Mercenary Guild
identification, she'd be in a Position to take her case to the Guild
itself.

She looked up at the leaden sky, and thought bitterly that it was too
bad that Ardana would never be called to account for her blundering.
Kero had no hope that Ardana would be punished in any way-after all,
there was no Point in punishing someone for being stupid-but at least
there'd be that much warning in the Guild for anyone thinking of
joining the Skybolts.  And Kero would get her name and record clear of
any charges Ardana levied against her.

Then I can go free-lance, she thought chewing on some nourishing (if
tasteless) cattail roots she'd grubbed up for herself out Of a
half-frozen stream.  Her teeth hurt from the cold, and her hands ached
as much as her teeth.

Damn that bitch.  I'm the one who Is going to suffer.

She's the one who should get it in the teeth, but I'm guiltless, With a
record of insubordination, even if it was legal and justified, no
bonded Company is ever going to be willing to take a chance on me
again.

I've got a brand of "troublemaker " on me for all time.  But better
that than dead.

She waited until hells bane had eaten her Own rations down to the last
strand of grass, Htightened the girth, and remounted, the ache of her
feet only partially relieved by tucking them in close to the mare's
warm body.  Riding your horse just after she's eaten wasn't exactly
good horsemanship.

Sorry Hellsbane, I don't have much of a choice.

I'd spare YOU if I could.

The mare shook herself, and snorted, but settled to the pace willingly
enough.  They rode on at a fast walk under lowering skies just as they
had for days past counting, long, dull days that meant nothing more
than so many leagues toward their goal But Kero's calculations had been
right on the money; sunset saw her riding up to the village that
supported the Skybolts' winter quarters, a kind of snow-capped,
stockaded heart ii W it in the midst of a cluster of buildings.  Kero
looked up and saw,

and felt the same kind of rush of relief aDd distance,.  as she'd felt
on riding UP to the Skybolts' camp.  She quickly repressed it, but not
without a LUMP in her throat.  This wasn't'homecoming and would never
again be home.

Not for her.

The village was made up of fairly unusual buildings, if one supposed
this to be an ordinary village.

Three inns, a blacksmith, an arm oret and several other, less
identifiable places that were obviously businesses of some sort. No
sign of a village market, no signs of craftsmen or farmers.  that The
one aspect that dominated everything a, stockade at the heart of the
place.

Every town that served as winter quarters to a Company looked like
this, more or less.  The Company would build or buy an appropriate
establishment; several buildings were needed for a Company of any size.
Barracks for one thing, and you could add armory, training-ground,
stables, and administrative office at the least.

once the place was up and ten-anted and past its first year of
occupancy, the rest would follow.  The only craftsmen that would
establish themselves would be smiths and armorers;

for the rest, members of the Merchants' and Traders' Guilds would take
care of anything material the wintering troops needed to spend money
on.  And for their nonmaterial needs, the innkeepers would take care of
anything they might desire.  The Skybolts hadn't been established long
enough to acquire an entire town about their walls as old members
retired and chose to stay nearby and raise families.  Hawksnest, the
Sunhawks' wintering quarters, supported a thriving population of
noncombatants.

A token force stayed behind even during fighting season, to train new
recruits, and see to the upkeep of the place.  Those were usually
members of the Company that were no longer fit for field duty, but
couldn't or wouldn't retire.  If the Captain judged them fit enough,
and if there were positions open, they could become caretakers and
trainers, especially if they'd been officers.  There was no sense in
wasting resources.

Evidently word of her defection hadn't preceded her, for the guard at
the front entrance to the stockade, a tacit-urn one-eyed fellow she
knew only vaguely, welcomed her in through the gates with no comments,
opening the smaller, side gate for her rather than forcing the great
gates open against the piled-up snow.  She was mortally glad he was the
one on duty; he seldom spoke more than three words in a row, and then
only if spoken to first.  She didn't want to have to answer questions,
and she most especially didn't want to have to lie.  She feigned a
weariness only a little greater than she felt; she knew she and the
mare were thin and worn, and those things evidently were all the excuse
she needed for silence.

The snow-covered training-ground was silent and looked curiously unused
as she rode past; she thought perhaps all the new recruits were eating
dinner, but when she dismounted and brought the mare into the darkened,
redolent stables, and saw how few horses there were there, she realized
that for the first time in her knowledge, there were no new
recruits..

Evidently, since the Skybolts weren't going to be there to train them
the riders recruited and rough-trained during the summer months had
been sent down south to join the rest of the Company.

Which meant that in Order to take any kind of job in the normal
fighting season, what was left of the Company would have to accept
green recruits or free-lancers who'd never been with a Company before,
and put them right into the front lines with the rest.

That was just more evidence of the kind of shortsighted thinking Ardana
had been displaying all along.

While it was true that the Skybolts had only accepted seasoned
fighters, without proper drilling and practice, new recruits were twice
as likely to die as old hands.

And that was in a nonspecialist Company; in a Company of skirmishers,
Kero wouldn't have given a new recruit a rat's chance of surviving the
first fight.

But that certainly explained where all the new faces had come from
while she'd been across the Karsite border.

And it would give Ardana a fine excuse for why the casualty figures
were so high if the Guild made inquiries.

She left Hellsbane under saddle; just backed her into the nearest empty
stall and gave hera good feed~ then went off to the empty barracks to
retrieve her gear.

There wasn't much of it, but there were warm winter clothes to replace
her threadbare garments, some weaponry to replace things lost or left
behind.  And as for the personal gear, every little bit would help.
She'd undoubtedly have to sell the semi-precious gems she'd stored.  to
carve into little figurines this winter.  The carving equipment itself
wasn't worth much, and didn't take up a great deal of room; she'd keep
it a while, on the chance that she would one day be able to carve
again.

The barracks were dark, with most of the windows shuttered.  Her
footsteps echoed hollowly and her breath showed white in the gloom,
telling her that the place hadn't been heated at all this winter.

Somehow the very emptiness oppressed her more than the entire trip
back.  Maybe it had something to do with actually seeing the place that
should have been full of people standing deserted.

She didn't bother with pulling off her worn gloves or cloak; it was too
cold.  She had no intention of sleeping here; if she found herself with
enough breathing space, she'd draw on the little credit she had at the
Woolly Ram and spend the night there.  She felt her way across the
building and climbed the creaking stairs to the veterans' floor, and
sought her own little niche in the barracks.

Cold penetrated her cloak, and depression weighed heavily on her
shoulders.  She threw open the shutter to get the last of the light.
Beside her bare bunk was her armor-stand with her spare suit of chain,
which could be sold easily enough.  At the foot of the bunk was the
locked chest where she kept the smaller objects she didn't want to
carry with her on campaign, and under the bunk was the clothespress
that held the rest of her wardrobe.

Winter clothing, all of it, and she bundled it all up and bound it into
a pack with a spare blanket.  She unlocked the chest and looted it just
as thoroughly, though there was considerably less in it.  Knives, her
jewel-carving supplies, a couple of pieces she'd finished, various odds
and ends.  Some were too bulky to take with her; some impractical.  It
was only after she'd made it all up into packs that she saw the letter
lying on the shelf above her bed, with the odd bits and carvings she'd
picked up over the years, the sentimental things she could not take
with her.

Who would send me a letter?  My brother?  But the seal was unfamiliar,
and the handwriting on the outside none she'd seen before.  She picked
the folded parchment up, her hands trembling for no reason that she
could think of, and opened it, breaking the strange blue-and-silver
seal.

It contained two pieces of paper.  The first was a simple note of two
lines and a name.

"I kept the letter of our agreement, but you can't-fault me for
arranging the terms to suit myself, " it read.

"If You want to redeem this, you'll have to come here, and You'll have
to see me.  " And it was signed, simply, "Eldan."

The other paper was a draft, in Valdemaran scrip, for the amount of the
Herald's ransom.  She would have to go to Valdemar in person to cash it
in.

More specifically.  she would have to go to the capital of Haven, as
the draft had been written on a Crown account there.  And it had to be
countersigned by the issuer, which in this case was Eldan himself.

To claim her reward, she would have to confront him on his own ground,
and deal with him and all her tangled feelings about him.

It was a bitter sort of salvation he offered.  If she went to him to
Valdemar, her troubles would be over, temporarily~ at least.  She would
have ready cash to tide her over until she managed to land a free-lance
position.  She might even be able to get a position within Valdemar.

Surely they needed bodyguards, personal guards, and caravan guards even
there.

But if she went, Eldan would undoubtedly try to persuade her to stay
with him, perhaps even teaching at that Collegium of his as he had
suggested.  And right now she had no better prospects than to give in
to that persuasion.

But if she did give in, she'd be right back in the situation she had
fled from in the first place, first from Lordan's keeping, then from
his.  The idea of being completely dependent on someone else made her
feel as if she was being stifled.  If she did that, she wouldn't have
proved anything, not even to herself.

But she'd be with the one man she'd ever been able to love, to give
herself completely to heart and mind and soul-because he had given
himself to her in the same way.

She stood there, staring at the blank wall above the shelf, unaware
that she had crushed both papers in her hand until a clamor from beyond
the gates of the stockade woke her out of her trance.

There was no mistaking that kind of noise; friendly shouts, whinnies,
someone pounding on the gate.  All the sounds indicating a crowd of
riders wanted entrance.

She stuffed the papers into her belt-pouch hastily.  She could decide
what to do about them later.  Right now she needed to get out of there
and quickly.  Ardana's messengers must have been right behind me, she
thought, shutting out panic.  I have to get to the Guild before they
throw me in detention!

She had no doubt that Ardana would court-martial her if the Captain
ever got her hands on her.  If Ardana had her way, Kero would never
even see a Guild Arbitrator.

She grabbed up her packs and bolted down the stairs just as she heard,
from the open window behind her, the sound of the great gates being
forced open, groaning against the load of snow pressed up against
them.

She thought about her possible exits as she ran down the stairs and out
the side door of the barracks.  There was a back postern-gate that
self-locked right behind the barracks.  Kero waited for a moment until
she was certain that no one was in a position to see her, then dashed
across the open space between the buildings into the stables.

She fumbled open the stall door and grabbed Hellsbane' s reins to lead
her out.  Now she heard people and horses milling around just inside
the gates; at least twenty if not more.  It would take them a few more
moments to get organized, then they would have to explain their mission
to the guard and the guard would have to remember what direction she'd
taken.

That would all take time, precious time, time she could use to make her
escape.

She threw the packs over Hellsbane's rump without fastening them, and
led Hellsbane in back of the stables, past the odorous manure pile, to
the back of the stockade itself.  There was the postern gate; narrow,
scarcely tall enough for a led horse, not tall enough for a rider, and
a real test of a rider's ability to get his horse to pass through
something the Animal judged to be too small.

But the mare would follow wherever Kero led; such was her training and
breeding, and the trust they had built together.  Kero had to pull the
packs off and pitch them into drifts beside the gate to get her
through, but the mare gave no trouble with squeezing through the gate,
even though the saddle scraped on the stockade walls on either side of
her.

The counter-weighted gate swung shut behind her horse's tail, and the
lock clicked.  Hellsbane flicked her ears at the sound and whickered
nervously.

Kero pulled the packs out of the snow and swung them back up behind the
saddle, fastening them as best she could to the lean packs that were
already there.

She mounted as soon as the packs were in place; every heartbeat counted
at this point.  I had no idea they were so close behind me, she thought
worriedly.  I know we didn't make the best time, because we had to keep
backtracking to avoid the towns-and I know Hellsbane wasn't in the best
shape, either, but I thought we were farther ahead of them than that.

There was another possibility as well.  If Ardana had wanted her badly
enough to mount up the freshest horses and the best riders in the
Company to go after her, with enough money to permit them to change
horses at every posting-house, they could have caught up with her quite
easily, And that made getting to a town with a strong representation of
the Mercenary's Guild all the more important.

Even if it meant riding all night.

It had meant more than riding all night, it had meant riding past dawn.
Kero had never known a person could be so tired, so deep-down
exhausted, and still be standing.

She stifled a yawn as she recited her story for the third time before
the representatives of the Guild.

Each time, she had faced a different set of people.  The first time was
right after she'd come through the city gates.  She wanted bed and
food, but with Ardana's flunes out there looking for her, she knew she
didn't dare stop for either.

She'd breathed a whole lot easier after she passed the door of the
Guild, a sturdy stone edifice that didn't look a great deal different
from the Guildhall of any other Guild.  Once inside, she asked for
directions to the Arbitrators.

She had been sent up a flight of worn wooden stairs to a tiny office,
where she'd told a shortened version to a stone-faced secretary of some
kind.

He gave her a chair when she'd finished, and went Off somewhere.  When
he came back, his stone like demeanor had thawed a little, and he took
her to another office.

That was where she had told the story a second time, to a much
friendlier and sympathetic official-one who seemed to strive to make
her feel comfortable, and to convince her that she could trust him. She
did-but mostly because she was convinced she was in the right, and she
was only trying to protect herself and her standing within the Guild. 
She could see how someone with a falsified tale could easily get
himself in deep trouble with this man; he had asked many careful
questions, all designed to make her incriminate herself or uncover
flaws in her story that would reveal it to be a fabrication.

That had taken the better part of the morning, and she was dizzy with
fatigue when he was finished with her.

She didn't try to touch his thoughts, but she had a very real sense
that everything he said was part of a carefully prepared script, and
that he wasn't about to deviate from it except in the most extreme
circumstances.

She couldn't help but wonder how many cases the Arbitrators saw that
never got beyond this man.  Probably quite a few, judging by his
reactions to her.  Although he didn't actually say anything that
(probably) fell outside his prepared speeches, she got the distinct
impression that he was warming to her-outside of the
"hail-fellowwellmet" facade he presented.

Once again she was sent of to wait, this time in a little room with
three other people, all as silent as she, and two of them looking
considerably more harried.  The third was black and blue, with splints
on one arm.  She got the feeling that this man was desperate, under the
fog of his pain-killers.  If the Arbitrators denied him his perceived
justice, he might well do something, something excessive.

He was the first called, and she didn't see him again.

Evidently, petitioners did not leave by the same door they came in,
because the other petitioner was called a few moments later, and when
Kero was summoned into the room, there was no sign of either of them.

She found herself in a large, well-lit, barren room, empty of
everything except a long table with three chairs behind it.  In those
chairs sat the Arbitrators, two men and a woman, all three of them the
very image of the perfect soldier.  All three sat as erect as if this
was a parade ground, all three wore identical long-sleeved tunics of
brown leather, and all three wore their graying hair close-cropped.

This third and final time she recited her entire story to the panel of
three Guild Arbitrators, who all remained as impassive and unemotional
as statues.  She thought that was probably a good sign.  This town of
Selina was completely outside Ardana's immediate reach, and had a
strong town council of its own.  And the administrative branch of the
Guild here was well known for fair play.

Their completely impartial attitudes let her know they would be
weighing not only everything she said, but how she said it.

By now she was exhausted, and she greatly envied Hellsbane, safely and
warmly installed in the Guild stables, fed and groomed and probably now
asleep.

She tried to tell things simply and clearly, with as little emotional
weight as possible; tried to act as impassive and neutral as her judges
seemed to be.  But she heard herself slurring words as if she was
drunk; and so she was, but with weariness, not wine.

It wasn't hard to sound impassive after all.  As she did her best to
make sure she kept all her facts straight, she discovered that right at
this moment she didn't care much about anything; all she was really
aware of was her acute need to sleep and the hollow emptiness of her
stomach.

Too late, she thought perhaps that her approach was all wrong; maybe
she should have been passionate and full of righteous anger--maybe she
wasn't convincing them.

Maybe they read her stoicism as the facade of someone who was making
everything up.

But it was too late to change now, and besides, she was too tired.  It
was all she could do to keep her narrative clear, and answer their
questions with some semblance of intelligence.

Finally she came to the end of her story, and the Arbitrators came to
the end of their questions.

They sent her out through a second door on the opposite side of the
room, where she found a small chamber identical to the one she'd waited
in before her "audience."

It was a tiny, windowless box of a room, stuffy, and airless.  There
were three chairs, all empty, all equally uncomfortable, which was just
as well.  She wouldn't have been able to resist the implied comfort of
a padded chair, and once settled into something like that, she'd have
fallen asleep for certain.

She took her seat to await their decision in the middle of the three
chairs a high-backed, unyielding piece, so tired that only the deep
ache of hunger kept her awake.

That, and the fact that her imagination began to run wild.  Being alone
like this, with nothing to think about her performance and possible
fate, only made her ewxocrerpyt more..

What if they don't believe a word I said?  What if they think I'm
lying?  There had been no way to tell what they were thinking while she
was talking; if they hadn't been breathing occasionally, she would have
taken them for corpses.  But what possible motive could I have for
lying?

Ambition?  I was promoted under Ardana.  Revenge?  She never did
anything to me directly.  But that might not make any difference.
People had mutinied against their leaders with no apparent reason
before this.  She worried the fear until the edges were frayed, but she
couldn't dismiss it.  It seemed to be taking forever for the
Arbitrators to make their decision.

She got up and paced the floor, hands clasped tightly behind her back,
trying to walk softly, but unable to keep her boots quiet against the
hard wooden floor.  What if Ardana's flunkies went here first, instead
of the winter quarters?  What if they told Ardana's version, and the
Arbitrators believe her?

It was possible.  If they had changed horses, and gone by the trade
roads, they could have beaten her here easily.

But she can't argue away the casualty rate.  She can't argue away her
lack of strategy.

There were plenty of excuses Ardana could make for those things,
though, and Kero's imagination was quick to supply them.  Illness,
inexperience, treachery on the part of their allies, unfamiliar
territory, a chain of command fundamentally new to their positions....
She had managed to work herself up to such a pitch that when the door
opened behind her, she jumped and uttered a muffled (and undignified)
squeak of alarm.  She was so rattled that she turned and just stood
there staring at the newcomer, heart pounding, unable to speak for a
moment.

Standing framed in the doorway was her second questioner , the friendly
middle-aged man who had cross-examined her so skillfully.  He stared at
her for a moment, obviously taken aback by her nervous response to the
simple act of a door opening behind her.

"I-I'm sorry' " she stammered.

"I'm kind of-jumpy.

I'm letting my nerves get the better of me.  " He recovered his aplomb,
and smiled, and this time she had the feeling it was a genuine smile
and not the facade he'd worn for her the first time they'd met.

"I'm the one who should apologize," he said.

"I knew very well what you'd been through, and I didn't make allowances
for it.  I'm lucky all you did was jump-with that poor fellow Whose
case was heard first, I might have found myself on the floor with a
knife at my throat."

She smiled wanly, and he waved her through the door.

The Arbitrators have decided in your favor, Kerowyn, " he continued,
tugging his leather tunic straight with a gesture that seemed to be
habit.

"But they want you to hear it from them.  Even though this is a
decision for you, it may not be everything you were hoping for.  " All
of the tension drained out of her, leaving her limp and ready to accept
just about anything.  She obeyed his direction, and found herself back
in front of the table, facing the three granite-faced Arbitrators.

Now that she knew they'd decided for her, she looked at them a little
more closely.  All three of them were older than she'd first thought;
old enough to be grandparents, though she had no doubt that any of the
three could challenge her at their chosen forms of combat and quite
probably beat her.  They all had that indefinable air of the
professional mercenary; cool, calm, unruffled, and quite able to take
on whatever needs doing.

TWo men, and one woman; all three had probably worked themselves up
from the ranks.  She smiled a little to herself.  If they had come up
from the ranks, they weren't going to appreciate what the Skybolts'
Captain had done to her people.  Ardana was going to get short shrift
from them, if she hadn't already.

The woman spoke; she had the seat on Kero's left, and looked a little
older than the other two.

"We've decided in your favor, Kerowyn, " she said, her voice
surprisingly soft and melodic.

"We agree that you had every right and every reason to sever your
contract, and that you did so legally."

That was all she had ever wanted to hear.

"Thank you-" she started to say, but the woman interrupted her with an
upraised hand.

"Your Captain was and is a fool," she said, "but there's nothing in the
Guild Code preventing fools from being in command, or from getting
their people hurt or killed.  we aren't in the business of telling
Captains how to command we only deal with violations of the the Code.

The guild allows only one kind of retribution for Captains of her
sort-the kind You took.  Severing contracts neatly and legally until
she is in command of nothing.

Do you understand me?"

KerO put a lock on her reaction of disappointment and nodded.

"What You're saying is pretty much what I'd expected," she replied,
trying not to think of those friends still trapped under Ardana's
commandthuenytisletvheer end of the Company contract.  Only then could
thTheOrfecwoouurslde,btehenyo rweoculrdd
hofaviesonbeoraddivatnitoangienotvheerirKero.

files.

The woman smiled ever so slightly; the barest hint of a curve to her
weathered lips.

"Unfortunately, no matter what we put in your record, it is unlikely
that an bonded Company will ever accept you again.  I hope you realized
that, if not when you severed, at least when You'd had a chance to
think all this out.  Mercenaries who sever contracts in the field, even
under extreme provocation such as you experienced, tend to be viewed
with a jaundiced eye by other commanders.  After all, by their way of
thinking if you do it once, what's to stop You from doing it again?"

To them, it's just another form of desertion under fire.  "

ha Well that was what I thought, although I'd rather she hadn't said
it.  Kero sighed.

"I understand that, sir," she said, rocking a little back and forth to
ease her aching feet.

"But I wonder if you really know what that means in terms of the
immediate present," the woman persisted.

"This is the lean season.  The only places hiring right now are
Companies.  I understand that you have very lit tlc in the way of
savings .  You are going to find it all but ImPossible to find work
here in Selina, and you won't have the wherewithal to go elsewhere.Kero
blinked.

"But-what about going bonded free wondering what on earth she -lance?"
she asked,t bonded free-lancers were always in d'c'snsailnlgd-
"A'Illtahough ny one is going to check is whether or not am bonded-',
"If YOU can find work," the woman told her.  4.You have no experience
outside of a Company.  This is winter.

No caravans, no warfare, no hunting where someone might need a tracker
who is also a fighter, no work as a city guard and damned near no
bodyguard work.  Nothing's moving.  No one is going anywhere.  I can
promise you that there is no work in Selina for someone of your
talents.  "

Kero swallowed.  I never had any idea it was going to be this bad.  But
groveling isn't going to help.  I have to put a good face on this.
Falling apart is not going to earn me anything, certainly not their
respect.  I think I have that now.  I don't want to lose it.

She stiffened her back and raised her chin.

"I'll have to manage," she replied I have other skills.  I can handle
horses, or train them, no matter how difficult they are.  I can work a
tavern if I have to.  I even have some experience with medicine.
Tarma-in y teacher told me to learn other things, because I might have
to fall back on them.  " The other two nodded, although the woman
looked dubious.

"Even if you get free-lance work, you've never worked anywhere except
within a Company," she persisted.  " You have no idea what it's like to
work freelance.

It's hard enough for a man, but for a woman- 9 9 "I'll manage," Kero
replied.

"I'm tougher than I look.  Thank you for your judgment in my favor.  I
had heard that the Guild was fair, and I will be very happy to confirm
that."

The woman shook her head, but said nothing more.

Kero bowed slightly, and turned.  The, friendly man was still standing
beside the second door; he beckoned a little, and A I,;Alit of it "You
re entitled to three days here in he told her.

"Three days, bed and board, for you and your beast."

She sighed.  That was one worry out of the way.  Three days of grace,
three days where she wouldn't have to fret about where she was going to
lay her head.  I'll take you up on that," she told him.

"Because right now I couldn't find my way to an inn, even if I could
afford to pay for it."

"I thought as much," he replied, with real, unfeigned sympathy.

"I took the liberty of having your things taken to one of the rooms.
The food is nothing to boast about, and the room.  isn fancy, but it's
safe, and it has a bed."

"And right now, that's all I need," she said wearily.

"I'll work on solutions for my problems when.I've got a mind to work
with.  Maybe I'm being too optimistic, but I can't believe that someone
with my skills can't find work.  "

After a day and a night of solid slumber, and half a day of hunting,
she came to the conclusion that the woman Arbitrator was right.  There
was no work in Selina for a mere of any kind, much less a female.

That left other options.  First, before the day was over, she sold
everything she didn't actually need; that left her with one suit of
armor, her weapons, her clothing, and Hellsbane and her tack.

The Guild gave her a decent price for the armor and weaponry-decent by
the standards of a town in midwinter, at any rate.  Decent, considering
that her second-best suit of chain was now her best, and the suit she
was willing to sell had been immersed in a river, drenched with rain,
covered with mud, and generally abused.

What she wound up with would pay for room and board for her and
Hellsbane for a fortnight.

She counted the pitiful little pile of coins carefully, but they didn't
multiply, and the numbers didn't change.

She started to put them back in her belt-pouch, and her hand
encountered something that crackled.  She pulled it out, puzzled for a
moment, then felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized
Eldan's letter and voucher.

It would be the easy answer.  Her fortnight's worth of coin, if
augmented by living of the land, would take her to Valdemar.

I don't have to do anything, she thought reluctantly.

All I have to do is go.  I can just collect my money, and leave.  I
don't have to listen to anything he says.

She was lying to herself, and she knew it.  She shoved the parchment
back into the pouch and dropped the coins on top of them with a little
groan.  She lay back on the bed and rubbed her aching temples.  I'll go
up there, and he'll tell me how much he loves me, and he'll offer me
some sinecure-and I'll take it, I know I will.  Then I'll be trapped.
Because it'll be his job, and probably it'll be no more than a token, a
pretense-job, to make me feel less like he's giving me everything.  And
gods, I do love him, it U be so easy to accept that..  ..

But love wasn't enough, not for her.  She had to have.

freedom, too.  ~he had to know that she was earning her way, not just
playing someone else's shadow.

No.  She gritted her teeth stubbornly.  No.  Not unless there's no
choice.  I'll go to the Plains, first, and become a nomad like my crazy
cousins.  And I haven't exhausted all MY options.  I still have two
more days.

As it happened, it wasn't until sunset of her third grace day that she
found work.  It wasn't what she had expected;

she was looking for work as a groom.  She'd tried all the places meres
frequented, then the places that were the haunts of the city guard, and
finally started trying tradesmen's inns.  No one had a place for her,
not even after she demonstrated her ability with a couple of surly,
trouble making beasts.

One of the last places on her mental list was a peddler' s inn; a cheap
place mostly used by traveling peddlers and minor traders.  It wasn't a
place where she would have worked if she'd had a choice; but the fact
was, she didn't have a choice.  She walked into the stable yard and
right into a fight.

The conflict was complicated by the involuntary in~ involvement of a
donkey and a pony, both kicking and protesting at the tops of their
lungs.

Kero was tempted to wade straight in, but years of tavern brawling had
taught her not to get involved in an ongoing fight without
reinforcements.  There were an assortment of servants and stable hands
gawking at the fracas.

She grabbed them all and formed them into an assault force, which she
led into the fray.

When the pony and donkey were on opposite sides of the yard, several
heads had been knocked together, and calm had been restored, she turned
to what she thought was the head groom who now sported an impressive
black eye.

"I need work," she said shortly.

"I'm a bonded freelance mere, but I'm willing to do just about
anything.

horses.

The man squinted against the light of the setting sun, holding a
handful of snow against his eye.

"There's nothin' open in the stables," he said with what sounded like
mixed admiration and regret.  She turned to go, without waiting to hear
what else he would say, the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth
once again.

"Wait!"  she heard behind her.  She almost hurried her steps, not
wanting to listen to another offer of a meal, or worse, an offer that
she whore for the owner.  But this time something stopped her.  Perhaps
it had been the honest admiration in the man's voice; perhaps it was
her own desperation.  She stopped, and slowly turned.

"We don' need anyone in th' stables," the man said, limping toward
her.

"But we sure's fire need a hand like you i' th' taproom."

"I don't whore," she said shortly, knowing that this inn's servn -g
iris were expected to do just that.

"Whore~ the man seemed genuinely surprised.

"Hellfires, no!  Ye'd be wasted as a whore!  Need i' th' taproom's fera
peacekeeper.  " "A what?"  She raised both eyebrows, trying not to
laugh.

"Peacekeeper.  Break up fights, throw them as makes too much trouble
out on their ear."  The man seemed earnest enough, and Kero kept a
straight face.

"Ye unnerstand, men won' reckon on pickin' fights wi' a wench see?  Big
bulkin' brute, they kick up dust just t' challeng'~ 'im.  Wench, they
don' see as worth makin' trouble with.

Then, trouble does start, they won' be lookin' t' a wench t' stop it.
See?"

Oddly enough, Kero could did you figure this out?"  she asked.

The man sighed.

"Had a wench's peacekeeper fer years.  Lost 'er to th' Wolflings.
That's 'cause all we c'n give is room'n'board.  Been hopin' t' replace
'er but ain't seen nobody I'd trust, much less a bonded, thatd work fer
that.  " Kero was still skeptical, but her time was running out, and
she needed somewhere to go.  This was the only decent offer she'd
had.

"And how do I know your master will go along with this?"  she asked.

see the sense of it I lijn.

The man grinned.  "

"Cause th' master's me.  An' ye're hired, if ye'll take just
room'n'board.  Startin' t'night.

It was better than she'd feared, but no place to rest or recover.
Hellsbane had to winter in the corral since the stable was reserved for
paying customers.  She had to sleep on the floor with the rest of the
help-with the exception of the serving girls, who spent the nights with
customers.  The floor was packed dirt, and cold, and half healed wounds
ached at night.  She could understand his reasoning-he only had three
sleeping rooms upstairs.

But that didn't make her position any easier.

The food was fresh and filling, and she could eat all she could hold,
but it was poor stuff.  Thin soup and coarse bread for the most part.
She never felt quite right, and never regained her lost weight even
though she was stuffing herself at every meal.

The inn master a cheerful little squirrel of a man, was fair and decent
to her and backed her on every decision she made.  He was all right,
but the rest of the staff avoided her, especially after she brained a
peddler who caught her out in the stable and tried to rape her.

She lost track of the days; she was exhausted by the time the inn
closed, and never seemed to get enough rest.

Each day blurred into the next, and she was never able to get up enough
energy to go out and hunt down other jobs as she had intended to.  Her
little store of coins steadily dribbled away as she had to replace
clothing that wore out, and repair Arnor and tack.

Even the sword seemed to have given up on her; she never felt so much
as a prod from it anymore.

She leaned up against the bar, carefully positioning herself in the
shadows, and surveyed the crowd.  There was a larger group than usual
here tonight, which had Ruth bouncing with joy, but didn't exactly make
her feel like singing.  More people meant more chances of fighting, and
more people meant that some of them would likely buy places on the
floor.  Paying customers got the Replaces nearest the fire, leaving the
help to shiver in their blankets.  A cold night meant aches in the
morning.

Maybe I can talk Ruth out of some something hot.  to drink, she
thought, rubbing one thumb along Need's grip.

Or maybe wine.  Then I can at least fall asleep quickly.

Goddess, I'm tired.  I wish I could have a bed for just one night.
There was a little eddy of raucousness over by the door; she wasn't
sure who or what was causing it, and she decided to keep a sharp eye on
it.

The disturbance moved nearer; laughing and cursing in equal amounts
marked the trail of one customer as he made his way toward the bar.
Finally the cause of the commotion got close enough for Kero to see
him, and she grimaced as she realized why no one was willing to take
exception to his behavior.

It was a city guardsman, drunk as a lord, and throwing his weight and
rank around.  No one here wanted to touch him and risk arrest, and he
was taking full advantage of the fact.

Her heart sank when she saw him peering around as if he was looking for
something, then grin when he finally spotted her.

He shoved a couple of drovers aside, and shouldered a potter out of his
place next to her.

"Well-a-day," he said nastily.  "

"IF it isn' Ruth's li'l she-man.  Watcha still doin' here, sweetheart?
Ain' never found' a man t' take ye outa them britches an' put ye in a
skirt?"

She ignored him.

At first, he didn't seem to notice that she was staring off into the
crowd with a completely bored expression on her face.  She'd learned
long ago that the worst thing she could do would be to respond at all
to bullies like this one.  Her only possible defense was to do nothing.
Eventually they tended to get bored and go away.

This one was remarkably persistent, though.  And he got in one or two
shots that came too damn near the bone and made her blood boil.  But
Tarma hadn't taught her control in vain; she kept a tight rein on her
temper and continued to ignore him, even though a crowd was collecting
around them, waiting to see if he could goad her into a fight.

He was drunk, but only enough to make him belligerent, not enough to
slow him down or fox his reactions.

She'd be a fool to give him the fight he wanted.  Twice a fool, since
it was against the law to lay a hand on a city guardsman.

So she kept silent, and finally he did seem to get bored with his game.
He started to lean close, and she saw what was coming; the old ploy of
"accidentally" spilling liquor on someone-her, to be specific.  She
decided she'd had enough.

Just a heartbeat before the guardsman moved, she reached out and pulled
one of the watchers into her place, then slipped 'into the mob before
the guardsman could stop her.  Since6 she was shorter than most of the
patrons, it wasn't hard to keep herself hidden long enough to get into
the safe haven of the kitchen.

The kitchen staff stared at her as she passed through and out the rear
door, but they didn't say anything.  She waited just inside the kitchen
door for a moment, making sure the kitchen yard outside was clear.

There wasn't so much as a cat moving out there.  She closed the door
behind her and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.  They felt
gritty and sore from all the smoke, and she wondered just how long it
was going to be before Ruth closed up.

Dear gods, I'm tired.  Even though her stomach was full, she felt
empty, without any energy.  That guardsmanI hope he leaves.  I don't
want to have to take him on.  I don't think Ruth could protect me from
the town law if I had to hit him.  I'm not sure the Guild could, and
I'm not sure they d be willing to, either.

She walked slowly across the uneven kitchen yard, treacherous where
snow had melted and refrozen in ruts.

The moon was in its last quarter, and cast thin light that did little
to help her in seeing her way.  Might as well check on the stable.
Maybe by the time I get back, that drunk will have gotten tired of
looking for me.  Or maybe he'll get so drunk he'll pass out.  Either
will do.

There were only two horses in the stable tonight, and both were asleep.
One of the stable boys dozed beside the door, but leapt to his feet
when she passed him.  She patted his shoulder, suppressing a tired
smile.

"Good ad," she said calmly and with reassurance, as she would to a
dog.

"Just checking on things."  He stared at her with wide, half-frightened
eyes, and she felt the sting of rejection.  She turned away without
saying anything more.

She knew there were several other animals in the paddock with
Hellsbane, but she seldom bothered to check them; the mare herself was
more than enough guard.  She stopped by the fence, suddenly lonely for
any kind of a friendly face, even a horse's.  But Hellsbane was asleep,
and Kero decided on reflection not to wake her.  What would be the use,
after all?  The war steed was only a horse, not an intelligent creature
like a Companion.

Hellsbane couldn't talk to her, and probably wouldn't even know how
unhappy, her mistress was.

She turned her back on the paddock and began the long walk back to the
inn.

Just as she passed the stable, something jumped out of the shadows of
the stable door.  Her reactions, numbed by weariness and inadequate
food, were not what they had been.  Before she could turn to meet her
attacker, he was on top of her, and hit her in the back with a
scabbarded blade.

She saw stars of pain and went down, breath driven out of her.  The
unknown grabbed her arm before she had a chance to recover, and hauled
her to her feet.

She tried to make her arms and legs move, but they wouldn't obey her.
She was hauled around to face her attacker, and he seized a handful of
her tunic and pulled her nose-to-nose with him.  His ale-sour breath
made her cough; and even in the dim light she had no trouble
recognizing him or his uniform.  It was the guardsman; still drunk, and
obviously ale-crazed.

"Thought ye'd slip out on me, she-man?"  he snarled.

"Couldn' face a real man?

"M minded t' gi' ye a lesson i' th' way a wench should mind 'erself.  "
A hand as massive as the business end of a club holding a sword hilt
connected with the side of her face so hard her teeth rattled.  That
was a mistake, for the blow managed to knock her out of the stunned
daze she had been in.  She brought up her knee-not into his crotch,
which he was expecting, but in order to stamp down hard on his
instep.

She was wearing riding boots with a hard heel-they were the only
foot-covering she had; he was wearing soft town-shoes.  Something
cracked under her heel.  He screeched, and let go of her.

But only for a moment.  He'd taken in so much ale-or Possibly other
things-that the pain was only temporary.

While she was still trying to get her breath and to clear her eyes of
the tears of pain, he swung out and bashed her in the side of the head
with his still-sheathed blade.

She cried out, and grabbed automatically for the hilt of her own sword
as she went down to one knee-And Need took over.

Even while her mind was still reeling, her body jumped to its feet,
unsheathed blade in hands, driving straight for the guardsman.  He
parried clumsily with his weapon;

Need came it over the top of his blade and only by slipping and falling
on an ice patch did he escape a heart thrust

He scrambled back up to his feet (if anything, more enraged than
before), while Kero slipped on another bit of ice.  The blade's control
faltered for a moment;

still half-stunned, she tried to get control of her own body back, as
Need reasserted control and forced her to attack again and again while
the guardsman scrambled backward.  After the second attack, he seemed
to have gotten die idea that he was in imminent danger of being killed;
now he was only trying to get away from her.

Finally, the guardsman fetched up against the wall of the stable. There
were lights and shouts behind Kero now, but she paid no attention to
them; she was far too busy trying to get the upper hand before the
blade killed the man.

Need caught the man's blade in a bind and disarmed him.  Kero thought
for a moment that the sword would release her then, but it held her as
tightly as ever.  Evidently the man's crimes against women were such
that the blade had no intention of letting him get away.  The
guardsman's eyes were wide with fear, reflecting the torchlight behind
her, and he flung up both his hands in a futile attempt to ward her
off, as Need drove toward his throat.

And at the last moment.  Kero got just enough control back to reverse
the blade and punch the man in the chin with the pommel.

As he slumped to the ground, and the blade's control over her vanished,
hands seized her from behind.

Kero lay on her stomach on the hard wooden shelf that served as a bed
in her damp, unheated cell.  It hurt too much to lie on either her back
or her side.  She hadn't been treated badly; they'd brought her food
and water, earlier, but stabbing pains ran down both legs every time
she tried to move, so she ignored both.  Her back hurt so much she was
afraid that the guardsman might have broken something.

Not that it mattered.  Drawing steel on a city guardsman was an offense
punishable by a flogging and exile from the city, stripped of all
possessions.  Which, in her circumstances, was tantamount to a sentence
of death.

Right now she couldn't have moved to save herself even with Need in her
hand and in full control.

They'd taken the sword away from her, of course, which meant she was
without its Healing and pain blocking powers again.  She'd collapsed in
agony the moment it had left her hand, but it wasn't likely anyone had
made the connection.  Probably they'd assumed she'd been in the same
kind of berserk rage as the guardsman.  Certainly they wouldn't have
left it with her even if they had known she was injured.

She didn't expect anyone to speak for her.  Most city guardsman had one
or more influential friends.  Ruth wouldn't dare go against anyone who
could close down his inn.  The Guild had already told her not to expect
help if she caused trouble.

And even if he dares to speak-for me, he'll have to-fire me.  Which
will put me right back in the same situation, only inside the city
gates.  In fact, it probably would take less time for someone to find
me and kill me.  I don't think even Need can fix this back in a few
moments.

Worst of all, she was more alone than she'd ever been in her life.
There was no one in all this city who would be willing to stand by her
or take her in-or even offer a friendly word.  Her entire "family" was
somewhere in the south-assuming that even they still felt kindly toward
her, which might be assuming a lot after what she'd done.

At least if they convict me, anyone who tries to take Hellsbane is
going to see a lot of hoof, she thought, between the stabs of pain from
her back.  I hope it's that bastard who tried to beat me.  Serve him
right to get his brains bashed in by a mare.

She knew she should be trying to think of a way out of her trap, but
she couldn't muster the energy to think at all, much less to plan a
defense.  All she could do was try and lie as quietly as; possible, and
endure the pain of her back and bruised and swollen face.

Slow, hot tears trickled down and pooled.  under her cheek, as she
listened to heavy footsteps passing outside the door of her cell.  It
sounded like a regular patrol.  She had no idea how long she'd been in
here, and the windowless cell gave no clues either.  The fellow with
the food and water had come in once-which might mean a day, or only a
few hours.  The sound of those boots on the stone only made her more
acutely aware of her own isolation.

Faced away from the door as she was, her only warning that some of
those footsteps were for her was the rattle of the key in her lock. She
tensed herself against seizure, and gasped as her back sent rivers of
fire down her legs.  For a moment she couldn't think of anything but
the pain.

"Guildsman Kerowyn9" said a strange, masculine voice.

"Please don't move."

Please don't move?  She had expected to be hauled summarily to her
feet; the request came as such a surprise that she probably couldn't
have moved if she'd wanted to.

A gentle hand touched her back-awaking agony beside which the previous
several hours had simply held common aches.  She yelped once, and
passed out.

When she came to again, most of the pain was gone, subsided to a dull,
but bearable, level.  Whoever had touched her back was gone, but she
sensed that there was still someone in the cell with her, by the little
sounds she heard beside the door.  She levered herself up and turned
toward the sounds.  Another city guardsman stood there, a real giant of
a man, a good two heads taller than anyone Kero had ever seen before.
Kero gawked up at him, a tiny, idle part of her mind wondering how on
earth he ever found uniforms to fit him.

"Guildsman Kerowyn," the man said, in a surprisingly soft voice,
"Several witnesses have come forward to testify that Guardsman Dane
provoked you and you took no action in the inn.  The stable boy has
come forward to testify that the Guardsman struck the first blow.

Your Guild has said that you are a sober and reliable professional with
no history of trouble making  Based 00 all these testimonies, it has
been determined that you acted only in your own defense, although we
strongly recommend that in the future you choose a weapon other than an
unsheathed blade within the city walls.  " She blinked at him, feeling
more than usually stupid.

"Because he provoked the fight," the guardsman continued, " Guardsman
Dane has been fined and the proceeds used to pay for a Healer's
services, which you just received."  The giant paused and seemed to be
waiting for her to say something, and finally she managed to get her
mind and mouth working enough to string a couple of words together.

"So that means what?"  she asked.

"Your injuries have been treated.  You're being released," he explained
patiently, and stood aside.

The door behind him was wide open, and she rose shakily to her feet, to
stumble out of it.

The guardsman took her arm to help her-she had no doubt that if he
wanted to, he could have picked her up like a loaf of bread and carried
her off, but he limited his aid to only what was necessary.  They
stopped at the room at the end of the long, stone corridor, and he took
her weapons from the guard stationed inside and gave them to her with
his own hands.  As she buckled Need back on, she felt a hundred times
better.  The remaining pain vanished.  That Healer had been good-but
Need was better.

She was still numb with surprise, though, as the guardsman led her up
the stairs to the wooden building above the jail cells and opened the
door, for her to walk out.  Ruth spoke for me-and the stable boy-and
the Guild?  Is this more of Need's magic, or is it something I've done?
And if it's me, what on earth did I do to make them speak for me?

But that surprise was nothing to the one waiting for her outside the
prison gates.

There was a crowd waiting there; a crowd wearing the silver and gray
tabards she used to sport, with a device ()f crossed lighting-bolts on
the sleeve.  A crowd that cheered the moment she came stumbling out
into the sunlight, squinting against the sudden glare.

"What?"  she stuttered.

"Wh-what?"

Someone took her arm; she turned at a flash of familiar golden hair.
Shallan stood right at her elbow, grinning like a fool.

"You sure do get yourself in messes, don't you, Captain?"

she said.

Several hours later, she finally had a glimmer of the story, but only
after putting together all the bits and pieces of it that had been
flung at her during the long ride back to the Skybolts' winter
quarters.

And it took a good meal, a sleep from dawn to dawn, and another good
meal before she was ready to try 0 She called a half-dozen of her old
friends together n the outer room of the Captain's quarters.  That, she
s 11 had trouble with.  She didn't feel like a Captain.  And no matter
how often someone called her that, she kept looking over her shoulder
to see who they were talking to.

She ordered hot tea all around from the orderly, feeling very uneasy
about doing so, even though the one-armed twenty-year veteran who had
served Lerryn seemed equally content to serve her.

"Let me see if I've got this straight," she said, as the others nursed
their mugs in hands that looked fully as thin as hers.

"When I walked, you lot kept Ardana from sending her hounds after me.
Then you called a vote?"

It's an old law, part of the oldest part of the Code that goes right
back to the Oathbreaking ceremony," Tre said solemnly.

"Nobody uses it much, but nobody's ever revoked it.  What it 'mounts
to, is any Company that's lost more'n half its officers an' a third of
the rest can call the Captaincy to vote from the ranks.  Me an'
Shallan, we'd been talkin' 'bout that since you'd got hurt.  Lot of the
rest was thinkin' it was a good notion, but nobody wanted t' start it."
He took a sip of his tea, and smiled ruefully.

"Not even me."

"But when you walked like that, an' Ardana was gonna haul you back in
chains for takin' your rights, well, it made everybody mad."  Shallan
ran her hands through her short hair, and scratched at a new scar.

"So since we knew everybody'd been told about vote-right, we started
hollerin' for it.  Next thing you know, Ardana's out.  Out of Captain,
and out of the Company."

Tre took up the thread again.

"So we needed a Cap tain, and the only person ev'body could agree on
was you."

"Blessed Agnira."  She covered her face with both hands.

"This isn't something I'm ready for-" But who is?  asked a little voice
in the back of her mind.

The Guild representative that had come with them spoke for the first
time.

"Neither Tre nor Gynan are ~trained in tactics, logistics, and supply
the way you are, Kerowyn.  Their expertise stops at groups larger than
a squad.  And neither of them care for mages.  " Which is a definite
liability, she though, reluctantly.

One thing this Company needs badly is a couple of competent
hedge-wizards.

"How do you know I'll be any better?"  she asked, dropping her hands. "
"You can't be worse," Shallan replied emphatically.

"You've seen for yourself how vulnerable a Company is to bad
leadership," the Guildsman said solemnly.

"We think that judging by your past performance, you would step down
rather than cause the Company harm."

She stared at his impassive face; he was cut of the same cloth as the
Arbitrators, if a great deal younger.

You know I would, she thought at him, as if he could hear her.  These
are my friends, my family.  It would be hell on earth to spend the rest
of my life leading them into situations where some o f them are going
to get killed ... but it would be worse watching someone well meaning
but incompetent or untrained double those I deaths.  And worse to ride
off on my own, knowing it was going to happen.

I haven't a choice.  They're my people, and my responsibility.

And in that moment, she suddenly understood Eldan, and the way he felt
about his duty and his own people.

His "Company" was simply very much larger than hers.

She tightened her jaw, and raised her chin a little.

"All right," she told them all.

"You've convinced me."

Shallan let out a whoop, and the others started to congratulate her,
but she held up a hand to forestall them.

Let's first find out if we actually have a Company left."

She turned to the Company accountant and quartermaster.  " Scratcher,
how bad is it?"

The man she queried did not much resemble a scholar;

he was as lean and hard as any of the rest of the Skybolts, but there
was a shrewd mind behind those enigmatic eyes.  He chewed the end of
his pen, studied the open book before hig, and muttered to himself a
little.  Finally he looked up.

"With all the losses we took in people and supplies, Captain, we're
going to exhaust the bank just replacing them.  We aren't going to have
enough to take us out again in the spring.  We may not have enough to
last the winter.

The Guild representative stirred a little, and Kero took the chance to
read his thoughts.

We could-should-extend them a loan.  But I don't have the authority She
ground her teeth silently.  Take a loan that would be years in
repayment?  And what if we have a bad year, or a bad run of years.
What, then?  She shifted her weight, and a crackle of parchment in her
belt pouch made her frown.

What in-Then she remembered.  Eldan's ransom.  Which she couldn't get.
But the Guild?

She smiled slowly, and pulled it out, leaving the letter within.

"Here," she said, handing it to the Guildsman.

"This is from the Herald I pulled out of the fire.  I think you can see
he's played fast and loose with the conditions.

Think the Guild can do something about that?"

The flat-faced mercenary took the parchment from her, opened it, and
his lips pursed in a soundless whistle.

"All that for a mere Herald?  Are you certain he wasn't a prince?"

She shrugged.

"All I care about is that right now that little piece of paper can make
us if we can redeem it."

The Guildsman scrutinized the writing carefully, then suddenly,
unexpectedly, smiled.

"It specifies that the holder of the note is the one who has to redeem
it in person," he pointed out.

"If you signed it over to us, in return for an immediate sum
minus-oh-ten percent, our representative would be the holder."

He'll never forgive me.

"Done," she said, reaching for Scratcher's pen.

"Send it half in supplies and weapons.

The Guild I trust."

The rest was over quickly, leaving Kero alone in the wardroom, her hand
clenched around the letter still in her otherwise empty pouch.  Slowly,
she drew it out.

She stared at it for a long moment, her mind tired and blank.  Then,
she folded it and tore it into precise halves, then quarters, then
repeated herself until there was no piece larger than the nail of her
little finger.

She stared at the pile of pieces, stirring them a little with her
forefinger.  A noise from outside made her look up and through the
window that gave out on the practice grounds.

Shallan was running a new recruit against the archery-target, at the
trot.  He jounced painfully and his arrows went everywhere except in
the straw dummy.  Her own buttocks ached in sympathy.

She looked down at the collection of tiny white scraps, then abruptly
swept them into her hand and cast them into the fire.

She stood up, and strode to the door.  Her orderly was waiting for her
with her cape in his hands, as if her thoughts had summoned him.  She
paused just long enough for him to flick it over her back and settle it
across her shoulders, before striding out onto the practice grounds.

Her practice grounds.  Her recruits.

Her mouth opened, and the words came without her even having to think
about them, as Shallan saw her and snapped to attention, the recruits
following her raggedly.

"So, these are the new ones.  " She nodded, as she remembered Lerryn
doing.

"Very promising, Sergeant.

Carry on."

BOOK THREE

The Price of Command

Seventeen

Kero rubbed her eyes; they burned, though whether from the smoke from
her dimming lantern, or from the late hour, she didn't know and didn't
really care.

"Maps," she muttered under her breath, the irritation in her voice
plain even to her ears.

"Bloody maps.  I hate maps.  If I see one more tactical map or gash
kana supply list, I'll throw myself off a gods-be-damned cliff. 
Happily."

The command tent was as hot as all of the nine hells combined, but the
dead-still air outside was no better, and full of biting insects to
boot.  At least whatever Healer-apprentice Hovan had put in the lamp
oil that made it smoke so badly was keeping the bugs out of the tent.
Shadows danced a slow pavane against the parchment-colored walls as the
lamp flame wavered.

She stared at the minute details and tiny, claw-track notations of her
terrain-map until her eyes watered, and she still couldn't see any
better plan than the one she'd already made.  She snarled at the blue
line of the stream, which obstinately refused to shift its position to
oblige her strategy, and slowly straightened in her chair.

Her neck and shoulders were tight and stiff.  She ran a hand through
hair that was damp at the roots from sweat, and she wished she'd
brought Raslir, her orderly, along.

One-armed he might be, but he had a way with muscles and a little bit
of leather-oil..  ..

But he was also old enough to be her grandfather, and the battlefield
was no place for him.  He might find himself tempted beyond endurance
to engage in one little fray-and that would be the end of him.

The wine flask set just within her reach looked very inviting, with
water forming little crystal beads along its sides, and the cot beyond
the folding table beckoned as well.  She hadn't yet availed herself of
either.  She stretched, as Warrl had taught her; slow, and easy, a
fiber at a time.  A vertebra in her neck popped, and her right
shoulder-joint, and some of the strain in her neck eased.

Either I'm getting old, or the damp is getting, to me.

Maybe both.

The lamp set up a puff of smoke, and she waved it away, coughing, as
she reached for the wine flask.  And despite her earlier vow to throw
herself off a cliff if she had to look at another list, she glanced at
the tally sheet.

And smiled.  She could smile, still, before the battle, before she
actually had to send anyone out on the lines, to kill and be killed. If
only I never had to send them out to fight in anything but the kind of
bloodless contests we had last year.  Then I could be -entirely
content.

But a year like the last, where all they had to do was show themselves,
was the exception rather than the usual, and she well knew it.

Still the tally sheet was impressive.  Not bad, if I do say so myself.
It had been ten years since she'd been made Captain, and there had been
no serious complaints from any Skybolt or from their clients or the
Guild in all that time.  And from the beaten force that had come up
from Seejay, tails between their legs, she had built the foundations
for a specialist-Company that now tallied twice the number Lerryn had
commanded.

And in many ways, it was four Companies, not one, each with its own
pair of Lieutenants.  For some reason that she could not fathom, shared
command had always worked well for the Skybolts, though no one else
could ever succeed with it.  The largest group was the light cavalry;

next came the horse-archers.  Those two groups made up two-thirds of
their forces.  The remaining third was divided equally between the
scouts and the true specialists.

Those specialists included messengers, on the fastest beasts Kero's
Shin'a'in cousins would sell her; experts in sabotage; and the non
fighters-two full Healers, and t their four assistants, and three mages
and their six apprentices.

The chief of those mages, and the jewel Kero frequently gloated over,
was White Winds Master-class mage Quenten, a mercurial, lean and
incurably cheerful carrot-top sent as a Journeyman straight to the
Skybolts by Kero's uncle.

He will tell you that he wants (gods help him), adventure, the young
mage's letter of introduction had read.

And for a moment, Kero had hesitated, knowing that a lust for
"adventure" had been the death of plenty of mercenary recruits, and the
disenchantment of plenty more.  But then she had read on.  Don't
mistake me, niece.

He is as patient as even I could want, with a mind capable of dealing
with the tedious as well as the exciting.

What he calls "adventure, " I would call challenge.  There isn't enough
outside of the magics of warfare to sharpen his skills as quickly as
they can be sharpened.  So although we are a school of peace, I send
Quenten to you, knowing you will both be the wealthier for the
association.

So it had proved; she'd never known her uncle to be mistaken, so she
took the young man on, and rapidly discovered what a prize she had been
gifted with.  He had, over the course of the years, managed to convince
Need to extend her power of protection-against-magics to cover all of
the Company.  When she asked him how he had done it, he grinned
triumphantly.

"I did something to make it look as if you were the Company and the
Company was you," he said, a light in his eyes that Kero had responded
to with a smile of her own.

And if Need was aware that her magic had been tampered with, she hadn't
bothered to do anything about it.

Now the Skybolts were in the unique position of having mages whose
concentrated efforts could be directed to things other than defensive
magics.  No one else could enjoy that kind of advantage.  It made their
three mages capable of doing the work of six.  Only the armies of
nations could afford that many mages deployed with a group the size of
a Company.  Most Companies couldn't even afford to field more than one
mage, and the Skybolts used that advantage mercilessly.

After all these years, Kero still wasn't certain of how aware the sword
was of the things that went on around her.  In her first years as
Captain, it had still occasionally tried to wrest control away from
her, yet she had the impression that the blade wasn't really "awake"
when it made these periodic trials.  She sometimes thought that it
reacted to her self-assertion the way a sleeping person Would to an
irritating insect.

When was the last time it tested me?  She pondered, taking a long slow
sip from the wine flask.  The water slicking the sides of the pewter
flask cooled, the palm of her hand, and the chill liquid slid down her
throat and eased the tickle in the back of it.  She closed her eyes and
savored it.  About five years ago.  And I know I got the feeling that
it) wasn going to try again.  Gods, I hope not.  Not now, anyway.
Damned thing is likely to decide for the enemy!

That was because the current campaign was against her old enemies, the
Karsites.  And that recollection made her smile with bitter pleasure.
She had quite a debt to collect from the Karsites, and this was the
first time in ten years that she'd had a chance to do so.  The Skybolts
were fighting beside the Rethwellan regular army on behalf of the male
monarch of Rethwellan, against the self-styled female Prophet of
Vkandis, and that could bring trouble from Need, if the sword noticed.
Kero recalled only too well the time the blade had refused to fight
against one of the Karsite priestesses.  She didn't relish the idea of
it turning on her again.

"If there's one thing I can't stand besides maps," she muttered to
herself, "It's a holy war.  These religious fanatics are so
damned-unprofessional.  " Messy, that was what it was.  Seems like the
moment religion enters into a question, people's brains turn to mush.
Messy wars and messy thinking.  Messy thinking causing messy wars.

The Karsites had been causing trouble since long before the disaster in
Menmellith, and had continued to do so afterward.  But this was the
first time that the followers of the Sunlord had ever actually moved
openly against Rethwellan.  The so-called Prophet, claiming to be the
original Prophet, reborn into a female body to prove the Oneness of the
deity, had managed to raise a good-sized army on the strength of her
charisma and the "miracles" she performed.  She had moved that army
into the province south of Menmellith during the winter, while travel
was hard and news moved slowly.  By spring she had taken it over and
sealed it off.

The King of Rethwellan made no secret of the fact that he suspected
collusion on the part of the provincial governor.

Kero was fairly sure, from her sources of information within the Guild,
that he was right.  The governor was an old man, a man who had suffered
through a series of serious illnesses.  Kero had seen his kind before,
and sniffed cynically as she thought about him.  Odds are he's figured
out that he's as mortal as the rest of us for the first time in his
life, and he's been looking frantically for someone, anyone, who 71
promise him a quick and easy route into some kind of paradise when he
kicks over the traces.

She sipped again at her wine; carefully, it wouldn't do to have a head
in the morning.  But wine was the only thing that kept the dreams
away.

She resolutely turned her mind away from those dreams.  Not because
they were unpleasant; quite the contrary, they were too pleasant.
Seductively so.  The trouble was, they featured Eldan, and he was a
subject she was determined to forget.

He can't have forgiven me for sending the Guild up to collect that
ransom instead of going myself.  Either that, or else by now he's
completely forgotten me, assuming he's even still alive.

She'd dreamed of him often .. . far too often for her own comfort.  The
dreams had come frequently, in those first years, when she was unsure
in her command, and unhappy-and lonely.  Sometimes in those
night-visions they hadn't done more than talk, and she'd come away with
answers she desperately needed.

But sometimes, especially lately, they'd done a great deal more than
talk.  Since she was half-convinced that her dreams were simply
fantasies conjured up by her sleeping mind, those dreams were a cruel
reflection on her current state of isolation, and while those
incorporeal rolls in the hay might be what she wanted, they didn't make
waking up any easier of a morning.

She told herself, over and over, that her self-imposed loneliness
didn't matter.  Look at what she had built in the past few years!  Most
male mercenaries never made Captain, most male Captains had not
achieved their rank until well into their late forties.  That it had
cost her little more than hard work, sleepless nights, and a lack of
amorous company was hardly something to complain about.

And she knew very well the reasons why she needed to keep herself free
from amorous entanglements.  Tarma had explained that aspect of command
to her in intimate detail, with plenty of examples of what not to do.

A Captain of a Company did not take lovers from the ranks; that was the
quickest way in the world for suspicions of favoritism to start-and
that let in factionalism and divisiveness.  A Captain always remained
the Captain, even among old friends.

The hired charms of the camp-followers were not at all to Kero's
taste-and her peers either regarded her (rightly) as possible
competition, or at best, a rival and equal power.  But there was more
to it than that, though most of Kero's peers would have laughed (if
uneasily) if she'd told them her chief reason.  It was asking for
trouble to take someone into your bed with whom you might well find
yourself crossing swords one day.  You never know who's going to be
hired to come up against you.  Having someone on the other side who had
that kind of knowledge of me-in no way am I going to take that kind of
risk.

She put the flask down, and traced little patterns on the table with
her wet forefinger.  That's the one thing Tarma never warned me about,
she reflected, waving away another puff of sharp-scented smoke.  She
never told me that rank and holding yourself apart makes for lonely
nights.  She always had Grandmother for friendship-and she never wanted
a lover thanks to that vow of hers.  Gods know being Swordsworn would
be easier than overhearing some of what goes on in the tents after
dark.  She could ignore it; I try, but can't always.

Being Captain didn't necessarily mean an empty bed, even if you didn't
much care for whores.  More than a few of her fellow Captains went
through wenches the way a ram goes through a flock of ewes.  They
tended to pick up country girls bedazzled by the glamour and danger,
and abandon them when their lovers got a little too possessive.

Kero had never been able to bring herself to just lure off some
wide-eyed farmboy as if she was some kind of mate-devouring spider. And
besides.  more than half the men she met these days seemed overwhelmed
by her.

I've been awfully circumspect, she thought, with perverse pride,
looking back over the years.  There were three-no, four minstrels. That
worked.  All four of them were too cocky to be intimidated by me. The
only problem was, while the Skybolts make good song-fodder, they don't
offer much more to a rhymester.  So I lost all four 0,of them to soft
jobs in noble houses.  There were a couple of merchants, but that
didn't last past a couple of nights.

And there was that Healer.  But every time I went out he was in knots
by the time I came back, figuring it would be me that got carried in
for him to fix-that alliance was doomed from the start.  It's been cold
beds for the past two years now.  Unlike Daren.

She had to smile at that, because this campaign against the Karsites
had brought her back into personal contact with "the boy," as she had
continued to think of him.

Meeting him again had forced her to change that memory, drastically.
He'd matured; not his face, which was still boyishly handsome, if a bit
more weathered, but in the expression around the eyes and mouth.  Not
such a boy anymore They hadn't renewed their affair; it would have been
a stupid thing to do in the middle of a war for one thing, and for
another, while they found themselves better friends than ever, they
discovered at that first meeting that they were no longer attracted to
each other.

Daren had achieved his dream of becoming the Lord Martial of his
brother's standing army.  One thing about him had not changed; he still
worshiped his older brother.

Kero toyed with the flask, holding its cool surface to her forehead for
a moment, and wondered if the King knew what a completely and
selflessly loyal treasure he had in his sibling.  She hoped so; over
the past several years she'd learned that loyalty in the high ranks was
hardly something to be taken for granted.  Daren was as randy as Kero
was discreet.  He hopped in and out of beds as casually as any of the
Captains she knew, and there'd even been rumors of betrothal once or
twice, but nothing ever came of it.

We're too much alike.  She smiled, thinking about how even their battle
plans still meshed after all these years.

Far too much alike to ever be lovers again.  Just as well, I suppose.
He just makes me feel too sisterly to want him.

,"Captain?"  Her aide-de-~camp stuck his head just inside the flap of
the tent.

"Shallan and Geyr to see you."

Gods.  I forgot I sent for them.  Must be the heat.  She stifled a
yawn.

"Good; send them in."  She made certain two special bits of cloth were
at hand, and fished one particular map out of the pile and smoothed it
out on the table.

"Captain?"  Shallan said doubtfully.

"Come on in," she replied easily.

"No formality."

Her old friend-whom Kero wanted to make Lieutenant of the specialist
corps-slipped inside, followed by the man Kero intended to make
Shallan's co-commander.

A year ago Shallan had lost Relli to a chance, arrow, and for a while
Kero was afraid they were going to lose the surviving partner to
melancholy or madness.  But given the responsibility of command of a
squad, Shallan had made a remarkable recovery.  She and Geyr had never
actually worked together; Kero had a shrewd notion they'd do fine, not
the least because they were both shechorne.

They looked like total opposites; Shallan still a golden blonde as
ageless as the mysterious Hawkbrothers, and Geyr, a native of some land
so far to the south Kero had never even heard of it before he told her
his story, a true black man from his hair to his feet.

The two of them stood a little awkwardly in front of her table.  She
stayed seated; even though she had said "no formality," she intended to
keep that much distance between them.  They were friends, yes-but they
had to be Captain and underling first, even now.

"How's Bel?"  Shallan asked immediately.  The scout-lieutenant had been
taken victim, not by wounds, but by the killer that fighters feared
more than battle-fever.

That same fever had already struck down one of the co-commanders of the
horse-archers.

"I had to send him back, like Dende," Kero replied regretfully.

"The Healers think he'll be all right, but only if we get him up into
the mountains where it's cool and dry.  That's why I wanted you here. I
want to buck Losh over to command the horse-archers, and put you two in
charge of the specialists."

Shallan's mouth fell open; Geyr looked as if he thought he hadn't
rightly understood what she'd said.  He scratched his curly head, as
Shallan took a deep breath * She waited for them to recover; Shallan
managed first.

"But-but-" "You've earned it, both of you," she said.

"I've been shorthanded with the horse-archers, and that's really where
Losh belongs.  The troops know you, and you've both been handling
squads up until now with no, complaints.

I think you'll do fine."

"What about the dogs?"  Geyr asked slowly, the whites of his eyes
shining starkly against his dark skin.

"Do I keep on running the dogs?"

"Damn bet you do," Kero told him.

"The only difference this command will make in that, is that now you
and I will be the only ones deciding when to run them, and when it's
too dangerous.  I know you and Losh didn't always agree on that."

Geyr grinned, showing the gold patterns inlaid in his front teeth.

"Khala il rede he, Ishuna, " he replied, in the tongue that he alone
knew.

"Blessings follow and luck precede you, liege-lady.  I and mine thank
you.  9' "You're welcome," she said, with a little weary amusement. She
had yet to get Geyr to understand the difference between Mercenary's
Oath and swearing fealty.

Maybe in his land there were no differences.  She turned to Shallan.

"What have you to say, Lieutenant?"

"I-" Shallan swallowed hard and tried again, her eyes dilated wide in
the lamplight.

"Thank you, Captain.  I accept.  " She glanced out of the corner of her
eye at Geyr, and Kero saw her face grow thoughtful, her expression
speculative.

"This isn't an accident, is it?"  she stated, rather than asked.

"You picked us both because we're she'chorne, and we'll be able to work
together without sex getting into it."

Kero chuckled.

"One reason out of many, yes," she admitted.

"And by seeing that, I think I can safely say you're starting to think
like an officer.  Good.  " She rolled up the map in front of her, and
passed it across the table to them.  Shallan took it.

"This is the initial battle line for tomorrow.  I want you two to study
it, and come back to me if you have any changes you'd like to make.
Otherwise, that is all I have to say to you for now."

She picked up the two Lieutenant's badges that had been hidden under
the pile of papers at the side of the table.  Both her new officers
took them gravely, saluted her with clean precision, and took
themselves out.  The tent flapped closed behind them, letting in a
breeze that was,a little fresher, but no cooler.

It'S going to be impossible to sleep tonight without some help.  Kero
sighed, reached once more for the wine flask, and downed the rest of
the contents in a single gulp.

Better risk a bit of a headache than no sleep.

She peeled herself out of her clothing before the wine could fuddle
her, and left the uniform in a heap for her aide to pick up, falling
onto the cot as a flush of lightheadedness overtook her.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't have a lover, she thought muzzily as
she allowed sleep to take her.  Between battle plans and supply lists,
I'd never see him unless he disguised himself as a gods-be-damned
map.

"What are you trying to do, work yourself into an early grave?  " Eldan
crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

"Or are you planning on drinking yourself there first?  " Kero matched
him, glare for glare, anger and shame burning her cheeks.  She knew
very well she U been hitting the wine flask a little too hard, and she
didn't like being reminded of the fact.

"I don't drink that much.  Just enough to put me out for the night. And
you ought to be thanking me for working this hard-it's the enemies of
your precious Valdemar I'm up against this time.  " Inside she was
quaking, a cold fear clutching at her heart.  Shed had her wine.  She
shouldn't be having this dream.  Drinking had always kept the dreams
away before" Oh , you're up against one faction of Karse, all right.

One minor faction of Karse-and meanwhile the real power in Karse, is
free to- " "What?  Free to what?  Nobody's made a move in Karse since
the Prophet started her power play.  So what's the big problem here?"
She turned her back on him, and spoke to the vague, gray mist that
always surrounded them in her dreams, hoping he wouldn't see how her
shoulders were shaking.  She wasn't sure of anything.  She was
terrified he U touch her-and she wanted him to touch her, so badly, so
very badly... "You know what I think?"  she said before he could form a
reply.

"I think the big problem is that I'm fighting for money.  That-just
sticks in your throat, doesn't it?  And it sticks in your throat that
I'm good at it, that I could probably teach your people a trick or two,
that A hand touched her shoulder, and the words froze in her throat.

"Kero- " he said, humbly.

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have-I worry about you.  You do work too hard.
" '7 don't have much of a choice, " she reminded him tartly, without
turning around.  She was afraid if she did, she V never be able to stay
under control.

"There are people depending on me-and you know what's really bothering
you.  It's that I do this for money.  " Eldan stepped slowly and
soundlessly around her, so that he was looking into her eyes.  She
averted hers, looking down at her feet.  This is only a dream, she kept
telling herself.  It doesn't mean anything.

"That does bother me, " he said earnestly.

"I think it ~ wrong.  There are other things you could be fighting for.
You could be killed, and is money worth dying for?

Honor- " That word again.  That stupid, suicidal word.  It made her
cheeks flame, this time with unmingled anger.

"Honor won't put food on my troopers' table, or pay in their pockets, "
she snapped.

"Honor won't pay for much of anything.  It's all very well to prate
about honor, when you're on a first-name basis with a Queen, but my
people rely on me to see that they get the means to live!"

"But- " he began.

"More stupid wars have been fought over honor than I care to think
about, " she continued inexorably, raising her eyes just enough to
stare angrily at the middle of his chest.

"Seems to me that honor is a word that gets used to cover a lot of
other things.  Things like greed and ambition, hatred, and bigotry.
It's honorable to attack someone who doesn't believe in the same things
you do.

It's honorable to fight someone over a strip of land you covet.  It's
honorable-" She looked up at his uncomprehending face, and threw her
hands up in the air.  '7 don't know why I bother!  At least I'm honest
about my killing.  I do it for money.  I try to Pick the side that was
attacked, not the attackers.  Most Of the rest of the world wages war
to support one lie or another- " "Not here, " he said, softly.

"Not us.

She would have rather he argued with her.  She would much rather he V
shouted.  Instead, this hurt expression-the look in his eyes-pleading
with her to believe him.

"I only know wh t I've seen, " she said gruffly.

"And what I've seen says that most of what people call 'honor' is no
more than self-deception.  Maybe you people in Valdemar are different.
" "We are, " he said.

"Please, Kero, you know me-you know what I'm like.  You've been inside
my mind- " "Right, " she interrupted hastily.

"All right, you are different.  Maybe all you Heralds are.  That
doesn't make what I do any less valid.  The rest of the world isn't
like you.  And if there are going to be people out there making war on
other people, don't you think it's a good idea for some of those people
to at least follow a code of ethics?

Not 'honor, 'but something you can pin down and be sure of, something
with the same rules for everybody.  That's what we're doing.  And if we
do it for money, so be it.  At least someone is doing it at all.  " She
looked back up to see he was smiling, ruefully.

"You have a point ~e said, with a sigh.

"Kero, that wasn't why I came here Before she knew what she was doing,
she had responded to that smile, to the invitation in his eyes, and was
locked in a mutual embrace with him.

Part of her was in terror.  This was real-too real.

Eldan's arms felt too solid; his body too warm against hers.  I'm going
crazy, I must be!  Being alone But the rest of her welcomed his
emve-ace, t~t-e warpnth of his lips on her forehead.  The only intimate
human touch she had Even if it wasn't real.

"I didn't want to argue with you, " he said in her ear.

"I am worried about you.  You're trying to do too much.

You take to much on yourself And you bottle up your own feelings, never
let anything out.  You're going to destroy yourself this way-you can't
be everything to everyone.

" I thought you said you didn't come here to argue with me, " she heard
herself saying.

"Keep that up and you'll start another one.  " "oH, Kero, " he shook
his head, and she looked up into his eyes.

"Kero, what am I going to do with you?"

"You might try-" He stopped the words with a kiss, a kiss that led to
more kisses, and then to something more intimate than mere kisses-Hands
warm on skin, illusory clothing vanishing as they touched each other in
wonder and pleasure and joy " Blessed Agnira!"

Kero woke up with a start, and the moment she was actually awake, she
began to shake with terror.

The wine hadn't worked.  The dreams were back, more vivid than ever,
and the wine hadn't helped.  This one-it had been real.  Too real, too
close to home.  Part of her had wanted it, that was the worst thing;
part of her had welcomed not only the dream, but the fantasy
lovemaking.

She flung off.  the light blanket, and sat up on the edge of the cot,
shaking.  I'm going mad.  I'm truly going mad.

It's all been too much for me.

Easy to believe she was going mad, Easier than to believe that she had
created the dream because she missed Eldan, and wanted him so much....
Before she realized it, tears began to burn her eyes, and her throat
closed.  She buried her face in her hands.

It wasn't a mistake.  It never could have worked.  We-Oh, gods.  Oh,
Eldan-Seizing the flask of water that stood beside her bed, she drank
it dry, hoping to drown the tears.  Instead, they only fell faster, and
she was helpless to stop them.

As helpless as she was to stop the loneliness that was the price of
command.... She seized her tunic, groped for her cloak, and went out
into the cool night, hoping to pace away the doubts, the fears, and
most of all, the memories.

This place had been pretty, before warfare had scarred the land; low,
rolling hills covered in grass, tree lines that marked stream beds and
river bottoms.  Now the grass was trampled, and dust rose above the
scuffling armies like smoke.  Sun burned down onto the battlefield like
Vkandis' own curse.  Kero stood beside her old friend, magnificent in
his scarlet cloak of the Lord Martial, and squinted into the distance.
Beside her, Geyr stood as impassively as a black stone statue.  She
could not imagine how he was able to stand there and look so cool and
unmoved.

Maybe he doesn't feel the heat.  Maybe this isn't that bad to him.  If
that's so, I don't think I ever want to visit his homeland.

Up until now, the Prophet had held several groups of infantry in
reserve.  It looked as if those last groups on the Prophet's side had
finally joined the battle.

"This is it," Daren said quietly, confirming her observation.

"The Prophet just committed herself entirely.  And so have I. If we
don't win this one-" "You'll lose the war, the province, and a hell of
a lot of face," Kero finished for him, wiping her sweaty face with a
rag she kept tucked into her belt.

"But that won't be the worst of it.  If you lose, she'll have a power
base, and you'll have to fight her every time you turn around, or
you'll lose the country to her a furlong at a time."

She scowled, though not at him, but rather at the thought.

Beside them, a handsome-and very young-noble assigned as Daren's aide
looked puzzled.

"Why is that, m'lord?"  he asked.

"Won't she be content with what she's won?"

Daren snorted, and wiped his own face with a rag no cleaner or fancier
than Kero's.

"Not too damned likely.

if we don't eliminate her now, it'll prove that her god really is on
her side, and we'll be fighting religious fanatics all over Rethwellan.
This kind of 'holy war' is like gangrene-if you don't get rid of it,
it poisons the whole body.  If we can't burn it out, it'll kill us
all."

The young aide gave Kero a sideways glance, as if asking her to confirm
what Daren had said.  She'd already discovered that she had a
formidable reputation among Daren's highborn young fire-eaters; she was
using that reputation to reinforce his authority.  There could only be
one Commander of all the forces, just as there could only be one
Captain of a Company.

"You're dead right about that, my lord," she said, answering the boy's
glance without speaking to him directly.  " I can't think of anything
worse than fighting a religious fanatic, especially one that's sure
he's going to some kind of paradise if he dies for his god.  That
kind'll charge your lines, run right up your blade, and kill himself in
order to take your head off."

She peered through the sun, the heat-haze, and the dust, and cursed
again under her breath, resolutely shaking off the weariness that was
the legacy of her sleepless night.  It was pretty obvious that both
armies had staleni~ ted each other.  Her people were out of it, for
now;

they'd done what they could early this morning, and now they were
behind the lines, taking what rest they could, and awaiting further
orders.  And with only a handful of dead and twice that wounded.  New
recruits, mostly, and no one I really knew well.  Gods pass their
souls.

For once, she wasn't having to prove herself and her Company to anyone.
Daren had made her pretty well autonomous; he trusted her judgment and
her battle sense.  He knew she had twice the actual combat experience
he or any of his commanders had.  He knew that if she saw an opening
where the Skybolts could do some good, she'd send them.  That was more
trust.  than Kero had gotten from any other Commander, and she wondered
if he treated all mercenary Captains like that, or only her, because he
knew her.

Right now, the action was all afoot, and hand-to-hand, and there was no
place for a mounted force to go-except for the heavy cavalry, who kept
trying to plow through the enemy lines without getting trapped behind
them.

A glitter of sun-reflection caught her eye and she grimaced at the
shrine of Vkandis anchoring the left flank.

The damn thing is the rallying point for the entire line, she thought
angrily.  Every time those idiots haul it forward a couple of paces,
the whole left flank follows it.

It was pulled on clumsy rollers by nearly a hundred of the most manic
of the Prophet's followers.  Every day now they'd added captured booty
and ornamentation to it, making it more impressive, more elaborate, and
doubtless making it heavier as well.  The latest trick had been to gild
the roof; that was what had caught her eye, the shine of sun on
gold-leaf.  She wondered how many poor peasants had been starved to pay
for the ornamentation.

Another blur of motion caught her eye, and one more familiar-the
yellow-gray streak that marked the passage of one of Geyr's
messenger-dogs behind the lines.  The poor beasts looked like nothing
more than bags of bones, but they moved like lightning incarnate.  Geyr
had brought them with him when he'd joined; Kero gathered that in his
country, men raced the pups the way the folk of the north raced horses.
He had the notion that they could be used as messengers, but only Kero
had been willing to take a chance on his idea.  They were amazingly
intelligent for their size; once they knew that a particular human
carried a gorn full of lumps of suet or balls of butter on his belt,
they had that person's name and scent locked in memory for all time,
and anyone could put a message in their collars and tell them to find
that person, and they would.  No matter what stood in their way.  The
scrawny little beasts would literally race through fire for a bit of
fat.  Geyr had once said, laughingly, that if you buttered a brick,
they'd eat it.

The little dog evaded people and horses with equal ease, then stopped
dead for a moment.  Before Kero had a chance to ask Geyr what was wrong
with it, the beast was off again, this time streaking in their
direction, so low to the ground that his chest must be scraping the
earth.

"Meant for me, which means you, Captain," Geyr muttered, as the dog
dove fearlessly among the hooves of the Skybolts' horses and out the
other side of the picket lines.  She recognized it now by the scarlet
collar-it was the one they'd sent with Shallan's scouts.

It flung itself through the air, landing in Geyr's waiting arms;
panting, but not with exhaustion.  This punishing heat was no more
bother to Geyr's dogs than to Geyr himself.

The black Lieutenant gave the little animal his reward, and passed the
message cylinder from its collar to Kero.

She opened it, and scanned the short scrawl with a sinking heart.
Shallan had seen something important, and had dutifully reported it.
And Daren would most certainly see the way to break the deadlock that
Shallan's observation opened up.  She knew how he thought, and it was
the only logical course of action-only now it was no longer counters on
a sand-table they put at risk, it was her men's and women's lives.  But
something had to be done, or they'd risk more Karsite intervention
before they had neutralized the Prophet.

Even it meant her people would die.

And if by some chance he doesn't see it, 171 have to point it out to
him.  Gods have mercy..  ..

Her throat closed.  She passed him the note without comment; his brows
creased as he puzzled out Shallan's crabbed and half-literate printing.
Then he looked up into her eyes.

"She says there's a way to get to the shrine, coming up the bed of the
stream.  " Kero nodded, and cleared her throat discreetly.  They know
what they're getting paid to do.

"But if you sent foot, they'd,see you coming in time and reinforce the
lines there."

"But if I sent horse-archers with fire-arrows .. . they'd move too
quickly for the Prophet's commanders to see what we were up to and
maneuver foot into place.  And if the shrine goes, the whole army will
panic."

Kero closed her eyes for a moment to think.  There might yet be a way
to spare her people.

"We've tried this before," she reminded him.

"Getting the shrine was one of the first things we thought of, and we
couldn't even touch it."

"But not using the horse-archers," he retorted.

"We didn't have a clear shot at it with the archers before; we tried
for it using magic.  It's shielded against magic, but I'd be willing to
bet it isn't shielded against plain old fire-arrows.  It wasn't
shielded against that ballista shot that took off a corner of the roof.
If it can be hit, it can be burned.  " Dear gods, there's no hope for
it.  Either they go in, impossible odds and all, or we lose.  Her
stomach knotted, and her throat ached with sorrow for the slaughter to
come.  Bad enough to send her people into an ordinary battle, where the
odds were in their favor because of their strike-and-run tactics.  But
this-She swallowed, stared off into the distance, and tried to think of
them as markers on a table.  Running the tactic straight-she'd lose
about half of those that went in.

But she had the only force that could get in, get the job done, and get
out.

It's a suicide mission!  half of her cried in agony.

It's necessary, said the other half, coldly, logically.

She took a deep breath, lowered her eyes, and looked straight back into
Daren's.  And saw that he didn't like the odds any better than she did.
He hated the cost of this as much as she.  She saw the same pain she
felt in the back of his eyes, and it steadied her.

"All right," she said.

"Give me time to set this up, right to requisition what I might need
from your quartermaster, then get us an escort in and out.  Leave the
rest to us.  Geyr, oh me."

She turned on her heel, and walked off without another word.  How can I
even up the odds?  There has to be a way.  The black man whistled to
his dog and followed after her, as she strode down toward the picket
line, and the rows of horses drowsing in the sun, oblivious to the
battle beyond.

"Get me Quenten," she called as she reached the lines and lounging
fighters jumped to their feet.  She scanned them, looking for the
bright white of Lieutenants' badges.

She spotted one, and providentially, it was exactly the person she
needed most.

"Losh," she ordered, not slacking her pace in the least, as she kept
straight on through the lines.

"Get the horse-archers to the Healers' tent.  The rest of you, at
ease."

A third of the Skybolts went back to their scraps of shade, veterans
enough to know and follow the maxim that a fighter rests whenever he
can.  The rest left their beasts in the care of friends and followed
after her to the Healers' tent.

Quenten turned up just as she got there, popping out of the Healers'
tent so suddenly he seemed to appear out of the air, like one of his
illusions.  And seeing that started an idea in the back of her mind.

She left it there to simmer a while, as she gathered her troops around
her, and explained the mission.  The horse-archers sat or stood, each
according to his nature, but all with one thing in common; absolute
attention and complete silence.

As Kero drew a rough map in the dust and laid out the plan, she
couldn't help but notice how appallingly young the gathered faces were.
One and all, they were veterans, yes, without a doubt-but none was over
the age of twenty-five.  Most were under twenty.  Young enough to
believe in their own immortality and invulnerability.  Too young to
really understand what bad odds mean, or really care if they do know.
Each and every one of them thinks he can beat the odds and the omens,
however unfavorable.

She felt sickened; as if she was somehow betraying them.

As she completed her explanation, the glimmering of an idea burst into
full flower, and she turned to Quenten.

"You're in on this because I want you to do something to make them
harder to hit-maybe make them harder to see," she told him.

"They're already going to be moving targets; I want you to make it so
hard for the enemy to look at them that he has nothing to aim at."

He scratched his peeling nose thoughtfully; like most redheads, he
sunburned at the merest hint of summer.

That was probably why he had been in the Healers' tent;

either sensibly avoiding injury or getting his burns seen to.

"I can't make weapons bounce off 'em, Captain," he replied uneasily.

"I think I know what you're thinking of, and I'm not as good as your
grandmother was, I haven't got the power to pull that spell that makes
'em look like they're a little off where they really are.  And I sure's
hell can't make 'em invisible."

"That wasn't what I had in mind," she said, impatient with herself for
not knowing how to explain clearly what she did want.

"You're damned good at illusion.  There's a lot of sun out there
today-hell fires the way it comes off that shrine roof, you get spots
in front of your eyes trying to look at it.  What about if I get real
shiny armor issued for everybody-can you do something to make it
brighter?  " Quenten brightened immediately.

"Now that I can do!"  he enthused.

"I can double the light reflecting off of it, at least-maybe triple
it."

"Good man."  She slapped him lightly on the back, and he grinned like a
boy.

"You work on that while I see what I can do about armor.  " In the end,
she scrounged shiny breastplates and helmets from Daren's stores for
all of her horse-archers, and Geyr had the clever notion of fixing
mirrors to the top of every nose-guard and the nose-band of every
bridle.

Quenten worked a miracle in the short time she gave him; not only did
he concoct the spell, creating it literally from nothing but the
light-gathering cantrip mages used when working in a dimly-lit area,
but he managed to cast it so that the Skybolts themselves were immune
to its effects.

"That's the best I can do," he said, finally.  Kero watched the effect
on some of Daren's troopers; they winced, and squinted, and eventually
had to look away.

She nodded; it wasn't full protection, but it would tilt the odds
farther id their favor.

Now all they have to worry about are the arrows shot at them unaimed.
And hope none of the Prophets officers get the bright idea of just
letting fly en masse.

' Quenten, you've outstripped what your training says you should be
able to do, " she told him honestly, and gratefully, mopping her neck
with her rag.

"You've managed a brand new spell in less than a candle mark  I think
my uncle would salute you himself."

Quenten glowed, and not just from his sunburn.  Kero turned to one of
the junior mages, a grave, colorless girl whose name she could never
remember.

Jana.  That's it.

"Jana, is the way still open to the shrine?"

Jana's eyes got the unfocused look she wore when she was using her
powers to see at a distance.

"Yes," she said, in a voice as flat and colorless as the rest of her.

"As open as it's ever going to be."

Kero looked over Jana's head at the rest of the horse-archers.  " The
plan is simple enough.  You with the fire-arrows, ride in the middle.
The rest of you try to keep them covered and yourselves alive.  Get in,
and get out.

We're not in this for glory or revenge, so don't take stupid chances.
Got that?"

The fighters grunted, or nodded, or otherwise showed their assent.  At
least the foolhardy were weeded out early, she thought, watching them
mount up with an aching heart and an impassive face.  If they wanted
out of this life, they could get out.

She saluted them as they wheeled their mounts and took off at a gallop.
Losh was leading them in a feint toward the center of the left flank.
Only at the last moment would they turn and rush up the watercourse. BY
then they would be out of unaided sight, and she would not have to
watch them fall and die..  ..

They V do this if I wasn't Captain, she told herself for the hundredth
time.  This is what they're good at; its their choice.  And if I didn't
lead them, someone else would.  Someone with less care for them, maybe,
or less imagination.

And as always, as she waited for the survivors to return, the words
comforted her not at all.

Daren finished the last of his dispatches, and slumped at the folding
desk in his tent, very glad that he'd brought an aide who knew massage.
Right now, he was torn equally between a tired elation and a sense of
deep and guilty loss.

When the horse-archers had moved in, the shrine went up in a glorious
gout of flames, just as he and Kerowyn had planned.  And exactly as he
and Kero had known it would, the Prophet's line collapsed in a panic.
The only thing they had not predicted was how total the rout would be.
But now that he thought about it, the reaction only made sense-Vkandis
Sunlord was a god of the sun-hence, fire-and when his own shrine went
up in flames, it must have seemed to the Prophet's followers that the
god himself had turned against them.

After that it had been so easy to defeat them that an army of raw
recruits could have handled the job.  The worst casualties were from
men who had gotten between the fleeing Karsites and the Eastern
border.

He'd heard that Kerowyn's people got in and out with about a
twenty-five percent loss, which was excellent r such a risky
undertaking.

Excellent-except that these aren't just numbers we're talking about, or
the counters we used to plan strategy with.  Those numbers represented
people.  Kero's people.

Fighters that she's recruited and trained with, and promised to lead
intelligently.  He stared at the papers on his desk without really
seeing them, knowing how she must be feeling.  It wasn't quite so bad
for him, now that he was Lord Martial of the entire army.  He didn't,
couldn't know every man in his forces the way Kero knew every fighter
in hers.  But he remembered very well how it had felt to lose even one
man, back when his commands were smaller.

He stood abruptly.  Ill go see her.  It helped me to have old Lord Vaul
to unburden myself on.  Maybe I can do the same for her.  I'm supposed
to see if she's willing to come, talk to my brother, anyway.  And I can
bring her horse archers a bonus at the same time; gods know they've
earned it.  My coffers are plump enough, I can afford it.

"Binn!"  he said, not quite shouting, but loud enough for his orderly
to hear.  The grizzled veteran of a dozen tiny wars slid out of the
shadows at the back of the tent, coming from behind the screen that
kept his sleeping area private.

The man saluted smartly.

"Sir," he said, and waited for orders.  They were not long in coming.

"Saddle my pa.  1frey and get me-hmm-two gold per head for those
horse-archers Captain Kerowyn sent in.  " The orderly nodded, and
saluted again.

"Sir, general funds, or your private coffer?"

"Private, Binn.  This is between me and the Captain.

If my brother decides on an extra bonus, that'II'I be a Crown
decision."

"Sir.  Begging the Lord Martial's pardon, but-they deserve it.  Don't
generally see meres with that kind of guts."  The man's face remained
expressionless, but Daren fancied he caught a gleam of admiration in
his eyes.  That in itself was a bit of a surprise.  Binn seldom unbent
enough to praise anyone, and never a mercenary, not to Daren's
recollection.

I No pardon needed.  As it happens, I agree with you.

He straightened his papers, and locked them away in the desk, as the
orderly moved off briskly to see to his orders.

He mounted up and rode off as the first torches were lit along the rows
of tents.  He had left his scarlet cloak back in the tent, so there was
nothing to distinguish him from any other mounted officer, and the men
paid him no particular heed as they went about their business.

The dead had been collected and burned; the wounded were treated and
would either live or die.  The survivors tended to themselves,
now-either celebrating or mourning.

Mostly celebrating; even those who mourned could be coaxed into
forgetting their losses for an hour or two over the strong distilled
wine he had ordered distributed.

They'd have wicked heads in the morning, those who were foolish enough
to overindulge, but that was all right.

If their heads ached enough, it would distract them from the aches of
wounds, bruises, and hearts.

He passed over the invisible dividing line between the camp of the army
and that of the mercenaries, and was, as ever, impressed by the
discipline that still held there, victory or no.  Kero's people still
had sentries posted, and he was challenged three times before he
reached the camp itself.  The Skybolts had lanterns instead of torches,
an innovation he noted and made up his mind to copy.

Torches were useless in a rainstorm-lanterns could be used regardless
of the weather.  And lanterns, once set, didn't need the kind of
watching torches did.  It was just the kind of detail that set the
Skybolts apart from the average mercenary Company.

By the time he reached the actual bounds of the camp itself, word of
his coming and who he was had somehow, in that mysterious way known
only to soldiers, preceded him.  Since he was not in "uniform," he was
hailed only as "m'lord Daren"-but it was obvious from the covert looks
at his bulging saddlebag and the grins of satisfaction ( or envy, from
those who were not archers), that these men knew of his penchant for
delivering bonuses, and knew who those bonuses were due.

He asked after Kerowyn, and was directed to the command tent.  All
about him were the sounds of the same kind of celebration as back in
his own camp, but more subdued, and there were fewer bonfires, and
nothing like some of the wildness he'd left back there.

He dismounted at Kero's tent and handed the reins of his horse to one
of the two sentries posted there, taking the saddlebag with him.  When
he pushed back the flap, and looked inside, Kero was bent over a
folding table identical to his own, going over lists.  The lantern
beside her seemed unusually smoky, and the pungent odor it emitted made
him sneeze.  She looked up, smiled wanly, and nodded at a stool beside
the table before going back to her task.  Her eyes were dark-rimmed,
and red; her cheekbones starkly prominent.

Dear gods, she looks like hell.  Worse than I expected.

He got a good look at those lists before he sat down;

lists of names, and he had a feeling that they were the lists of the
dead.  He had always left that task till last, and he didn't think
she'd be any different.

She was writing little notations after each name; most looked like
other names, which made him think she was probably noting who inherited
the dead fighter's possessions.

Before a very few of those names, she made a little mark Those must be
the ones with relatives, the ones she has to write the letter for.  He
craned his neck a little, shamelessly curious.  That was the single
task he had hated the most.  Still did hate, since he still had to
write letters for the families of his officers, from Lieutenant
upward.

There don't seem to be a lot of those.  He grimaced a little.  Dear
gods.  What a sad life they must lead, that so many of them live and
die with no one to mourn their loss except their fellows.... Kero
sighed, and reached for a scrap of cloth to clean her pen.

"Well, that's done," she said, tossing her long blonde braid over her
shoulder.

"All but the letters.

Damn.  " For a moment she was silent, chewing absently on the end of
her pen, and he couldn't help but notice that her nails had been chewed
down to nothing.

"At least most of my people don't have anyone outside of the Company,
and a damned good thing, too."

Daren couldn't help himself; he was so surprised to bear her voice an
opinion so exactly opposite his that he blurted out the first thing
that came into his mind.

"Good?"  he exclaimed.

"You say that's good?  Demonfire, Kero, how can you say something like
that?"

He could have bitten his tongue, and waited in the next instant for her
to snap some kind of angry reply.  When she didn't, when she only gave
him a raised eyebrow eloquent with unspoken irony, he was just as
amazed as he had been by her initial bald statement.  She's changed, he
thought numbly.  She's really changed, in deep ways, that don't show
... maybe that's what's wrong.  She feels things even more now-But
there seemed to be a deeper trouble there; something more personal.

"If you're going to make your living by selling your sword," she
pointed out dryly, pointing her pen at him like one of his old tutors
used to, "it's a pretty stupid idea to burden yourself with a lot of
dependents who don't-or won't-understand that you're basically gambling
with your life, betting on the odds that you won't be killed."

"But- he started to object.

"No 'buts," my friend," she said emphatically.

"My people, by the lime they've seen one whole season, know exactly
what they're getting into.  to tell you the truth, it's your people I
feel sorry for.  You have all these farm boys and merchant sons, minor
nobles and conscripts swept up off the streets-all of them burdened
with parents and sibs, friends and lovers.  And when they become just
another target, how do you explain to those people that their precious,
immortal child is embracing the Shadow-Lover, hmm?"

He hung his head, unable to answer, because he'd never been able to
find a way that convinced even himself.  War is a waste.  It's my job
to keep it from wasting as little as possible..  ..

"At least my people and their people know what they're getting into, "
she said, her voice going dull with weariness-and perhaps with emotion
that she refused to display.

"And if it so happens that they find someone who makes them think again
about laying their life on the line for nothing but cash, they tend to
get out before it ever comes to the letter.  Your people don't have
that luxury.  They're in it until you let them go, or they're dead.

He squirmed on his stool; her words had cut much too close to the
bone.

Trust Kero not to be polite about it.  And maybe she's right.  If we're
going to have fighting, maybe the only ones who should do it are the
ones willing to fight for pay.  I don't know.  Right now I'm just glad
it's over for us.  He quickly changed the subject.  And it's a good
thing I have a new subject right here with me.  He dropped the
saddlebag on the table, and Kero smiled knowingly at the chink it made
as it fell.

"Bonus for the archers?"  she asked, and at his nod, picked it up and
dropped it into a little chest beside her table.

"I'll hand it out in the morning, and I hope you'll accept my thanks
for them.  That kind of appreciation means a lot to us."

He nodded, embarrassed to be equating the kind of bravery that last
charge had taken with the sum of two paltry gold pieces.  Then
again-that's their job, isn't.it?

The laborer is worth the hire.

"Where are you going now?"  he asked.

"We finished this a lot faster than I'd thought we would; it's barely
past Midsummer.  Have you got another job lined up?"

She shook her head, which surprised him a little.

"We'll go straight to winter quarters," she said.

"Remember, you hired us before Vernal Equinox because the Prophet had
stolen a march on you in the winter; it's been plenty long enough for
us.  We don't need to take another job this season, and we haven't
needed to take winter jobs since the second year I was Captain.  Ending
early in the season will give us a head start on training the green
recruits, schooling new horses, healing up-" She noted his surprise,
and chuckled.

"That's right-Tarma never taught you all that, did she?  Winter
quarters is what makes a good Company stronger.  When we can winter up,
we get a chance to learn without killing anybody, we get a chance to
get everything Healed right.  There's another side of it, too;
wintering is where we become wella kind of family, if that doesn't
sound too impossible to you.  And since the Skybolts don't need to take
the extra jobs anymore, I'll be damned if I cheat them out of that rest
time."

She fixed him with a sharp glance, a look that told him that if he'd
been considering offering them hire for the winter, he'd better change
his mind.

But since that wasn't what he'd had on his mind at all, he smiled right
back at her, and her expression softened and relaxed.

"Is there any reason why you can't leave them for a month or two?"  he
asked, innocently.

"Well, no," she replied, obviously wondering why he would ask that
particular question.  She waited for a reply, but he simply smiled at
her, until she said, impatiently, " All right!  Why do you want to know
that?"

"Because my brother wants to meet you, and this seems like a good
time."  He grinned at her blank stare, and continued.

"Tarma trained the lot of us, remember?

But she trained us a little.  differently than the way she trained
you-she knew you were going to end up a hire sword so she gave you
things she never gave us.  My brother wants to pick your brain."

" On what?"  she asked, with a hint of suspicion.

"Nothing you wouldn't be willing to tell us," Daren assured her.

"He wants to know about all the bonded Companies doing business, for
one thing; things the Guild won't tell us, like who can't work with
whom, what weaknesses each Captain has.  You're the best,
Kero-everybody says so.  We want to know why.  We want to know if it's
something we can copy.  We know you'll be honest with us.  And we'll
make it worth your while-" 11 I don't take bribes," she replied
harshly.

"You won't get me to tell you Guild secrets."

"We don't care about Guild secrets, and it's not a bribe," he said
quickly.

"Just a bonus for the information.

Free run through the Royal armory, your choice, whatever you can carry
away in three wagon-loads with two-horse teams.  We've got a lot of
good horse-gear in storage, because we don't have a lot of mounted
fighters.

Besides, I want to catch up on what's happened to you the last fifteen
years."

She started to answer, then gave him a careful, measuring look, and
hesitated.

"Daren," she said slowly, and a little sadly, "I hope this isn't a try
at reviving the old romance.  That's dead, lad, and there's no mage
with a spell strong enough to resurrect it."

He stared at her for a moment, at the expression on her face that
reminded him irresistibly of someone sitting on a tack, then relieved
her by bursting into honest laughter.

" Romance?"  he squeaked, unable to get his breath.

"Romance?  With the Fire-Mare herself?  The woman who thinks a
seductive garment is one that doesn't have armor plating on it?  With
the Captain my own people look to before they trust my strategy?"

Kero stiffened-then, as he continued to howl, began to unbend a
little.

"Well-" "Kero, you're a handsome woman, but gods help meI don't fancy
sharing my bed-space with you and that-" He pointed, and she turned to
see that her sword was lying across her cot with the hilt resting on
her pillow as if it were a person.  She stared for a moment, then
started laughing, too.  That set him off again, and after a moment,
both of them were so convulsed that they had tears running down their
faces.

He recovered enough to wipe his eyes, and handed her the goblet of
watered wine on her table so that she could take a drink and get
herself under control.

& Goddess, Kero-I never thought you saw me as that much of a romantic!"
He chuckled again, and stole the goblet from her for a sip.

"No, I promise you-I like you, but you're the last woman I'd want to
have a liaison with.  You're too damned-outrageous.

She took another sip, and made a face at him.

"I did warn you, all those years ago.  Still, I've learned a few things
since then.  I can be a lady for a couple of months if-" "oH, no," he
interrupted her.

"I want you to be yourself;

in fact, the wilder, the better.  My brother's looking forward to it.
He wants you to shake up his Court a little.

He says they could do with some shaking up."

She threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly.

"All right, then, I'll take you up on this.  I'll be there before the
end of summer, as soon as I get things arranged so I can leave.  This
may work out really well, actually; the cousins bring horses up every
summer, and I always miss them.  This time I won't.  I was afraid that
when the second batch came up in the fall, my people would still be in
the field."

"Perfect," he replied happily.

"Just send word ahead, so we can give you the proper reception."  She
covered a yawn, then, but not before he caught it.

"You're tired," he said, rising.

"I'll let you get some sleep."

"I'd be polite, but I'm too exhausted," she admitted, as he opened the
tent flap.

"And-thanks for everything.  " " You're welcome, Captain," he said,
hesitated a moment more.  She still looked-haunted.  And he didn't
think it had anything to do with this last battle.

"Kero," he said as he held open the tent flap, "I-I don't know how to
ask this discreetly, so I'll be blunt.

Is there something wrong?  Something I can help you with?  Something
personal?"

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes shadow-laden, and looked as if
she was about to say something.

But then a clot of her troopers passed by the tent, talking in the
slightly-too-loud voices of those who are just drunk enough to be
convinced that they're sober.  She jumped, and smiled, with a kind of
false brightness.

"Nothing that a few days of rest and a few nights of solid sleep won't
cure," she said, and waved him away.

"Thanks for the concern; I wish all my employers were that interested
in my well-being."

That was a dismissal if ever he heard one.  He shrugged and grinned, as
he let the entrance flap fall.

He mounted his horse, still being held by the patient sentry, and
turned the palfrey's nose back toward his own camp.

it's funny.  We have become so different in the little things-which is
where we used to agree.  But in the important things, where we didn't
agree before, now we think exactly the same-responsibility, caring
about your people-making sure they get treated right-holding to a
personal code-it's amazing.  We're more alike than ever.

And I suspect she figured that out within half a candle mark after we
met again.

The Skybolts' camp had settled; he heard singing, softly, over by one
of the fires, and the murmur of conversation somewhere nearby, but
there was nothing like the riotous celebrating still going on ahead of
him.

She's really changed in other ways, too.  She seems completely
comfortable and stable-even happy-being entirely alone.  Even if she
does push herself too hard, trying to be everywhere and everything at
once.  And I still feel like there's someone out there, somewhere,
another person who could be my complement and partner.

And that's what I want, now.  I don't want a "lady, " I don't want
someone to show off for.  I want a woman who will back me when I need
backing, fight at my side, and take me down a notch when I need that,
and who wants me to do the same for her.  A real partner.

He let the palfrey amble on at his own pace, saluting the sentry who
stood beside the entrance to his own camp.  I don't know where on the
face of this earth I'm going to find someone like that, though.  It d
take a miracle..  ..

Then he chuckled.  But at least I know one thing.  If she exists,
whoever she is, she isn't Kero!

The sunlight that had been such punishment on the battlefield now
poured over Bolthaven like golden syrup,

balm instead of bane.  Kero stood at the open window of her office, and
smiled.  Five years ago, when she'd ordered the new watchtower built
onto the barracks, she'd had a new office and her own quarters
incorporated into the plans.  The old office Lerryn had used was over
in the warehouse building-not a bad place for it, except when you had
to get to it on winter mornings when no one sane went out of doors.
This office had the triple advantages of convenience, proximity to the
barracks, and the best view outside of the platform above her.  Any day
that the weather was decent, she flung open the shutters to all four
windows, and enjoyed an unobstructed panorama of her little domain.

Beyond the gates, the town of Bolthaven spread out in the sun like a
prosperous, basking cat asleep atop the fortress-crowned plateau.
Beyond the town, acres of tended fields alternating with fenced pasture
stretched eastward, and acres of grassland dotted with white patches of
grazing sheep went westward.  Here on the southwestern border of
Rethwellan, so close to the Pelagir Hills, no farmers settled land
without having protection nearby.

The town itself was less than ten years old, and she would never had
anticipated its birth or growth when she'd returned to the winter
quarters as the Skybolts' new Captain.  Besides the ransom, the single
thing that had most contributed to the salvation of the Skybolts the
first year of her Captaincy had been her own relatives.  And not her
brother, either-her Shin'a'in cousins, who'd heard, by some mysterious
means, of her need.  They had brought their entire herd of sale-horses
up through the Pelagiris Forest to the winter quarters that fall,
camped at the gate, and informed her that they had told the world that
she was having a Shin'a'in horse-fair.

That, in other words, they'd just made her their agent.

They settled back and let her do all the bargaining for them.  When the
dust had settled and the last of the purchases had been escorted off,
she found herself in possession of enough coin to bring the Company
back up to full strength and equipage, the sum representing half of the
difference between what the cousins would have gotten at their regular
venue at Kata'shin'a'in and what she'd Won for them, this far north.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, they'd brought out the horses they'd
saved for her Company, the replacement mounts her people couldn't
afford.

By the next year, when they appeared again, a small army of merchants
had begun the town of Bolthaven.  By the third year it was a real town,
supporting farmers who sold their produce to the fort, and shepherds
providing meat for their tables and wool for a new contingent from the
craft guilds.  And now the Bolthaven Horse Fair was the talk of
Rethwellan, attracting far more than just horse merchants-and more
horse-traders than just her cousins.

By the fifth year, Bolthaven was so prosperous that whole families of
craftsmen were in residence.  That was the sign of a really good bonded
Company; that ordinary people were willing to come settle beside their
winter quarters.  A town like Hawksnest or Bolthaven meant that the
troops were reliable, steady, and stable even when idle, the Captain
could be relied upon to keep order, and that there was money to be
had.

So Kero smiled at the town, and at the brightly-colored tents springing
up at the edge of the town like so many odd-colored mushrooms.  Her
cousins had arrived on schedule, and had been surprised and delighted
to see her Company back so soon.

Eldan had she resolutely shoved the false memory away, along with the
memory of his sitting in this very window with moonlight shining down
on him instead of sunlight .

Rest.  That's what I need.  And distraction.  The cousins can take care
of that.  As soon as they get things settled, we'll have a chance to
talk, she thought.  I need to replace Hellsbane soon.  Kero's current
mount was actually the second "Hellsbane" she'd ridden; following
Tarma's example, she'd simply kept the same name for the new mount; it
was less confusing for her and her horse.  She's too good not to send
back to breed, and there should be a mare from Number One's foaling
ready for me by now.

I'm glad they have the training of her,.  I don't have time to school
my own horses anymore.

That thought sent her to the east window, looking down on the arenas
and the stables, where she checked up on the current batch of new
recruits.

She was just in time to see a rangy gelding with a lot of Plains' pony
in him blunder into a barrel at full gallop.

He managed to pull himself up, but the, impact sent his rider
somersaulting over his left shoulder as he stumbled.

Kero caught her breath-even the best rider can take a bad fall-but the
recruit kept right on rolling, in a perfectly controlled tumble, and
jumped to his feet.

She let out the breath she'd been holding.  The gelding didn't bolt; he
stayed obediently where he'd stopped; the rider planted hands on hips
and read him a description of his parentage that didn't once mention
ponies.

Kero chuckled, as the gelding lowered ears, then head, in a gesture of
submission and conciliation; horses were generally not the brightest of
beasts, but this one was evidently smart enough to figure out he'd done
something wrong.

The recruit finished his recitation, limped up to his horse's side, and
remounted.  He called something to one of the other recruits, backing
the gelding up and evidently checking his action for signs of injury,
before finishing the rest of the course.  The Skybolts simply did not
accept recruits that couldn't ride well-which saved them a great deal
of trouble when starry-eyed shepherds' daughters and plowboys showed up
at the gate.  They generally took one look at what the recruits were
doing, blanched, and went back to their sheep, their plows or to
another Company-unless, of course, it so happened that besides tending
sheep, they were superb riders.

Most recruits brought at least one mount with them, but their beasts
generally weren't up to Skybolt standards.

The gelding just completing the course was an exception.  He was tough,
strong, and smart, and he would probably be accepted, but for those
with beasts that weren't, there was a simple solution.

Every Skybolt, without exception, received a Shin'a'in-bred
saddle-beast, hand-picked by the cousins.  That included the recruits.
But Shin'a'in-bred horses were not cheap-they amounted to half a year's
pay for a recruit.

That meant that for the first six months a recruit was in the Skybolts,
he only got half shares-and once in the field and getting battle-pay,
got only three-fourths of it for the remaining six months.  Every
would-be recruit knew this before he or she signed on-which tended to
weed Out the ones who thought being with the Skybolts meant glamour and
easy money.  Already this year, four would-be fighters had choked on
the idea that they weren't going to get full pay and gone to find a
Company with less exacting standards.

Kero noted with approval that the fellow who'd been spilled also had a
Shin'a'in remount on the side.  As soon as his gelding) had completed
the course, he switched to the other horse, leading the gelding down to
the farrier's end of the stables to be checked over.  From what she
could see of him, she thought he might be from Ruvan-which meant the
gelding might be a Shin'a'in cross with a Plains' pony.  That was a
good out crossing excellent for working the herds of half-wild cattle
down there.  And from the way the rider held himself, he might be one
of those mounted herdsman.  Which meant he could use a bow.

If he can shoot as well as he can ride, and use a sword with the care
he takes with his beasts, he'll do.  He obviously had not objected to
paying what seemed to the untutored to be an outlandish amount for a
horse when he already had a good one.

In point of fact, every veteran had two horses, and often took an
entire string on campaign.  Veterans knew there was never a problem
with paying for remount snot when there were bonuses to be had, like
the bonus Daren had paid the horse-archers, and the cash from
permissible looting There was a io*t of looting when the Prophet went
down, she thought suddenly.  Some of it good stuff, from the Prophet
and her priests, and from that shrine.  I had the stuff I knew about
checked, but the troops may have traded with Daren's people, and who
knows what they got.  Besides, religious magic isn't always like
secular magic. I'd better tell everybody to bring their booty in before
trading it, and I'll have Quenten and the shaman check trade-goods for
curses.

Intensive training and the very best mounts and equipment were what
made the Skybolts in demand.  Horse-units were expensive to maintain;
most standing armies didn't bother.  That meant that there was always
work for them-and very little competition.

Twoblades had taken the long view, and Kero continued his philosophy;
given the access to excellent horses, it was worth the time, mounts,
and training it took to keep the Skybolts' corner on their little piece
of the war market.

Not everyone could manage that long view-even the Sunhawks had gone
back to being a Company of foot after Idea's death, with only the
scouts and other specialists going mounted.

That sent Kero back to the north window, and she strained her eyes to
estimate the number of horses the cousins had brought up with them this
year.  They were out in temporary corrals, ten to an enclosure, sorted
as to age and sex.  She grinned a little; this was going to be a very
profitable Fair.  They'd told her that they had managed to talk
Liha'irden into making Kero their outside agent, pointing out their
high profits, and the security of trading here in Bolthaven.  Here,
under Kero's eye, not only would they need only enough Clansmen to see
the horses safely to the Fair, if anyone so much as cheated them of a
copper, the Skybolts would descend as a group to enforce the fair-trade
laws.  And Kero always, always sent a squad back with them, to see them
safely to the Plains with their trade-goods and their profits.

She moved automatically to the west window-that many horses needed a
lot of fodder.... But the hay and grain wagons were rolling in, too,
right on schedule-not like last year, when they'd been late, and every
recruit in the fortress had taken his turn out mowing grass for the
hungry horses.

I don't think there's a single Clansman that really enjoys the
conventional horse-fairs.  They worry about security for their horses
when they arrive, they're constantly on guard and frequently harassed
on the way there.  And none of them have ever forgotten what happened
to Tale'sedrin.  They're at a disadvantage in bargaining, and there's
no one out here willing to protect their interests.

Except, of course, me.

The hay wagons stopped at a very special checkpoint before they were
ever let inside the grounds of the Fair, an inspection point manned by
more recruits.  Each wagon was inspected from the ground up-and the
recruits themselves had been very carefully instructed and frightened
to within an inch of their lives by Geyr.

Quite an impressive little talk he gave them.

"If any Of You let anything past that either harms the horses or
breeches our security, I'll hamstring you myself.  " And him standing
there slapping a gelding-knife into his glove, over and over..  ..

And this year, Geyr had a new twist on the inspectionsa set of enormous
mastiffs as tall as a child's first pony.  Geyr claimed they had noses
"keen enough to track the West Wind)" He'd acquired them on the march
home last year, but had been looking for something like them ever since
a load of poisoned grain killed two horses on campaign.

He wanted to use them as additional camp-guards and on scouting runs.
Kero was a bit doubtful of the latter she couldn't see how Geyr would
keep them from barking, for one thing-but she had agreed to try them
out as wagon inspectors.  Their sense of smell was certainly as good as
Geyr claimed, and they could be trained to recognize any scent and
alert their handler to it.  And their sheer size had the wagoners as
terrified of them as the recruits were of Geyr.

I suppose now the other Companies are going to start calling us "the
dog-and-pony show, " she thought with a sigh.  I could keep those
little messengers out of sight, but I'm never going to be able to hide
those monsters.

On the other hand, Warrl had been damned useful to the Sunhawks.  What
these mastiffs lacked in intelligence, they might make up for in
strength, size and numbers.

I wonder where he got them.  She still suspected they were from the
Pelagirs.  He had spent quite a bit of time in the company
of'Kra'heera, the cousin that just happened to be an apprentice shaman.
What the shaman didn't know about the Pelagirs, the Hawkbrothers did,
and the Hawkbrothers and shaman were probably talking more than most
people guessed.

We were coming up through Ruvan, along the Pelagiris Forest; we met up
with a couple of the cousins on the way, after 121 left word of our
route with one of the Out-riders.

I remember that he and Kra'heera vanished about the same time, telling
me he d get back to the fort on his own-then in he comes, just before
the first snow, with the bitch and her half-grown litter of fourteen.
That kind of fertility all by itself is suspicious, and smacks of the
Pelagirs.

The Shin'a'in didn't use dogs much, except for herding sheep and
goats-but the Hawkbrothers might well have been able to produce
something like Geyr's dogs on very short notice.

She watched them checking out the wagons, one on each side, and it did
not escape her notice that they performed their duty with a brisk
efficiency that reminded her of her own veterans.  Certainly there was
an odd look of intelligence in their eyes-unlike Geyr's little
messenger-dogs, who had brains that would shame a bird, or at least
acted like it.  They knew three things only-eat, run, and be petted.

I tried Mindtouch, but-all I got was images, not the kind of real
speech I got from Warrl or Eldan's Companion.

Damn.  Thinking of the Companion always made her think of Eldan-and
she'd had another dream last night.

She caught herself caressing the smooth fabric of her sleeve at the
mere thought, and clenched her fist.  Damn him.  You 21 think after ten
years I could forget the man.

Maybe Kra'heera could suggest something to make the dreams stop. Though
she'd have to tell him why she wanted them to stop.  And that could
be-embarrassing.

Her Shin'a'in cousins had much the same dry sense of humor as Tarma,
but they occasionally got a bit odd even for Kero, and the Shin'a'in
notion of what was funny didn't always match hers.

It was amazing how fast the Clan had grown, once the children that had
elected to take Clan membership were of an age to claim it.  They'd had
as many young adults join them as they could provide tents for.  Part
of it had to be the glamour, the mystique of the "Clan that could not
die"-certainly orphans and "extra" children had flocked to the
Tale'sedrin banner once it was raised again.

But part of it, no doubt, had to do with my cousins' sheer good looks.
They're all damned attractive, and with Grandmother's green eyes and
Grandfather's blond hair, they must have been as exotic and fascinating
to the Shin'a'in suitors as the Shin'a'in are to us.

None of them had lacked for potential partners, and in the end, all but
one had taken up multiple marriages.

Like queen bees with entourages, or stags with harems.

NO, I don't think I'll tell Kra'heera about the dreams of Eldan.  He'll
only give me a hard time about it, and ask me why I didn't just knock
the man in the head and carry him off with me like a sack of loot.
Besides, he's young enough to be my own child; I just can't confess
something like that to a person who looks like he's waiting for me to
tell him a story.  Gods, they make me feel ancient.

Though still small, the Tale'sedrin Clan was as thriving as any on the
Plains, boasting no less than three shaman, a Healer, and even a
Kal'enedral-The last was Swordsworn by choice, rather than because of
the kind of circumstances that forced Tarma to her vow.  Kero liked him
the best of all of them.  He never turned her away when she asked for
lessons, and his Sense of humor was a little less mordant than the rest
of her cousins.

Her thought of them might have summoned them; they made no noise on the
stairs with their soft boots, but she heard their distinctive chatter
echoing up the shaft of the staircase long before she saw them.

"Heyla, cousin!"  Istren, one of the two horse-trainers along this year
and the only one of the three who was actually related to her by blood,
sprang into the room as if he were taking it by storm.  He was followed
at a more sedate pace by the other trainer, Sadassan, and e
shaman-in-training, Kra'heera.  Where Istren boasted the dusky-gold
skin of his Shin'a'in father, and his father's black hair, his mother's
startling green eyes flashed at Kero with excitement.

"Second cousin, to be precise," Sadassan said mildly, her Shin'a'in
blue eyes as tranquil as a cloudless sky.

"And both a Captain of the Company and your elder.  A little more
respect, youngling."

Istren ignored her; when a normally reserved Shin'a'in became excited,
it was pretty hard to get them calmed down.

"Have you heard, Cousin Kero?  Have you seen?

What do you know about these North men, these Valdemar men?"

For one startled moment, Kero thought he was talking about her dream
and Eldan, and her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.  But
Kra'heera solved her dilemma for her, by snorting, "What, do you think
she is a mage, like our uncle?  She can't possibly know anything these
Valdemar men have only just arrived."

She shook herself out of her paralysis.

"What Valdemar men?"  she asked.

"We have heard, heard only, that there are men from the North come to
buy all that we will sell them," Sadassan said, with a fine precision
of speech.

"We wish you to come and look at these men.  You can speak their tongue
and say the things that will call the thoughts that we wish to read to
the surface of their minds like little fish to crumbs on the stream.
Kra'heera can then judge of their thoughts.  And, perhaps, you also,
for you had converse with one of their kind before, not so?"

"I did," she said, slowly.

"The man that I knew, if he is a good representative of his people, was
a good and honest man, and one who would treat your jel'sutho'edrin as
children of his own heart and hearth.  But he was only one man."~
"Exactly so," Sadassan replied.

"Will you come with us, cousin?  " ,"I think I had better," Kero
replied, catching up her weapons-belt from the back of her chair, and
buckling it on.

"There's a saying among the meres, you know' When the wind blows folk
out of Valdemar, prepare for heavy weather."  They tend not to stray
too far from their borders.  " W%atever brought them here, it's going
to affect us all, she thought, with a shiver of premonition.  And the
sooner prepared we are, the better off we'll be..

Nineteen

"Captain!"  One of the recruits came pelting up to her and skidded to a
halt.  He was all out of breath, but that didn't stop him from saluting
crisply.

"Message, Captain!  " he gasped, as a trickle of sweat ran down his
cheek.

He must be first year, he hasn't learned to pace himself yet.  She
nodded, he gasped it out, trying not to seem as if he was winded.
Definitely new; second year on, they d get their breath before reciting
a message.

"People at the North Gate, Captain.  From Valdemar.  Official papers in
order, Scratcher says.  Want to see you.  Shallan sent 'em to the guest
house.  Says to tell you that makin' em go to the inn didn't seem
right, even if the inn wasn't already full.  11 "Good.  Thank you.  Is
Shallan still with them?"

The youngster shook his head.

"Put Laker on them;

he knows Valdemaran pretty well."

She nodded.  I always thought Shallan had good sense.

If they have anything to say, Laker will overhear it.

"Fine, tell Laker I'll be there shortly, and that he should go ahead
and tell these people that.  Tell him to use trade tongue;

no use letting them know we're multi-lingual.

Have you seen them?"

He shook his head.  Pity.  Oh, well.

"Go run that message to Laker," she said.

"Then go on up to the North Gate and let Shallan know where I'll be."
The young man saluted again, turned, and ran off like a rabbit.  Kero
envied him his energy, but not the way he was going to feel in a moment
after running that much in this heat.  I V give a lot to know if these
are Heralds or not in advance of seeing them.  She turned her steps
toward the guest house inside the fortress walls, followed silently by
the three Shin'a'in.

"Have any of you seen these people?"  she asked.

"Can you tell me what they're wearing?"

"They are not Heralds, cousin," Sadassan said, surprising her with her
easy use of the term in its correct context.

"Not even Heralds in disguise.  Such a one would not be able to conceal
his nature from Kra'heera, even without his Companion to betray him for
what he was.  Had a Herald ridden into this place, Kra'heera would know
without seeing him with the outer eyes."

"oH, really?"  That was news to her.

Kra'heera had the grace to blush.

"It is only what I was born with," he said disparagingly.

"It is no great virtue, or ability earned by study."

"It may not be a virtue, but it's nothing to be discounted, either "
she replied.  Thank you for once again pulling an egg out of your ear,
cousin.  Or rather, Kra'heera's ear.

"So what do they look like?  Do you know?  " Istren spoke up as they
turned the corner of the barracks and came into view of the guest
house.

"I had heard they were all in dark blue and silver, sober, like a kind
of Kal'enedral.  That there are two with much silver who speak with
authority, two with a little who speak only to the first, and four with
none who speak not at all.  " Dark blue and silver.  That would be the
Royal Army.

What in the gods' names are Royal Valdemaran Guards doing down here?

"Just on that alone, I'd say you were safe to sell to them," she said,
as in the distance, the noise of the fair carried over the walls.

"But I think we ought to check them out, anyway.  If there's something
going on up north that sends them down here, we had all better know
about it.

Kra'heera nodded.

"It is said that war respects no One's boundaries that are not guarded,
and I can think of nothing that would bring those secret folk to us
except war.  I I

Pot calling kettle black-a Shin'a'in calling someone else secretive.i
She hid her amusement, as they reached the door of the guest house, and
the sentry (posted there any time there were guests) saluted her and
opened it for them.

The guest house included a small common room, and there they found the
first four of their visitors, seated at the table there.  Somehow they
had managed the seating so that no one had his back to the door.  All
four were sitting with military stiffness that they couldn't seem to
drop, even over four flagons of chilled ale.

They rose slowly to their feet, looking from her to the Shin'a'in and
back with uncertainty; obviously, since she had no uniform or insignia
they'd recognize, they had no idea who or what she was nor how to treat
her.  And the Shin'a'in, in their brightly embroidered vests and
trappings of barbaric splendor had them severely puzzled.

She ended their suspense, though not after a struggle with
temptation.

"I'm Captain Kerowyn," she said in their own tongue, and accepted their
belated attention and salutes with a nod.

"These are my Shin'a'in cousins;

I am the agent for their horses.  What can we do for you?"

She watched them work that through-a mercenary Captain, who knew their
language, related to the purportedly unfriendly Shin'a'in, who was also
acting as a merchant-agent for those same unfriendly Shin'a'in, who
were standing beside her with undisguised curiosity eating them alive.
That was at least two outright contradictions and three real
surprises.

"We're here on behalf of Queen Selenay," said the one with the most
silver braid on his sleeves, a man about a decade older than the other
three, and "military" from his teeth to his toenails.

"We need cavalry mounts, good ones, horses we can depend on with very
little training;

while we normally wouldn't seek this far for them word has come as far
as Valdemar of this fair.  Everyone ~nows about the quality of the
beasts the Shin'a'in breed, and it seemed more than worth our time to
come here.  While we ordinarily might not trust that these horses for
sale were full Shin'a'in-bloods, the H-our information is that you are
very honest and that the fair and the beasts are what rumor claims
them.  Our query with the Mere~enary Guild supported that."

She hadn't missed his slip-he'd been about to say "the Heralds," or
even "the Herald Eldan."  She translated quickly for her cousins,
trying to ignore the little thrill of elation that Eldan at least still
thought well enough of her to call her "honest and fair."

"Ask them how many they want," Sadassan said, coming straight to the
point.

"IMI you have," one of the younger Guards said eagerly, when she
repeated the question.

"We saw them as we were coming in-the mounts your people were training
with.  Wonderful!  We'll take everything!"

The older man looked at him oddly, but didn't contradict or reprimand
him for speaking out of turn.

So that's the one who holds the purse strings.  The older one is in
nominal command, but this is the important one.  Hmm.  Noble, younger
son would be my guess.  the other two are probably breeders or
trainers, brought along as consultants.  Right, now I know who's
what.

She explained her observations to her cousins, then turned back to the
visitors.

"This is where I put on my merchant hat," she said, "Only it's an odd
sort of merchant hat, because I am not going to urge you to buy
everything with legs in sight.  First of all, only about half the
horses here are Shin'a'in-blood, and of those, not all of them are
going to be suitable for cavalry mounts.  Yes, they've all been broken
and given some training that involves fighting, but it may not be what
you want.  The Shin'a'in feel very strongly about their beasts; the
name they call them means 'younger sibs."  If they think you're going
to put one horse to a task for which it isn't suited, they won't sell
you any.  " Purse-holder opened and shut his mouth twice, without
saying anything.  The One In Charge blinked, as if he was so surprised
by her response that he wasn't certain he'd heard it right.

"And in any event, these are light beasts; good for skirmishers,
horse-archers and light cavalry.  So, has Valdemar ever run any troops
like that before so that you know what to look for?"  She waited for a
response; the One In Charge gave it.

"Not in the standing army, no," he admitted.

"Some of the nobles on the Border have private troops like that;

no one else.  That's why we came here for the mounts."

She nodded, and translated.  Kra'heera put in his own discoveries.

"I have been watching their minds, cousin.

The one who speaks out of turn is a wealthy man of highborn, who breeds
the Ashkevron hunters and heavy horses.  The ones who do not speak are
trainers of skirmishers.

The one who speaks much is a war leader  It is as he has said-and these
are fighters they wish now to have.  He has hot told you why.  There is
to be fighting upon their eastern border, and soon, he thinks.  Very,
very serious fighting."

Kero nodded; there had been rumors about conflict ding between Valdemar
and HardoRN, but since Karse was between HardoRN and any potential
client, and Valdemar the never hired mercenaries, she hadn't paid much
attention to the rumors.

This might involve more for us than just selling horses.

If Hardorn is starting a major war and wins, they'll be on Rethwellan's
border, and that means we get involved.

Another thought occurred to her.  Just because Valdemar hasn't hired
meres in the past, that doesn't mean they won't start.

"Troops like that aren't trained in a day," she warned.

"It took us ten years to get where we are.  Most standing armies don't
bother-but if you're sure of the need-?"

Purse-holder nodded, and he wasn't entirely happy about the need being
there, either.

"Well, if you'll trust my judgment on what beasts will suit you," she
told him, "I think we can come to the bargaining table."

Furse-holder tapped One In Charge on the shoulder, and they spent a
moment in huddled conference.  One In Charge finally turned back toward
her and nodded.

"Is this all right with you?"  she asked her cousins.

They looked at each other, then Sadassan shrugged.

"We had rather our younger-sibs did not go to war, but if they go to
hands that will care for them, they are as safe as may be in this
world.  It is well."

"All right, gentlemen," she said, waving to the cousINS to precede
her.

"If you'll follow me, we can expedite this transaction as quickly as
even you might want .

Sadassan weighed the first of three heavy pouches in her hand as she
held the other two in the crook o one "That I shall intercept those
Clans going to the An arm.  She smiled, watching as the last of the
Valdemaran horse-handlers urged a straggler to catch up with the rest
of the herd and out past the corrals.  Kero coughed at the dust they
raised, and quirked her eyebrow at the Shin'a'in trainer.

"Well, they certainly paid enough.  Are you content, cousin?  " "More
than content," Sadassan said with certainty.

"Kra'heera has kept watch on their minds.  Their ruler is a good one;
this, their Queen, has sold some of her wed gifts to give to these men,
that they might purchase best mounts they could find.  She thinks first
of her people, their lands, and their beasts, and only then of herself.
" "That's what I'd heard from El-from a Herald I knew, " Kero said,
hastily avoiding Eldan's name.

"I

didn't know whether to believe it or not, frankly.  You know, if all
monarchs took care of their people that way, there might be fewer
wars."

"Perhaps."  Sadassan put the pouch with the others, cradled like a
baby.

"Perhaps.  We, we do not place much store in Kings and the like.  You
have a good one in this year-who is to say that the one that follows
him will be as good?"

"Nothing, unless you have a system like the Rethwellans have, with the
sword that chooses the King.  " She shrugged.

"And then, of course, you could lose the sword, or someone enchants it,
or puts in a substitute.

Besides, if there were fewer wars, I'd be out of work.

So, what do you plan to do now?  You've sold most of your string all at
once."

Sa'dassan glanced toward the temporary corrals.

"It has been a good three years," she observed.

"Our mares bred widely, and many foaled twins.  And the first of the
Young ones are coming upon the market-we had a fear to glut it and
bring prices down."

Kero laughed to hear the Shin'a'in-reputed to be the Most ruthless
fighters in the world-talking like a merchant.  " Which was one reason,
no doubt, why Liha'irden sent their string with ours."

Kero raised her eyebrow a little higher.

"So what did You have in mind?"

duras Fair in Jkatha and send them here.  It is not so far from here, a
week's ride, and they were going out behind us.  Some Clans drew lots
to send their beasts abroad beyond Kata'shin'a'in, and that was one of
the places.

They were to wait for us and your armed escort before returning to the
Plains."

The last time that the Shin'a'in had gone to Anduras Fair was when
Tale'sedrin had been ambushed on the way home, and only Tarma left as a
survivor.  Kero clamped her teeth on her first reaction; that the fear
of glut must have been very great to send horses again to a place so
ill-omened.

"As I said, they set out after us; and Anduras is not so great a
distance that we cannot coax the buyers here to wait, I think."
Sadassan smiled slyly, and Kero chuckled.

"And in return for that coaxing, you will, of course, get a percentage
of their profits."  She shook her head.

Sa'dassan spread her hands wide.

"Value for value, and reward for the deserving-that is how the Clans
have always been, cousin.  And lest you hold up to me that first fair,
and the horses we brought you-let me point out that you are Clan by
blood, and we only delivered to you your own share that had been
unclaimed."

Kero shrugged.

"I won't argue with you, if that's the way you see it-but look, will
you trust me and mine with your earnings in return?  You're going to
lose time going down and back and the best is going to be gone by the
time you return; if you'll leave your needs and your coin with
Scratcher, I think he can get everything you want at the price you
want."

Sa'dassan thought the idea over with her head tilted to the side, then
nodded.

"He provisions your people;

doubtless he has the skill and the contacts.  Done, then, and that is a
kingly offer."

I think they're going to get a pleasant surprise, Kero thought, leading
Sadassan back to the accounting office and Scratcher's domain.  They're
good-but he's better!

He hasn't lost a bargaining session once that I ever heard Of!

With that settled, the Shin'a'in saw no reason to linger;

they left their tents, but gathered up their belongings ii and headed
south with a speed and efficiency that Kero could only envy.  She saw
them off, then made her rounds of town and fortress-Only to discover
that everything was running perfectly smoothly.  By nightfall she had
inspected every aspect of fair and training and provisioning, and
concluded that she might as well not even be there.

She sat down on her bed, pulled off her boots, and looked out of her
window as a cool breeze stirred her hair.  The fortress was quiet-the
recruits and veterans alike were kept too busy by training and the fair
to car rouse much in the barracks after the sun went down.  Besides,
why carry on at home, when there were both the old familiar haunts of
the town and the new amusements of the fair to tempt you out of the
gates each night?

Lights burned out beyond the walls and the sounds of music and voices
drifted toward the barracks on the breeze; both the town and the fair
kept late hours.  She found herself wondering where on the road those
Valdemar men were tonight.  They had been in such a hurry that they
hadn't even looked at the fair.

And that made her think, think ahead.  Tarma had taught her to think in
terms of the greater picture as well as her own little part of it.  You
never knew when something happening hundreds of leagues away would
affect you.  If I were a Queen looking to strengthen my forces, what
would I do?  Assuming that I have a stupid prejudice against hiring
meres.

For a moment, as she stared out at the lights of the fair, and the
colored shapes of the tents lit up from within, like fire-flowers, she
thought she heard Eldan's voice, faint and far off, protesting, "That's
not fair!"

She ignored that imagined voice.  You're not real, and you aren't here,
and anyway, you aren't interested in me anymore, she thought sternly,
to exorcise the persistent ghost.

There were no more outbursts from her overheated imagination.

Well, as far as she, a strategist, was concerned, it was a stupid
prejudice.  Mere Companies had, more than once, won wars.  People who
refused to hire them had, more than once, lost those wars.

The young and idealistic fight for medals and honor, she thought
cynically.  The experienced and worldly-wise fight for money.  You see
a lot more retired meres than old farmers with a chest full of medals.
That was, after all, the goal of a successful mere; to live long enough
and collect enough to retire, usually on one's own land.

Many meres tame out of multi child families without a chance for land
of their own, and this was their only way to earn it.

But that was a digression.  If Kero were this Queen, what would she
do?

Conscript those private troops the Guardsman talked about.  Get them
equipped with the best.  While they're in place, start calling up
volunteers, and if you can't get enough volunteers, start conscription.
Rush those troops through training.  And start calling in any debts my
allies owe me.

She had a mental map of everything as far north as the mountains above
Valdemar, and as far south as the Bitter Sea; west to the Pelagirs and
the Plains, east to the High Kingdom of Brendan.  And the only allies
she could think of that Valdemar might possibly have in this conflict
would be Iftel and Rethwellan.

Iftel would be logical, but-dear gods, they are strange there.  The
Shin'a'in Warrior doesn't intervene half as often as the Wind Lords.  I
can't see Iftel mixing up in this unless they're threatened.  Which
leaves Rethwellan.

Now, Karse is between Rethwellan and Hardorn, but they might be able to
persuade King Faramentha that Hardorn could threaten Rethwellan if they
overran southern Valdemar.

Which means the next logical step will be for the Queen to send an
envoy to the Rethwellan Court.

The fair really interested her very little, these days.

Most of her entertainment came from acting as her cousins' agent.  She
used to help train the new recruits, but that was back in the days when
they were shorthanded.

There were others that were better trainers, and she knew when to get
the hell out of the way.  Basically, all she did in winter quarters,
was keep herself in training, study strategy, keep the books straight,
get familiar with the strengths and weaknesses of the recruits, study
the political situation with an eye to offers in the spring, and carve
her little gemstones.  Of all of them, Scratcher could keep the books
by himself, the new recruits wouldn't be showing anything distinct for
another couple of months, the gemstones could wait-and the rest could
be done elsewhere.

Furthermore, right now, living here at the Fortress was-painful.  She
kept looking for faces that wouldn't be here anymore.  It happened
every year, certainly, and it took her a couple of months.  to get over
it-but they'd never made it home this early before, and she kept seeing
the backs of head that looked familiar-until the owner turned, and it
was a new recruit.  It would be a relief to get away until the pain
faded with time, the pain that always came when she sent someone out
who didn't come back again.

It will be a relief to sleep in a strange bed.  Maybe the dreams won't
find me there.

And yet, part of her wanted them so badly-No.

Before she realized it, she'd made up her mind to leave.

And that trip to Rethwellan seemed a bit more important than it had
before.

Lord Baron Dudlyn had plainly just begun his diatribe.

Daren jabbed his heel into the side of his hunter, making the gelding
jump and dance in surprise, and giving him an excuse to concentrate on
the horse.

Because if he didn't, he was going to laugh in Lord Baron Dudlyn's
face.  The hunt's hardly started, and already he's complaining.  Too
bad we're at a walk.  I wish the dogs would scent something besides
rabbits; once we take off, he'll be left behind.

The old man moved his fat old palfrey out of the way of the geldings
path, and actually shook his finger up at Daren.

"I tell you, I don't know what this Court is coming to!"  he shouted
querulously.

"It's a disgrace, I tell You' You brother is King of this land, and he
can't go accepting barbarian mercenaries that are no better than
bandits as equals to members of his Court and ambassadors from other
realms!  That mercenary female, that so-called Captain, is making a
mockery of all of us!  I haven't seen such a disgraceful display since
that wild Shin'a'in female showed up, back in your blessed father's
day-" Daren decided to end the lecture by dancing his gelding out of
the Lord Baron's vocal range.  Not that the Lord Baron didn't try to
increase his volume But aged lung can only produce so much wind.

He grinned as he spurred his gelding to catch up with the front of the
hunting party.  His brother was up there, as the King had to be, which
had left Daren to be polite to the old dotards, show-offs, and those
with more bravado than sense in the rear.  For a while, anyway.
Depending on what the hounds turned up next, at least half of the party
might well be left behind or turn back voluntarily, as they had during
the morning hunt.

I haven't had so much _fun in a year, he thought with glee, as the
gelding spotted his stable mate and put on an extra burst of speed to
catch up with him.  It's a good thing that Kero and Faram hit it off so
well, though.  Otherwise the Lord Baron might not be the only one
complaining.

And it would be damned hard to keep the peace around here.

Just as he reached the two of them, Kero on her ugly gray war steed and
Faram on his pure Shin'a'in-bred chestnut, one of the hounds flushed a
pheasant.  Two bows came up at the same time; two bowstrings hummed at
once-but when the retrievers brought the bird back, and the huntsman
took it from the dog's gentle mouth to present it to the King, it was
obvious that Faram's arrow had gone wide of the mark, and Kero had out
shot him once again.

And for at least the twentieth time this morning, the courtiers were
scandalized.  There was a hum of comment behind Daren, and he heard the
Lord Baron's voice rising unpleasantly above the rest, though he
couldn't make out the words.

"You've beaten me again, Captain," Faram said ruefully, handing the
bird to the gamekeepers to stow with the rest.

"I'm not exactly a bad shot, but I find myself very glad now that You
turned down my offer to wager on the outcome of this contest."  He
looked back over his shoulder, past Daren, and the corners of his eyes
crinkled as he suppressed a grin.

"I am afraid that my courtiers don't approve of your manner, however.
No subject is supposed to outshoot the King.  "

Kero chuckled as Daren pulled up next to Kero, putting her in between
himself and his brother.

"My Lord," she replied, "I may live in your Kingdom, but I've seen the
Mercenary Guild Charter for Rethwellan.  I'm a Freeholder by that
Charter, and no subject of anyone's.  " "An excellent point, and it
seems that you are as much lawyer as fighter.  " The King looked across
Kero at his brother.

"You did warn me, didn't you, Daren?"

"I did.  About her scholarship and her skills.  I said that Tarma
called her a 'natural' when we were learning together.  I said I didn't
think she'd let any of her skills slip just because she was a Captain. 
And you kept saying I was exaggerating."  Daren shrugged expansively.

"Will you believe me When I tell you something now?"

"I suppose I'll have to.  You keep telling me "I told you so' at every
opportunity."  Faram turned his attention back to Kero, as his horse
shook his head.

"What I would really like to know is how you learned to shoot so
well-we both had the same teacher, but you never seem to miss.  I'd
suspect you of magic if you weren't so entirely un magical  " Kero bit
her lip as if she was trying to keep from laughing, and replied, "My
lord, the fact is that you have never been either on the front line or
dependent entirely on your own skill to keep your belly full.  I think
you'd find that the two harshest teachers in the world are survival and
hunger.  I've had both, and trust me, they make a difference.  " "On
the whole," Faram admitted, "I think I'd prefer to skip that sort of
lessoning.  I'm too old for those teachers.  " " You're too fond of
your comforts, brother," Daren jibed.  Faram was about to retort-but at
exactly that moment, the head of the boar-pack belled, and the entire
pack started off.  Daren's mount lurched from a walk into a gallop, and
as he passed the huntsmen who were whistling in the retrievers, he
grinned.

This was a hunt meant to supply the Court with meat for the Sovvan
Feast tonight.  If Sovvan hunt-luck meant luck for the rest of the
winter, as the old folks said it did, the winter would be a prosperous
and easy one.  Already they'd brought down a half-dozen deer this
morning several bachelor bucks and a couple of does that everyone
agreed were past their bearing prime.  That was enough venison that
Faram had sent back the deer hounds and brought up the boar-hounds. 
The Queen and her ladies were coursing the woods and meadows nearer the
Palace, taking their hawks out after birds and hare.

Most of the ladies, that is

He looked back over his shoulder, to see that the handful of women
who'd ridden out with the King's party were still there, keeping up
valiantly, and already outdistancing the likes of the Lord Baron.

Last year there hadn't been any women with the King S party, but since
Kero's arrival-and example-there were a respectable number of ladies
exchanging their skirts for full-cut breeches, and riding neck-and-knee
with the men.  And some of those ladies were not young; Lady Samedelia,
who had a formidable reputation as a rider on her own estate, had
hailed Kero's "innovation" with relief and enthusiasm.  She was right
up there beside the best of the riders, proving rumor to be truth-and
she was fifty if she was a day.

I can't help but wonder how many others would have joined us, but
weren't willing to risk losing suitors or enraging husbands.  I know
the Lord Baron's daughter looked as if she d rather have been with us.
His granddaughter is, and I'll bet that's what kicked off that tirade
about "disgrace.  " Of course, she's safely wedded to young Randel, and
she can snap her fingers at what her grandfather thinks, since her
loving spouse thinks that everything she does is wonderful.  And if I
could find a lady that suited me as well as she suits him, I d probably
think the same.  Huh.  Wonder whatever happened to that little prig
Daren, who was horrified at the notion of "Lady Kerowyn " riding to
hunt exactly like this?  Maybe he grew up.

He leaned forward into his horse's neck, ducking a low-hanging tree
limb.  He saw a fallen trunk just ahead of them, and braced himself for
the jump.

The gelding took it, but stumbled; he recovered quickly, but not before
he'd made Daren's teeth rattle.

They broke through a screening of bushes into a clearing and ahead of
him Daren saw Kero's big, ugly mare sail over another fallen tree-giant
with a twinge of envy.

The Shin'a'in-blood was taking rough ground with a contemptuous ease
that left most of the other horses faltering or outright refusing.
About the only ones that were keeping up with her were himself, the
King, and the huntsmen.

And probably only because we have Shin'a'in-breds, too.  Though not
like that.  No wonder people would kill to get a war steed

T~is boar was leading the hounds a merry chase; he was obviously fast
and canny.  I hope he's the one they wanted us to go after,.  he's
surely acting as if he was the bad one.  The local farmers had reported
some trouble m~ith an unusually large and evil-tempered boar to the

KI

ing s huntsmen-a boar who had already killed one swineherd and wounded
others, stealing their herds of pigs for his harem when they took the
beasts into the forest after fallen acorns.  That was why they'd hunted
stag this morning; to give the horses a chance to run off any
skittishness before going after such a dangerous beast as a boar.

That's the one time I've seen Kero back down from something, he
thought, as the trail wound deeper into the forest, and the horses were
forced to slow their headlong gallop.  When she said she U stay
a-horse, even Faram was surprised.  But then she's never fought on
foot, and she didn't even bring a proper boar-spear with her, just that
saddle-quiver full of lances.

Curious weapons, those; Daren had never seen anything like them.  She
had told him that they were used by the Shin'a'in, and it was obvious
that they were not intended for game-those.  were man-killing weapons,
with narrow, razor-barbed metal heads as long as Daren's hand.

Well, maybe if it runs, she can sting it with one of those and turn it
for us.

The pack was belling ahead of them, and the huntsman sounding the
"brought to cover" call on his horn.  The horses emerged into a tiny
clearing before a covert; that was obviously where the boar had holed
up, and now they were going to have to flush him into the open.

While Kero stayed on horseback as she'd pledged, the rest dismounted
and went ahead on foot.  The pack was still ahead of them, and the
huntsman sounded the "broken cover" call.  Daren broke into a trot; he
heard Kero's horse behind him, eeling through dense brush that even he
was having trouble with, afoot.

The sound of the pack changed, just as the huntsman sounded "brought to
bay."

Daren vaulted a tangle of roots, and burst out into a clearing.  The
boar was standing off the pack; he was an enormous brute, with a wide,
scarred back.  Not a wild boar at all, but a domestic beast gone
feral.

That made him all the more dangerous.  Daren pulled himself up before
charging into the fray, and looked at his brother.

Faram read the plan in Daren's look and nod-they'd hunted boar together
for years now, and needed only a glance to determine what the other
intended.  This time Daren would be the bait.

I The huntsmen pulled the pack back at his command, and while Faram
moved quietly around the edge of the clearing, Daren shouted at the
boar, getting ready to drop to his knee or dodge aside at any moment.
The success of this tactic lay in the fact that once a boar this big
began a charge, it had trouble changing direction quickly, and its poor
eyesight interfered with its ability to follow anything moving in a way
it didn't expect.  You only had to avoid those slashing tusks Only.  "
Hey!"  he yelled at it, stamping one foot.

"Hey!  11 It waved its head from side to side, nose up in the air,
seeking a scent that the musk of the dogs covered-then saw him, and
charged perfectly down the center of the clearing.

He leapt aside at the last possible moment; saw the flash of a tusk as
it made a strike for him.  Then he leapt back before it had a chance to
change direction, jabbing down at the heart with his boar-spear,
knocked off balance for a moment, as Faram ran in from the side a
heartbeat later to plunge his own spear into the boar's back.

It shrieked in pain and anger, and struggled forward , tearing up the
soft earth in deep furrows with its cloven hooves.  But the two of them
had it pinned between them; another moment, and its legs collapsed from
under it, and it died, as one spear or both found the heart.

He started to look up, a grin of congratulation spreading across his
face, when a human scream rang across the clearing, cutting across the
cheer started by the huntsmen.

Movement and a flash of red caught his eyes-one huntsman was down, his
leg savaged, and standing above him, with her tusks dripping red, was a
sow-a wild sow, as big as the boar they'd just brought down.

My gods.  It had a mate..  ..

She squealed once, trampled the huntsman, and then whirled to face them
all.

And the first thing she saw was Faram.

She squealed again with rage, and charged.

Daren tugged futilely at his spear, but it was stuck fast in the boar,
lodged as it was intended to do, and wouldn't come free.  Faram was on
his knees, and struggling to get up, but it was obvious he was never
going to get out of the way in time.

Suddenly, there was a blur of gray, flying between the King and the
charging sow.

The pig screamed, and turned aside; whirled and charged this new
target, her eye streaming blood.  The gray war steed pivoted on a
single hoof, and lashed out with her hind feet, sending the sow flying
through the air.  Two flashes of metal followed it, and the sow hit the
ground and lay there, thrashing, two of Kero's lances sticking out of
its sides.

The mare whirled again, but on seeing that the "enemy" was no longer a
threat, snorted once and tossed her head.  Kero dismounted, walked
cautiously toward the convulsing beast with her knife in her hand, then
dived in and slit the sow's throat with one perfectly timed stroke.

The beast shuddered and died.

Kero rose from the carcass, and wiped her knife carefully on the sow's
hide.  Only then did she look over to where Daren and his brother were
sprawled beside the body of the boar.

" Survival, my lord," she said mildly.  "has taught me to always leave
a mobile scout to the rear."

Then she walked over to her mare, and mounted, leaving the huntsmen to
deal with the carcass.

Twenty

Kero sipped at her watered wine, turned to the woman at her said, and
said, "Honestly, it was mostly Hellsbane.

I've never hunted boar before, and I didn't know what to expect.  That
was why I stayed mounted."

Lady "Delia nodded.

"A good horse is worth twenty arms men or so it seems to me.  I've
never seen a horse quite as well trained as yours, though.  She follows
and obeys you more like a dog than a horse."

"So I've noticed," Kero told her, without elaborating.

Let her wonder.  She seems nice enough, but the less people know about
war steeds the better off I W be.  Whether people overestimate or
underestimate Hellsbane, I win.

"She's really the second horse of her line that I've had from the
cousins," she continued, which allowed Lady "Delia to elaborate on her
own horses' lines, and ask which of the King's Shin'a'in-bloods it
would be best to breed her hunters to.

Kero answered with only half of her mind occupied by the conversation;
the rest monitored the feast and the peoples' reactions to her, a
response as automatic as breathing.  She couldn't help but contrast the
reaction of the Rethwellan Court to that of her brother's.  Despite the
similarity of the circumstances-that she had personally rescued both
Dierna and King Faram-in her brother's home she had honor without
admiration.  Here she had both; an embarrassment of admiration, in
fact.  Some of the young ladies of the Court, those in the
hero-worshipping early teens, had even taken to dressing like her.
Predictably, Daren found this very funny.

But better that than fear; she was as much feared as admired by many of
the Court.  King Faram's people had seen her in action and knew what
she could do, now, where her brother's people saw her successes as
being mostly luck.

On the other hand, fear didn't bother her as much as it used to.  I
guess I've gotten thicker-skinned.  As long as the babies don't run
screaming from me, I think I can handle a little fear.

King Faram ~impressed her as much as she had evidently impressed him. I
can see why Daren loves his brother, she thought, watching the relaxed
and easy manner they had between them, sharing jokes or admiring a
particularly toothsome lady.  It would have been very easy for Faram to
resent what I did for him, but there's absolutely no sign of any such
thing.

In fact, he had ordered the sow's head prepared and served alongside
the boar's head, and presented to her with a full retelling of the
story.  The Court Bard was a good one; with very little warning he'd
done the tale up with bangles and bells, making her sigh, and wonder if
this song was going to make the rounds the way "Kerowyn' s Ride" had.
He had promised her a boon when the song was over; right now she had no
idea what she'd ask for, but something like that was worth taking time
to think about.

The feast was a bit more than she was comfortable with, anyway.  Her
people ate well, but nothing like this.

She didn't recognize half of what was served, and even though she did
no more than nibble at what she did recognize, she was ready to end the
meal when it was only half over.

Probably that was as much reaction as anything else, though.  As
always, she got her battle-nerves after the fact, when everything was
over and done with.  If I was standing, my knees would be knocking
together.  And I never, ever would have been able to pull that one off
without Hellsbane.

The sow had burst cover at the boar's death-squeal;

Kero happened to be looking right at the spot, and watched in horror as
she savaged the huntsman before Kero or anyone else realized that she
was going to attack.

She had known that pigs were notoriously short-sighted;

she'd spurred Hellsbane straight for the sow, inspired by the thought
that only a horse was going to be big enough to distract the pig or
make her pause.  The lance in the eye had been a purely lucky-or
gods-sent-hit; she'd hoped only to score the sow's tender snout and
distract her.

Then, as she'd passed, she'd signaled Hellsbane to kick, hoping to keep
the pig's teeth away from the mare's hamstrings.  She'd forgotten that
Hellsbane had been taught a low kick as well as a high, meant to take
out men on the ground who might have strength enough to hurt her.
Hellsbane had made her own judgment, and had used the low kick,
connecting solidly, and sending the sow flying before she could
charge.

Then Hellsbane had wheeled, allowing Kero to launch another lance.  And
that, too, had connected solidly, as had the third.

it had been as close a call as any she had ever had on the battlefield,
and she hadn't been entirely sure her legs would hold her when she
dismounted.  She'd said as much to Daren, who had been just as shaken
as she was.

AS soon as this feast is over, she promised herself, I'm going to have
a nice hot bath, in my room, with a good fire going, and only one
candle for light.  And tea, not wine.

The noise and the mingled odors of food and perfume were beginning to
give her a headache.  Though it was no bad thing to have the King's
gratitude demonstrated so openly, she rather wished she'd be able to
get away from the crowd some time soon.  She wasn't used to people like
this; undisciplined, so wildly different, and yet so much the same,
with such-to her, at least-trivial interests.

She blinked to clear her eyes as the glitter and color swam before them
for a moment.  Thousands of jewels winked at her in the light from
hundreds of candles; fabrics she couldn't even name made pools of rich
color all down the tables.  The candles were scented, the people were
scented, the drink perfumed with flower petals, the food spiced.  On
one side of the room, the Court Bard held forth; on the other, a
consort of recorders, and near the low table, an acrobat.  It was too
much, a surfeit of luxury.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and a man in a black tabard
embroidered with Faram's arms slipped inside.  He rapped three times on
the floor with his staff, and somehow the sound penetrated the babble.
A hush descended for a moment; the King's herald rapped .n he floor
with his staff again to ensure the silence.  Heads turned toward him
with surprise, including the King's;

Faram had been so deep in conversation that he had not noticed the
herald's entrance.

"Your majesty," the herald said, in a rich, baritone voice that was
nothing like Kero's own parade-ground bellow, but seemed to carry as
well and as far, "An envoy from Queen Selenay of Valdemar asks
permission to approach."

Kero sat up straighter, suddenly much more alert.  From Valdemar?  But
what are they doing here now?  Why don't they wait until formal Court
in the morning?  She looked back at Daren and his brother, only to see
from their expressions that they were just as baffled as she was.

"Let them approach," the King said, after a whispered conference with
Daren and his Seneschal.  The herald turned and left, to return into
expectant silence, escorting two people.

One was a tall, raw-boned, blond man, with an attractively homely face;
a man who looked like a farmboy and moved like an assassin.  The other
was a small, slightly built woman, with a sweet, heart-shaped face, who
limped slightly.  That was what they looked like, but even Kero
recognized them for what they were; Heralds out of Valdemar, in the
white uniform of their calling.

And the sight of that uniform sent a pang through her heart that she
hadn't expected.  For a moment she couldn't even think.

"Queen's Own Herald Talia, and Herald Dirk," the King's herald
announced.  And did Kero only imagine it, or did even he seem to feel
the portent hanging heavy in his words?  One thing she did know-this
Talia was no ordinary Herald, and no ordinary envoy, either.  The
"Queen's Own" was the most important Herald in the Kingdom, second only
to the Monarch, and often exercising the power of the Monarch when
needed.  That was what Eldan had explained, anyway, ten years ago.

The two approached the head table, and bowed slightly.

The man stayed about a half pace behind the woman;

interesting positioning.  No doubt that's partially because she's the
ranking officer-but it's also partially because he's guarding her back.
Wonder if anyone else will notice that.

The young woman began to speak; she had a wonderful, musical contralto,
and she knew how to use it to gain her listeners attention.  Kero
listened closely and carefully as Talia explained what had brought
them.  The girl's Rethwellan wasn't bad, but her accent and occasional
odd turn of phrase made it very clear that she didn't have complete
mastery of the language yet.

"..  . and so my Queen has sent me here, directly, rather than to speak
through her embassy.  You will have beard, your majesty, of the events
in Hardorn these past two years?"  the young woman asked.  Faram
nodded, and she clasped her hands behind her.  Only Kero was near
enough to see that those hands were white-knuckled with tension.  She ~
scared to death, Kero realized with surprise.  She's nowhere near as
casual as she seems about this,.  it's a life-and-death situation, and
she knows it.  But she's not going to give that away.  She felt herself
warming to the young woman, for no apparent reason other than a feeling
that she was going to like this Talia.

"Ancar of Hardorn is friend to no man, and no nation," Talia continued
flatly, and there was something in her lack of expression that sent off
vague feelings of alarm in Kero.  After a moment she realized what it
was.  Severely traumatized veterans would speak in that flat,
exprressionless tone, about the battle experiences that had oken
them.

What on earth could King Ancar have done to the Queen ~~ Own Herald?
And how did he happen to get hold of her?  And why?  Something terrible
had happened to this young woman at Ancar's hands, she was as certain
of that as she was of 'her own name.

And so was Need.  For the first time in years, Kero felt the blade
stirring.

"Ancar is guilty of regicide and patricide," Talia continued.  " He has
visited terrors that no sane man would countenance on his own people,
and he has turned to dark powers to grant him his desires.  I have
proofs of this with me, if you would care to see them."

Faram shook his head, and indicated that she should go on.

"We stopped him once, we of Valdemar," she said.

"We held him at our Border and turned him back.  Now he amasses a new
army, one of men and steel rather than magic, and he marches again on
our Border."

"So what is it you want?"  Faram asked, leaning back in his chair so
that his face was in shadow and could not be read.

"Your aid, ")Talia said simply.

"We simply don't have enough armed men to hold him back this time."

As the Queen's Own Herald continued to speak, Kero grew more and more
puzzled.  I don't understand this.

Grandmother must have told me the story of the way she and Tarma got
rid of Leslac the Bard a dozen times-and every single time she told it,
she mentioned the pledge King Stefansen gave to Herald-Prince Roald;
that Rethwellan owed Valdemar a favor equal to that of putting a King
on his rightful throne.  And how Valdemar had never redeemed that
favor.  She watched as Talia's hands clenched tighter and tighter
behind her back, the only outward sign of the young woman's increasing
desperation.

I know for a fact that Valdemar hasn't cashed in the pledge since
Grandmother told me the story.  So why is she pleading for help when
she could demand it?

She glanced back at King Faram-and saw that he was just as tense as the
Herald, and a swift appraisal of Daren, whom she knew better than she
knew his brother, convinced her that they were mentally torn-For some
reason, she decided at last, Queen Selenay purely and simply does not
know about the pledge.  Faram knows about it, though, and Daren-they've
figured out that Selenay doesn't know of the pledge, and as people,
they want to help.  But as the King, Faram has to be reluctant to get
Rethwellan involved in a war with someone who isn't even on his border,
who isn't any kind of a threat to him.

So he is not going to remind anyone about the pledge, if it's been
forgotten.

In a way.  Kero could understand that kind of attitude-except that it
was ruinously short-sighted.  Half of their trade is with Valdemar, and
that trade is going to vanish if Valdemar's involved in a losing war.
And if Ancar wins-he will be on the border, and he doesn't sound to me
like the kind of neighbor I d welcome.  And if Faram can't see that
Thanks to Eldan, Kero knew a bit about Heralds and their country, and
what she knew-even if only half of it were true-she liked.

And besides that, all through the young woman's speech, Need had been
rousing, putting a slowly increasing pressure on the back of her mind.
It was pretty nebulous, confined to a vague feeling of help her!"  but
it was certainly getting stronger.  By the time this Talia had come to
the end of her speech, the sword was all but screaming in Kero's ear.

She waited for a moment to see what Faram would do;

it was always possible that he'd surprise her and offer Talia his help.
But he didn't; he spoke of the necessity of remaining neutral, of the
problems with Karse and the need to guard his own border.  He
temporized, and said in polite, diplomatic terms that he wasn't going
to help, as the man's face fell and the woman grew as rigid as a statue
of ice.  Kero felt their anguish as if it was her own.

Clearly, this had been their last hope.

I can't take this anymore.  Kero sighed, hoped Daren would forgive her,
and stood up.

All eyes in the room swung toward her, and even the King stopped in
mid-sentence as her chair scraped across the amber marble of the
floor.

"Majesty," she said, slowly and distinctly, with every ounce of dignity
and authority she could muster.

"You said in this very hall as the feast began, that I could crave a
boon of you in return for my actions at the hunt this afternoon.  " She
saw Daren clutch the table just out of the corner of her eye, his
expression pleading with her not to say what he was sure she intended
to say.  She ignored him.

Even if Need hadn't been goading her, the nagging of her own conscience
would have forced this on her.

"This is what I ask, Majesty," she told him, fixing her gaze directly
into his eyes.

"And I think it is no more than what all our honor demands.  As not
only the one who is owed a boon, but as my Grandmother Kethry's ra dda
liter, I ask: hold to the pledge your grandfather Steyanseung mad to
Selenay's grandfather Roald in the library of this very castle.  " The
Heralds' faces were equally comic studies in bafflement Daren buried
his face in his hands.  She waited for the King's anger to break out.

But although he winced, he gave no sign of anger.

Instead, he only sighed, and shook his head, then looked back into her
eyes and spoke softly, directly to her.

"I

never thought that it would be a mercenary Captain that would act as my
conscience," he said ruefully.

"Well, since the cat is well and truly escaped from the bag-" He raised
his voice.

"My lords, my ladies, we have some private business to attend to-but
let the feast continue.

We shall return to you when we may."

A hum of conversation rose when he had finished and stood up.

"Daren, Captain-come with me, if you will.

I have need of both of you.  " He gestured, and Kero took her place at
his side, though not without a certain trepidation.

She could only remember the old saying: be careful what you ask for,
you might get it.

I just asked for him to remember his grandfather's promise.  He may
well ask me to remember who and what I am.

He directed the two Heralds to follow him, and led the little
procession out a small door behind the head table, down a warmly lit
hallway, and into a room Kero had not seen before.

And there was no doubt what room this was, either, not when it was
lined in books, floor to ceiling.  This was the famous library.  The
King waved at the various chairs available, all of them worn shabby and
comfortable-looking, and Kero sat gingerly on the edge of one, not
entirely certain that she wanted to be here.

The King waited until all four of them were seated, before speaking.

"You," he said, pointing at Kero in a way that made her want to sink
into the chair and hide, I are both a most welcome and a most
inconvenient guest, Captain.  I am extremely grateful that you were
with us on this afternoon's hunt, but I could wish your excellent
memory to the Shin'a'in hell.  Perhaps it is not to my credit, but I
would have preferred not to have my country involved in a war that
poses us no danger."

She stayed silent, since she couldn't think of any way to respond to
his words that wasn't undiplomatic at best.

He dropped his hand, and shrugged.

"But you reminded me of an unredeemed pledge and saved my honor, if not
my country.  I suppose I should be grateful for that, even if, like
medicine, this is not what I would have chosen."

The man-Herald Dirk-raised his hand tentatively.

"your pardon, Majesty," he said, when Faram responded to the movement
by pivoting to face him, "but we haven't got the faintest idea of what
you have been talking about.  Just what is this pledge?"

Faram turned back to Kero.

"Well, Captain," he said smiling a little crookedly.

"It began with your grandmother and your Clanmother.  Would you care to
start?"

Kero cleared her throat, swallowed to give herself a moment to think,
and began.

"It all started-for my grandmother, at least-when she and her
blood-oath sister Tarma joined Idea's Sunhawks..  .. "

In the end, she and Daren and Faram took turns explaining the entire
story to the Heralds.  It was Faram who ended the tale, saying, "-so as
you can see, Rethwellan owes you what you came to beg of us.  I have to
admit that if the Captain hadn't made the question moot, I don't know
whether I would actually have continued to allow you to remain in
ignorance of that debt.  I've been corresponding with my niece Elspeth,
and she's a charming child-but joining my country to yours in a war is
not a step to make based on how charming one's niece is.  " "But-"
Talia began, when Faram held up his hand to interrupt her.

"My conscience, at least, is much happier with the secret out in the
open, even if my coldly practical side is not.  The real problem, my
lady, is that the Rethwellan army is composed mainly of foot.  That is
why we hire mercenary Companies when we need other forces.  Even if I
could muster them, and start them off for Valdemar immediately, they
couldn't possibly be there before..  .. "

He looked to Daren for his answer, and got it.

"Spring Equinox, assuming we started on the road tomorrow, " Daren said
promptly.  And the Heralds' faces fell again.

"And there's no way we can get them mustered and on the march for at
least a fortnight, so they'll arrive later than that.  But-" e voices
together, as the King raised an eyebrow.

"The Skybolts are mounted-and really, that's exactly the kind of troops
you of Valdemar need for the initial encounters.  Skirmishers, experts
in ambush and strike-and run anything to throw Ancar's army off-balance
and keep them that way.  Kero knows warfare like-like no one except her
Clanmother.  " He made a little bow in her direction, as she
unaccountably blushed.  Dear gods, blushing, and at my age!

And not for a pretty little compliment, but because he says that I'm a
better tactician than anyone but Tarma.

Certainly shows where my priorities have gone!

"She may even surpass Tarma by now; it wouldn't surprise me.  Between
the Skybolts, the Valdemar forces, and Kero's knowledge of tactics, she
can distract Ancar for long enough that we'd have a chance to come in
to take Ancar's rear.  In fact, if I were the Captain, I'd lead them
chasing wild hares all over the countryside and have them exhaust
themselves to no purpose.  " Kero ran the basic plan in her head, and
found that she liked it.

"Huh," she said thoughtfully.

"I think it would work.  Especially if we let them get just inside the
Border enough so they think they're winning, then lead them up along
it.  Frankly, Heralds, you're better off with us; we get paid whether
we win or lose, and we don't have any national pride tied up with
appearing to lose.  You might have a hard time convincing your own
troops to look like cowards, but my people have done it before, and
accept it as good tactics.  Daren, if you let me run them ragged, you'd
probably make it to us at exactly the right moment.

And he won't be expecting you; he'll probably be completely off-guard.
I've only got one question-we didn't make any pledges.  My lords, my
lady, we're mercenaries, and we don't work for free.  Who's paying our
way?  " "We are," said Talia and the King at exactly the same moment.
They looked at each other, and laughed weakly.

"Split the fee," Kero advised.

"This is going to be a winter march for us, and winter marches don't
come cheaply.  " Talia nodded, somewhat to Kero's surprise.

"I've done my share of winter marches," she said wryly.

"I think I can guess what it will be like, going over mountains in a
full Company in winter.  We were told about you, Captain, and advised
and authorized to hire you.  That was our next job; to find you and
negotiate.  I hope you realize how rare that is."

Eldan ?  Probably.  How can I miss a man so much, when I spent so
little time with him, so long ago?  Well, whatever, he's getting his
wish; he's got me coming up to Valdemar now.  I'm just as glad the
troops don't know about him, or they d be placing bets on the outcome
of our first meeting.  Blessed Agnira, I never thought becoming Captain
would mean anything like that!

"I do understand, and I appreciate that this shows your confidence in
me and mine," she said, hoping her voice sounded businesslike and
didn't betray how shaky she felt.

Nods all around the table, and she found herself vowing silently that
she would not let these people down.

"First things first, since you trust my skill-let's see if we can't
work out the actual logistics of this thing..  .

"I can't believe this," Kero said out loud, watching from Hellsbane's
back as the troops rode past, out of the big double gates of Bolthaven
and up the road to Valdemar.

She shifted in her saddle, and Hellsbane shifted to match her.  It was
a good day for leaving; not too cold, under a bright-blue, cloudless
sky.  Good weather was a good omen,-and soldiers are as superstitious
as any man.

The Skybolts rode in march-formation; two abreast, which made for a
long line, but as long as they were in friendly territory, it didn't
matter.  It was quite an impressive sight, and the Company looked far
larger than it actually was.  Every one of them had at least one spare
riding animal on a lead-rope behind him, plus his own packhorse.  Those
with longer strings rode at the head of the column; they'd be breaking
the trail, and being able to switch to a fresh horse every time the
ones they were riding got tired would keep the column slogging on at a
much faster pace than anyone other than Kero guessed.

That was one of the Skybolts' tricks; they had more.  A lot more.  And
in this campaign, they'd probably need every one of them.

"You don't believe what, Captain?"  Shallan asked, her breath puffing
out of her hood in a white cloud.  She and Geyr waited patiently beside
Kero for the last of the column to move out.  The other Lieutenants
were spaced at roughly equal intervals along the column, so that there
would never be an officer out of effective range to handle an
emergency.

"I don't believe them, " she said, pointing her chin at the last of the
column, passing out of the gates.  Now the quartermaster and his
pack-strings moved out.  Ten years ago.  Kero had made the decision
that the Skybolts would have no wagons with them.  If something
couldn't be carried horseback, it wouldn't come with them.  Some
ingenious, lightweight substitutions had been arrived at, due to the
quartermaster's ingenuity.  The tents, for instance, that could be
packed twenty to a horse.  New poles had to be cut each night, but it
was worth it.

"There's not near enough bitching and moaning," Kero continued.

"Here I am, hauling them out of cozy winter quarters for a midwinter
march, a march across all of Rethwellan and over the mountains, and
hardly a complaint out of them.  What's wrong?"

"They're bored, Captain," said Geyr.

"Campaign ended early, they got all their resting out of the way and
half the winter yet to go.  They wanted something to do.  Besides, the
money on this is worth a winter march, and it's not like we're having
to cross enemy territory."

"Well, it isn't going to be a Midsummer picnic, either," Kero replied,
as the last of the supply-strings moved out.

"The Comb isn't a bad range, but I'd rather not cross any mountains in
winter.  Well, that's the last of them.  I'll see you when we camp."

Both Lieutenants saluted, so wrapped up in wool and furs that except
for Geyr's black face, Kero couldn't tell them apart.  Every trooper in
the lot had a new, fur-lined wool cloak for this campaign; normally
clothing was their own responsibility, but Kero knew soldiers, and she
didn't want to lose a badly-needed fighter to frostbite just because
the fool gambled away his cloak the night before.

Orders were that the cloaks were Company property, like tents and
standard weapons; anyone found using them for gambling stakes would
find himself shoveling manure, scrubbing pots, and taking the worst of
the night-watches.  Anyone accepting them would get worse than that.

Kero nodded permission to go, and they spurred their horses onto the
side of the road, to canter up past the pack-lines.  Shallan would be
riding just in front of the quartermaster, Geyr halfway down the line.
Tomorrow, the two that had ridden first would move back here, and the
other officers would all move up a notch, in strict rotation.  Except
for Kero, who would ride at the very tail.  Winter or summer, tail most
was the worst position on the march, which was why she always took it.
That was one of the little things that gave her the respect of her
troops, as well as their obedience.

She gave Hellsbane a little nudge, and the mare took her accustomed
place, so used to it now that she didn't even sigh.  As the gates
closed behind them, leaving the skeleton training staff and the new
recruits deemed still too green to fight in this campaign, Kero settled
comfortably into her saddle, and went over everything she had learned
once more.

The one advantage they all had, and one Kero had never been able to
count on before, was that all of Selenay' s knowledge of their enemy
was actually foreknowledge.

Evidently some of these Heralds were able to actively, consistently,
see the future.  They knew when he would strike, and where.

Mostly.  And at least for the next six moons or so.  After that,
according to Talia, they were seeing "different futures.  " The Herald
had tried to explain that to Kero, something about how what they did
now to alter things would affect what had been seen and make different
outcomes possible-it had all been too much for Kero.  She'd always
thought the future was like the past; a path that started somewhere and
ended somewhere else, solid, immutable.

It was disconcerting to hear otherwise.  She wasn't sure she liked the
idea of the future being so nebulous and fluid.

It was a pity that they couldn't see what was happening now as well; it
would have been useful to know where this army of Ancar's was forming
up.  If Kero had known that, she could have arranged for a little
exercise of the Skybolts' other specialty, the one she didn't talk
about.

A few careful assassinations, some sabotage, some meddling with
supplies; that was what helped cut the Prophet campaign so short, and
let us get her cornered.

That, and the strikes from behind, ambushes, and traps until she had to
find somewhere she considered safe to make a stand.  If you can ruin
your enemy's morale, and make him think everyone and everything is
after him, it doesn't do you5 side any harm.... Oh, well, we'll do what
we can with what we have.

They had Guild blessing on this one, too, which was no bad thing. She'd
checked with the Guild, as required, to find out if Ancar had hired on
either Guild free-lancers or Companies, and had gotten a delightful
surprise.  Ancar had actually had the gall to chase the Guild out of
his country and deny them access to Guild members still inside his
borders.  So as far as the Guild was concerned, it was no-holds-barred,
and anything the Skybolts did to Ancar's troops or on his side of the
Border was all right with them.

That was really phenomenally stupid, she reflected.

Not even Karse or Valdemar have ever thrown the Guild out.  They may
not be welcome, but they're tolerated, because sooner or later,
everyone comes to us.  Even Valdemar.

She shook her head over Ancar's foolishness.

But I d better watch my strategy with him.  A fool can kill you just as
dead as a wise man, and is unpredictable enough to do so.

She saw something bright in the packs of the horse ahead of her, and
recognized some of the paraphernalia strapped to the pack of the final
horse in the train as an object belonging to Quenten, a remarkable
leather covered box he kept his books in, that had survived floods,
fires, and even being struck by lightning.

That turned her thoughts toward her chief mage.  He should be just
about ready for Master-status, she thought.

Maybe he can figure out my puzzle for me, why there are no mages in
Valdemar.

For Talia had confided to Kerowyn, with an unmistakable tone of fear
and bewilderment, that Ancar had mages in his employ.  She'd looked at
Kero as if she expected the Captain to challenge that statement, and
had been even more bewildered when Kero had simply nodded.

Bewilderment was a pretty odd reaction to magic, especially when the
Heralds had magic of their own-mind magic that was, from all Kero had
ever learned from Eldan, equal in strength and refinement to the powers
of any Master of any school Kero had ever met.  And probably there were
those who were the equal of any Adept as well.

Then again, he didn't seem to recognize real magic when he saw it, even
when the Karsites were working it on us and calling it the hand of
their god.  And I think I remember that it was kind of hard even to
talk to him about magic, as if I was saying one thing, but he was
hearing something else.

The box swayed from side to side, hypnotically.  Hellsbane had already
gotten into her "march pace;" a steady, head-bowed walk, an easy motion
to match.

Though not what I U choose if I had a hangover or a twitchy stomach....
I wonder if magic doesn't work inside Valdemar?  I think Grandmother
said something about that, once.  But if that's true, why is Ancar
using mages against them?  Unless it is true, but he either doesn't
know it, or has a way to counteract whatever it is.

Kero gave up speculation as a bad job, and turned her mind toward the
immediate future.  Instead of supplies, the quartermaster carried cash.
Since they would be traveling through exclusively friendly territory
and harvests had been good this year, they were going to buy every bit
of food they needed, for horse and human alike, except for what they
needed to get them over the mountains.

That was going to keep them light enough to travel at a good speed, and
ensure the locals were always happy to see them.

We should meet Daren and the army about halfway between Petras and the
Valdemar border, she figured, making rough calculations in her head.
And may the gods watch over them.  Foot-slogging in winter is as bad as
anything I can think of.  I bet they'll be glad we broke the trail for
them.  Let's see; about a moon to the Valdemar border, then at least a
fortnight to get across the mountains if I figure on bad weather all
the way.  Then another moon to get to the capital.  Not bad.  Better
than any other Company I ever heard of, including the Sunhawks.  Of
course, without the cousins to help me with packhorse breeding, we W be
pulling wagons through this muck, and making the same kind of time as
anybody else.

And I don't even want to think about taking wagons over the mountains
in the dead of winter.

Hellsbane's eyes were half-closed; Kero suspected she was dozing.
Although the road was churned-up muck, it wasn't really too bad, since
it was too warm for the stuff to freeze before the hooves of the tail
most horse went through it.  Later though, it would be bad.

Let her doze, Kero thought, settling.  This is the easy part.  Anything
from here on is gong to be worse.

Pray gods, not as bad as I fear.

Pray gods, the dreams don't follow me.

Twenty-one

Snow swirled around Hellsbane's hocks, as the wind made Kero's feet
ache with cold.  Kerowyn huddled as much of herself inside her cloak as
she could, and kept her face set in a reasonable approximation of a
pleasant expression.

She would not dismount until her tent was set up.  Her tent would not
he set up until the rest of the camp was in order.  The troops could
look up from their own camp tasks at any time, and see her, still in
the saddle, still out in the weather, for as long as it took for all of
them to have their shelters put together.

Wonderful discoveries, these little dome-shaped, felt lined tents.  The
wind just went around them; they never blew over, or collapsed, and
instead of needing rigid tent poles you only needed to find a
willow-grove, and cut eight of the flexible branches to thread through
the eight channels sewn into the tents.  You wouldn't even damage the
trees; willows actually responded well to being cut back, and the
Company had passed groves they'd trimmed in the past, whose trees were
more luxuriant than before they'd been cut.

The hard part, especially in midwinter, was pounding the eight tent
stakes into the rock-hard ground to pin the tents in place.  Without
those eight stakes, the tents could and had blown away, like down puffs
on the wind.  That was what took time, lots of time, and each pair of
troopers was sweating long before the stakes were secure.

And meanwhile, the Captain got to sit on her horse and look impressive,
while in reality she wanted to thump every one of her troopers who
looked up at her for taking even a half-breath to do so, forcing her to
be out in the cold that much longer.  She'd rather have been pounding
stakes herself; she used to help with setup, before she realized that
helping could be construed as a sign of favoritism.

Then she set up her own tent, before her own orderlies told her in
distress that it wasn't "appropriate."

So she sat, like a guardian-statue, turning into a giant icicle, a
sodden pile of wet leather, or a well-broiled piece of jerky, as the
season determined.

The sun just touched the horizon, glaring an angry red beneath the
low-hanging clouds.  No snow-yet.  It was on the way; Kero knew
snow-scent when she caught it.

A wonderful aroma of roasting meat wafted on the icy breeze, making her
mouth water and her stomach growl.  In that much, at least, being
Captain had its privileges.

When she finally could crawl down off Hellsbane' s back, her tent would
be waiting, warmed by a clever charcoal brazier no larger than a dish,
and her dinner would be sitting beside it.  She sniffed again, and
identified the scent as pork.

Good.  The past three weeks it's been mutton, and I'm beginning to
dislike the sight of sheep.  Then she had to smile; when she'd last
been this far north, she'd have sold her soul for a slice of mutton. In
fact, most mere Companies would be making do with what they'd brought
in the way of dried meat, eked out with anything the scouts brought in.
This business of buying fresh food every time they halted had its
advantages.  Given the opportunity of making twice an animal's normal
price, in midwinter when there was no possibility of other money coming
in, most farmers and herders could manage to find an extra male, or a
female past bearing.  Just before they'd gotten into the Comb, in fact,
they'd found a fellow with a herd of half-wild, woolly cattle who had
been overjoyed to part with a pair of trouble making beasts at the
price the quartermaster had offered.

"Them's mean 'uns " he'd said laconically, as he delivered the hobbled,
l~ellowing, head-tossing creatures to the cooks.  The smile on his face
when he accepted a slice of roast, and the tale her quartermaster told
later of putting the cattle down, convinced her that they had done the
man a favor.

The last tent went up, and Geyr, currently in charge of the crew
digging the jakes, hove into view from the other side of the catnip,
and waved his hand.  Kero sighed with relief, and dismounted.

slowly.  She was having a hard time feeling her feet.

Hellsbane let out a tremendous sigh as Kero pulled her left foot out of
the stirrup and the youngster assigned as the officer's groom came
trotting up with his mittened hands tucked up into his armpits.  He
took the reins shyly from Kero , and led the mare off to the picket
lines at a fast walk.

Kero made her way toward her tent at a slow walk;

first of all, it wouldn't do for the troops to see the Captain
scurrying for her tent like any green recruit on her first winter
campaign.  And second, she didn't trust her footing when she couldn't
feel anything out of her feet but cold and pain.

The command tent was easily three times the size of the others, but
that was because the troops' tents only had to hold two fighters and
their belongings.  Hers had to hold the map-table, and take several
people standing up inside it, besides.  That was the disadvantage of
the little dome-shaped tents, and the reason she had a separate
packhorse for her own traditional tent.

Her orderly held the tent flap open just enough for her to squeeze
inside without letting too much of the precious heat out.  And the
first thing she did, once in the privacy of her quarters, was peel her
boots off and stick her half~ frozen white feet into the sheepskin
slippers he'd left warming beside the brazier for her.

As life returned to her extremities, she thanked the gods that she had
made it through another day on the march without losing something to
frostbite.

"There has to be a way to keep your feet from turning into chunks of
ice the moment the wind picks up," she said crossly to her orderly.

"It's fine when there's no wind; the horse keeps your feet warm
enough-but once there's a wind, you might as well be barefoot."

Her orderly, a wiry little fellow from the very mountains they'd just
crossed, frowned a little.  "

"Tis them boots, Cap'n," he said solemnly.  "

"Tis nothin' betwixt the foot an' the wind but a thin bit'a leather.

"Tis not what we do.  " She took an experimental sip of the contents of
her wooden mug.  It was tea tonight, which was fine.  She hadn't had
any more of those dreams of Eldan since crossing the Comb, which left
her with mixed feelings, indeed, and wine was not what she wanted
tonight, even mulled.  She didn't want to go all maudlin in her cups,
mourning the loss of those illusionary lovemaking sessions.

Whatever was wrong with me is cured, she though resolutely.

I should be thankful.  I'm back to being myself.

But-come to think of it, Need's been as silent as a stone, she
realized, with a moment of alarm.  Nothing.  Not even a "feel " at the
back of my mind.  She might just as well be ordinary metal!

Dear gods, what if she won't Heal me anymore?

I'll deal with it, that's what.  It's too late to turn back now.  Think
about something else.

"Enlighten me, Holard.

What do your people do?"

"Sheepskin boots, Cap'n," he replied promptly, "An' wool socks, double
pairs.  Only trouble is, 'tis bulky, an' has no heel.  We don't use
stirrups, ye ken."

She shook her head.

"That won't do, not for us.  I guess I'll just have to suffer-" At that
moment, the guard outside her tent knocked his dagger hilt against the
pole supporting the door canopy, and let someone in with a swirl of
snow.

Quenten, and Kero had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he was
about to say the moment he came fully into the light from her lantern.
He was haggard and nervous, two states she'd never seen Quenten in-and
the mages had been conspicuous by their absence since they'd crossed
the Comb.  There was something up, and whatever it was, it was coming
to her now because they couldn't handle it themselves.

"Captain," said Quenten, and his voice cracked on the second syllable.
She waited for him to try again.

"Captain," he repeated, with a little more success this time.

"We have a problem..  .."

Gods.  Need, and now the mages?

"I'd already gathered that, Quenten, since you look like a day-old
corpse, and I haven't seen so much as a mage's sleeve for a fortnight.
Is it just you, or do all the mages look like you?"

"All of us," Quenten replied unhappily.

"We'd like permission to turn back, Captain.  It isn't you, or the
Company, or the job.  We think it's Valdemar itself.

There's something strange going on here, and it's driving us mad."

He waited for a moment, obviously to see if she believed him.  She just
nodded.

"Go on," she told him, figuring she was about to have her little puzzle
of mages and Valdemar solved, at least in part.

"I remembered what you told me, about how the Heralds seemed surprised
by magic, and you never heard of a mage up in Valdemar.  I thought
maybe it was coincidence or something."  His hands twisted the hem of
his sleeve nervously.

"Well, it isn't.  The moment we got across the border, we all felt
something."

"What?"  she asked, impatiently.

"What is it?  If there's something around that's costing me the use of
my mages, I want to know about it."

Quenten ground his teeth in frustration.

"I don't know, " he said, around a clenched jaw.

"I really don't know!  It was like there was somebody watching us, all
the time.  At first, it was just an annoyance; we figured there was
just some Talented youngling out there, thinking he could spy on us.
But we never caught anybody, and after a while, it started getting on
our nerves.  It was like having somebody staring, staring right at you,
all the time.  It goes on day and night, waking and sleeping, and it's
like nothing any of us have ever seen or heard of before.  We couldn't
get rid of it, we couldn't shield against it, and its been getting
worse every day.  I can't even sleep anymore.  Please, Captain, give us
permission to go back.  We'll wait for you at winter quarters.  " Now
if it had been one of the others who asked that of her, with a nebulous
story like that, she'd have suspected fakery, slacking, or at least
exaggeration.  But it was Quenten, as trustworthy as they came, and not
prone to exaggerate anything.  And he did look awful.

And if all this was true, even if she kept them, they wouldn't do her
any good.  You can't take time to aim when you have to keep ducking,
and that's obviously the way they feel right now.

"Are the Healers being affected?"  she asked anxiously.  " Or is it
only you?"

"The Healers are fine, Captain," Quenten reported, with a certain
hangdog expression, as if he felt he was somehow responsible for the
mages being singled out.

Then with luck, Need will still be able to Heal me.  And with none,
she's still a good sword.  Besides, a sword probably wouldn't care
about being stared at.

"All right," she said unhappily.

"You can go.  You go back on noncombatant status, though, and we can't
spare any one to get you back home."

"That's all right," Quenten replied, nearly faint with relief.

"Once we're across the border we'll be fine.

Thank you, Captain.  I think if I'd had to go two more days, I'd have
killed someone.  We've already had to restrain Arnod twice; he tried to
run off into the snow last NIGHT with nothing on but a shirt."

oH, " Kero replied, wishing that they'd told her about this earlier.
Then, it might have been possible to get Quenten to fiddle with Need
again, to extend the protections over the mages..  ..

Then again, maybe not.  Need never had protected mages from magic. They
were all probably better off this way.  And besides, Need was silent. 
Who knew if she was actually working or not?

She told her orderly to go with Quenten and see that quartermaster gave
them what supplies he could.

Something watching you all the time, she thought, bemused, as she
settled down to the remains of her dinner.

Now that I think of it, that is something that would drive you crazy.
Especially if you were already unbalanced.

Which mages are, a lot of times, and with good reason.

No wonder there are no mages in Valdemar.  They're either mad, or fled.
Clever defense.  End of puzzle.

Except I hope my blade is still working.  Things could get sticky if it
isn't.

Halfway to the Valdemar capital of Haven, it seemed that their purpose
and reputation had preceded them.

People came out of the towns along the way to watch them pass;
reservedly friendly, but cautious, as if they didn't quite know what to
expect of a mercenary Company.

Kero ordered her troopers to respond to positive overtures, but ignore
negative ones.  And there were negative responses; old men and women
who remembered the Tedrel Wars, and had decided that all meres were
like the Tedrels had been.  At least once every time they halted,
someone would shout an insult (which more than half the troopers
couldn't understand anyway), someone else would half-apologize for
grant her and Kero or one of her Lieutenants would carefully explain
the difference between Guild and non-Guild meres.  It got to be so much
of a commonplace, that the troops began laying bets on who the
troublemaker would be the moment they entered a town.  Privately, Kero
was relieved that the Tedrel Wars had been so very long ago-years
tended to bring forgetfulness, especially in the light of this new
enemy.  It didn't matter so much anymore that the Karsites had hired
fighters calling themselves mercenaries" those hired fighters had been
just like the Karsites who hired them; they fought with steel like
anyone else, and could be killed with that same steel.  Ancar had hired
mages, about Which there were only tales, and every childhood bogeyman
came leaping out of the closet to become the adult's worst nightmare.

So, for the most part, the people of Valdemar came out to see these
hired fighters-hired to fight on their side-and came away comforted.
These were tough, seAsoned veterans, on fast, slim horses like these
farmers had never seen before-but they smiled at children, offered bits
of candy, and let toddlers ride on a led horse.

They had faced mages and won.  When someone managed to find a Skybolt
who knew either trade-tongue or had a sketchy grasp of VaLdemar an and
managed to ask through the medium of painfully slow pantomime about
fighting against mages, the answer always surprised the questioner, for
it was invariably a shrug, and a reply of, "they die.  " Kero finally
reduced it to a few simple sentences she had the officers teach the
troops.

"Tell them 'mages are human.  They bleed if you cut them, die if you
strike them right.  They need to eat, and they get tired if they work
magic for too long.  And there are things to stop them and things their
magic can't work on-' " And then would follow the list of all the
little tricks every Guild mere knew; salt and herbs, holy talismans,
disrupting the mage's concentration, spell breaking by interfering with
the components, sneaking up and taking the mage from behind, even
overwhelming the mage with a rush of arrows or bodies so that he
couldn't counter every one before he was taken down.

These farmer-folk and tradesmen, crafters and herders, were ordinary
people.  They'd heard all the old tales, and nothing they heard gave
them any confidence that they could do anything to protect themselves.
The power of a mage seemed enormous and unstoppable, like a
thunderstorM.

To be told, by those who had faced them and won, that mages were just
another kind of fighter, with weapons that determination could counter,
gave the common people courage they hadn't had before, and a new trust
in these foreign soldiers.

All of which was all to the good, so far as Kero was concerned.  A
friendly civilian populace is the best ally a mere can have; that was
one of Tarma's maxims-and Ardana had certainly proved what kind of
enemy an unfriendly civilian populace could become, down in Seejay. The
Skybolts knew the maxim, and the drill, and even here, where half of
them didn't even know the language well enough to ask for the jakes,
they were leaving allies on the road behind them.

This kind of behavior was so ingrained in Kero and her troops that when
Heralds Talia and Dirk rode in, about a week out of Haven, Kero was
more than a little surprised by the broad grin of approval the latter
sported.

They arrived just after camp had been set up, and Kero was huddling
over her brazier.  The wind was particularly bitter, and seemed to find
every weak point in the tent;

the walls alternately flapped and belied, and Kero was hoping to get
her cold bones into her bed where she at least had a chance of getting
them warm.  She'd been expecting the arrival of an escort at any point,
so when a runner brought her word of the Heralds' arrival, she grumbled
a little, threw a little more charcoal on the brazier, kicked loose
belongings under the cot, and went back to trying to soak up a bit more
heat until her orderly brought them to the tent, both of them muffled
up in thick white cloaks, like walking snowdrifts.

But when they entered and Kero invited them to join her in hot tea,
Dirk's open friendliness came as something of a shock.  Back in
Rethwellan both the Heralds had been close-mouthed, but Dirk had been
practically mute, with an overtone of suspicion.  Now he acted like she
was a long-lost cousin, his homely face made handsome by his genuine
smile.

Now what on earth caused that?  she wondered.  They made some small
talk, and as soon as the tea arrived, Kero asked, cautiously, "So, now
that we're within a week of Haven, how do your Queen and her Lord
Marshal feel about our arrival?  Is there anything we should expect?  "
Dirk laughed, and shook his head.

"If you're expecting a cool reception, you aren't going to get it,
Captain.  You and your Skybolts have handled yourselves exceptionally
well on the march up; she's very pleased with your diplomacy and
restraint and-" "Diplomacy?"  Kero said, too annoyed to be polite.

"Restraint?  What did she think we were going to do, ride down little
children, rape the sheep, and wreck the taverns?"

"Well-" Dirk looked embarrassed.

That's exactly what they expected.  Which we knew, really.

"Herald, we are professionals," she said tiredly.

"We fight for a living.  This does not make us animals.

In fact, on the whole, I think you'll find that my troopers, male and
female, are less likely to cause trouble in a town than your average
lot of spoiled-rotten highborn brats.  " Dirk flushed, a deep
crimson.

"All we have to go on are stories-" "Yes, well, you should hear some of
the stories down south about Shin'a'in in war steeds or Heralds.  The
latter are demons and the former are basically ugly Companions," she
said, mustering up a frank smile.

"Now, one man's demon is another man's angel, and since the lads
calling you lot 'demonic' were thieves and scum that would rather do
anything than work, I'll withhold my judgment on that.  But I ride a
war steed and while she's a very intelligent beast, specially bred for
what she does, she's nothing like a Companion.  So-" "So we shouldn't
have been so quick to give credence to stories," Talia chuckled,
bending a little closer to the fIre.

"A well-deserved rebuke.  But I have to tell you, Captain, that I think
we were rightfully surprised at the way you've made friends for
yourselves coming up the road.  We were expecting to have to do a lot
of calming of nerves on your behalf; our people aren't used to the
concept of mercenaries, and what they know about them is mostly bad.
But you've done all our work for us."

Kero shrugged, secretly pleased, and put another scoop of charcoal on
the fire.

"Well, one of my Clanmother's Shin'a'in sayings is, "A slighted friend
is more dangerous than an enemy."  We try to operate by that in
friendly territory, and really, it isn't that hard unless the people
really have a bad attitude toward meres in general.  In fact, there was
only one problem I had-and it seems to be in the family tradition-"
"oH?"  Dirk said, he and Talia both looking puzzled.

She sighed.

"All their lives, my grandmother and her she'enedra were plagued by the
songs of a particular minstrel.  The things he told about them were
half-true at best, and led to all kinds of problems about what people
expected from them.  Well, when I was young and foolish and very full
of-myself-someone wrote a song about me.  It's called "Kerowyn's Ride,"
and to my utter disgust, it seems to have penetrated language
barriers."

Dirk looked as if he was having a hard time keeping from laughing.  So
did Talia.

"I know the song," the woman said, her face full of mirth.

"In fact, I've sung it.  " "I was afraid of that.  Do I dare hope no
one in your Court knows it's about me?"

Talia smiled.

"As far as I know, they don't.  But it's a very popular song."

Kerowyn sipped her tea, wondering for a moment if there was anyone in
the world who hadn't heard the song.

"My troopers are ridiculously proud of that, and I can't get them to
stop telling people that I'm that Kerowyn.

And as soon as your villagers would find that out.  I'd wind up having
to listen to whatever unholy rendition of it someone had come up with
in this village.  And I don't even like most music," she concluded
plaintively.

Dirk was red-faced with the effort of holding in laughter.

Kero glowered at him, but that only seemed to make it worse.

"You should have had to sit through some of those performances," she
growled.

"The Revenie Temple children's choir, the oldest fart in Thornton
accompanying himself on hurdy-gurdy, a pair of religious sopranos who
seemed to think the thing was a dialogue between the Crone and the
Maiden-and at least a dozen would-be Bards with out-of-tune harps.
Minstrels.  I'd like to strangle the entire breed."

That did it; Dirk couldn't restrain himself any longer.

He excused himself in a choking voice, and fled outside.

Once there, his bellows of laughter were just as clear as they would
have been if he'd been inside the tent's four walls.

"oH, well," Kero said with resignation.

"At least he didn't laugh in my face."

Talia was a little better at controlling herself.

"I can see where it would get tiresome, especially if you don't care
for music."

"I don't like vocal music," Kero explained forlornly.

"And the reason I don't like it is because every damn fool that can
tell one note from another thinks he rates right up there with Master
Bards.  I have perfect pitch, Herald-nothing else, I certainly am no
performer-but I do have perfect pitch, and my relative pitch is just as
good.  Out-of-tune amateurs make my skin crawl, like fingernails on
slate.  And it's no great benefit to have had a song written about you,
either-just you wait, one of these days it'll happen to you, and then
that tall fellow out there won't find it so funny to hear it every
night for a fortnight straight, and only once in all that time will it
be sung well."

"You're right, Captain," Dirk said contritely from the door flap.

"I apologize.  But I wish you could have seen your own expression."

"I'm glad I couldn't.  Listen, there's something I need to tell you
people about.  I didn't mention this before, but I had mages with this
troop.  Real mages" practicing real magic.  " She watched them
carefully to see what their reactions to this would be.

"Most mere Companies do, if they can afford them, and we can.  " "Had?"
Dirk replied, after a long moment of silence.

"Does that mean you didn't bring them with you?"

She couldn't read anything from either of them-and this was not the
time to try prying into anyone's mind.

Especially not a Herald, who might catch her at it.

"No," she said, honestly, "I tried to bring them with me, but they were
stopped at the Border.  By what, they couldn't tell me-only that it
felt as if something was watching them, waking and sleeping.  It
finally got so bad they begged me to send them home before they went
mad.  That is evidently the reason why you don't have real mages here
in Valdemar.  Something doesn't want them here, and stares at them
until they go away."

Like the time with Eldan, she was having to fight something to get
every word out, and she spoke slowly so that the effort wouldn't be
noticed.  It doesn't explain why something around here doesn't want you
even knowing about magic, but that's not my problem.  As long as it
doesn't freeze the words in my throat, I don't care.

Need's been awfully quiet, but it really doesn't feel like the sword's
being tampered with, it's beginning to feel as if Need doesn't want to
draw attention to itself.  Which is fine with me.  It means she is
still working.

The wind howled around the corners of the tent, and Talia pulled her
white cloak closer.

"It certainly does explain a lot," she said, slowly.

"Though I'm not sure what it means or where it comes from.  " "It would
probably take a very powerful mage to get around something like that,"
Dirk put in.

"Maybe by somehow disguising his nature?"

Kero shrugged.

"You could be right, but other than the fact that I've lost the use of
my mages, it really doesn't matter.  And if I were you, I wouldn't
count on this effect saving Valdemar from mages in the future.  My
grandmother always said that every spell ever cast could be broken, and
if Ancar has a strong enough mage in his back pocket, he can take the
thing down altogether.  Since I have lost the mages, I'm going to have
to talk with more of you Heralds to find out what you can do.  I'm
pretty certain you can make up for them, but I'll have to know what
your limits are.  One other thing-you might let the Queen know that
having worked pretty closely with all my mages and having watched my
grandmother at work, I would say I'm a fair hand at judging mage-powers
and what they can and cannot do."

"That's easily enough done, Captain," Dirk said, standing up.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"No, not until we get to Haven and we can get into a real barracks
building and I can get warm again."  Kero remained seated when Dirk
waved her down.

"Unless you can conjure me up a tent that's tighter than this one.

I'm looking forward to meeting Queen Selenay."

"Well, she's looking forward to meeting you," Talia said with a smile,
as she smiled back over her shoulder.

," think you're going to like each other a great deal."

Queen Selenay was the sister Kero would have chosen if she'd been given
the power to make that choice; Kero knew it the moment their eyes met,
blue to blue-green.

They could easily have been sisters, too; Kero judged herself to be
Selenay's senior by no more than two or three years.

"Captain Kerowyn," the Queen said, rising from behind her desk, and
holding out her hand with no formality at all.

"I'm very glad to finally meet you, and equally glad that the years
have brought you the kind of fortune Eldan said you deserved.  Please,
sit down.  " The mention of Eldan's name startled her; she swallowed
with difficulty, and she searched the Queen's face carefully before
accepting her hand.

"That could be considered faint praise, your Majesty," she replied
cautiously, as -she took a chair.

"There's a Shin'a'in curse considered to be very potent: "May you get
exactly what you deserve.  " Selenay laughed," a velvety laugh with no
sign of malice in it.

"I'm sure neither of us meant it that way-and I am not 'your Majesty'
among my commanders.  On the field, the Lord Marshal ranks me, so I'm
just plain "Selenay.  "

There was nothing in the Queen's appearance to suggest that her
statement was either coy or false modesty.

She was dressed almost identically to Talia, who now stood at her side,
in the uniform Kero had learned was called "Herald's Whites."  Here in
Valdemar, it seemed, Heralds dressed all in white, Bards in scarlet,
and Healers in green.  Kero rather liked that last; it would make
finding the Healers much easier in battlefield conditions.

On the other hand, on that same battlefield, as she had once pointed
out to Eldan, those white uniforms must surely shout "I'm a target! Hit
me!"

The only difference between Talia's and Selenay's uniforms was that
Talia openly carried a long knife, and wore breeches, and Selenay wore
a kind of divided riding skirt that gave the appearance of a little
more formality without sacrificing too much in the way of mobility. The
Queen's thick, shoulder-length blonde hair was confined by a simple
gold circlet--there was no other outward sign of her rank.  Even this
office, the first room of the Royal Suite, was furnished quite plainly.
There were two old tapestries on the wall, a few chairs chosen more for
comfort than looks, and a dark wooden desk cluttered with papers; there
was no indication anywhere that this room was used by anyone with any
kind of rank.

"We're under wartime conditions here, Captain," Selenay continued,
accepting Kero's scrutiny serenely.

"I

don't know what you were anticipating, but I am expecting a certain
amount of work out of your troops until we take the field.

Hmm.  Better make some things plain-like we aren't miracle workers.

"I'll tell you this honestly, your-Selenay," Kero replied.

"If you're expecting us to turn to and help with everything except
training green recruits, we'll be able to do what you want.  But if you
thought we could take Plowboys and make specialist cavalry out of them
in less than a fortnight, you might as well just send us straight out
to where you expect Ancar, because we can't do it.  Nobody can."

Selenay nodded quickly, as if that was what she had expected Kero would
say.

"I realize that.  What I'd like your people to do is work with the
mounted troops we've gotten from some of the highborn, privately
recruited, maintained, and trained.  I expect some of them will be
dreadful; I'd like the dreadful ones weeded out and put somewhere
harmless.  Some will be marginal, and those we'll put with the mounted
Guard units, the ones I had out chasing bandits.  The good ones I'd
like you to train as much as you can, so that they'll work together
without charging into each other."

"Which is what they're doing at the moment," Talia added from behind
the Queen.

"If the situation wasn't so bad, I'd advise keeping them around for
entertainment.  " Kero managed to keep her face straight.

Selenay's mouth quirked up at one corner, but she did likewise.

"Keep the Lord Marshal appraised on a daily basis; I've appointed a
liaison for you.  " Kerowyn was impressed and relieved, both.  Selenay
had a good grasp of what was possible and what was not, and was willing
to settle for the possible.  That made her job that much easier.

"Can do," she replied, relaxing.

"Who's my liaison to the Lord Marshal?"

"My daughter, Elspeth," Selenay said, and Kero's heart sank.  Just what
I need, a know-everything princess at my heels.  I wonder if I can
convince Anders to charm her and get her of my way-with those big,
brown eyes, the beautiful body, and all the rest of it, he shouldA rap
on the door to the Queen's quarters interrupted them, and as Kero
turned, startled, another slim young woman in Whites slipped inside, a
brown-haired, brown-eyed girl with a startling resemblance to Faram.

"Mother, I'm sorry I'm late, but there was a-" she stopped instantly as
Selenay held up her hand.

"You're here now, and you can tell me what delayed you later.  Elspeth,
this is Captain Kerowyn.  Captain, your liaison, my daughter.  " The
girl's eyes went round with surprise, and she crossed the room quickly,
to take Kero's hand in as firm a clasp as her mother had.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Captain," she said in accentless Rethwellan.

"If I'd known you were arriving today, I'd have arranged things
differently.  We Heralds have to spend our first year or two acting as
arbitrators and judges under the supervision of a senior
Herald-normally that's outside Haven, where we can't run home to mama
when a thunderstorm hits, but since I'm the Heir, they won't let me do
that.  Go out in the Field, I mean, not run home to mama.  " Kero
blinked.  Well, this is amazing.  First highborn child I've ever met
who wasn't either spoiled or convinced rank alone conferred.  wisdom.

"I can understand the constraints," she replied, in Elspeth's tongue.

"All it would take would be one stray arrow."9 Elspeth sighed.

"I know, but the problem is that since I'm not out of reach, the
Weaponsmaster seems to think I have all the time I need for lessoning
and practice, and Herald Presen keeps assigning me to another city
court and I still have all the Council meetings as Heir-and Mother,
Teren said to tell you that-" "I have the War Council, I know.  So do
you, and Irn bringing the C@Lptain along."  Selenay smiled fondly on
her offspring, and Kero didn't blame her.  Kero echoed the smile. There
wasn't going to be any trouble in working with this one.

Then, out of nowhere, Need roused, for the first time since crossing
the Border-focused on Elspeth And for one moment, sang.

Kero felt as if someone had dropped her inside a metal bell, then hit
the outside with a hammer.  She and the sword vibrated together for
what seemed like forever, with everything, everything, focused on
Elspeth, who seemed entirely unaware that anything was going on.  She
kept right on with her conversation with her mother, while Kero tried
to regain her scattered wits.

There was no doubt in her mind that Need had found the person she
wanted to be passed on to.

But-now?

She thought that question at the sword as hard as she could, but the
blade was entirely quiescent once more, as if nothing had happened.

Blessed Agnira, Kero thought, mortally glad that Selenay and her
daughter were still deep in conversation.

Is that what the thing did to Grandmother the first time I showed up on
her doorstep?  No, it couldn't have.  For one thing, she wasn't wearing
it at the time.  But I'd be willing to bet this is how that old fighter
that passed it to her felt.

Well, at least the stupid thing wasn't going to insist on being handed
over immediately.  Maybe it sensed that Kero was going to require its
power in the not-too-distant future.  And surely it knew-if it was
aware-that she'd fight it on that point until this war was over.

Fine, she decided, as Selenay turned away from her daughter, and
gestured that the two of them should followed her out the door.  I'll
worry about it later.  We all have other things to worry about-and I'll
be damned if I,ll give this thing to a perfectly nice child like
Elspeth with no warning of what it can do to her!

And she thought straight at the blade-So don't you go trying your
tricks on her-or I'll see that she drops you down a well!

Twenty-two

Spring is a lousy time to fight, Kero thought, peering through the
drizzle, as droplets condensed and ran down her nose and into her eyes.
She wiped them away in bleak misery.  And if that fool is going to
attack, you d think he 21 pick better weather than this.  Fog and rain,
what a slimy mess.

She stood beside the mare on the only significant elevation in the
area.  Though it stood well above the surrounding countryside, it
wasn't doing her any good.  This miasma had reduced visibility to a few
lengths, and the only way she was going to find anything out was
through the scouts and outriders.

Hellsbane shivered her skin to shed collected water droplets.  Kero
wished she could do the same.  If Selenay' s people hadn't insisted
that here and now was where Ancar was going to make his first attempt,
expecting no resistance, she'd have gone right back to the tent where
it was warm.  Her hands ached with cold, and there was a leaky place in
her rain cloak just above her right shoulder.

But the tent was already packed up, and the Heralds with the Gift of
ForeSight hadn't been wrong so far.

The only troops on the field today were the Skybolts in Valdemar
colors.  To them would fall the task of harrying Ancar for the first
couple of engagements, of wearing him out before he ever encountered
real Valdemar troops, and of confusing him with tactics he wouldn't
have expected out of regular army troopers.

They'd staged their defense with an eye to making him lose his more
mobile fighters early on.  The troops Ancar would meet for the next
several days were all mounted;

the foot troops would meet up with them farther north.

At that point, hopefully, his foot soldiers would be ex foot would
still be fresh.

Kero's plan was to make every inch of ground Ancar gained into an
expensive mistake, and to lure him northward with the illusion of
success, when all the time he was only moving along his own border.

When Kero had explained, as delicately as possible, her Company's other
specialty, Selenay had given her another pleasant surprise.

"You mean you're saboteurs?"

she'd exclaimed with delight.

"A whole Company of dirty tricksters?  Bright Astera, why didn't you
say that before?

For Haven's sake, if anyone questions your tactics, send them to me,
I'll back you!  " So now Kero and the Skybolts had carte blanche to do
whatever they needed to.  Which was just as well, really, since they
would have done so anyway.

I thought some of the things we V run into before were odd, but this is
stranger than snake feet, she thought, recalling her presentation to
the War Council once she'd finally worked out a general plan based on
the tentative one she'd put together with Daren.  First, the "watchers,
" whatever they were-then the fact that it's like driving nails into
stone to talk to people around here about magic-but then there's the
business with Iftel.  It's like the country was invisible from inside
Valdemar.  It's on the map, but their eyes slide right by it... "We
basically have to get Ancar in a pincer, and leave him with only one
avenue of escape.  Our best bet right now is to get him right up
against the Iftel border, and trap him there," she'd said to the War
Council.

And they had, to a man and woman, looked absolutely blank.

Finally, "Iftel?"  faltered Talia, as if she had trouble even saying
the name.

"Why Iftel?"

"Because of what I've been told by the Guild," Kero had said to them
all.

"That Iftel protects itself-by making you forget it exists, and keeping
you out if it doesn't want you in.  I think you've just confirmed the
first, which makes me think the second is true, too."

"Iftel is-strange," Selenay admitted.

"I do have an ambassador there, a non-Herald.  They-how odd, they
didn't want a Herald there at all.  Yet they have never, ever
threatened us in all our history, and they have signed some fairly
binding treaties that they never will.  From all accounts, though, the
country is just as strange as the Pelagirs, and that is very strange
indeed."

That matched with what Kero had been told by the Guild.  They didn't
have a representative there, but it wasn't because they'd been barred
from the place.  It was because every time they'd sent someone in, he'd
nearly died of boredom.  Iftel had no bandits.  Iftel had its own
standing militia, organized at the county level.  Iftel hired no
mercenaries-because Iftel needed no mercenaries.

Occasionally young folk got restless enough to leave, but that was the
only time the Guild ever got members from Iftel, and they never went
back home.

Iftel took care of itself, thank you.

Well, that made it a good place to take a stand; Ancar's forces would
be squeezed against the Iftel border to the north, Valdemar's forces
would be to the west, and Rethwellan' s-hopefully-would be coming up
from the south.

Kero wiped rain out of her eyes, without doing much good.  She still
couldn't see past the bottom of the hill.

But somewhere out beyond in the fog, the specialists had been at work,
and if the Foreseers were right, in the next candle mark or so, Ancar's
forward troops would run right into something nasty that wasn't
supposed to be there.

The skirmishers stirred restlessly below her, waiting for their chance.
Today was likely to be the only easy day of the campaign, which was why
Kero had wanted only her Company in on it.  They knew that a war is
neither lost nor won in the first battle, and they knew very well that
one easy day is the exception, not the rule.

But if Selenay's greener forces were in on this, when the going got
rougher and rougher, they might see every day after the easy one as a
constant series of defeats, and lose heart.  In fact, Kero hoped she
wouldn't lose a single fighter this first day, but she knew as well as
anyone on the field that engagements like that came once in a career
and never again.

So we're due one.

The sound of muffled hoofbeats came through the fog;

years of practice had enabled Kero to pinpoint where sound was really
coming from on days of rotten visibility.

It'sfrom the ambush site.  I think we're about to get some action.  One
of the scouts materialized out of the drizzle and pelted up the
hillside, his horse mired to the belly.

"They're coming on, Captain, straight for the trap.  91

Her heartbeat quickened, in spite of years of experience.  " Good," she
replied, and the Herald beside her silently relayed that on to the rest
of his kind-which included Selenay and Elspeth.

"Tell the rest that if it looks like he's straying, tease him into
it."

"Sir."  The scout saluted, and pelted off again, vanishing back into
the mist like a ghost.

The "trap" was a swamp-a swamp that hadn't been there a week ago.  But
last month Kero's experts had diverted a small river from its bed,
several leagues away, and had confined its waters behind an earthen dam
just above the flat.  grassy meadow the ForeSeers said Ancar was aiming
for.  Then, two nights ago, they had broken the dam.

Now the place was two and three feet deep in water and mud, all covered
by the long grass growing there and the luxuriant, green, moss like
scum floating on the top.  One of Kero's Healers had a remarkable
ability with plants ... and, much to everyone's surprise and delight,
the Heralds were able to feed him energy.  Between the scum they'd
cultured with tender care on the temporary lake for the past month, and
the accelerated growth of the past two nights, they now had the kind of
cover that normally took half the summer to grow.  It looked just like
solid land-until you tried to walk on it.

Now was when Kero missed her mages the most.  They would have been able
to create illusions of solid land and phantoms of Valdemar forces along
with those illusions.

That would have lured Ancar's people into a charge right into the worst
of the muck.  And once the charge had started, the momentum of the
troops behind the front line would have driven the rest even deeper.
Whole wars had been won with blunders like that.

Instead she could only wait for his front line to wander into the
swamp, and bring her skirmishers around to harry him deeper into the
mire.  Supposedly there was a Herald out there also diverting water
from a nearby spring to come up behind him, so that he'd have muck on
three sides, but she wasn't counting on that.

Hoofbeats again in the mist, but this time the scout didn't bother to
gallop up the hillside; he just waved, and turned back.  That was the
signal Kero had been waiting for.  She vaulted into her saddle, and
whistled.

Below her, the skirmishers moved out at a careful walk, so that every
part of the line stayed in contact with the part next to it.

"Fighting in conditions like these was hellish and it was appallingly
easy to fire on some vague shape out there, only to discover that it
was one of your own.

"Friendly fire isn't.  " That was one of Tarma's Shin'a'in sayings,
succinct, and to the point.  We haven't lost a Skybolt to friendly fire
yet, she thought, as she sent her horse carefully picking her way down
the slick, grassy slope.  I don't want to start now.

The Herald and his Companion followed her, silent as a pair of ghosts,
and hardly more substantial in the mist.

For once that white uniform was an advantage.  She urged Hellsbane into
a brief trot at the bottom of the hill, then reined the war steed in
once they caught up with the skirmishers.

She was anchoring the western most portion of the line, the place where
Ancar's men might get around them if they weren't vigilant.

They sure as hell can't go south.

Another reason not to have Valdemar regulars on this action: most of
the ground to the south was booby trapped and Kero didn't want the
green troops to wander into it.  Any place horses or foot could get
through was thick with trip-wires, pit-traps-and gopher-holes.  One of
the Heralds, it seemed, had a Gift of "speaking" to animals, and he
must have called in every mole and gopher for leagues around to
undermine those fields.  No horse could ever get safely across those
fields, and it was even risking a broken ankle to try if you were
afoot.

Regulars might forget that.  The Skybolts would sooner forget their
pay.

So the south was booby-trapped, then came the swamp on the west.  The
only "safe" ground was to the north, which was exactly where they
wanted Ancar to go.  That was the side they'd contest, and they were
going to have to make it look as if they'd come upon Ancar by
accident.

If he thought they were a small force of Selenay's Guard

Which we are, small that is backed by nobody-Which we aren't -depending
mostly on the treacherous terrain to protect this section of the
Border, he'd be on them like a bound on a hare.  Meanwhile, they'd try
and stay just out of his range ("If the enemy is within firing range,
so are you, Tarma's voice croaked in her mind), and pick as many of his
men off as they could before he extracted them from the mire.  That was
the heart and soul of Kero's strategy in this first engagement.

Up ahead in the mist, and far to her right, Kero heard a wild horn
call; it sounded exactly like a young bugler in a panic, and she
mentally congratulated Geyr on his imitation fear.  That was the signal
that the right flank was up even with the edge of the swamp, and the
enemy was in sight.  She took Hellsbane up to a fast walk, and the rest
followed her lead.

Then the mare planted all four feet and snorted; she whistled, and the
line stopped moving.  They'd planted the edge of the bad ground with
wild onions, and the moment Hellsbane had smelled one, she'd known to
stop.

Right at this point, it wasn't marsh, but it was waterlogged and soft,
and not what any of them wanted to take a horse through.

Besides, in a few moments, the enemy would come to them.

The mist muffled noise, but as Kero strained to hear past the sounds of
her own people, she made out faint cries and things that sounded like
shouted orders and curses, off to her right and ahead.  And they were
coming closer with every moment.  She whistled again; the signal was
repeated up and down the line, and as if they were reflections of a
single man, every Skybolt slipped his short horse-bow or crossbow from
its oiled case, strung or cocked it, set one arrow on the string, and
put another between his teeth or behind his ear.

Their range with these weapons was far longer than their current range
of visibility.  There would be one ideal moment, when they knew the
enemy was coming, but he didn't know the Skybolts were there, when they
would have the best chance of trimming down some of the front ranks. It
was the best opportunity that they'd likely ever get during the march
north; the point where the enemy forces would be just barely visible as
vague shapes moving through the mist.

No one aimed yet.  Kero strained her eyes for the first sign of the
enemy, knowing that every one of her people was doing the same.  The
skirmishers knew to fire as soon as they thought they saw anything, and
never mind bothering about targets; the mist would be too deceptive to
allow for accurate shooting anyway, and the more arrows that sped
toward the enemy lines, the likelier the chances of actually hitting
someone.  Any injury is a nuisance.  in a swamp, any injury could be
fatal.

She heard splashing, and thought she saw something hesitated a moment.
There, to the right-was that-yes!

The thought actually followed on the act of aiming, firing, and nocking
a second arrow and firing again.  Nor was she alone; virtually all of
the fighters in her immediate vicinity had done the same, and the
shouts and screams from the billowing fog were all the reward any of
them could have asked for.

The enemy surged forward; became, for a moment, more than just shapes.
Now they were targets, and the hail of shafts became more
deadly-accurate.  The Skybolts fired, and fired again, while Ancar's
forces tried in vain to get their own archers into position, and lost
man after man to the wicked little arrows.  Half of the skirmishers
fired Shin'a'in bows; powerful out of all proportion to their size,
made of laminated wood, horn, and sinew.  The little arrows couldn't
penetrate good armor, but they could and did find the joints, the neck,
the helm slits all the small but numerous weak spots in a common
soldier's war-gear.  The other half of the Skybolts used heavy
horse-crossbows-which could penetrate armor, and often entire bodies,
though the short-bowmen got off four shots for every single crossbow
bolt.  The trade was worth it, since they made a devastating
combination.

Hellsbane stood as steady as a statue under her, ignoring the screams
and the whirring of arrows all around"' her.  Ancar's forces floundered
in the mud for long enough to lose plenty of men, before the armored
officers that "I" weren't dropped by the crossbows pulled them back
into the cover of the mist.  A few moments later, Kero heard.

the whistled signal farther up the line, then the whir of arrows and
the shouts and cries of pain started all over again, off beyond the
wall of fog.

We probably aren't doing more than nibble away at him, she thought,
trying to judge the size of the army from the sounds in the murk.  But
right now I'll bet the front rank isn't a very popular place to be.

But the sun began to break through the clouds, and the drizzle
lessened.  Whether Ancar had weather-working mages with him, or whether
it was just the time for the weather to clear, Kero couldn't tell.  It
looks natural enough, she decided, as the sun became a visible disk
through the overcast.  Well, no streak of luck runs forever.

Ancar's officers had figured out what was happening, too; the sounds
from out of the mist quieted, except for the moaning of those
unfortunates wounded and left behind in the muck as their comrades
retreated.  Kero whistled another signal, also passed up the line-Geyr
sounded his bugle again, still in character as a frightened youngster.
As soon as the mist broke and the enemy could see them clearly, she
expected a charge, and she wanted the Skybolts ready to move just
before it came.

The sun broke through the clouds, and the fog lifted in a rush, as if
frightened away by the light.  That was when the Skybolts saw the true
size of the force facing them.

the sun blazed down on the field, as if to make up for the fact that it
had hidden all morning, Kero hadn't known what size of army to expect,
a~d ad planned for the worst, but hoped for the best.  In that fleeting
instant between when the enemy officers sighted them, and their
trumpeters sounded a charge, Kero had time first to curse, then to be
very thankful that the only troops here were hers.  The veteran
Skybolts would fake a panic and turn tail, just as the plan dictated.
If Selenay's green forces had been faced with this sight, the panicked
flight might well have been real.  She couldn't imagine unseasoned
fighters being able to hold against something like this.

There seemed no end to them; they filled the valley, Md spilled out
over the hills beyond.  She couldn't imagine where Ancar had gotten so
many men-and they were all men, all that she could see, anyway.  That
in itself was ominous; why not have female fighters, archers at
least?

Bloody hell Better get out of range, quick!  She gave Hellsbane her
cue, and the mare reared as if spurred, screamed and slewed around on
her hindquarters, and lurched into a gallop.  The rest of her fighters
weren't far behind her.  She bent over Hellsbane's neck and looked back
over her shoulder.

As she had expected, Ancar's officers reacted to that apparent stampede
by frantically signaling a charge.  But they didn't know the ground,
and Kero and her native guides did.

Their mounted troops were on tired beasts that had just spent the last
candle mark struggling through mire.  And the poor things weren't
Shin'a'in-bred.  They did their best, but before they'd even gotten to
firm ground, the Skybolts were well out of range of even the heaviest
crossbow.  Once on firm ground, they still weren't a match for
Shin'a'in-bred speed and stamina.  The lead continued to open.  She
grinned, fe rally  Never reckoned on that, did you, m'lord Ancar?

Kero halfway expected them to give up and turn back, but they didn't;
that meant it was time to give them another goading.  She wheeled
Hellsbane at the top of the slope, and raised her hand; a heartbeat
later, the rest of the Skybolts joined her on the ridge, already
readying another flight of arrows, and as she brought her hand down,
they rained missiles down on the cavalry struggling up the slope toward
them.  Horses and riders alike fell screaming in pain, and as the front
rank went down, they tripped the ranks behind, bringing the charge to
chaos.  She hated to do it, but horses were harder to replace than
fighters, so horses were fair targets.

This time she only allowed time for one crossbow volley before
signaling that it was time to run again.

She thought that surely they'd turn back now-but when she looked back
over her shoulder as the Skybolts pounded down the other side of the
hill, she saw the first of them, silhouetted against the sky, still
coming.

What in hell is driving these men?  What could be so bad behind them
that they d rather face this?

She debated stopping a second time and letting off another volley, but
something deep inside her told her that might not be wise.  In another
moment, she was very glad she'd made that decision, for riding at the
head of the charge, on a strange, homed creature that was not a horse,
was an unarmored man dressed in brilliant scarlet.

A mage.  She made a split-second decision.  Need would protect her-but
she didn't know if it could still protect the rest of her troops
without Quenten there to make sure of the extension of the spell.  As
always, Hellsbane was in the lead, whether in retreat or in the charge;
she waved to her Lieutenants to go on without her, and pulled the mare
up, reining her around, and readying her own bow.

This one had better count-She raised the bow, arrow pulled to her ear;
saw the mage raise his hands-gesture, a throwing motion felt a tingle
all over her body, like the pins-and-needles of a limb waking from
being benumbed-And heard, in the back of her mind, an angry humming, as
if she'd roused a hive full of enraged bees.

Need?  What's the damned thing doing this time?

She was too far away to see the mage's face-he was really at the
extreme of her best range-but he raised his hands again as she loosed
her arrow, and his abrupt movement seemed to speak of anger and
puzzlement.

She never even saw the arrow in flight; neither did he, or he might
have been able to deflect it arcanely.  But as the tingle increased, so
did the humming, until it seemed to be actually in her ears.  And not
two lengths from him, the arrow she had loosed suddenly incandesced,
and flared to an intolerable brightness as it hit him squarely in the
chest, burying itself right to the feathers.

He froze for a moment in mid-gesture, then slowly toppled from his
mount, which turned-of all unlikely things-into a milch-cow.  An
exhausted, gaunt cow, that wandered two or three steps, then fell over
on its side, unable to rise again.

The humming stopped, and Kero was not about to wait around to see if
her action stopped the pursuit.  She turned Hellsbane in a pivot on her
two rear hooves, and continued her flight, giving the mare her head
until the war steed caught up with the rest of the troops.  She didn't
look back.  If there's anything more back there, I don't want to know
about it.

Hellsbane was no longer running easily; sweat foamed on her neck, and
Kero felt her sides heave under her legs.

Finally the laboring of their horses forced them to slow and this time,
when they slowed to a walk and looked back, there was no one in sight.
The horses drooped, gasping great gulps of air, coats sodden with
sweat.  She felt guilty for having had to push them so much.

And she was profoundly grateful that she wasn't going to have to push
them any more.  It looked as if Ancar didn't have anymore mages to
spare.

Gods be praised.  I don't think I'll get to pull that off a second
time.  They weren't expecting Need-now they'll be doubly careful.  And
damned if I know what it was she did to my arrow.  She's never done
anything like that before.

Then again, we've never fought in service of a female monarch against a
male enemy before, an enemy who wants the monarch's hide for a rug, and
that's just for a beginning.

The Herald gave her a peculiar look when she took Hellsbane in beside
him, but he didn't say anything.  She wondered how much of the exchange
with the mage he had seen, then decided that it really didn't matter.

"I

don't see any reason to alter the plan yet," she told him.

"Tell Selenay to bring up her light cavalry behind us-I don't think
we'll be seeing any more action today, but I didn't think they'd follow
us over that first ridge, either.

We need a rear guard, at least for the moment.

He nodded, and went off into his little trance, and his Companion gave
her one of those blue-eyed stares that Eldan's Companion Ratha had
sometimes fixed her with.

She nudged-the mare with her heel, and moved Hellsbane ahead of them,
suddenly uneasy with the penetrating intelligence behind those eyes.
She had the feeling that even if the Herald had missed the mage's
attack and defeat, his Companion hadn't.

He doesn't know what to make of me, either.  He's giving me one of
those looks, like he had thought I was just a grunt-fighter, and now
he's not so sure.

It was a most unnerving feeling, and she began to have an idea how
Quenten and the others had felt, before they'd quit Valdemar and headed
home.

It felt as if she was being weighed and tested against some unknown
standard.  And what was more, she didn't like it.

Finally she couldn't take any more of it.  She dropped Hellsbane back,
and deliberately made eye contact with the Companion.  His Herald was
still off in the clouds somewhere, communing with his brethren, which
left the field safe for what she intended to do-Which was to drop
shields, and think directly at the creature, Look, I don't tell you how
to do your job.  I'm doing what I pledged Selenay I'd do, and what's
more, I'm doing a damned ~piece of work so far.  You keep your
prejudices to yourself and stay the hell out of my way and my head so I
can keep doing it!"

The Companion started and jerked his head up, his eyes wide, as if
she'd stung him with a pebble in the hindquarters.  She slammed her
shields shut again, and sent Hellsbane into a tired canter that took
her to the front of the troop.

And when next she looked back, the Companion met her gaze with a wary
respect-and nothing more.

She couldn't help herself; she wore a smug little smile all the way
back to the camp.

"Don't make judgment calls; you might find yourself on the other end of
one.  " That's another one of Tarma's sayings.  And right now, I'm as
guilty of it as that Companion is.

But damn if that didn't feel good.

Camp was a cold camp; no fires, and trail rations.

Tents stayed packed up; until they figured out the pattern Ancar's
troops had, Kero wasn't going to give him any v.ulnemble points to
hit-like a camp.  Even with experienced fighters like hers, "camp"
meant "safe" in the back of their minds, and right now she didn't want
anyone thinking "safe."

They'd bivouacked in a grove of hazelnut bushes, tucking bedrolls out
of sight under the bushes themselves, helping out nature's own
camouflage with artfully placed branches.  From a distance, no one
would ever guess there was an entire Company of fighters and their
horses in here; it looked like any deserted orchard.  What with the
three rings of perimeter guards, no one would get close enough to find
out any differently.

And that tentlessness included Kero.  It was good for morale-and it
made her less of a target.  She did have one of the better bushes, a
clump of them, actually, with thick, drooping branches, but room on the
inside for three or four; and she had it alone-but there were a few
advantages to being Captain.

The Herald vanished after they'd tucked themselves up, established
perimeters and set watches, and sent the specialists off to make
Ancar's life interesting.  She settled down on her bedroll with a piece
of jerky in one hand and a tiny, shielded dark-lantern focused on the
detailed map spread over her knees.  At some point during her study her
orderly brought her a battered tin cup full of water, and said-rather
too calmly-that the Herald who'd been with her this morning was being
replaced.

She looked up, sharply, and saw the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Ah," she said, and left it at that.

Made himself unwelcome, did he?  Maybe I did a little judging, but it
sounds like he did a lot more.

She fell asleep with a clear conscience, and a resolve not to let the
replacement get on her officers' nerves as the first Herald had.

In the morning, as soon as she'd gotten the reports from her scouts,
she gathered her officers together inside the heart of the grove, to
lay out her next plan of action.

While she gave each Lieutenant his orders, she caught sight of
something white moving up, just out of the corner of her eye.

So our first liaison couldn't handle the job.  A little late, my
friend, she thought to herself, and I hope you're a bit more flexible
than your predecessor But she otherwise ignored him until she'd
finished briefing her officers.

Only then did she turn to see who-or what-Selenay had sent to her this
time.

And felt as if someone had just pole axed her.

"oH," she said, faintly.

"I'm-uh-the replacement," Eldan said with hesitation, playing with the
ends of his Companion's reins.

"Selenay thought you'd be less likely to frighten us off.

At least, on purpose."

"I wouldn't count on that if I were her," Kero replied, around a funny
feeling in her chest, still staring at him.

He looked wonderful; he hadn't aged to speak of, her dream Eldan become
substantial.

"You've never ridden with my troops.  We're a nasty lot, and what we
meet up with tends to be just as vicious as we are."

"That wasn't what she meant."  Eldan dropped his eyes before she did,
which gave her a chance to give him a quick once-over before he looked
up again.  He hadn't changed much, either; maybe the white streaks in
his hair were a little wider, and there were a couple of smile lines
around his mouth and eyes, but otherwise he was the same.  She wondered
how she looked to him.

"It doesn't have to be me.  If you don't want-I mean-" "I don't, " she
interrupted him fiercely, fairly sure what he was going to say, and not
wanting to hear it.

"I

can't afford a liability, not here, not now.  I can't permit you to
distract me from my people.  If you can do your job and leave it at
that, fine.  Otherwise, find me someone else.  And make sure it's
someone with guts and a sense of humor this time.  We're perilous short
of both."

"I'd noticed," Eldan muttered with a flash of resentment and
irritation, not quite under his breath.

"You-you what?"  She stared at him for a moment, torn between wanting
to laugh, and wanting to rip his face off for that.

Laughter won.

She leaned up against Hellsbane's saddle, then shook with silent
laughter, until her knees were weak and tears ran down her face.  Eldan
just stood there, looking a little puzzled, but otherwise keeping his
mouth shut.

"oH, gods," she said, or rather, gasped.  "oH, dear gods.  I had that
coming."  She pushed away from the mare, and wiped her eyes with the
back of her hand.

"You certainly did," Eldan said agreeably.  Then he widened his eyes,
and his tone grew wheedling.

"Come on, Kero, you need me along just to keep you humble."

"I do not, " she retorted, stung.

"And I don't need you pulling any 'mama, may I' acts on me.  But as
long as you're here, you might as well tag along anyway."

She was tempted to jump into the saddle without using the stirrups-But
that's a youngster's show-off trick.  Besides, it wouldn't impress
him.

"I wouldn't leap into the saddle like a young hero if I were you," said
the familiar voice in her head.

"I'd have to match you, and I'm too old and tired for that."

"Sure you are."  She'd answered him the same way without realizing it
until she'd done so.  For the first time in her life, Mindspeech felt
as natural as audible speech.

Even with Warrl it had been an effort, and seemed wrong, like trying to
walk on her hands and eat with her feet.

She should have been alarmed by that; she should have been unhappy to
be reminded that she had the Gift.  The youngster training with Tarma
would have been ready to gut him.  The Kero of ten years ago would have
ordered him out of heR Company.  But now-all that fuss seemed pretty
stupid, and awfully paranoid.  It was an ability, like her perfect
pitch-and a lot more useful.  Now talking by Mindspeech felt as if
she'd been doing it for years.

"BEsides, it's about time you found out what military discipline is
like.  It'll do you good.  And while we're in the field, it's Captain.
Not Kero, not Captain Kero.  Captain.

Got that?"

He nodded, swinging up into his Companion's saddle.

"Sorry, Captain.  And I think I understand.  This is a military
command, and you need a different kind of attitude from everybody
connected with your troops, right?

otherwise discipline breaks down.  Heralds do things differently,.

we encourage familiarity, but we almost never get it."

"Heralds don't have to command a few hundred hotblooded, hard-headed
fighters, each of whom is at some time or other convinced he could
Captain the Company better than you."  She sent Hellsbane out through
the bushes to the field on the other side where the Skybolts were
mustering.  Eldan kept right at her side, as if they'd been doing this
together for years.

"You haven't had that particular problem for the past six fighting
seasons," he retorted, " Your people follow you the way no other
Captain could command.  Right now your only problem is that they are so
confident in YOU that you're afraid they won't come to you when they
think there's something wrong with your strategy.  So don't start
feeling sorry for yourself."

Since that was exactly what she'd been confiding in the dream-Eldan in
the last dream she'd had about him, she was understandably startled.

She reined Hellsbane in so fast that the horse reared a little,
snorting, as she whipped around in the saddle to face him.

"How did you know that?  " she blurted, flushing and chilling in
turn.

"I haven't said anything to anyone about that-" "Except in dreams."  He
had gone a little pale, himself "But they weren't dreams, were they?"

Hellsbane reacted to her unconscious signals, and backed up, one slow
step at a time.

"I thought they were," she said, and her voice shook.

"I thought you were.  I thought I was going crazy.  I thought it didn't
matter.  If I hadn't, I'd never have said-done-half of what I did-"
"Why not?"  he demanded, his Companion Ratha matching Hellsbane's every
step.  The mare flattened her ears and snapped; the Companion ignored
her.

"Weren't we friends, at least?  I thought we were.  Oh, I admit it,
that was a dirty trick I played on you with the ransom, but I had no
idea how desperate your situation was, I thought your Company and
Captain were pretty much intact.  If I'd known, I'd have had Selenay
send you doUble, with no strings attached, and not because I felt sorry
for you, no, but because we were-are-friends, and friends help each
other.  But after that-the dreams-I thought I'd made amends.  I needed
to talk with you, needed to be with you.  I couldn't let you just walk
out of my life like that.  Kero-I-I love you.  I'll take anything I can
get with you."

She forced herself to think rationally-after all, this wasn't much
different from the way he was Mind speaKing her now-and slowly
relaxed.

"I got you back with the ransom," she reminded him, as she loosed her
hands on the reins, and Hellsbane stopped backing.

He grinned at that, and nodded.

"You certainly did, and cleverly, too.  And I wish you'd been there to
see the old goat they sent as the Guild proxy.  He just gave me one
look, and made me feel like a small boy who ~ been caught trying to
look up little girls dresses."

She chuckled at the image he sent her; it was a Guild representative
she barely recognized, but knew by reputation, which was formidable.

"But that's not the point," he continued.

"The reason I kept coming to you is that I'm your friend before I'm
ANYTHING else, Kero.  Friends help each other,.  friends bring their
troubles to each other, especially if they can't take them anywhere
else.  And I confided a good share in You, didn't I?"

She nodded reluctantly, once he'd called up the memory.

"Did you really want to strangle that idiot that much?  " "Yes," Eldan
replied.

"He made me angry, then made me look like a fool in front of a lot of
people because I acted out of anger before I thought.  I wanted to
strangle him.  You managed to persuade me that the best way to ~ with
him ~*as to ignore him.  But you know-I still want to strangle him."

She laughed, silently, and shook her head.  All she'd done with him was
talk mind-to-mind-which was probably why she was no longer so awkward
at it-and take and give advice.  The same kind she'd have taken and
given if they'd been talking face-to-face.  That wasn't so bad.... In
fact, she'd enjoyed it.

I probably should be angry at him, but I can't be.

"Are you sure you're up to this job?"  she asked, after a long pause.

"You don't have to be my liaison.  I'm not the easiest person in the
world to get along with.  And I wasn't joking about calling me
"Captain," at least in public.  "

"I have my share of warts.  I'll call you anything you want.  And you
could do without me, you know.  You're just as good at Mindspeech as I
am."

"Not a chance," she snorted.

"Come on, tagalong.

I've got a war to run."

Then, shyly..

I love you, too.  But you heard that, didn't you.  I told you before. 
In dreams."

-"You did," he replied promptly..I can't promise it won't color things.
But I can and do promise if it starts causing problems for either of
us, I'll get Selenay to assign you someone else.  She-she knows about
us.  This was her idea."

That put a whole new complexion on things.

"I'm a Captain first, and a lover second.  But-there just might be room
for the lover, now."

"Only if it doesn't interfere."  He was adamant.

So was she.

"Only if it doesn't interfere.  So far it hasn't.  Let's ride this
out."

He smiled.

"Captain, you've got yourself a bargain.

And a recruit."

Today the plan called for her Company and Selenay's cavalry to combine,
and give Ancar just enough of a taste of combat to make him think that
they really were trying to keep him out of Valdemar.  Then they were to
pretend panic, and run for the next set of Guards, posted farther
north.

The trouble was, that little taste turned into a rather large and
painful bite.

They spent most of the day leading the enemy overland, keeping just out
of range, exhausting his horses while they changed off on their
remounts at noon, and had fresh beasts to his tired ones.  Then, just
before sunset, they pretended to make a stand, teased Ancar's men into
a charge, and retreated, under covering fire.

The spot for their stand had been carefully chosen; a rocky hillside
with plenty of cover, and too many boulders for Ancar's cavalry to
charge.  Kero watched with a critical eye, carefully gauging the
weariness of Ancar's fighters.  She let three successive waves approach
her position, and be driven back-waiting for Ancar's officers to call
in the tired men for the night.

Instead, they kept coming; a fourth wave, and as the sun set, a
fifth.

And under torchlight, a sixth.

They were running out of ammunition, energy-and still the enemy kept
coming, though he left his dead and wounded in heaps at the foot of
their stony shelter.

After the eighth wave had retreated, Kero put down her bow and sagged
against her boulder with exhaustion.

Her arms were like a pair of lead bars; her legs shook with weariness.
And she was in relatively good shape.

Selenay's people, far more inclined than hers to risk themselves for a
good shot, had managed to populate the rude shelter the Healers had
assembled with their wounded.  Not too many Skybolts wore bandages yet,
but if this kept up.... She watched the torches bobbing and dancing out
beyond firing range and longed fiercely for her mages.  It looked-dear
gods!-like they were massing for attack wave number nine.

"I don't believe this," she muttered, staring at Ancar' s lines.

"I don't either,5' said Shallan from the other side of the boulder, in
a voice fogged with fatigue.

"They're not human.  " I "Or they're driven by something that isn't
human," Eldan said grimly.

"The bastard has some kind of hold over them.  They'd rather face our
arrows than what he's got over there."

Kero turned Around and looked over her shoulder.

"Is that a guess, or information?"

Eldan looked like the rest of them; his white uniform was smudged and
filthy, there was dirt in his hair, and sweat-streaked dust on his
face.

"A guess," he said, staring past her at the enemy.

"I'm not an Empath, like Talia.  And they have some kind of shield over
them that prevents me from reading their thoughts.  But I think it's a
pretty good guess."

"Seeing as they had one mage with them that was willing to charge right
in after us, you're probably right," Kero said, turning back to look at
the enemy herself.

"If they have mages, why haven't they used magic on us?"  Eldan
wondered aloud.  Kero gave him a sharp look out of the corner of her
eye, but it didn't look as if he was being sarcastic or asking a
pointed question; merely as if he really was puzzled.

She shrugged.

"Maybe because we're inside Valdemar," she said.

"Maybe he only had the one mage.

Maybe because he's saving the mages for when he has a target worth
their while.  " She watched the milling of the enemy troops for a
moment more, then made her decision.

" Tell Selenay and the rest that I've just changed the plan," she told
Eldan.

"Get the foot troops out first, then Selenay's horse, then we'll play
rear guard  We've got the advantage of knowing this country in the
dark;

they don't.  I don't think they plan on stopping until every last one
of us is dead, and I think we'd better get our rumps out of here while
we have the cover of darkness.  " "Yes, Captain," Eldan said-he didn't
wander off in a trance when he Mind Spoke with someone like his fellow
Herald had, he simply frowned a little, as if he was concentrating.

"Selenay and the Lord Marshal agree," he said after a moment.

"The foot is already moving out.  9 ~

"Fine," She turned to Shallan.

"Pass the order.

retreat is for real."

And dear gods of my childhood, help us.  Because in dire need of it.

, Twenty-three

It was a retreat, not a rout-but only because no one panicked.  That
retreat didn't end with morning, either.

When dawn broke, Kero sent scouts back, more because she believed in
being too cautious than because she really expected anything.

She knew there was trouble when they returned too quickly.

The first one in saluted her, his face gray with exhaustion.  " They're
right behind us, Captain," he croaked, as she handed him her own water
skin.  He gulped down a mouthful and poured the rest on his head.

"I swear by Apponel, there's no way they can be behind us, and they are
anyway.  Some of 'em are dropping like whipped dogs.

but the rest are still on their feet and it don't look like they plan
on giving up any time soon."

She swore and gathered the officers; hers, and Selenay' s and together
they goaded their weary troopers into another push.

That set the pattern for succeeding days-and sometimes nights-as they
retreated farther north, and deeper into Valdemar itself.  Every step
westward galled Kero like spurs in her side.  Never before had she
hated to give up land so much.  Always before it had been a matter of
indifference; what mattered was the final outcome, not whether a few
farmers were overrun and burned out.  But this time was different.  The
farmers pressed everything Selenay's forces needed on them as they
passed, then abandoned their farms with unshed tears making their eyes
bright.  She knew these farmers as people, however briefly they'd met,
and it made her seethe with rage to see smoke rising in their rear and
know what Ancar's troops were doing to the abandoned properties.

Every time she took provisioning from another farmer, and watched him
drive off into the west with family and whatever he could transport
piled up onto pitiful little wagons with his stock herded behind him,
the rage grew.

It's so damned unfair, she told herself, And I know that life,s unfair,
but these people never did anything to earn losses like these.  She'd
never felt quite so powerless to help, before.

And she had never hated any foe other than the Karsites with the fierce
hatred she developed for Ancar.

The fool drove his men as if they were mindless machines.

She couldn't imagine why they weren't deserting in droves-unless the
mages were somehow controlling them, either directly or through fear.
That might explain why the mages hadn't attacked Selenay's army-they
were too busy keeping Ancar's own troops in line.  She was a good
leader-and she couldn't hate men who were being forced the way these
were.  But she certainly could hate the kind of man who forced them.

Or the kind of man who tortured for the sheer pleasure of it.  Eldan
told her what he'd done to Talia-and she'd felt Need waking during the
tale, with that deep, gut-fire rage that was so hard to control.  But
Ancar wasn't within reach, so the blade subsided; though for once, Kero
agreed with it.

But most important of all, one of the other officers in Selenay's army
who had once lived in Hardorn told her what he had done to his father
and his people, and why they had left.  Kero had encountered tyrants
before, but never one who so abused his powers as this one.  The way he
drove his men was a fair example of the way he treated his people as a
whole.  Worse than cattle, for a good farmer sees his cattle cared
for.

She finally called her Company together one night when They dared have
a fire, and told them everything she d earned, figuring that they
should know what would happen to them if they ever fell into Ancar's
hands.

They listened, quietly.  Then Shallan made a single, flat statement for
all of them.

"He's an oath breaker she said, her mouth set in a grim line.

"And he's just lucky we haven't a mage with us, or I'd set the full
Outcasting on him."9 Kero looked from one fire-gilded face to another,
and saw no sign of disagreement.  Several, in fact, were nodding The
Guild was full of people with disparate and sometimes mutually
antagonistic beliefs.  The one thing every mercenary in the Guild
commonly held sacred was an oath.  They reserved terrible punishment
for an oath breaker in their own ranks.  For rulers and priests there
was another form of retribution-the Outcasting.  Kings were bound by
oaths to protect their lands and men, usually from the time they were
old enough to swear to the pledges, and Ancar had broken his oaths-as
surely, and as dreadfully, as had the late, unmourned, King Raschar of
Rethwellan, the monarch Tarma and Kethry had helped to unseat.  Kero
learned that night that she was not alone in her hatred of Ancar-as her
troops had heard more tales from the Hardorn refugees, one and all,
they came to share her cold rage.

It gave them an extra edge they'd never had before.  But rage was not
enough, not when confronted with the desperate strength of Ancar's
men.

They were worn thin by running alone, and when you added the steady
losses, manpower that wasn't being replaced, you had another kind of
drain on them.

Of course, Ancar was losing an equal number of men in those encounters,
but Ancar could afford to lose them.

Selenay's army couldn't.

Kero tried an ambush at one point, splitting her forces on either side
of a river hoping to catch him with a good part of his men still in the
water.  But she'd discovered, only through the vigilance of the scouts,
that he had outflanked her.

He brought his foot in to surround the ambush-party on his bank and
only years of experience had enabled her to get them out again.  Those
years of experience had taught her to always have an escape route-in
this case, an unlikely one, the river itself.  Profiting from her
escape by water, she'd engineered a more controlled version of the
same, by making sure the ambushers were all strong and experienced
swimmers, with horses capable of pulling the trick off.

Even so, the escape had been a narrow one, and their luck ran down from
there.

Every day meant a succession of tricks and guerrilla tactics, just to
keep Ancar from closing with the entire force and finishing the job.
With the Heralds acting as links between them, they split their forces
by day, pecking away at the edges of the massive army, and rejoined by
night.  The individual groups, some as small as Kero's original scout
group, could dart in and out to whittle away at Ancar's more cumbersome
foot-but to offset that mobility, they were a great deal more
vulnerable.

Quite a few of those little groups vanished, Herald and all, when
Ancar's troops could surround or entrap them.

Every loss meant far more to them than a comparable loss meant to
Ancar-if, in fact, the losses meant anything to him at all, other than
the drop in manpower.

"I can't believe this," she muttered to Eldan, as she shaded her eyes
and stared at Ancar's army, a dark carpet of them covering the fields
below her vantage point, trampling the fields of new grain into mud.
They should have been ready to drop; they'd been marching at a steady
pace all day, and any sane commander would have them making camp now.
Yet here they were, pressing on though sunset painted the sky a bloody
red.

"I thought I'd planned for everything, including the very worst
possible case, but these people aren't human.  No one can follow the
pace we've set-" "You did," Eldan pointed out.

"You set it."

She glared sideways at him; she had a headache from wearing her helmet
all day, and she was in no mood for quibbling.

"Semantics.  We're on home ground; we have the advantage of local
support and supply, and we know the territory.  He doesn't have any of
that.  He shouldn't be able to keep up with us, much less attack every
chance he gets.  But he's doing it, and I'll be damned if I know how. 9
"Because he's willing to sacrifice everything to get you-or rather,
Selenay," Eldan said flatly.

"Everything is expendable if he gets her.  He's perfectly willing to
burn out every man he has to achieve that single goal."

She shook her head, and pounded her fist on the tree trunk beside her
in anger and frustration, gashing the bark with her armored gauntlet.

"That's insane.  I can't predict what a madman is going to do next! How
can I Plan against someone like that?"

Eldan sighed.

"I don't know, Captain.  Strategy was never anything I was good at."
Then he smiled weakly.

"But you'll think of something, I'm sure.  We all believe in you."

That was cold comfort.  They believe in me.  Just what I needed to
hear.

Especially when she was exercising all of her ingenuity just to keep
them alive a little bit longer.  They'd lost track of Daren a ~while
back, and not even the Far Seers could find him.  In fact, other than
the Mindspeakers, the Heralds' powers had been frustrated or limited by
Ancar' s mages.  There was some kind of shield over the army that the
Far Seers couldn't break through, and the ForeSeers reported only "too
many possibilities."

There were only three possibilities that made any difference to Kero;
that Daren was still on schedule, that Daren had been turned back by
more of Ancar's forces, or that Daren had run afoul of those same
forces and was late.  No other "possibilities" mattered.

And right now, anyway, all that really mattered was staying alive.

The question haunted her as the Skybolts stopped to salt a ford with
flint shards after everyone else had passed it.  The little fragments
were heavy enough to stay where they were without washing downstream,
small and sharp enough to lodge in hooves and slash boots and feet to
ribbons.  "

"Be careful what you ask for,"

" she quoted to herself.  "

"You might get it."  I wanted Ancar to follow us.  Now I can't shake
him off our trail."  When she'd consulted the Lord Marshal through the
agency of Eldan and the Lord Marshal's Herald, he hadn't had any
suggestions either.  I feel like I'm letting them down, she thought
grimly, as the last of the flint-strewers returned to the saddle, and
the Company moved out again.  They think I'm going to pull something
brilliant out of my sleeve and save everyone.  Not even Ardana got
herself into a situation like this one.

And while he lasted, Lerryn was so lucky he dfall into a cesspit and
come up with a handful of gold.

She looked back over her shoulder, checking for strays, although
technically Shallan and Geyr were supposed to be in charge of that.  It
didn't look as if any of her people had dropped out of the march-though
if they hadn't been mounting Shin'a'in-breds, they would have been by
now.

Even the Companions were beginning to look tired.  So far the only luck
we've had was that Ancar hasn't used a mage since I took out the first
one.

She pushed her helm up and rubbed a spot on her fore head where it
pressed uncomfortably.  That might not have been luck, though; it might
have been that Need was sheltering the whole army, and it might also
have been that the mages Ancar has left are required to keep his own
people disciplined.  She wished she knew which it was;

or even if it was a combination.

The Skybolts caught up with the rear guard of Selenay's troops, and
became the rear guard themselves.  Shallan and Geyr sent back
outriders, while the rest spread themselves along the rear, resting
their horses by staying at the pace set by the foot in front of them. 
Kero hoped the outriders would bring back word that Ancar had camped
soon.  Those poor souls ahead of her looked as though they were on
their last gasp of energy.

All that work to get the entire army together, and we're too small to
do anything but run.  He must outnumber us ten to one, and that's after
losses.  About the only advantage we have is the Heralds.  We're too
large and without the proper training to use as a specialist force, and
too small to actually take a stand against him.

It was maddening, and soon enough they'd run up against the Iftel
border, which would leave them with nowhere to go except into Valdemar.
Was Daren back there behind them?  If not-and she had to plan for the
worst-if they retreated, would Selenay be able to raise enough of the
common people to make a difference against trained fighters?  It could
be done, what had happened to the Skybolts in Seejay was proof enough
of that-but it was expensive in terms of casualties, the people had to
be committed to it wholeheartedly.

If only we could get him to divide his army up somehow, and arrange
things so that we could deal with each segment alone.

A foot soldier in front of her stumbled and fell, saw Hellsbane
practically on top of him, and blanched, scrambling onto his feet and
back to his place in the wavering lines.  The mare's behavior in battle
had earned her the reputation of a man killing horse, and no one but
the Skybolts wanted to be within range of those teeth and hooves.

What have we got ahead of us?  I wonder if there's some way I can force
him to commit too many of his people on too many fronts?  Can we use
the terrain somehow?

No, that was a stupid idea.  The only thing they had ahead of them Was
farmland and rolling hills.

She pulled off her helm and hung it on the saddlebow, and wiped the
sweat out of them.  It didn't help.  She'd never been so tired, not
even when running from Karsite priestesses and Karsite demons.

If only my riders weren't forced to stay with the foot... Then again,
maybe they weren't.

If we take the Skybolts and the cavalry and circle around behind them,
I wonder if we could make them think we were reinforcements ... make
them think we were Daren's lot.

The she gave herself a mental kick for idiocy.  How in hell can I think
that?  It would leave them without Support.

And even if he fell for it, that would get him going in the wrong
direction.  That won't work.  We don't want him going south, and we
certainly don't want him going west.

Every new idea seemed to have less chance of succeeding than the last.
And none of them were going to work if they didn't get a chance to
rest!

I feel like a hunted stag, she thought-then froze as she realized that
she wasn't far wrong with that image.

She made a quick mental review of everything Ancar had done since that
first encounter, and realized with a sinking heart that they had been
doing exactly what he wanted them to do.  Run.  Run themselves into
exhaustion.... " What's wrong?"  Eldan had ridden up beside her without
her even noticing his arrival.

"I just realized we made a monumental mistake," she replied slowly, as
her spine chilled.

"We all thought we were leading him.  We haven't been.  He's been
herding us, like stags being herded by beaters.  " She looked around
for one of the scout Lieutenants, and spotted Shallan's blonde cap of
hair.

"Shallan!"  she called sharply; the scout-leader looked back, and
reined her horse around, sending him loping wearily toward them.

"I want you to send out scouts west and cast, " she said as soon as
Shallan was within easy speaking distance.

"Send them out about a half a day's ride, on their freshest horses.
Have them take Heralds; if what I think is out there really is, I want
to know immediately."

Shallan looked thoughtful for a moment-then blanched.

"We've been bracketed?"  she asked, as her horse stood listlessly,
saving his energy.

Kero nodded, and looked back over her shoulder, feeling as if she
half-expected the enemy to come into view.

"I think so.  I couldn't figure out where his cavalry was, and I'd just
about decided he didn't have any.  But if I had his resources, why
would I field only foot fighters with less than a Company of cavalry?
Now I think I know where he sent them-to bracket us in either the cast
or the west.  I'd bet east, but I want you to check inside Valdemar
just to be sure.  In all the confusion caused by evacuation he could
have slipped someone in.  ' "Astera help us, if you're right," Eldan
said grimly as Shallan rode off to pick her scouts and send them on
their way.  He, too, looked back over his shoulder, with a grimace.

"He'll have us where we planned to have him-pinned between him and the
Iftel Border."

"I know," she replied, watching as two small groups of Skybolts broke
off from the main body and rode off east and west.

"Believe me, I know.  I'd give my arm to know where Daren is right
now-and my leg to have him close enough to help."

We must be halfway to Iftel by now.  Gods, I don't know how much more
of this dying territory there is- Daren flexed cramped fingers, wiping
the nervous sweat from his face with his sleeve, and stared up at the
sun.  He reined his gelding in a little to drop back beside one of the
few unarinoted riders in the group.

"How far past the Valdemar Border would you say we are?"  he asked
Young Quenten, who frowned a little, and unfocused his eyes.

"Last thing I want is for Ancar's toadies to scent

US

"Par enough," the mage replied after a moment.

"We're out of range of whatever it is in Valdemar, and Ancar's mages
are too busy keeping the troops under control to try looking for us.
That's devilish clever of him, keeping his mages just this side of the
Border; I don't know what that guardian is, m'lord, but it's cursed
literal-minded.  Your magic can cross the Border all you like, so long
as you don't.  And I 'spect that if you didn't ever do anything
magical, once you were inside, itd leave you alone 9 "I suspect ~you're
right," Daren replied.  Quenten's a ~ lad.  Wish I knew how Kero
managed to recruit him.

"And I'm damned glad you went looking for us on your way back to your
winter quarters.  If we'd followed along the short route, we'd have
lost our mages, too."

"I didn't want to leave them in the first place, m'lord," Quenten said
absently.

"Let the gods witness it, I'd have stayed if I could!  It only seemed
right to track you down and warn you, and maybe come with you if you
figured a way around the magic problem."  His gentle little mare glided
along beside Daren's tall hunter, the only horse he'd ever seen besides
his own that could trot without jolting her rider.  Daren kept silent,
wrestling with the problem of how to make up the days lost in crossing
over to Hardorn, sneaking through the passes and hoping the Karsites
would choose to ignore this little invasion of their borders.

He'd had double his usual complement of mages to cloak their movements,
but who knew what the Karsite priests could and could not do.

Perhaps they had their own troubles to occupy them.

Since the defeat of the Prophet there had been no more trouble from
Karse; only rumors that the Temple was engaging in a war of intrigue
within itself, and more rumors that the Chief Priest of the Sunlord was
being challenged for his place by a woman.

That was heresy enough, but further rumor had it that this woman
affected the robes and false beard of a man, and styled herself the
"True-born Son of the Sun."

If even half those rumors were true, small wonder Karse paid no
attention to the army of her old enemy,.

when it was plainly going elsewhere.

But once across the border into Hardorn, Daren had been tempted to turn
right around and take his chances with Valdemar and this mysterious "
guardian" that drove mages mad.  For from the border to a distance of
three leagues within Hardorn, the land was blighted and empty.

Bad enough that entire villages lay empty and abandoned;

worse came when his men poked cautiously through the tumbled-down
buildings.

The places had been looted, then demolished.  But in the wreckage,
Daren's men found the remains of women and children-and only women and
children, and only those younger than three, and (presumably) older
than thirty.

Daren had thought at first that it might have been the work of
bandits-but then they had encountered another village, smaller than the
first, that had fared the same.

Then another, and another.

After the fourth such discovery, Daren forbade his men to even go near
the places.  They had no priest with them, but the mages, Quenten in
particular, had felt an odd uneasiness there, and the Healers had
refused, in a hysterical body, to set foot inside the perimeters.

And the land itself looked drained and ill.  The rank weeds that had
taken over the fields were pale, with thin, weak stems.  The leaves of
the trees were discolored.  The only birds to be seen were an
occasional crow, and so far Daren hadn't spotted so much as a rabbit
moving.  It had been getting worse since the first village, and now the
countryside looked to his eyes like a beautiful woman lying ravaged by
plague.  He couldn't imagine how his men could bear it-many of them
were of farm stock, and intended to retire to little pension-farms of
their own, and to see good land like this must be making them ill.

"What do you think happened here?"  he asked Quenten, as they crossed a
muddy, rust-colored stream.

"Is it safe to be riding on this land, do you think?"

"It's safe enough, m'lord," Quenten said, but only after the mage gave
him a peculiar look.

"Why do you ask?  " Daren looked around at the withered limbs of the
trees, at the yellow grass, at the diseased cankers spotting the
leaves, and shuddered.

"Because the place looks poisoned, that's why.  What happened at the
villages was easy enough to read-that bastard conscripted the men, took
the useful women and' little ones and slaughtered the rest as an
example-but I don't understand this ... and I don't see how the men can
accept it as easily as they do."

Quenten shook his head in wonder.

"M'lord, they don't see what you see.  To them it looks perfectly
ordiept that there's not much in the way of birds and nary, ex4,
beasts."  He looked pointedly about them, at the men marching calmly up
the road in front of them, and tilted his shaggy, dust-dulled head to
one side, as if waiting for a response.

Daren cast a sharp glance at him, but the young mage's expression was
entirely sober.

"A glamour?  An illusion?  "

Again the mage shook his head, but this time he stared into Daren's
face searchingly before replying.

"I don't think so, m'lord.  Is there mage-blood in your family?"

"Some, not much," he said after a moment of thought.

"Of course Grandmother's family's been sprouting Healers every so
often, and Mother's line was supposed to be some kind of
earth-priestess-" "Ah," Quenten said in satisfaction.

"That would be it; you have the earth-sense.  Many folk with the blood
of the old earth-priestesses in them have it.  What.  you're seeing is
the land revealed to you by the earth-sense, you see what lies under
the surface everyone else sees with his ~outer eyes.  This land is
sick; there's been blood-magic practiced here, too much of it for the
land to absorb without harm.  That was the real horror back at those
villages;

it wasn't just the slaughter itself-it's that it was done to invoke the
powers of blood-magic and death-magic.  " Daren remembered all the
rumors he'd heard about Ancar, and suddenly they began making sense.

"Blood-magic to control the minds of the ones he took?"  he asked
shrewdly, "Blood-magic to create a reservoir of power he can feed off?"
And Quenten's eyes widened.

"Blood-magic so that the land keeps him healthy and young, at its own
expense?"

"There's not one highborn in ten that would know that," the mage
whispered.

"Keep it to yourself, m'lord.

There's some that would say that knowing is a short step away from
wanting.  I don't hold by that, but even the mage-schools have their
fanatics."  He resumed his normal tone.

"Probably, m'lord, and it's more than the land can bear.  That's why it
looks sick to you.  Trust your earth-sense, m'lord.  If you learn to
use it, it'll tell you more than just this."

It was Daren's turn to shake his head.  The land cried out to him in a
way-and he couldn't help it, any more than he could bring back those
poor slaughtered innocents.

He wanted to beg its pardon for not healing it-to beg theirs for not
being there.  It was foolish-but it was very real.  He understood the
Heralds of Valdemar far better than his brother did.  He understood how
it was to care for people, even if those people were not bound to you
personally, in any way.  Faram would die for his people-but not those
of Valdemar.  He would feel badly about the slaughters here, but he
would not feel them personally, the way Daren did.

And he also understood duty and pledges.

"Right now all I care about is whether this land is safe to travel
through-which you say it is-and whether or not Ancar has any mages
likely to detect us here."

"We're working to prevent that, m'lord, " Quenten replied dryly.

"And-" he looked up, sharply.

"What is it?"  Daren said, reining in his horse as Quenten's mount
stopped dead.

The mage raised one hand to his forehead, his eyes focusing elsewhere.
He looked for all the world as if he was listening to something.

"Quenten?"  Daren persisted.  " Quenten?"

The mage's eyes refocused on him.

"Ancar has a reserve force just ahead," he said vaguely.

"Several mages, and three companies of cavalry.  And-Daren, m'lord,
they're mostly from here, this barren zone."

"Controlled, then.  There's no other way he could make farmers into
cavalry that quickly" He caught the attention of his officers, who
halted the march.

"Quenten, how far ahead is 'just ahead'?"

"Half a day's march, maybe less.  Not much less.

Quenten didn't seem to notice Daren' sigh of relief.

"What are they doing there?"  he persisted.

"We haven't seen a sign of Ancar's army.  What are reserves doing out
here?"

"I don't-they're-I need my bowl."  Without warning, the mage scrambled
off his mare's back to dig into he r pact le emerged with a completely
black bowl, shining like of black glass, or something very like it. He
Poured water from his own water skin into the bottom of it, sat right
down in the dust of the road, and stared into it.

Daren had been around enough maces to know when to keep his mouth shut.
He waited, patiently, in sunlight too thin to even warm him. The army
waited, just as patiently, glad for a chance to sit by the roadside and
rest.  Daren latched his men sprawling ungracefully against their
packs, and wished he hadn't had to push them so hard . They'd had a lot
of time to make up, once they'd gotten down out of the hills.  He had
been weary at the end of the day, and he was riding.  He hated to think
what the foot soldiers felt like.

"They're waiting," Quenten said, in a thin, disinterested voice, an
eerie echo of his own thoughts "They are half of the claw that will
capture Selenay and crush Valdemar.  " " What?"  Daren snapped,
startled.

Quenten looked up, blinking, then picked up the bowl and spilled the
water out in the dust.

"Ancar has these reserves out here, pacing him, waiting for when he has
Selenay's forces worn down enough to trap," the mage said in a more
normal tone of voice.

"Then he'll have this lot sweep in from the side and above while he
cuts his main force in from below."

"I don't think so," Daren replied, in a kind of grim.

satisfaction at finally having something to fight.

"Well, that's not all, m'lord," Quenten added as he pm up, shook the
dust from his robes and stowed his bowl carefully away.

"It's who these reserves are-or rather, where they're from.  Like I
said, before, here.

Tied into obedience by the blood of their own kin.  Now, you have the
earth-sense; you could tell me which mage is controlling them, because
the earth hereabouts would tell you.  It hates him, and it's bound to
him, and you'll see him as it sees him."

"And what will happen when you break him?"  Dairen asked, leaning
forward in his saddle and clutching the pommel with one hand.

"How do I do see these things, anyway?  What do you need to teach me,
and have we the 9" time to spare.

Quenten paused to remount, and turned to look back at Daren only when
firmly in his seat.

"You have the earth-sense," Quenten repeated.

"It's a matter of instinct rather than learning.  Break the controlling
mage and you not only free the victims-but it's altogether possible the
earth hereabouts would rise up in revolt.  And it would listen to you,
follow some of your directions, if you made them simple enough."

"It would?"

Quenten nodded.  Daren thought about those heaps of pitiful bones and
rags-looked around him at the dying land.  And thought of Kero and
Selenay's army, and pledges.  And just maybe a god somewhere had just
gifted him with the chance to satisfy all of them.

"Quenten, you're in charge of the magic-folk; get your mages.  Find out
everything you can, and keep us cloaked."  Daren turned his horse and
rode off in search of the scouts before he had a chance to hear
Quenten's eager assent.

All right, Ancar, you bastard, he couldn't help thinking, with a kind
of fierce exultation.  I am about to visit a little retribution on you
and yours.

Ancar's reserves were pathetically unaware of any danger but after all,
they were deep inside their own territory, and had no reason to suspect
any threat.  Daren himself went out with the scouts to the river-valley
where they camped to get a good look at enemy, and at the way they were
conducting themselves.

What he saw fit in very well with Quenten's theory of mind-control.
Only about a quarter of the men down there were moving about or acting
in any kind of a normal fashion.  The rest might as well have been
puppets; in fact, watching them was rather disturbing.  They moved
listlessly, when they moved at all, and none of them were idle-yet they
wasted no time on their chores, picking up one task, carrying it to the
end, picking up another.  And all without exchanging a single word with
anyone, or taking a single step out of the way.  Nothing was cooked,
except at the camps of the officers; a small group of men handed out
the tasteless ration-bread Rethwellan no longer used because of
complaints from the men.  These fighters took the bread, ate it
methodically, and went back to their chores.

BY nightfall, the camp was utterly quiet.  No socializing around
campfires, no idle games of chance-nothing.

The men simply rolled up in their blankets, and went to sleep; except
for the officers and mages, who had tents, and were presumably doing
things inside them.

It was an entirely unnerving sight to someone who knew what a camp
should look and sound like, because of the complete unnaturalness of
it-although Daren had to admit to Himself that there were times when
he'd wished his men would- at least He stopped the thought before he
could complete it, chillingly aware of how close he'd come to thinking
that he'd wanted his men to be like this.  Was that what those mages
meant, when they said it was a short step from knowing to wanting?

Horrible thought.................... He closed his eyes on the
too-quiet camp below him for a moment, then opened them.  No, he
deliberately decided.  I've never wanted that.  It's worse than
slavery;

at least a slave has his OWN THOUGHTS, THESE POOR CREATURES don't even
have that much.  It's as bad to destroy or enslave a mind as it is to
kill a body.  Maybe worse, if the mind is aware of what has happened to
it.

The scout tugged at his sleeve, and he crawled away with the rest of
them, avoiding the slack-jawed perimeter guard.  They made it back to
the rest of his troops without further incident, and he and his
officers spent the hours until midnight charting the next day's
course.

Dawn of the next day saw the Rethwellan troops poised just above the
camp.  It had been impossible to keep the movement of so large a group
secret, but by splitting his troops in two and cutting off Ancar's
fighters from their easy escape by river, Daren had forced Ancar's
reserves to meet him instead of running to join the larger force, or
escaping into the interior of HardoRN.

Daren waited at the command post with Quenten, the other mages, and his
under-officers; far from being even as comfortable as a tent, the site
basically had only two things to recommend it.  The unobstructed view,
and a ~ very tall shade tree.

"Can you tell who he is, yet?"  Quenten asked in an undertone as the
officers scattered off to take their places with their men.

Daren shook his head.  There was a kind of sink of "bad feeling" a
little to the right of center, but no one Mage stood out.  They were
assuming that Ancar's mages were too strong for any single one of
Daren's mages to take.  They would have to wait for their one best
opportunity, and all hit him at once, in order to break him.

One of Daren's mages was effectively out of the picture;

he was preventing the enemy from calling for help, magically.  And that
was all he was good for;

they'd left him in trance in the Healers tent, and there he would stay
even after this was over, recovering.  Or not; there was always the
possibility he might die, either from exhausting himself, or being
drained or killed by the enemy mages.  And if Daren's force lost, he
would almost certainly die.  Mages were harder to control than captured
fighters; the enemy usually did not even bother to try.

Daren gave the signal to advance, no point in a charge;

mind-controlled men would not be unnerved by a charge or a battle cry.
They'd simply fight until they dropped, and others took their places.
Daren had given his officers careful instructions" keep the men in
formation, no hero tactics, fight as carefully as if it was all a
drill.  The one advantage to fighting mind-controlled men was that they
were slower; it was the difference between knowing what to do and being
told what to do-between learned reflex, and something that hasn't been
absorbed bone-deep yet.

The battle was, as a result, curiously, grimly dull.  No flag waving,
no shouts except for exclamations of pain, no charges-the only sounds
being those calls and the clash of weapons, the cries of horses, the
scuffling of hundreds of feet and hooves-the men might as well have
been those little counters he and Kero used to practice maneuvers with.
Except for the blood, the wounded, the fallen.  Those made it real, and
made the fighting itself all the more unreal.

Daren concentrated on the mages, clustered near the officers' command
post, and visible because of the dull COlors of their robes, which were
bright compared with the brown and buff leathers of the fighters and
officers.

But the more he concentrated, the less he seemed to see.

He started to get angry and frustrated-my people are dying down
there-but then he stopped himself, before he stormed off to harangue
Quenten.

This is my problem, not his.  I should be able to figure it out.
Quenten said this earth-sense works like instinct, he thought, finally.
So-maybe if I don't concentrate.... I used to wonder what on earth good
those meditation exercises Tarma insisted we both learn would do me.  I
thought if there was anything more useless-I can almost hear her now.

"Surprise, youngling.

Nothing's ever wasted.  " He closed his eyes and dredged the exercise
out of deepest memory.  It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it was going
to be, for in moments he was relaxed.  He centered himself in the earth
beneath his feet, as Tarma had taught him, and when he felt as if he
was truly an extension of it, opened his eyes-And nearly choked.  He'd
never, ever seen anything like this before-and if it hadn't been that
he felt fine, and had shared the same rations as everyone else this
morning, he'd have suspected sickness or drugs.  Superimposed over the
fighting, the battlefield was divided into fields of glowing, healthy
green, and dull, dead, leprous white, with edges of scarlet and
vermilion where they met.  Outside the area of fighting, the landscape
was the same as it had been all the way north-sickly greens, poisoned
yellows.

Except for one spot, behind the lines, in the ranks of the mages and
commanders-one spot of black, auraed by angry red.

"Get Quenten, " he told his aide.

"We've got them."

Eleven of the twelve mages materialized beside him so quickly he
suspected they'd conjured themselves there.

"Where is he?"  Quenten said-then shook his head as Daren started to
open his mouth to explain that he couldn't tell him.

"Never mind, I know, I'm being stupid.

Hadli, would-" A dark-haired, plump girl reached up and touched both
his temples before he could say or do anything.

"Got him, Quenten," she said in satisfaction.

"If you want to feed through me, I'm not much use for anything else
right now."

"What are you going to do?"  Daren asked anxiously.

"I mean, I don't want you to go blasting at him and hit our people."

"Not a chance.  Kero likes things subtle.  We figured out last night
that we get the same effect by killing or wounding him physically-he'll
still lose his hold on the magic and on the minds he's controlling."

"So I'm going to give them the way to identify him," Hadli said.

"Quenten will bowl-east a FarSeeing spell, and Gem and Myrqan will find
a weapon to hit him with, while the rest distract him and keep his
defenses all facing forward."

Daren turned; Quenten was already kneeling on the ground with his bowl
of water in front of him-but this time there was a picture forming in
it that even he could see.

Hadli and two others knelt beside him, and Daren found that he could
still see over their heads.  What he saw was the backs of several
people in robes, with coruscating colors and strange shapes appearing
just beyond them.  His eyes went to one in a dull blue robe, and he
saw, faintly, the same overlay of black and scarlet auras he'd "seen"
before.

"That's him," Hadli said.

"The one in the blue, with the copper belt and the serpent-glyph on his
sleeve."

" Daren, " Quenten called, without taking his attention from the bowl,
"When we strike him, you'll feel it in the earth.  There's going to be
a moment of recoil, and then a hesitation.  That is when you need to
concentrate on what, exactly, you want to happen.  There's a lot of
power there; think of it as a flash flood about to roll down the river.
Once you get it started, you won't be able to get it to stop or even
change directions.  If you don't know what to do-don't think of
anything.  " Daren refrained from making a sarcastic answer.  In the
bowl, a light, ornamental dagger was elevating from a table behind the
mages.  Before he had a chance to ask what that meant, the thing
snapped forward as if it had been thrown, and buried itself to the hilt
in Blue-robe's back.

Daren had been in an earthquake, once.  The feeling was similar.  For a
moment, the earth seemed to drop out beneath him, and he was left
hanging in space, with a sense that something huge and ponderous was
poised over him, like a wave, waiting to break.

Belatedly, he recalled Quenten's orders, and realized the impossibility
of not thinking anything.  Make it simple.

Dear gods, it's going to let go-and I don't know what to tell it Make
it simple.

Put everything back the way it was!

The wave broke.  He swayed, and started to fall, when his aide )itt
him. And suddenly, there was noise out on the battlefield.

The sound of several thousand enraged, half-mad men, turning on their
officers and tearing them to pieces.

Twenty-four

Bodies pressed in on all sides of her.  Gods.  Blessed Agnira.

I got them into this.  They trust me to get them out of it.  How do I
tell them that I can't?  The camp was unusually silent; somewhere on
the Valdemar side, Selenay, too, was breaking the bad news to her
troops.  The regulars, that is; the Heralds already knew about it, of
course.  Kero wanted to look away from all those eyes staring at her
with perfect confidence, to gaze up at the sky or down at the
ground-anywhere but back at them.

They depended on me, and I fouled up.  Now what do I say?

"I'm sorry?"

Instead, she gazed directly back at them all, trying to meet each pair
of eyes before she spoke to them.

"I

haven't got any good news," she told them, finally.

"Ancar' s fighters have managed to force us east enough for his
southernmost troops to divide and get in west of us.

They're doing that now, and we haven't been able to stop them.  He's
had cavalry to the east in his own lands that has probably moved in
north as well.  We've been bracketed, and now we're surrounded."

She waited for a moment for that to sink in, then continued, rubbing
the back of her neck.

"They outnumber ~s by a goodly amount.  Selenay's troops tried this
morning to prevent the southern forces from coming west, but there were
too many for them, and the farmers just aren't a match for trained
fighters, not in pitched battles.  It looks like the big confrontation
is coming tomorrow; he ha us right where he wants us, and no getting
around it.

She listened to them breathe for a moment.

"Where's Lord Daren?  " asked a voice from the rear.  Kero looked up,
above the heads of those nearest her, and attempted to find the
questioner.

"We lost track of him about the time he was going to cross over into
the Valdemar side of the Comb, somewhere in the mountains.  We don't
know what happened to him.  There's been no word of him coming up
through Valdemar like he was supposed to.  He could be on the way.  He
could 0. have been turned back.  He could have been defeated by Ancar
down in the mountains.  We just don't know, so we can't count on him
being here."

Much less being here in time.  That's the way ballads end, not real
battles.  They'd been in trouble before, but never this badly, and
never while under her command.

The weight of responsibility made her ache.

"Now, here's what we can do," she continued.

"We're mounted, and we're the best hit-and-hide specialists in the
business.  We can break out, leave this mess behind, and head back down
home.  There isn't a soul outside Valdemar that would blame us for
doing that.  We're not in this for glory, or for patriotism, or because
we're fanatics."

She looked around again, and saw heads nodding.  " We're in this for
the money, purely and simply, and our Guild Charter and our contract
allows for this sort of thing.  Ancar threw the Guild out; we know he
isn't going to accept a Code surrender from us.  Probably what he'd do
if we tried is kill us out of hand.  He might even stick to killing the
officers only, and mind controlling you troops.  I don't think I have
to go any further into that."

She noticed one or two nearest her shuddering at the idea, and nodded
to herself.

"As I said, the Code and the Charter allow for that.

We can break out and go home; this is a no-win, hopeless situation.
However-we won't be able to take any wounded with us, and anyone who
goes down on the way out stays behind.  My guess is we'll lose about
half of our troops-the ones that are left-getting out.  It's not going
to be easy, but staying here means worse odds, so far as I can tell."

"What are the Heralds doing?"  asked one of the Lieutenants.  " They're
mounted, and they're as good as we are, most of 'em."

"Good question," Kero replied.

"They're going.  to break Selenay out, if they can.  It's by no means
certain;

Ancar wants her hide, and if he finds out they're breaking her loose,
he'll bring everything to bear that he has.  We can use that as a
diversion, of course, which makes our chances better.  " "Then what?"
asked the same voice as before.

"Then they're going to turn back and rejoin the fight," she replied, as
neutrally as she could.

"All but an escort force to get Selenay to safe ground."

A murmur of surprise and admiration rose from the troopers.  Some of
the Heralds-Eldan, for instance-had made themselves very popular;
others, like the one Eldan had replaced, were considered nuisances. But
the Skybolts could not help but admire anyone with the kind of guts it
took to break free of a suicide-situation, then turn and go back into
it.

"That has little or nothing to do with us," Kero reminded them
forcefully.

"We're mercenaries.  They aren't.  They have oaths to fulfill, and
duties that they won't renege on.  We're in this for pay.  Now, the
Skybolts have never been an ordinary Company, and I've never been an
ordinary Captain.  That's why I've called you all here.  I'm not going
to make a decision like this one alone, or even with my officers.  Do
we try to go, or do we stay?

And do I stay your Captain-" The shouts of disapproval that met that
question made her feel terribly self-conscious.

"All right," she bellowed at last, holding up her hands for silence.

"All right, if you want me that badly, you've got me.  But the other
question-break out, or stay and do what we can?

You know the drill; dark-colored pebble for 'go," light or white for
'stay."  And no maybe-colored rocks, eitherI don't want any maybes on
this one.  Geyr will collect your votes.  " She turned and sat down,
waiting for the results of the vote, keeping her mind tightly sealed
against their thoughts.  She didn't want to know what they were
thinking, and she didn't want to influence it, either.

She tried not to think of anything, really.  As Geyr moved out with the
basket into the massed fighters someone else called out a question.

"What about you?"

"I'll be going with you, since you'll have me," she said.

"And I'll stay with you as far as Bolthaven; I intend to call another
vote then, and see if you still want me when this is over.  I have my
responsibilities as much as these Heralds have, and my oaths have been
made to you.

I don't intend to break them."

She heard the murmurs, saw the looks, and knew what they were thinking
as well as if she had opened her mind to them.  They all knew about
Eldan-quite a few of them knew about their first meeting, ten years
ago.  They knew what she would be sacrificing by leading them if they
voted to break out, or at least they thought they did.

She ignored the murmurs, and kept her expression schooled into
serenity.  I made my oaths, I have my responsibilities.

He knows that.  It doesn't hurt any less but there's no choice.  Vows
are made to be kept, and he would be the first one to agree.

Finally Geyr brought the basket around to her, and she steeled herself
against the inevitable.  How could they not vote to save themselves?
Only a fool would stay here and die.  So, I'm a fool.  But it isn't
just Eldan.... True,the odds were only fifty-fifty that any of them
would make it out in the clear, and those weren't good odds-but when
had a youngster ever thought he couldn't beat the odds?

Then Geyr turned the basket upside-down on the table And she felt her
mouth dropping open in shock.

A pile-a tiny mountain of white.  Pale sandstone pebbles trickled down
off the top with a gentle clicking sound.  She spread the pebbles out
on the table with a shaking hand.  No dark pebbles, none at all.

They'd stay, fighting beside the Valdemar folk.  No dissenting votes.

She looked up at them, searched each face she could see, and found
nothing there but determination.

"You I re mad," she said, flatly.

"You're all of you mad.  We haven't a chance if we stay.g~ Shallan
stood up, awkwardly, as if she'd been appointed as spokesperson for the
entire Company.

"We don't think so, beggin' your pardon, Captain.

"Sides, what's the odds of a mere livin' long enough to collect his
pension from the Guild, eh?  We all got to talking about this last
night.  General feeling is, these people here deserve help.  Mere's
likely to go down any time-but If we got a choice in goin' down, I'd
rather do it for somebody that deserves a hand, than in fightin' for
some pig merchant workin' out a fight over territory with some other
hog, an' doin' it with my sword an' my life.  " There was a murmur of
agreement from the rest, and an "Aye, that!"  or two from the veterans
old enough in service to remember Ardana and the Seejay debacle.

Kero rose slowly to her feet, and to Shallan's immense surprise,
embraced her.  She kept one arm around her old friend, as she scanned
their faces again, this time with her eyes burning with the effort of
holding back tears.

"You're all fools, thank the gods," she said huskily.  " Every one of
you.  As much fools as me-if you'd voted me out, I'd have stayed my
sell All right, Skybolts.

We stay.  And tomorrow, we show Ancar what it means to take on the
finest Company in the Guild!  " The cheers could probably have been
heard in Haven.

And no one would ever guess, she thought, with a mixture of pride and
sorrow, that they're cheering their own deaths.  Poor, brave fools.

This will probably be our last battle.  It's ten to one it'll be mine.
May the gods help us all.

Daren stared into the stranger's flat, dead eyes, and asked,in
frustration, "So what am I supposed to do with you?"

The tent was hot and felt stuffy, yet every time Daren looked at this
man, he got a chill down the back of his neck.  Better dead, he d have
been better off dead.  Poor bastard.

"Lead us, m'lor' replied the nameless man, who until a year ago had
been a simple farmer, with no cares of who ruled and who did not.

"Lead us.  We got nothin', now.  Our families is dead, or as good as.
Our homes is gone.  Our fields is weeds an' wild things.  Lead us."

"Thrice-dead Horneth," Daren muttered under his breath.  Lead them, he
says.  Farmers on horseback.

Whatever cavalry skills they had vanished when the mage controlling
them died.  And here I am, with a horde of undisciplined, half-mad
farmers with no memory of what to do with swords and lances.

And yet-they were half-mad, and had nothing to lose Ancar had stolen
everything from them, including their names, for none of them
remembered exactly who he was.  All they had left were the memories of
what had been done to them, and to their loved ones, memories 80 hedged
about in rage that nothing the mages could do would erase them, and so
those memories had been blocked off until Daren had given the fateful,
desperate command to the earth-put everything back the way it was.

Some things, of course, were impossible; the dead could not be brought
back to life, nor memories that had been destroyed be regained.  But
the troops' minds had been given back to them, and the land was already
beginning * to heal, free of Ancar's bondage.

"Professionals are predictable, " ran one of Tarma's proverbs.

"But the world is full of amateurs.  " So long as he kept his troops
out of their way, where was the harm in taking these men with him and
unleashing them on Ancar's forces?

"Let me think about this," he temporized, "I'm not sure I have the
right to lead you.  You're not my people, and frankly, you may not like
my orders.  If I don't have any real hold over you, you could decide to
strike out on your own, and then where would my plans be?"

"But-" the man began, when he was interrupted by the arrival of
Quenten.  The mage was excited, his red hair going in all directions,
and he made matters worse by running his hand through it every few
moments.
"My lord, we intercepted a mage-message from Ancar' s
commander a few moments ago," he said.

"We-" Then he noticed the nameless man sitting there, and shut his
mouth with a snap.

"If you'll excuse me," Daren said to the man, who, with the intractable
stubbornness of farmers everywhere, opened his mouth to resume his
argument-or voice a protest at the interruption.

"I promise I'll come back to you with an answer, but I suspect that
what this man has to say will make up my mind, one way or another."

Before the farmer could say another word, Daren took Quenten's elbow
and led him out of the tent, to a few paces away where they couldn't be
overheard.

"Now, what was this message?"  he asked, "And is there any chance that
Ancar's people could know you that got it, and not his own mages?"

"Hildre," Quenten said in satisfaction.

"She's the best there is at identifying and counterfeiting
mage-auras.

Unfortunately for her, that's about all she can do-which means she's
useless outside of a group.  But for working i within a group, she's
priceless.  The commander inside Valdemar sent a conventional messenger
to the mages on the Border, and they sent the message on here-and trust
I me, Hildre has them convinced it went to the right person.

They're attacking Selenay at dawn, my lord.  He's sent half of his foot
around to the west, and he expects the cavalry to come in on the east
and north.  Kero and the Skybolts are in the middle of that.  We have
to do something!  " Daren took a deep breath and stared off at a tree,
reviewing all his plans and his capabilities.  My foot won't make it
before the fight's over.  There ~ no way they can make a march that's
half a day's ride away in less than a day.  And even if we started now,
they V be tired unless Thank you, Quenten," he said, his plan set.

"We'll do something, all right.  With luck.  we'll even get there in
time.  Tell the mages to get packed up; we'll be on the march in a
candle mark  " He returned to his tent, and as he expected, the
nameless spokesman for the farmers-turned-fighters was still there.

"M'lord-" the man said, getting to his feet, his chest puffed out
belligerently.

"How many spare horses have you?"  Daren demanded.  " And can your
horses carry double?  Are they in any shape for a forced march?"

The man looked bewildered by Daren's sudden demands.  " We had twice's
many horses as men, m'lord," he replied.  "

"Spect we still got that many, an' lot fewer men.  Aye, they be good
for a forced march, an' go double all right."

"Good," Daren replied.  He looked the man in the eyes.

"I won't lead you, sir.  But I will put you in a position to strike
back at Ancar.  Here's what we'll do ...... Enemy to the west, enemy to
the south.  Kero stood beside Selenay on the gentle hill they'd claimed
as the spot for their stand, looked out over the sea of Ancar's men,
and swore under her breath.

Selenay shook her head.

"It isn't over yet, Captain," she replied, as she fitted her helm over
her head.

"In fact, it isn't even begun."

"Well, my lady," Kero replied, as she tapped her own helm to be sure
her tightly coiled braids were cushioning it properly, "I won't say
it's finished, but damn if I like the look of the odds."

Daren may yet arrive," the Queen pointed out, Fitting her foot into the
stirrup and mounting.  ' And the rivers may flow backward, the moon
rise in the west, and Ancar find a religious vocation.  Kero said
nothing, though, as she swung herself up into her own saddle.

"With your permission, my lady, I'm off.  You know the plan, such as it
is.  We'll try and cut a path for you and the Heralds, heading west."

"No," the Queen replied stubbornly.

"Not yet.  Not while there's still a chance we can win this-" "Win!  "
Kero snorted.

"We can't even hold them back!

The scouts say there's a force of cavalry coming in from the east; if
we go head-to-head with them" they'll win, their horses are fresher and
there're more of them.  The one chance we have to get you out is-" from
"Captain!"  One of the scouts came riding up, her horse lathered.

"Captain, cavalry coMing in, now-but they're riding double, and not all
of them are wearing Ancar's colors."

Kero swore, and turned to Selenay.

"My lady, no more arguments, or I'll have the Healers knock you out and
strap you to your Companion's back with my own hands.

No matter what you think, you're important to Valdemar, Kero caught
lighting-fast movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned with an
exclamation of recognition and astonishment.  A small gray shape came
hurtling through the massed enemy, then through the Valdemar cavalry,
frightening horses and making them rear and dance-startling Companions,
and making them snort and raise their heads.  It headed straight for
Kero, and flung itself through the air in a tremendous leap, landing in
the arms she reflexively held out to catch it.

One of Geyr's messenger-hounds.  More importantly, it was the
odd-looking gray-brindle Geyr had left with Daren.

"Doolie!  " Geyr hurled himself out of his saddle and stumbled toward
them.  The dog wriggled with happiness, its tail beating against Kero's
side like a drumstick, and it finally squirmed out of her grasp to
launch itself for Geyr and his lumps of suet-though not before Kero had
managed to get the message cylinder off his collar.

She opened it and took out the slip of paper with shaking hands.

"We're on the way-with friends, " it read.

"Great blessed Agnira on a polka-dot mule!"  she breathed.

"By the seven rings of Gabora and the rock of Teylar!  Someone put that
bastard up for sainthood-he's pulled off a friggin' miracle!"

By now she was shouting, and everyone was staring at her, except for
Geyr, who was crooning to his exhausted little dog.

She turned to Selenay, who had pushed her face-plate up, and was
looking at her as if she had gone mad;

alarmed, and a little fearful.

"That isn't Ancar's cavalry coming in from the west, my lady," she
exulted, trying very hard to keep her grin wrapping around the back of
her head and splitting it in two.

"At least it isn't Ancar's cavalry now.  It's Daren, and he turned 'em.
I don't know how, but the bastard turned 'em.  That must be why they're
riding double that Daren's foot up behind the cavalry-riders. I know
exactly what he's doing; this is a trick we played with tokens, back
when we were studying together.  He'LL have the cavalry come in and
drop his infantry in on the southern and eastern flanks to support us,
then he'll bring the cavalry in behind behind Ancar's foot, probably on
the west."

Selenay's eyes widened.

"We'll have Ancar caught in the same trap he thought he had us in!"

Kero nodded, and pulled her visor down.

"That's it, my lady.  That dog isn't that much faster than a horse.

He'll be in place any moment-" "Captain!"  Shallan shouted, and Kero
turned to see where she was pointing.

Fireworks, great splashes of color, fire-flowers against the blue,
rising from three places.  And Kero knew instantly why, because it was
a trick the Skybolts had used before, when their mages were too
exhausted or too busy to send signals-the mages were probably unable to
approach the border, much less cross it, but physical fireworks worked
just fine, and didn't care about any 'guardians," magic or otherwise.
Southeast, due south, and southwest, the fiery fountains signaled
Daren's attack on three fronts.  And already there was confusion, some
milling around among the fighters within Kero's range of vision.  The
est of the Skybolts knew what that meant, and let out a whoop of joy.

Kero caught Geyr's attention, and gave him a hand signal.

He dropped the dog, sent it back to the Healer's tent with a single
command, and pulled his horn around from behind his back.

"Prepare to charge" rang out clear and sweet against the growing noise
from Ancar's troops.

Selenay's buglers picked it up, and echoed the command up and down the
line.

Kero waited a moment more, as the Skybolts readied themselves.  A
skirmish charge was not like a regulation charge, and she blessed the
gods that her people and Selenay's had ample opportunities to perfect
their coordination these past few weeks, for this was the engagement
that would count.  The Skybolts would be first in-charging the enemy
line, firing as they came, only to peel off to right and left,
continuing along the line, firing until they ran out of arrows or line,
and coming back in a wide arc.

Behind them would be the regular cavalry, lances set;

Heavy cavalry first, to hit the lines and hopefully break through while
they were still recovering from the hail of arrows, then the light
cavalry to come up through the breech made by the heavy cavalry.  Then
the Skybolts would return, this time arcing their arrows high to hit
behind the line of fighting, harass those enemy fighters still on their
feet in the front lines, and keep the enemy from bringing foot around
to engulf the cavalry.

At that point it would probably get to steel, and at that point, Kero
herself would join the affray.

The fight was still uneven-but now they had a chance.

"Don't go chasing any Shadow-Lovers, you!"  said a voice in her mind.

"I don't share with anyone!"

She looked behind her; Eldan's Companion Ratha shouldered Shallan's
mare aside so that he could take her place.  Shallan shrugged, grinned,
then made a mocking bow and backed her mare away.

"You'll have to keep up with me if you want a chance to enforce that,"
she replied.

"I don't wait for anyone."

"Then what are you waiting for now?"  Nothing."  She lifted her hand
and signaled Geyr, who blew the charge, and behind her, at the Healer's
tent, she heard the explosions of their own fireworks.  Evidently
someone had thought quickly enough to set off their own return signal.
Whoever it was, she blessed him.

The first line of archers bore down on the lines, folSelenay' s heavy
cavalry and the Skybolts' light mixed with Heralds and Selenay's light.
Dust rose in a blanket from beneath their horses' hooves, making a
yellow haze over the battlefield, and making it hard to see anything.
Kero counted under her breath; waiting for the archers to reappear.

At the count of one hundred, they came charging up out of the cloud,
turned their horses, and prepared to charge again.  Kero strung her
bow, made sure the quiver at her saddle-bow was full, and spurred her
horse to join them just as they made the turn.

She lost Eldan immediately as he vanished in the chaos; she trusted to
Hellsbane's sure feet to keep them from going down.  They sent arrows
up over the solid dam of milling bodies, and hoped they wouldn't hit
anything friendly.

Then it was time for sword-edge, as a running line of foot hit them
from either side with a shock.  Kero cut down at a pike man trying to
hook her out of her saddle;

Hellsbane reared and bashed in the skull of another as he hooked her
neighbor, a Valdemar regular.  A sword came out of nowhere and she
parried it, then kicked its owner in the teeth.

Five men converged on her; she got two, and Hellsbane got one-but one
got underneath her, because the melee was so thick the mare couldn't
maneuver.  Kero saw it coming, the same move that had gotten one of
Hellsbane's predecessors-and she could do nothing to stop it.

The mare screamed as a sword sought her heart-then collapsed, as the
blade found it.

Kero launched herself out of the saddle as the horse buckled under her,
rolled under another set of hooves, and came up looking for anything
with four legs and no rider.

There- a flash of something pale, yellow-no saddle, but that had never
mattered to her.  Must be one of ours,.

couple of the scouts ride bareback- The horse seemed to sense her need;
it plunged directly toward her, trampling fighters ift its way, and
stood still long enough for her to seize a handful of mane and drag
herself up onto its back.

And just in time

Daren stuffed the message into the cylinder, and Quenten sent the
skinny little dog Kero's Lieutenant had left with them off across the
field.  He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw how fast the the
beast moved; like a streak of gray lightning.

I hope to hell she gets that, he thought, Quenten said one of the mages
was going to put directions in the dog's head-Never mind.  Either she
gets it, or she doesn't.

"Are you ready?"  he asked the putative leader of the nameless men. The
man nodded curtly.

"Good luck to you, then," "

"Tisn't luck we be lookin' for," the man replied, and rode out to the
head of his troops.  Daren shuddered.

He hadn't liked what he'd seen in the man's eyes.

There's someone who is not coming back, and doesn't care, and the gods
help whoever's in his way.

At an unspoken signal, the troops rode out, with Daren, the officers,
the Rethwellan foot coming behind.

Those riders would be the first thing that Ancar's men saw-and they
should assume that they were their own allies, coming up along the
wrong flank.  That should confuse and anger the officers, who would
assume that the cavalry officers were ignoring their orders.

They passed the orchards that had screened their approach from the
enemy, and as Ancar's lines came into view, Daren saw that the plan was
working.  The officers couldn't see what was behind the lines of horse,
and they were shouting something at the lead riders.

This was what was happening at three points on Ancar' s line:
southeast, due south, and southwest, with Daren' s foot hiding behind
the eastern riders.  Daren waited,

and the riders kept their beasts at a slow walk, waiting for the
signal.

It came, in a burst of colored fire overhead and to their rear.  The
riders broke into a gallop, skeining away into the west like a flock of
birds, leaving behind the foot that they'd hidden.  They would go on to
attack the western and southern flanks, leaving the east to Daren.

Daren's trumpeter blew the charge, and while Ancar's men were still
staring in confusion, the infantry, weary from having been carried on
horseback all night, hit their lines with a clash of metal-on-metal.

They were too tired to make it much of a charge, but they were much
better off than they would have been if they'd come all this way on
foot, instead of being carried pillion or sharing one of the riderless
horses.  Daren spurred his horse after them, intending to join his men
on the line-at odds like these, every sword was going to make a
difference.

His gelding's hooves thudded on the dry ground in time with his
pounding heart.  All of the enemy nearby seemed to be engaged, he
looked around for a target.  He thought he could see a melee to his
right; with horses boiling in and out of a cloud of dust, but it was
hard to tell if it was just a confused lot of escaped horses or a real
engagement-he turned his gelding in that direction anyway-And a wild
arrow shot his horse out from under him.

He felt the horse start to go down; tried to save himself, but the poor
beast somersaulted over, throwing him from the saddle into a bush.

He fought clear of the branches, and looked around frantically for
another set of reins, knowing he had to get up above the foot so he
could see what was going on.

There- A white horse galloped out of the dust-cloud and headed straight
for him as if he'd called it.  He didn't even stop to marvel at his
good luck; he just grabbed for the dangling reins and Looked up.

Met a pair of blue eyes that went on forever, with a jolt like taking a
mace to his skull oh my:

I am Jasan," said an imperious voice in the back of his head.

"You are Daren.  I Choose you.  Now get the hell up here on my back
before you get killed!"

He didn't remember doing so, and the next thing he knew, he was up in
the saddle, and looking around for some of his own people.  His
attention was caught by an embattled little group on the edge of the
general melee.

"My lord?"  someone shouted, and he turned.  It was his aide, trying to
get his attention.  Somehow his own personal guard had managed to catch
up with him; he didn't remember that, either.

He looked back to see if the group still fought.  It was fairly obvious
that this group held someone important;

they were besieged on all sides, and most of the fighters surrounding
them kept trying to pull the members of the group from their saddles,
rather than trying to kill them.

Centermost was a woman; she was armored, but she'd evidently lost her
helm.  Her gold hair gleamed incongruously in the sunlight, confined
only by Dear gods.  That's the royal coronet.

She was giving a good account of her herself, slashing at those around
her as if she'd been taking lessons in mayhem from his old teacher
Tarma.  But at those odds, she and her defenders weren't going to last
too long.

Over my dead body.

"Come on!"  he shouted, and started to drive his spurs into his Dear
gods-His Companion launched himself at the Queen's position before spur
could even touch flank.  Don't do that.  Don't ever do that.  Don't
even think about it."

The wind of their passing whipped the words of apology out of his
throat,c'but it didn't matter; they hit the enemy from behind, with
Jasan doing as much fighting as Daren.  For the first time Daren had an
idea what it was like to have a war steed

"Indeed."  Jasan turned a man's head into red ruin with his forefeet,
fastidiously dancing aside to avoid the blood.

"A war steed  I think not."

"Sorry," Daren replied weakly, and then he was much too busy to think,
much less reply.

Then-there was no one in front of his sword, and nothing under Jasan's
hooves; Selenay was sheathing her sword and looking in his direction
with a thousand questions in her eyes.  Jasan blew out a breath, and
relaxed.

The Companion paced gracefully toward the Queen of Valdemar with his
head held high and stopped just close enough for Daren to reach for her
hand and kiss it properly and there was no doubt in Daren's mind that
this was what his Companion expected him to do.

He pushed back the visor of his helm, and wiped the blood from his own
right hand, and started to reach and met Selenay's eyes.  Selenay's
bright, blue, eyes.

And felt the words freeze on his tongue.

-Hmm," Jasan said, smugly, in his mind.

"See something you like?"

And from the look on the Queen's face, she was having a similar
tongue-tying experience.

Kero rode up beside Geyr, and slapped his arm to get his attention.

"Get out there-" she shouted, waving at the lines of Ancar's fighters,
who were now turning tail and running, heading for the east and even
casting aside weapons and shields in order to run faster.  Already some
of the Skybolts, carried away by battle-fever, were spurring their
tired horses to follow.

"Sound "Assembly'!"  she yelled at him "Get those fools back here
before they founder!"

Geyr nodded, and cantered his horse after them.  Kero sagged in her
place, suddenly exhausted.  It wasn't easy, riding a horse without
saddle or reins-doing so in battle was doubly hard.  She was just as
glad now that her cousins had taught her how and drilled her in it till
she was ready to drop.

But this had to be the most remarkable beast she'd ever sat; better
than any of the Hellsbanes.  It was uncanny, the way it had seemed to
read her mind and act accordingly.

She looked down at the back of the beast's head, so covered in yellow
dust that it was impossible to say what color it was.

"Well, love," she said, patting his neck.  " Hellsbane's gone to the
Star-Eyed's pastures, but you seem to have been sent by the Shin'a'in
Lady herself.  Let's get a look at you."

She swung her leg over the horse's shoulder, and slid down to the
ground then turned with one hand on the horse's shoulder to look into
its eyes.

Its-blue-eyes.

And it was not yellow, as she saw when it shook itself and shed the
dust in a cloud; it was white.  Tall, blue-eyed, and white as the
purest of summer clouds.

"oH, my-" she said weakly, caught in those eyes, as the eyes were
caught in her gaze.

"I am Sayvel.  You are my-look out!"

But Kero only turned in time to see the mace coming at her too quickly
to block " Hydatha's tits!"  Daren happened to look, away from
Selenay's eyes just in time to see the "dead' man leap to his feet, and
swing his mace down on Kero's head.

Jasan reacted faster than he did; before he managed to get out more
than a simple "No!"  the Companion had twisted around like a weasel and
was charging Kero's attacker at a gallop.

The man saw them coming, but had no chance to do more than raise his
arm ineffectually before he was under Jasan's hooves.

Not just Jasan's hooves; another Companion shouldered him aside, and
began pounding the man into red dust.

Daren jumped off Jasan, with Selenay right behind him and went to his
knees beside Kerowyn's body.  He felt under her chin, then her wrist,
for a pulse Dear gods, oh dear gods, she's not breathing-I can't feel a
pulse-Then he was shoved aside by a man in filthy, blood flecked
Whites, a man who pounded Kero's chest, then clamped his mouth over
hers to force air into her lungs.

Daren still had Kero's wrist, when, suddenly, he felt the steady beat
beneath his fingers, and she coughed and took a long breath.  He got
out of the way, as the Herald fumbled with the chin-strap of her helm
while Selenay loosened her throat-guard.  The other Herald was cursing
the helm, and cursing her, and swearing as the tears poured down his
face that if she died, he was going to kill her.

Her eyes opened just as the Herald got the helm off, and she looked
straight up at him.

"That's a little extreme, isn't it, keachar?  " she said mildly, just
before her eyes rolled up into her head and she passed out.

Daren decided that this was a good time to go collect Kero's troops,
and take over the mopping-up.

Kero tugged at the hem of her pristine white tunic, and looked out over
the grounds of the Herald's Collegium from her vantage point atop an
old observation tower.

She scowled as she realized what she was doing, and clasped her hands
behind her back.  As she did so, her hand brushed Need's hilt.  She
left it there for a moment, but there was no sign from the sword.  She
half expected the blade to demand to be passed to Elspeth when the
fighting was all over, but it hadn't stirred at all since that single
moment of recognition.

Well, the tradition is that the sword passes when the new bearer is
about to go do something dangerous, and Elspeth's not likely to go
running off on her own any time soon.  But I can't say as I U miss the
damn thing too much.

Ancar-or rather, his army-had run back home to Hardorn with tails
tucked between legs.  Bobbed tails;

those suicidal farmers Daren had brought in had done an immense amount
of damage before they were cut down.

Valdemar was safe for a while, at least-and there would be more tying
Valdemar to Rethwellan than just a promise.

Selenay was absolutely head over heels in love with-of all
people-Daren.  And he was just as disgustingly smitten as she was.  You
could hardly get them apart.

Eldan swore it was a life bond

I'll have to remember to tell her he snores when he's drunk.

Talia and that man-mountain of hers were giggling a out situation every
time Kero saw them.  Even Princess Elspeth seemed to find it all very
amusing; Kero wondered how amusing she'd find it when she suddenly had
infant sisters and brothers to tend.  Selenay was no old hag, and
fertility ran in Daren's family.

Oh, well, Faram is just going to have to learn to get along without the
best Lord Martial he's ever had.  I don't think you're going to be able
to pry Daren out of Valdemar without a crowbar.

She caught herself tugging the hem of her tunic again, and scowled down
at it.

"How in hell can I be a Herald at my age?"  she demanded of the air.

"I've got things to do, I've got a life and responsibilities!"

But unless she wanted to give up Sayvel-Never!-she was going to have to
stay in Valdemar.

"But what am I going to do about the Skybolts?"  she asked aloud.

"I don't know, dear, the problem's never come up before."

" That's because you idiot horses never Chose a mere Captain before,"
she replied acidly.

"These aren't just people I order around; I've led them for ten years,
they're practically my children!  How can I just abandon them, put them
in the hands of somebody else-somebody like Ardana, who didn't give a
damn and could take them right into disaster?"  None of your seconds
are like Ardana," the Companion, pointed out.

but none of my seconds have half my training, either!  " She paced back
and forth, just about ready to throw herself off the walls and be done
with it.

"They're not ready, and I'm not ready.  It's either leave you, or leave
them, and how can I make a decision like that?"

"You're the only one who can."

"I told you she'd be up here."  Geyr's black head peered over the edge
of the observation platform.

"Captain, this obsession you have with heights is damned unnatural."

He climbed into view, followed by Shallan, Scratcher, and a tumble of
his little dogs.

"I agree.  Feet belong on the ground."

"Captain, we voted again," Shallan said.

"We figured you'd be all tied up in knots about being stuck as a Herald
and you having to stay and us going back and all, so we figured we'd
make up your mind for you.  We're staying.

"You're what?"  Kero stuttered.

"How?  Why?"

"Ah, it's easy enough," Scratcher said with a grin.

"This Queen offered an unlimited contract, with you as permanent
Captain, once you finish that schooling they want to give you."

"Hellfires," Kero muttered.

"School.  At my age."

"Since Quenten and the rest can't cross over the border, they're goin'
back to Bolthaven and send ev'body else up here.  Quenten's takin' over
Bolthaven, make a school out of it."

"Just like your grandmother's," Shallan interjected.

"Town won't suffer by it, nor will the pensioners.  I was talkin' with
your cousins before we left; they reckoned it wouldn't be a bad thing
to haul some Clan strings up here, where the markets better.  So I
'spect they'll bring Tale'sedrin horses up here, and let another Clan
take over the Bolthaven horse fair.  And gods help anybody who messes
with them.  Quenten just made Master.  Nobody's onna try anything sharp
on them, comin', goin' or in between.  " Kero turned her back on them,
feeling as if she was being humored.

"So you've got it all settled for me, have you?"  They don't need me,
after all.  I guess I'm pretty redundant.... "Hellfire, Captain!"
Shallan snarled, so fiercely it forced Kero to turn to look at them.

"This was the only way these damn whitecoatsd let us keep you!  You
think we're gonna let you go kiting all over this heathen country by
yourself?  Not likely!  If you're gonna find some action we want a
piece of it!"

"Adalndal Captain, you've gone and landed us in the cream," Geyr said
shrewdly.  " Scratcher has not told you our hire.  The Queen is deeding
us a border town."

"Can you imagine it?"  Scratcher chuckled.

"Us!

Landed gentry, no less!  There is no way we're letting ',j you out of
our sight!  You took the Skybolts from half a Company to landed
status-we wanta see what else you come up with!  We may yet wind up
dukes or something!

" ' Sides," Shallan growled, scuffing her boot-toe against the stone.

"These folks need us.  An' some of your damn morals is rubbin' off on
us."

"High time, too."

"We'll see about that.  You people could use a good shaking up,
Sayvel."  Kero shook her head, and looked down at the pure white
tunic.

"Damn.  Guess I don't have a choice, if I'm going to convert you
ruffians to honest citizens.  " Geyr made a rude sound, and Shallan did
her "village idiot" imitation.

"Dear gods, what have I gotten myself into?"

"We're gonna shake 'em up, Captain," said Scratcher, echoing her
earlier retort to Sayvel.

"They could use it," she agreed.

"Gods, there's one thing I'd like to do-is there any way we can
camouflage this job shoot me now' uniform?"

"Could be, Captain," Scratcher said with a wink.

"I'll work on it."  ) "I guess they're just going to have to get used
to a new kind of Herald, Captain," Shallan grinned.

"High time for that, too.  We're supposed to be flexible.

You can keep us all on our toes, and you can start with Eldan, I think.
And you should have guessed that your troopers noticed how you two feel
about each other."  They think this is a perfect solution for that,
too.  And they're taking bets on when the hand fasting going to be."

Kero chuckled.

"Lady, you're going to get flexible like you've never seen before.  And
Eldan's going to get some real surprises."

"In that case, I think this is going to work out.  " She saluted them,
and all three returned the salute.

"Come on," she told them.

"Let's go scandalize Valdemar.

" For starters," Shallan observed, "We're going to have to teach these
white coats how to have a real party.  "As the Tayledras say, "May you
live in interesting times.  " Kero threw back her head and laughed.

"You got it, horse-lady."  And may you get-not what you deserve-but
your heart's desire."

"You know, lovely lady," Kero sent back to her, as she followed her
troopers down to tell the rest that she'd accepted their solution, "I
think I have.  Beyond all logic and expectation, I actually think I
have."

