The Oathbreakers [112-011-2.5]

By: Mercedes Lackey

Synopsis:

Tales of Kethry the mage and Tarma the warrior on their adventures.

Sword and Sorcery at their finest!  Oathbreakers follows the adventures
of Tarma and kethry as they set out to rescue Idra, Captain of the
Sunhawks, from royal plots in the kingdom of Rethwellan.  Set in the
same universe as The Heralds of Valdemar, events take place
approximately 60 years before and 200 miles to the south of the
Kingdom of Valdemar.


One

It was a dark and stormy night.... "Pah(: Warrl said with disgust so
thick Tarma could taste it.  "Must you even think in cliches?:

Tarma took her bearings during another flash of lightning, tried and
failed to make out Warrl's shaggy bulk against watery blackness, then
thought back at him, Well it is, damnit!

Tarma shena Tale' sedrin, who was Shin' a'in n~% mad, Kal'enedral (or,
to out Clansmen a "Swordsworn"), and most currently Scoutmaster for the
mercenary company called "Idra's Sunhawks" was not particularly happy
at this moment.  She was sleet-drenched, cold and numb, and mired to
her armpits; as was her companion, the lupine kyree Warrl.  The
Sunhawks' camp was black as the inside of a box at midnight, for all it
was scarcely an hour past sunset.  Her hair was plastered flat to her
scull, and trickles of icy water kept running into her eyes.  She
couldn't even feel the ends of her fingers anymore.  Her feet hurt, her
joints ached, her nose felt so frozen it was like to fall off, and her
teeth were chattering hard enough to splinter.  She was not pleased,
having to stumble around in the dark and freezing rain to find the tent
she shared with her partner and oath bound sister, the White Winds
sorceress, Kethry.

The camp was dark out of necessity; even in a downpour sheltered fires
would normally burn in the fire pits in front of each tent, or a
slow-burning torch would be staked out in the lee of every fourth, but
that was impossible tonight.  You simply couldn't keep a fire lit when
the wind howled at you from directions that changed moment by moment,
driving the rain before it; and torches under canvas were a danger even
the most foolhardy would forgo.  A few of the Sunhawks had lanterns or
candles going in their tents; but the weather was foul enough that most
preferred to go straight to sleep when not on duty.  It was too plaguey
cold and wet to be sociable.  For heat, most stuck to the tiny charcoal
braziers Idra had insisted they each pack at the beginning of this
campaign.  The Sunhawks had known their Captain too well to argue about
(what had seemed at the time) a silly burden; now they were grateful
for her foresight.

But with the rain coming down first in cascades, then in water walls
Tarma couldn't see the faint glow of candles or lanterns shining
through the canvas walls that would have told her where the tents were.
So she slogged her way through the camp mostly by memory and was
herself grateful to Idra for insisting on an orderly camp, laid out
neatly, in proper rows, and not the hugger-mugger arrangement some of
the other mere officers were allowing.

At least she wasn't tripping over tent ropes or falling into fire
pits

"I can smell Keth and magic,: Warrl said into her mind.  : You should
see the mage-light soon.:

"Thanks, Furball," Tarma replied, a little more mollified; she knew he
wouldn't hear her over the howl of the wind, but he'd read the words in
her mind.  She kept straining her eyes through the tempest for a sight
of the witch light Keth had promised to leave at the front-to
distinguish their tent from the two hundred odd just like it.

They were practically on top of it before she saw the light, a blue
glow outlining the door flap and brightening the fastenings.  She
wrestled with the rawhide ties (the cold made her fingers stiff) and
dit took so long to get them unfastened that she was swearing enough to
warm the whole camp before she had the tent flaps open.  Having Warrl
pressed up against her like a sodden, unhappy cat did not help.

The wind practically threw Tarma into the tent, half the sleet that was
knifing down on their %:;-pop tried to come in with her.  Warrl
remained 6';?~ - tered against her side, not at all helpful, smelling
the pungent, penetrating way only a wet wolf can smell-even if Warrl
only resembled a wolf superficially.  The kyree was not averse to
reminding Tarma several times a day (as, in fact, he was doing now)
that they could have been curled up in a cozy inn if they hadn't signed
on with this mercenary company.

She turned her back to the occupant of the tent as soon as she got past
the tent flaps; she needed all her attention to get them laced shut
against the pull of the wind.  "Gods of damnation!"  %~t through stiff
lips, "Why did I ever think

- was a good idea?"  ,:~Kethry, only just now waking from a light doze,
~eh~ from replying; she just waited until Tarma the tent closed up
again.  Then she spoke three words, activating the spell she'd set
there before dosing off-and a warm yellow glow raced i~ the tent walls,
meeting and spreading upward until the canvas was bathed in mellow
light - the temperature within suddenly rose to that a balmy spring
day.  Tarma sighed and sagged a trifle.

"Let me take that," Kethry said then, unwinding herselP from the thick
wool blankets of her bedroll,

~'-~g, and pulling the woolen coat, stiff with ice, from Tarma's
angular shoulders.  "Get out of those wed clothes."

The swords woman shook water out of her short cropped black hair, and
only just prevented Warrl from trying the same maneuver.

"Don't you dare, you flea-bitten cur!  Gods above and below, you'll
soak every damned thing in the tent."

Warrl hung his head and looked sheepish, and waited for his mind mate
to throw an old threadbare horse blanket over him.  Tarma enveloped him
in it, head to tail, held it in place while he shook himself, then used
it to towel off his coarse gray black fur.

"Glad to see you, Greeneyes," Tarma continued, stripping herself down
to the skin, occasionally wincing as she moved.  She rummaged in her
pack, finding new underclothing, and finally pulling on dry breeches,
thick leggings and shirt of a dark brown lambs wool  "I thought you'd
still be with your crew-"

Kethry gave an involuntary shudder of sympathy at the sight of her
partner's nearly-emaciated frame.  Tarma was always thin, but as this
campaign had stretched on and on, she'd become nothing but whipcord
over bone.  She hadn't an ounce of flesh to spare; no wonder she
complained of being cold so much!  And the scars- lacing her golden
skin only gave a faint indication of the places where she'd taken
deeper damage-places that would ache demonically in foul weather.
Kethry gave her spell another little mental nudge, sending the
temperature of the tent a notch upward

I should have been doing this on a regular basis, she told herself
guiltily.  Wel~that's soon nze~ "-so there's not much more I can do."
The sweet faced sorceress gathered strands of hair like sun touched
amber into both hands, twisting her curly mane into a knot at the back
of her neck.  The light from the shaded lantern which hung on the
tent's crossbar, augmented by the light of the shielding spell, was
strong enough that Tarma noted the dark circles under her cloudy green
eyes. "Tresti is accomplishing more than I can at this point.  You know
my magic isn't really the Healing kind, and on top of that, right now
we have more wounded men than women."

"And Need'll do a man about as much good as a stick of wood."

Kethry glanced at the plain short sword slung on the tent's center pole
and nodded.  "To tell you the truth, lately she won't heal anybody but
you or me of anything but major wounds, so she isn't really useful at
all at this point.  I wonder sometimes if maybe she's saving
herself-Anyway, the last badly injured woman was your scout Mala this
morning."

"We got her to you in time?  Gods be thanked!"  Tarma felt the harnwire
taut muscles of her shoulders go lax with relief.  Mala had intercepted
an arrow when the scouts had been surprised by an enemy ambush; Tarma
had felt personally responsible, since she'd sent Warrl off in the
opposite direction only ;-: moments before.  The scout had been barely
conscious by the time they'd pounded up to the Sunhawk camp.

"Only just; an arrow in the gut is not something even for a
Master-Healer to trifle with, and all we have is a Journeyman."

"Teach me to steal eggs, why don't you?  Tell me something I don't
know," Tarma snapped, ice-blue eyes narrowed in irritation, harsh voice
and craggy-featured scowl making her look more like a hawk

Oops.  A little too near the bone, I think.

"Temper,)' Kethry cautioned; it had taken years of partnership for them
to be able to say the right - thing at the right time to each other,
but these days they seldom fouled the relationship.  "Whatever
happened, you can't undo it; you'd tell me that if the case were
reversed.  And Mala's all right, so there's no permanent harm done."

% "Gain-" Tarma shook her head again, then continued the shake right
down to her bare feet, loosening all the muscles that had been tensed
against cold and anger and frustration.  "Sorry.  My nerves have gone
all to hell.  Finish about Mala so I can tell the others."

"Nothing much to tell; I had Need unsheathed and in her hands when they
brought her inside the camp.  The arrow's out, the wound's purified and
stitched and half-healed, or better.  She'll be back dodging
arrows-with a little more success, I hope'in about a week.  After that
all I- could do that was at all useful was to set up a jesto-with
around the infirmary tent-that's a shielding spell like the one I just
put on ours.  After that I was useless, so I came back here.  It was
bad enough out there I figured a jesto-vath on our tent was worth the
energy expense, and I waited for you to get in before putting it in
place so I wouldn't have to cut it.  Can't have the Scoutmaster coming
down with a fever."  She smiled, and her wide green eyes sparkled with
mischief.  "Listen to you, though two years ago, you wouldn't have
touched a command position, and now you're fretting over your scouts
exactly the way Idra fusses over the rest of us."

Tarma chuckled, feeling the tense muscles all over her body relaxing.
"You know the saying."

"Only too well-"That was then, this is now; the moment is never the
same twice."  "

"You're learning.  Gods, having a mage as a partner is useful."

: Tarma threw herself onto her bedroll, rolling over onto her back and
putting her hands behind her head.  She stared at the canvas of the
tent roof, bright with yellow mage-light, and basked in the heat.

"I pity the rest of the Hawks, with nobody to weatherproof their tents,
and nothing but an itty bitty brazier to keep it warm.  Unless they're
twoing, in which case I wish them well."

"Me too," Kethry replied with a tired smile, sitting cross legged on
her own bedroll to fasten the knot of hair more securely, "though
there's only a handful really twoing it.  I rather suspect even the
ones that aren't will bundle together for warmth, though, the way we
used to when I wasn't capable of putting up a jesto-vath."

"You must be about Master-grade- yourself by now, no?"

Tarma cracked her left eye open enough to see Kethry's face.  The
question obviously caught the' mage by surprise.

"Uh-"

- "Beyond it?"

"I-"

"Thought so."  Tarma closed her eyes again in satisfaction.

"This job should do it, then.  Through Idra we'll have contacts right
up into the Royal ranks.  If we can't wangle the property, students and
wherewithal for our schools after this, we'll never get it."

"We'd have had it before this if it hadn't been for that damned
minstrel!"  Now it was Kethry's turn to snap with irritation.

"Must you remind me?"  Tarma groaned, burying her face in the crook of
her arm.  "Leslac, Leslac, if it weren't for Bardic immunity I'd have
killed you five times over!"

"You'd have had to stand in line," Kethry countered with grim humor.
"I'd have beat you to it.  Bad enough that he sings songs about us,
worse that he gets the salient points all bass-ackwards, but-"

"To give us the reputation that we're shining warriors of the Light is
too damned much!"

They had discovered some four or five years ago that there was a
particular Bard, one Leslac by name, who was making a specialty of
creating ballads about their exploits.  That would have been all to the
good, for it was certainly spreading their name and reputation far and
wide except that he was also leaving the impression that the pair of
them were less interested in money than in Just Causes.

Leslac had stressed and overstressed their habit of succoring women in
distress and avenging those who were past distress.  So now anyone who
had an ax to grind came looking for them-most particularly, women.  And
usually they came with empty pockets, or damned little in the way of
payment to offer, while the paying jobs they would rather have taken
had been trickling away to others-because those who might have offered
those jobs couldn't believe they'd be interested in "mere money."

And to add true insult to injury, a good half of the time Kethry's
yeas-blade Need would force them into taking those worthless Just
Causes.  For Need's yeas was, as written on her blade, "Woman's Need
calls meAs Woman's Need made me, Her Need will I answer As my maker
bade me."  By now Kethry was so soul-bonded to the sword that it would
have taken a god to free her from it.  Most of the time it was worth
it; the blade imparted absolute weapons expertise to Kethry, and would
Heal anything short of a death wound on any woman holding it.  And
after the debacle with the demon-godling Thalhkarsh, Need had seemed to
quiet down in her demands, unless directly presented with a woman in
dire trouble.

But with all those Just Causes showing up, Need had been rapidly
turning into something more than a bit expensive to be associated with,
thanks to Leslac.

They'd been at their wits' ends, and finally had gone to another couple
of mercenaries, old friends of theirs, Justin Twoblade and Ikan
Dryvale, for advice.  They hadn't really hoped the pair would have any
notions, but they were the last resort.

And, somewhat to Tarma's surprise, they'd had advice.

It was the off-season for the Jewel Merchant's Guild, Justin and Ikan's
employers; that meant no caravans.  And that meant that the paired
mercenary guards were costly holed up in their private quarters at the
Broken Sword, with the winter months to while away.  They certainly
weren't stinting themselves; they had a pair of very decent rooms, the
Broken Sword's excellent ale-and, as Tarma discovered when she tapped
at their door, no lack of female companionship.  But the current pair
of bright-eyed lovelies was sent pouting away when straw-haired Ikan
answered their knock and discovered just who it was that had chosen to
descend upon himself and his partner.

One of the innkeeper's quick-footed offspring was summoned then, and
sent off for food and ale-for neither Justin nor his shield brother
would hear a word of serious talk until everyone was settled and
comfortable at their hearth, meat and drink at their elbows.  Justin
and Ikan took their hospitality very seriously.

"I've figured this was coming," Justin had said, somewhat to Tarma's
shock, "And not just because of that idiot songster.  You two have very
unique and specialized skills-not like me and Ikan.  You've gotten
about as far as you can as an independent pairing.  Now me and Ikan, we
had the opposite problem.  We're just ordinary fighting types; a bit
better than most, but that's all that distinguishes us.  We had to join
a company to get a reputation; then we could live off that reputation
as a pair.  But you-you've got a reputation that will get you high fees
from the right mercenary company."

Tarma had shaken her head doubtfully at that, but Justin had fixed her
with his mournful hound like eyes, and she'd held her peace.

"You, Tarma," he'd continued, "need much wider experience, especially
experience in commanding others-and only a company will give you that.
Kethry, you need to exercise skills and spells you wouldn't use in a
partnership, and to learn how to delegate if your school is ever going
to be successful, and again, you'll learn that in a company."

"Long speech," Tarma had commented sardonically.

"Well, I've got one, too," Ikan had said, winking a guileless blue eye
at her.  "You also need exposure to highborns, so that they know your
reputation isn't just minstrelsy and moonshine.  You haven't a choice;
you truly need to join a company, one with a reputation of their own,
one good enough that the highborns come to them for their contract.
Then, once you are ready to hang up your blades and start your schools,
you'll have noble patrons and noble pupils panting in anticipation of
your teaching-and two not-so-noble aging fighters panting in
anticipation of easy teaching jobs."

Kethry had laughed at Ikan's comic half-bow in their direction.  "I
take it that you already have a company in mind?"

"Idra's Sunhawks," Justin had replied blandly.

"The Sunhawks?  Warrior's Oath-you'd aim us bloody damned high,
wouldn't you?"  Tarma had been well taken aback.  For all that they
were composed of specialist-troops-skirmishers, horse-archers and
trackers-the Sunhawks' repute was so high that kings and queens had
been known to negotiate their contracts with Idra in person.  "Good
gods, I should bloody well think highborns negotiate with them; their
leader's of the damned Royal House of Rethwellan!  And just how are we
supposed to get a hearing with Captain Idra?"

"Us," Ikan had replied, stabbing a thumb at his chest.  "We're
ex-Hawks; we started with her, and probably would still be with her,
but Idra was going more and more over to horse-archers, and we were
getting less useful, so we decided to light out on our own.  But we
left on good terms; if we recommend that she give you a hearing, Idra
will take our word on it."

"And once she sees that you're what you claim to be, you'll be in,
never fear."  Justin had finished for him.  "Shin'a'in
Kal'enedral-gods, you'd fit in like a sword in a sheath, Hawkface.  And
you, KethIdra's always got use for another mage, 'specially one nearly
Masterclass.  The best she's got now is a couple of self-taught
hedge-wizards.  Add in Furball there-you'll be a combination she won't
be able to resist."

So it had proved.  With letters in their pouches from both Ikan and his
partner (both could read and write, a rarity among highborn, much less
mercenaries) they had headed for the Sunhawks' winter quarters, a tiny
hill town called Hawksnest.  The name was not an accident; the town
owed its existence to the Sunhawks, who wintered there and kept their
dependents there, those dependents that weren't permanent parts of the
Company bivouac.

Hawksnest was nestled in a mountain valley, sheltered from the worst of
the mountaintop weather, and the fortified barracks complex of the
Sunhawks stood between it and the valley entrance.  When the Hawks rode
out, a solid garrison and all the Hawks-in-training remained behind.
Idra believed in creating an environment for her fighters in which the
only worries they needed to have on campaign were associated with the
campaign.

Signing with Idra was unlike signing with any other Company; most Hawks
stayed with Idra for years-she had led the Company for nearly twenty
years.  She'd willingly renounced her position as third in line to the
throne of Rethwellan twenty-five years earlier, preferring freedom over
luxury.  She'd hired on with a mercenary company herself, then after
five years of experience accompanied by her own steady rise within the
ranks, had formed the Hawks.

Tarma had been impressed with the quarters and the town; the
inhabitants were easy, cheerful and friendly-which spoke of good
behavior on the part of the meres.  The Hawks' winter quarters were
better than those of many standing armies, and Tarma had especially
approved of the tall wooden palisade that stretched across the entrance
to Hawksnest, a palisade guarded by both Hawks and townsmen. And the
Hawks themselves-as rumor had painted them-were a tight and disciplined
group; drilling even in the slack season, and showing no sign of
winter-born softness.

Idra had sent for them herself after reading their letters; they found
her in her office within the Hawks' barracks.  She was a muscular,
athletic looking woman, with the body of a born horsewoman, mouse-grey
hair, a strong face that could have been used as the model for a heroic
monument, and the direct and challenging gaze of the professional
soldier.

"So," she'd said, when they took their seats across the scratched, worn
table that served as her desk, "if I'm to trust Twoblade and Dryvale,
it should be me begging you to sign on."

Kethry had blushed; Tarma had met that direct regard with an unwavering
gaze of her own.  "I'm Kal'enedral," Tarma said shortly.  "If you know
Shin'a'in, that should tell you something."

"Swordsworn, hmm?-" The quick grey eyes took in Tarma's brown clothing.
"Not on blood feud "

"That was ended some time ago," Tarma told her, levelly.  "We ended it,
we two working together.

That was how we met."  %

"Shin'a'in Kal'enedral and out Clansman  Unlikely pur~n-even given a
common cause.  So why are you still together?"

For answer they both turned up their right palms so that she could see
the silver crescent-scars that decorated them.  One eyebrow lifted,
ever so slightly.

"Sa.  She'enedran.  That explains a bit.  Seems I've heard of a pair
like you."

"If it was in songs,!"  Tarma winced, "let's just say the stories are
true in the main, but false in the details.  And the author constantly
left out the fact that we've always done our proper planning before we
ever took on the main event.  Luck plays wondrous small part in what we
do, if we've got any sayin the matter.  And besides all that-we're a
lot more interested in making a living than being somebody's savior."

Idra had nodded; her expression had settled into something very like
satisfaction.  "One last question for each of you-what's your
specialty, Shin'a'in and what's your rank and school, mage?"

"Horseback skirmishing, as you probably figured, knowing me for
Shin'a'in."  Tarma had replied first.  "I'm a damned good
archer-probably as good as any you've got.  I can fight afoot, but I'd
rather not.  We've both got battle steeds and I'm sure you know what
that means.  My secondary skill is tracking."

"I'm White Winds, Journeyman; I'd say I lack a year or two of being
Masterclass."  Kethry had given her answer hard on-the heels of
Tarma's.  "One other thing I think Ikan and Justin may have
forgotten-Tarma is mind mate to a kyree, and I've got a be spelled
blade I'm soul-bonded to.  It gives me weapons expertise, so I'm pretty
good at keeping myself in one piece on a battlefield; that's damned
useful in a fight, you won't have to spare anybody to look after me. 
And besides that, it will Heal most wounds for a woman-and that's any
woman, not just me."

Idra had not missed the implication.  "But not a man, eh?  Peculiar,
but-well, I'm no mage, can't fathom your ways.  About half my force is
female, so that would come in pretty useful, regardless.  But White
Winds-that's no Healing school."

"No, it's not," Kethry agreed, "I haven't the greater Healing magics,
just a few of the lesser.  But I've got the battle-magics, and the
defensive magics.

I'm not one to stand in the back of a fight, shriek, and look
appalled-"

For the first time Idra smiled.  "No, I would guess not, for all that
you look better suited to a bower than a battlefield.  About the
kyree-we're talking Pelagir Hills changeling, here ?  Standard wolf
shape

"Hai-overall he's built like a predator cat, but he's got the coat and
head of a wolf.  Shoulder comes to about my waist, he runs like a
Plains gras scat no stamina for a long march, but he's used to riding
pillion with me."  Tarma's description made Idra nod, eyes narrowed in
definite satisfaction.  "He's got a certain ability at smelling out
magic, and a certain immunity to it; given he's from the Pelagirs he
might have other tricks, but he hasn't used them around me yet.
Mindspeaks, too, mostly to me, but he could probably make himself heard
to anyone with a touch of the Gift.  Useful scout, even more useful as
an infiltrator.  But be aware that he eats a lot, and if he can't hunt,
he'll be wanting fresh meat daily.  That'll have to be part of any
contract we sign."

"Well, from what my boys say, what I knew by reputation, and what
you've told me, I don't think I need any more information.  Only one
thing I don't reckon-" Idra had said, broad brow creased with honest
puzzlement.  "If you don't mind my asking what's none of my business
even if I do sign you, why's the kyree mind mate to the fighter and not
the mage's familiar?"

Tarma groaned, then, and Kethry laughed.  "Oh, Warrl has a mind of his
own," the mage had answered, "I had been the one doing the calling, but
he made the decision.  He decided that I didn't need him, and Tarma
did."

"So besides your formidable talents, I get three recruits, not two;
three used to team working  No commander in her right mind would argue
with that."  Idra then stood up, and pushed papers across her desk to
them.  "Sign those, my friends, if you're still so minded, and you'll
be Sunhawks before the ink dries."

So it had been.  Now Tarma was subcommander of the scouts, and Keth was
in charge of the motley crew concerned with Healing and magery-two
hedge-mages, a field-surgeon and herbalist and his two apprentices, and
a Healing Priest of Shayana.  "Priestess" would have been a more
accurate title, but the Shayana's devotees did not make any gender
differences in their rankings, which ofttimes confused someone who
expected one sex and got the opposite.  Tresti was hand fasted to
Sewen, Idra's Second, a weathered, big-boned, former trooper; that
sometimes caused Keth sleepless nights.  She wondered what would happen
if it was ever Sewen carried in through the door flap of the infirmary,
but the possibility never seemed to bother Tresti.

Tarma and Kethry had fought in two intense campaigns, each lasting
barely a season; this was their third, and it had been brutal from the
start.  But then, that was often the case with civil war and
rebellion.

-- Ten moons ago, the King of Jkatha had died, declaring his Queen,
Sursha, to be his successor and -Regent for their three children. Eight
moons ago Sursha's brother-in-law, Declin Lord Kelcrag, had made a bid
for the throne with his own armed

-- might.

Lord Kelcrag was initially successful in his attempt, actually driving
Sursha and her allies out of the Throne City and into the provinces.
But he could not eliminate them, and he had made the %Wm SUtladke fi
ahssuming that defeat meat the

Queen Sursha had talent and wisdom-the talent to attract both loyal and
c~e people to her cause, and the wisdom to know when to stand back and
let them do what was needful, however distasteful that might be to her
gentle sensibilities.  That talent won half the kingdom to her side;
that wisdom viQcja~d~hbe~re tHpickk an otherwise rough hewn n- hief and
led her to give him her full and open support even when his decisions
were personally repugnant to her.

General Lord learnount levied or begged troops from every source h cia
igts to 1 .  e could-and then hired s have.  ln the ski gaps his levies
didn't

And one of the first mercenary Captains he had approached was Idra. His
troops were mostly foot with a generous leavening of heavy horse-no
skirhis own ~pner socnoaul t~s, no fight horse at all other th

S'PandeSS;QIQOd jQ r Q8h And by now Idra'

hhanks in no small patrrt tPosTvere seTond ro Done,

So now the Hawks were better mounted than moSt.  nobles, on hOrses~Ras
:~

But nnu~ a~t~ ~b~make ~e ~ il no vows; nor Could Sur~sha fm'd the
requisite triad for the full ceremony of priest, mage and honest man,
all of whom must have suffered personal, irreparable harm at his hands
as a result of violation of sworn oaths.  So technically, he could have
been seen by some to be the injured

PartY... And as for Kelcrag in such-a situation, exile WOUld mean
impoverishment and hardship, circumstances he was not ready to face;
further, it would bring the uncertainty of when or even if he could
muster enough troops and allies to make a second try.

Kelcrag had chosen his ground with care, Tarma had to give him that. He
had shale cliffs (impossible to scale) to his left, scrub forest and
rough, broken ground to his right (keeping learnount from charging from
that direction); his troops were on the high ground, occupying a wide
pass between the hills, with a gradual rising slope between his army
and the loyalists

It was as close to being an ideal situation for the rebels as Tarma
could imagine.  There was no way to come at him except straight on, and
no way he could be flanked.  And now the autumnal rains were
beginning.

Of all of Idra's folk, only the scouts had been deployed, seeking (in
vain) holes or weaknesses in Kelcrag's de fences  For the rest, it had
been Set up camp, Dig in, and Wait.  Wait for better weather, better
information, better luck.

"Gain-" Tarma groaned again.  "I hope Kelcrag's as miserable on his
damned hill as we are down here.  Anything out of the mages?"

"Mine, or in general?"

"Both."

"Mine have been too busy fending off nuisance-spells to bother with
trying to see what's going on across the way.  I'-ve been setting up
wards on the camp, protections on our commanders, and things like the
jesto-vath on the Healer's tent.  I haven't heard anything directly
from learnount's greater mages, but I've got some guesses."

"Which are?"  Tarma stretched, then turned on her side.

"The Great Battle Magics were exhausted early on for both sides in this
mess, and none of the mages have had time to regather power.  That
leaves the Lesser-which means they're dueling like a pair of tired but
equally-matched blades men  Neither can see what the other is doing;
neither can get anything through that's more than an annoyance.  And
neither wants to let down their guards and their shields enough to
recharge in a power circle or open up enough to try one of the Greater
Magics they might have left.  So your people will be pretty much left
alone except for physical, material attacks."

"Well, that's a blessing, any-"

"Scoutmaster?"  came a plaintive call from outside the tent.  "Be ye
awake yet?"

"Who the bloody-" Tarma scrambled for the lacings of the door flaps as
Kethry hastily cut the spell about the door with two slashes of her
hands and a muttered word.

"Get in here, child, before you turn into an ice lump!"  Tarma hauled
the half-frozen scout into their tent; the girl's brown eyes went round
at the sight of the spell energy in the tent walls, wide and no little
frightened.  She looked like what she was, a mountain peasant; short,
stocky and brown, round of face and eye.  But she could stick to the
back of her horse like a burr on a sheep, she was shrewd and quick, and
nobody's fool.  She was one of the Hawks Tarma had been thinking of
when she'd mentioned other ways of keeping warm; Kyra was shield mated
to Rild, a mountain of a man who somehow managed to sit a horse as
lightly as thin Tarma.

"Keth, this is Kyra, she's one of the new ones.

; Replaced Pawell when he went down."  Tarma pushed the girl down onto
her bedroll and stripped the sodden black cloak from her shoulders,
hanging it to dry beside her own coat.  "Kyra, don't look so green;
you've seen Keth in the Healer's tent; this is just a bit of magic so
we sleep more comfortable.  Keth's better than a brazier, and I don't
have to worry about her tipping over in the night!"

The girl swallowed hard, but looked a little less frightened.  "Beg
pardon, but I ain't seen much magery.

"I should think not, out in these hills.  Not much call for it, nor
money to pay for it.  So-spit it out; what brings you here, instead of
curled up with that monster you call a shield mate

The girl blushed brilliant red.  "Na, Scoutmaster-"

"Don't name, my girl.  I may not play the game anymore, but I know the
rules and before the Warrior put her Oath on me, I had my moments,
though you children probably wouldn't think it to look at me, old stick
that I am.  Out with it-something gone wrong with the pairing?"

"Eh, no!  Naught like that-I just been thinking.  Couldn't get a look
round before today; now seems I know this pass, like.  Got kin a ways
west, us eta summer wi' 'em.  Cousins.  If I'm aright, 'bout a day's
ride west o' here.  And there was always this rumor, see, there was
this path up their way-"

Tarma didn't bother to hide her excitement; she leaned forward on her
elbows, feeling a growing internal certainty that what Kyra was about
to reveal was vital.

"-there was this story ababt the path, dye ken?  The wild ones, the
ponies, they used it.  At weanin time we'd go for 'em t' harvest the
foals, but some on 'em would all us get away-well, tales said they used
that path, that it went all the way through ttother side.  D'ye take my
meaning?"

"Warrior Bright, you bet I do, my girl!"  Tarma jumped lithely to her
feet, and pulled Kyra up after her.  "Keth?"

"Right."  Kethry made the slashing motions again, and the magic parted
from the door flaps.  "Wait a hair-I don't want you two finding our
answer and then catching your deaths."

Another pass of hands and a muttered verse sent water steaming up out
of coat and cloak-when Tarma pulled both off the center pole they were
dry to the touch.

Tarma flashed her partner a grin.  "Thanks, milady.

If you get sleepy, leave the door open for me, hey?"

Kethry gave a most unladylike snort.  "As if I could sleep after this
bit of news!  I haven't been working with you for this long not to see
what you

" saw "The end to the stalemate."

"You've said it.  I'll be awake for hours on this one."  Kethry settled
herself with her blankets around her, then dismissed the magic
altogether.  The tent went dark and cold again, and Kethry relit her
brazier with another muttered word.  "I'll put that jesto-vath back up
when you get back-and make it fast!  Or I may die of nerves instead of
freezing to death!"

TWO

Back out into the cold and wet and dark they went, Kyra trailing along
behind Tarma.  She stayed right at Tarma's elbow, more a presence felt
than anything seen, as Warrl, in mind touch with Tarma, led both of
them around washouts and the worst of the mud.  Tarma's goal was the
Captain's tent.

She knew full well it would be hours before Sewen and Idra saw their
bedrolls; she'd given them the reports of her scouts just before
fumbling her way to her own rest, and she knew they would still be
trying to extract some bit of advantage out of the bleak word she'd
left with them.

So Warrl led them to Idra's quarters; even in the storm-black it was
the only tent not hard to find.  Idra had her connections for some
out-of-the-ordinary items, and after twenty years of leading the Hawks,
there was no argument but that she had more than earned her little
luxuries.  There was a bright yellow mage-light shining like a
miniature moon atop each of the poles that held up a canvas flap that
served as a kind of sheltered porch for the sentry guarding the tent.
Unlike Keth's dim little witch light these were bright enough to be
seen for several feet even through the rain.  If it had been reasonable
weather, and if there had been any likelihood that the camp would be
attacked, or that the commanders of the army would be sought out as
targets, Idra's quarters would be indistinguishable from the rest of
the Hawks'.  But in weather like this-Idra felt that being able to find
her, quickly, took precedence over her own personal safety.

Idra's tent was about the size of two of the bivouac tents.  The door
flap was fastened down, but Tarma could see the front half of the tent
glowing from more mage-lights within, and the yellow light cast shadows
of Idra and Sewen against the canvas as they bent over the map-table,
just as she'd left them.

Warrl was already moving into the wavering glow of the mage-lights.  He
was a good couple of horse-lengths in front of them, which was far
enough that the sentry under that bit of sheltering canvas couldn't see
Kyra and Tarma to challenge them at least not yet.  No matter-and no
matter that Warrl's black fur couldn't be seen in the rain even with
the glow of the mage-lights on him.  Warrl barked three times out of
the storm, paused, then barked twice more.  That was his password.
Every man, woman, and noncombatant in the Hawks knew Warrl and Warrl's
signal and knew that where Warrl was, Tarma was arriving after.

So by the time Tarma and Kyra had slogged the last few feet to the
tent, the sentry was standing at ease, the door flap was unlaced, and
Sewen was ready to hold it open for them against the wind.  His muddy
grey eyes were worried as he watched the two of them ease by him. Tarma
knew what he was thinking; at this hour, any caller probably meant more
trouble.

"I trust this isn't a social call," Idra said dryly, as they squeezed
themselves inside and stood, dripping and blinking, in the glow of her
mage-lights.  The mage-lights only made her plain leather armor and
breeches look the more worn and mundane.  "And I hope it isn't a
disciplinary problem-"

Kyra's autumnal eyes were even rounder than before; Tarma suppressed a
chuckle.  Kyra hadn't seen the Captain except to sign with her, and was
patently in awe of her.  "Captain, this is my new scout, Kyra-"

"Replaced Pawell, didn't she?"

"Aye-to make it short, she thinks she knows a way to come in behind
Kelcrag."

"Great good gods!"  Idra half rose off of her tall stool, then sank
down again, with a look as though she'd been startled out of a doze.

Well, that certainly got their attention, Tarma thought, watching both
Idra and her Second go from weary and discouraged to alert in the time
it took to say the words.

"C'mere, kid," Sewen rumbled.  He took Kyra's wool-clad elbow with a
hard and callused hand that looked fit to crush the bones of her arm,
and which Tarma knew from experience could safely keep a day-old chick
sheltered across a furlong of rough ground.  He pulled her over to the
table in the center of the tent.  "Y'read maps, no?  Good.  Here's us.
Here's him.  Report-"

Kyra plainly forgot her awe and fear of magic, and the diffidence with
which she had regarded her leaders, and became the professional scout
beneath

Sewen's prodding.  The tall, bony Second was Idra's right hand and
more-where her aristocratic bearing sometimes overawed her own people,
particularly new recruits, Sewen was as plain as a clod of earth and
awed no one.  Not that anyone ever thought of insubordination around
him; he was just as respected as Idra-it was just that he looked and
sounded exactly like what he was; a common fighter who'd come up
through the ranks on brains and ability.  He still dressed, by
preference, in the same boiled-leather armor and homespun he'd always
worn, though he could more than afford the kind of expensive riveted
brigandine and doeskin Idra and Tarma had chosen.  He understood
everything about the Hawks from the ground up-because he'd served the
Hawks since Idra's fifth year of commanding them.  Idra and Tarma just
leaned over the map-table with him and let him handle the young
scout.

"So-on the face of it, it bears checking.  That's a task for the
scouts," Idra said at last, when Kyra had finished her report.  She
braced both hands on the table and turned to her Scoutmaster.  "Tarma,
what's your plan?"

"That I take out Kyra and-hmm-Garth, Beaker and Jodi," Tarma replied
after a moment of thought.  "We leave before dawn tomorrow and see what
we can see.  If this trail still exists, we'll follow it in and find
out if the locals are right.  I'll have Beaker bring a pair of his
birds; one to let you know if we find the trail at all, and one to tell
you yea or nay on whether it's usable.  That way you'll have full
information for Lord learnount without waiting for us to get back."

"Good."  Idra nodded in satisfaction, as a bit of gray-brown hair
escaped to get into her eyes.  "Sewen?"

"What I'd do," Sewen affirmed, pushing away from the table and sitting
back onto his stool.  "Them birds don't like water, but that's likely
to make 'em want their coops more, maybe fly a bit faster, hey?  Don'
wanta send a mage-message, or Kelcrag's magickers might track it."

"Uh-huh; that was my thought," Tarma agreed, nodding.  "That, and the
sad fact that other than Keth, our magickers might not be able to boost
a mage-message that far."

"I need Keth here," Idra stated, "and none of learnount's mages are fit
enough to travel over that kind of territory."

Sewen emitted a bark of laughter, weathered face crinkling up for a
moment.  "Gain, that lot's as miserable as a buncha wet chickens in a
leaky hennery right now.  They don' know this weather, an' ev'ry time
they gotta move from their tent, y'd think it was gonna be a trip t'
the end of the earth!"

Idra looked thoughtful for a moment, and rubbed the side of her nose
with her finger.  "This isn't wizard weather, is it, do you suppose?"

Both Tarma and her scout shook their heads vigorously.

"Na, Cap'n," Kyra said, cheerful light brightening her round face. "Na,
is just a bit of a gentle fall storm.  Y'should see a bad one' now-"

Idra's eyebrows shot upward; she straightened and looked seriously
alarmed until Sewen's gaff aw told her she'd been played for an igor
ant flat lander

"Seriously, no," Tarma seconded, "I asked Keth.  She says the only sign
of wizard weather would be if this st~ that it's get too much weight
behind it, whatever that means."

Sewen lifted his own eyebrow and supplied the answer.  "She meant it's
something' comin' in the proper season-not all the weight of time an'
what should be behind it."  He grinned at Tarma's loose jaw, showing
teeth a horse could envy.  "Useta study wizardry as a lad, hadn't no
ugh Gift t' be more'n half a hedge-wizard, so gave's up."

"Good, then, we're all agreed."  Idra straightened her shoulders, gave
her head an unconscious toss to get that bit of her hair out of her
face.  "Tarma, see to it.  Who will you put in to replace you
tomorrow?"

"Tamar.  Next to Garth and Jodi, he's my best, and he's come in from
the skirmishers."

"Good.  And tell him to tell the rest of your scouts not to give the
enemy any slack tomorrow, but not to get in as close as they did today.
I don't want them thinking we've maybe found something else to
concentrate on, but I don't want any more gut wounds either."

It was dawn, or nearly, and the rain had slackened some.  There was
still lightning and growling thunder, but at least you could see
through the murk, and it was finally possible to keep the shielded
torches at the entrance to the guarded camp alight.

Tarma saw her scouts assembled beneath one of those torches as she rode
up to the sentry.  She felt like yawning, but wouldn't; she wouldn't be
a bad example.  Cold, ye gods, I'm half-frozen and we haven't even
gotten out of the camp yet, she thought with resignation.  I haven't
been warm since summer.

: And then you were complaining about heat,: Warrl replied
sardonically.

"I was not.  That was Keth," she retorted.  "I like the heat."

Warrl did not deign to reply.

Tarma was already feeling grateful for Kethry's parting gift, the
water-repelling cape Keth had insisted on throwing over her coat.  It's
not magic, Keth had said, I don't want a mage smelling you out.  Just
tight-woven, oiled silk, and bloody damned expensive.

I swapped a jesto-vath on his tent to Gerrold for it, for as long as
the rains last.  I hope you don't mind the fact that it's looted goods
Not likely, she'd replied.

So today it was Keth looking out for and worrying about her.  They
seemed to take it turn and turn about these days, being mother-hen.
Well, that was what being partners was all about.

: took you long enough to come to that conclusion,: Warrl laughed.  :
Now if you'djust start mother-henning me-:

"You'd bite me, you fur-covered fiend."

: Oh, probably.:

"Ah-you're hopeless," Tarma chided him, smothering a grin.  "Let's look
serious here; this is business."

: Yes, oh mistress.:

Tarma bit back another retort.  She never won in a contest of sharp
tongues with the kyree.  Instead of answering him, she pondered her
choice of scouts again, and was satisfied, all things considered, that
she'd picked the best ones for the job.

first, Garth: a tiny man, and dark, he looked like a dwarfish shadow on
his tall Shin'a'in gelding.  He was one of Tarma's first choices for
close-in night work, since his dusky skin made it unnecessary for him
to smear ash on himself, but his most outstanding talents were that he
could ride like a Shin'a'in and track like a hound.  His one fault was
that he couldn't hit a haystack with more than two arrows out of ten.
He was walking his bay gelding back and forth between the two sentries
at the sally-point, since his beast was the most nervous of the five
that would be going out, and the thunder was making it lay its ears
back and show the whites of its eyes.

Beaker: average was the word for Beaker; size, coloring, habits-average
in everything except his nose-that raptor's bill rivaled Tarma's.  His
chestnut mare was as placid of disposition as Garth's beast was
nervous, and Beaker's temperament matched his mare's.  As Tarma rode
up, they both appeared to be dozing, despite the cold rain coming down
on their heads.  Fastened to the cantle of Beaker's saddle were two
cages, each the size of two fists put together, each holding a black
bird with a green head.  Beaker was a good tracker, almost as good as
Garth, but this was his specialty; the training and deployment of his
messenger birds.

Jodi: sleepy-eyed and deceptively quiet, this pale, ice-blonde child
with evident aristocratic blood in her veins was their mapmaker.
Besides that skill, she was a vicious knife fighter and as good with a
bow as Garth was poor with one.  She rode a grey mare with battle steed
blood in her; a beast impossible for anyone but her or Tarma to ride,
who would only allow a select few to handle her.  Jodi sat her as
casually as some gentle palfrey-and with Jodi in her saddle, the mare
acted like one.  Her only fault was that she avoided situations where
she would have to command the way she would have avoided fouled
water.

And Kyra: peasant blood and peasant stock, she'd trained herself in
tracking, bow and knife, and hard riding, intending to be something
other than some stodgy farmer's stolid wife.  When the war came
grinding over her parents' fields and her family had fled for their
lives, she'd stayed.  She'd coolly sized up both sides and chosen
Sursha's-then sized up the mercenary Companies attached to Sursha's
army and decided which ones she wanted to approach.

She'd started first with the Hawks, though she hadn't really thought
she'd get in-or so she had confessed to Tarma after being signed on.
Little had she guessed that Scout Pawell had coughed out his life
pinned to a tree three days earlier-and that the Hawks had been down by
two scouts before that had happened.  Tarma had interviewed her and
sent her to Sewen, who'd sent her to Idra who'd sent her back to Tarma
with the curt order' Try her.  If she survives, hire her."  Tarma had
sent her on the same errand that had killed Pawell.  Kyra had returned.
Since Pawell had- had no relatives, no reman and no shield mate to
claim his belongings, Tarma gave her Pawell's dun horse, Pawell's gear,
and Pawell's tent mate  Kyra had quickly acquired something Pawell
hadn't-tent mate had turned to shield mate and lover.

The Scouts altogether approved, as Pawell had been standoffish and his
replacement was anything but.  The romance had amused and touched them.
Kyra had begun to bloom under the approval, to think for herself, to
make judgment calls.  The Kyra that had joined them would never have
come to Tarma with an old tale and a rumor; Kyra of "now" had
experience enough to know how important that rumor could be, and enough
guts to present the information herself.  She was Tarma's personal pick
to become a subcommander herself in a few years.

It was false dawn; one hour to real dawn, and there was a hint that the
sky was getting lighter.  No words were needed; they all knew what they
had to do.  When Tarma rode grey Ironheart into the waiting knot of
Scouts and horses, those dismounted swung back up into their saddles.
Tarma didn't even slacken her pace; all five of them left the camp in
proper diamond formation, as if they'd rehearsed the whole maneuver.
Tarma had point (since as commander she was the only one of the five
with all the current passwords), Garth tail, Jodi right and Kyra
left-Beaker and his precious birds rode protected in the middle.

They rode along the back of the string of encampments; dark tents
against slowly graying sky to their right, scrub forest and hills stark
black against the sky to their left.-The camps were totally dark, since
just about everyone had encountered the same troubles as the Hawks had
with lights and fires in the pouring rain.

They were challenged almost as soon as they left their own camp; a
foot-sentry, sodden, but alert.  He belonged to Staferd's Cold-drakes;
this was the edge of their camp.  Tarma nodded to herself with
satisfaction at his readiness, and gave him the

countersign.

Then came a heavy encampment of regular infantry, whose sentry hailed
Warrl, who was trotting at Ironheart's flank, by name, and called out;
"You're recognized, Sunhawks.  Pass on."  Tarma felt a little twitchy
about that one, but couldn't fault him.  You challenged those whom you
didn't recognize; you could let known quantities by.  And there were no
kyree in Kelcrag's forces.

At the next encampment-Duke Greyhame's levy-they were physically
challenged; a fully-armed youth with an arrogant sneer on his lips,
mounted on a heavy, wild-eyed warhorse.  He blocked their path until
Tarma gave an elaborate countersign.  Even then, he wouldn't clear the
path entirely.  He left only enough room for them to ride past in
single file, unless they wanted to desert the firm ground and ride on
the mushy banks.  And he backed off with some show of reluctance, and
much induced rearing and prancing of his gelding.

"Scoutmaster-"

Garth eased his horse alongside Tarma's and whispered angrily to her:

"I'd like to feed that little son of a bitch his own damned
gauntlet!"

"Peace," Tarma said, "Let me handle this.  Give me rear for long enough
to teach him a lesson."

Garth passed the word; wry grins appeared and vanished in an instant,
and the scout ranks opened and closed so that Beaker had point and
Tarma had dropped back to tail.  The scouts squeezed past the arrogant
sentry, one by one, Tarma the last.  She didn't move, only stared at
him for a long moment, letting Ironheart feel her ground and set her
feet.

Then she dropped her hands, and signaled the battle mare with her
knees

Black as a nightmare in the rain, the battle steed reared up to her
full height-and stayed there, as perfectly balanced as only a Shin'a'in
trained war steed could be.  Another invisible command from Tarma, and
she hopped forward on her hind hooves, forefeet lashing out at the
stranger-gelding, who, not being the fool his rider was, cleared off
the path and up onto the mucky shoulder.  Then Ironheart settled to all
four hooves again, but only for as long as it took to get past the
arrogant sentry.  As Tarma had figured he would, he spurred his beast
down onto the path again as soon as they got by.  Whatever he'd thought
to do then didn't much matter.  As soon as he was right behind them and
just out of range of what was normally an attack move, Tarma gave her
mare a final signal that sent her leaping into the air, lashing out
with her rear hooves in a wicked kick as she reached the top of her
arc.  Had the boy been within range of those hooves, his face would
have been smashed in.  As it was (as Tarma had carefully calculated),
the load of mud iron heart had picked up flicked off her heels to
splatter all over him, his fancy panoply, and his considerably cowed
beast

"Next time, boy," she called back over her shoulder, as her scouts
snickered, "best know whose tail it is you plan to twist, and be
prepared for consequences."

The edge of the camps was held by the free fighters -little clots of
scum no good company would take into itself.  They were one of the
reasons each levy and company had its own set of sentries; politics was
the other.  Tarma didn't much understand politics-scum, she knew.  It
had been a band of this sort of flotsam that had wiped out her Clan.

But a sword was a sword, and learnount was not above paying them so
long as someone he trusted could keep an eye on them.  That, thank the
Warrior, is not Idra's job, Tarma thought to herself, wrinkling her
nose at the stench of their huddle of makeshift shelters.  Unwashed
bodies, rotting canvas, garbage, privy pits right in the camp-the mix
was hardly savvy.  Even the rain couldn't wash it out of the air.  They
rode past this lot (too sodden with drink or drug, or just too damn
lazy to set one of their own to sentry duty) without a challenge, but
with one hand on their knives and short swords at all times.  There'd
been trouble with this lot before-and five were not too many for them
to consider mobbing if they thought it worth their while.

Once out of the camps, they rearranged their order.  Now it was Kyra
who had point, and Tarma who took tail.  This side of the mountains,
danger would be coming at them from the rear-Kelcrag's scouts, sniffing
around the edges of the Royalist army.  All of them had taken care long
ago to replace metal harness pieces with leather where they could, or
even carved wood anything that wouldn't shine and wouldn't clink.  The
metal they had to have was not brightwork; it was dulled and tarnished
and left that way.  Shin'a'in horses were trained to neck and knee, so
all they needed was a soft halter with no bit.  As for their own armor,
or lack of it, their best protection would be speed on a mission like
this-stay out of the way if you can, and never close for a fight unless
you have no choice.  So they saved themselves and their horses the few
extra pounds, and dressed for the-weather, not for battle.  Tarma kept
her short Shin'a'in horse bow strung and under her cape; if it came to
a fight, she would buy the rest time to string theirs.  Warrl ranged
all over their back trail keeping in steady mind touch with Tarma.  He
would buy them yet more advance warning, if there was going to be
trouble.

But the trek west was quiet.

The storm gradually slackened to drizzle as the sky grew lighter; the
landscape was dreary, even without the devastations of warfare all
about them.  The hills were dead and brown, and lifeless; the herds of
sheep and gercattle that usually grazed them had gone to feed one or
both armies.  The scrub trees displayed black, leafless branches
against the grey sky, and the silence around them intensified the
impression that this area was utterly deserted.

Wet, rotting leaves left their own signature on the breeze, a
melancholy, bitter aroma more tasted than smelled, that lingered in the
back of the throat.  The track they followed was part rock, part yellow
mud, a thick, clay like stuff that clung to hooves and squelched when
it let go

All five of them rode in that peculiar half-trance of the scout on his
way to something; not looking for anything, not yet-not paying outward
attention to surroundings-but should anything, however small, move

A crow, flapping up to their right, got exactly the appropriate
reaction; Tarma, ready-armed, had already sighted on him before he'd
risen a foot.  Jodi and Beaker had their hands on their bow cases and
their eyes to left and right, wary for possible ambush.  Garth had his
sword out and was ready to back Tarma, and Kyra was checking the road
ahead for more trouble.

They all laughed, shakily, when they realized what their "enemy" was.

"Don't think even Kelcrag's taken up with the corbies," Tarma said,
shaking her head, and tucking her bow back under the oiled silk. "Still
probably he hasn't got anyone dedicated enough to go mucking around in
this weather, but we can't count on it.  Stay alert, children.  At
least until we get out of the war zone."

By midday they had done just that-there were herds on the distant
hills, although the shepherds and herders quickly moved them out of
sight when they saw the little band approaching.  Tarma saw Garth
nodding in sympathy, lips moving soundlessly in what she rather thought
was a blessing.  His people had been all but wiped out when some war
had trampled them into their earth, somewhere down south.

Tarma knew everything there was to know about her "children"; she had
made a point of getting drunk at least once with each of her scouts. It
was damned useful to know what made them twitch.  One of the reasons
Garth was with Idra-he was so good a tracker he could have served with
any company, or even as a pampered huntsman to royalty was because she
allowed no looting of the peasantry (nobles were another matter) and
insisted on the Hawks paying in trade-silver and pure copper ingots for
what they needed.  Like Garth, all the Hawks tended to serve their
lady-Captain for more than just coin.

By now they were all fairly well sodden except for Tarma, brown and
black and grey cloaks all becoming a similar dark, in determinant
shade. Even Tarma was rather damp.  Rain that was one scant point from
being sleet still managed to get past her high collar to trickle down
her neck, and muddy water from every puddle they splashed through had
soaked through her breeches long ago.  She was going numb with cold;
the rest of them must be in worse case.

"Kyra," she called forward, "You in territory you know yet?"

The girl turned in her saddle, rain trickling down her nose.  "Hmm-eh,
I'd say so.  Think this's Domery lands, they're kin of my kin-"

"I don't want to stretch anybody's hospitality or honestY, but we need
to dry off a bit.  There any herders' huts or caves or something around
here?  Something likely to be deserted this time of year?"

"I'll think on't."

A few soggy furlongs later-as Kyra scanned her memory and the land
around them

"Scoutmaster," she called back, " "Bout three hills over there be a
cave; used for lambin' and shearin' and never else.  That do?"

"Room for all of us?  I mean horses, too.  No sense in shouting our
presence by tethering them out, and plain cruel to make them endure
more of this than we do."

Kyra's brow creased with thought.  "If I don't misremember, aye.  Be a
squeeze, but aye."

Kyra had mis remembered-but by underestimating the size of the cave.
There was enough room at the back for all five horses to stand
shoulder- to shoulder, with enough space left over for one rider at a
time to rub his beast down without getting trampled on.  An overhanging
shelf of limestone made it possible to build a fire at the front of the
cave without all of them eating smoke.  And there was wood stocked at
the side, dry enough that there wasn't much of that smoke in the first
place.

More to the point, where concealment was concerned, the rain dissipated
what trickled past the blackened overhang.

"How much farther?"  Tarma asked, chewing on a tasteless mouthful of
trail-biscuit.

"Not much," Kyra replied.  "We better be cutting' overland from here if
m' memory be still good.  Look you-"

She dipped a twig in muddy, black water and drew on a flat rock near
the cave's entrance.

Tarma got down on her knees beside her and studied her crude map
carefully.  ""One, maybe two candle marks depending, hmm?"

"Aye, depending."  Kyra chewed on the other end of the twig for a
moment.  "We got to stick t' ridges-"

"What?"  Beaker exclaimed.  "For every gossip in the hills to see
us?"

"Oh, bad to be seen, but worse to be bogged.  Valleys, they go boggy
this time of year, like.  Stuff livin' in the bogs is bad for a beast's
feet.  Y' want yer laddy's hooves t' rot off 'fore we reach trail's
end, y' ride the valleys."

"No middle way?"  Tarma asked.

"Well.... We won't be goin' where there's likely many, an' most of
those'd be my kin.  They see me, they know what I was abaht, and they
keep their tongues from clackin'."

"That'll have to do."  Tarma got up from her knees, and dusted the
gravel off the knees of her breeches-which were, she was happy to find,
relatively dry.  "All right, children, let's ride."

"I dunno-" Garth said dubiously, peering up through the drizzle at what
was little better than a worn track along the shale cliff side

Tarma studied the trail and chewed at the corner of her lip.  "Kyra,"
she said, finally, "your beast's the weakest of the lot.  Give it a
try.  If she can make it, we all can."

"Aye," Kyra saluted, and turned her mare's head to the trail.  She let
the mare take her time and pick her own places to set her feet along
the track.  It seemed to take forever

But eventually they could see that she was waving from the top.

"Send the first bird, Beaker," Tarma said, heading

Ironheart after the way kyra had followed.  "We're going to see if this
trail is a dead end or the answer to our prayers."

Twice before sunset they lost the track on broad expanses of bare rock,
and spent precious time trying to pick it up again, all of them combing
the ground thumb length by thumb length

Sunset was fast approaching the second time they lost, then found the
trail again.  Tarma scanned the sky warily, trying to judge, with the
handicap of lowering clouds, how much time they had before darkness
fell.  They obviously weren't going to make trail's end by sunset-so
the choice was whether to camp here on this windswept slant of scoured
stone, or to press on in the hope of coming up with something better
and maybe instead find themselves spending the night on a ledge two
hand spans wide.

She finally decided to press on, allowing just enough time in reserve
that they could double back if they had to;

The track led on through lichen and rubble: treacherous stuff, except
where the wild ponies had pounded a thin line of solidity.  Jodi was
mapping as they went along, and marking their back trail with carefully
inconspicuous "cairns" composed of no more than three or four pebbles.
The drizzle had stopped, at least, and the exertion that was warming
them had driven most of the damp out of their clothing.  The pony-track
led down into a barren gulley-Tarma disliked that, and kept watching
for water marks on the rocks they passed.  If there was %a cloudburst
and this 1~e~ to be one of the local runoff sites, they could be
hock-deep in tumbling rock and fast water in the time it took to
blink.

But the gulley stayed dry, the track eased a bit and then, like a gift
from the gods, just before Tarma would have signaled a turnaround
point, they came upon a possible campsite.

Sometime in the not-too-recent past, part of the hill above them had
come sliding down, creating a horseshoe of boulders the size of a
house.  There would be shelter from the wind there, their fire would be
out of sight of prying eyes-and it would be easy to defend from
predators.

Garth eyed the site with the same interest Tarma was feeling.  "No
place to get out of the rain, if it decided to come down again," he
observed, "and nothing much to burn but that scrub up there on the
wall.  We'd have us a pot of hot tea, but a cold camp."

- "Huh.  The choice is this or the flat back there," Tarma told them.
"Me, I'd take this.  Kyra?  This is your land."  .

"Aye, I'd take this; we've slept wet afore," Kyra agreed.  "This 'un
isn't a runoff, an' don't look like any more of the hill is gonna slip
while we're here.  I'd say 'tis safe enough."

The others nodded.

"Let's get ourselves settled then, while there's light."

:

The rain began again before dawn and they were glad enough to be on the
move and getting chilled muscles stretched and warmed.  They lost the
track once more, this time spending a frustrating hour searching for
it-but that was the last of their hardships, for noon saw them emerging
from the hills and onto the plains on the other side.

Tarma allowed herself a broad grin, as the rest whooped and pounded
each other's backs.

"Send up that damned bird, Beaker; we just earned ourselves onejat
bonus from Lord learnount."

Returning was easier, though it was plain that nothing but a goat, a
donkey, a mountain pony or a Shin'a'in-bred beast was ever going to
make it up or down that trail without breaking a leg.  Tarma reckoned
it would take the full Company about one day to traverse the trail;
that, plus half a day to get to their end and half to get into striking
distance of Kelcrag's forces meant two days' traveling time, in total.
Not bad, really; they'd had a setup that had taken almost a week, once.
Knowing Idra as she did, Tarma had a pretty good idea of what the
Captain's suggested strategy was going to be.  And it would involve the
Hawks and no one else.  No bad thing, that; the Hawks could count on
their own to know what to do.

The rain had finally let up as they broke back out into the herder's
country; they were dead tired and ready to drop, but at least they
weren't wet anymore.

Tarma saw an outrider a few furlongs beyond the camp; he, she or it was
waving a scarf in the Hawks' colors of brown and golden yellow.  She
waved back, and the outrider vanished below the line of a hill.  They
all relaxed at that; they were watched for, they need not guard their
path-and there would almost certainly be food and drink waiting for
them in the camp.  That was exactly what they'd needed and hoped for.

They hadn't expected Idra and Sewen to be waiting for them at the
entrance to the camp.

"Good work, children.  Things are heating up.  Maps," Idra said curtly,
and Jodi handed over the waterproof case with a half-salute and a tired
grin.  They were all achingly weary at this point; horses and humans
alike were wobbly at the knees.  Only Tarma and Ironheart were in any
kind of shape, and Tarma wasn't too certain how much of Ironheart's
apparent energy was bluff.  Battlemares had a certain stubborn pride
that sometimes made them as pigheaded about showing strain as : Certain
Kal'enedral,: Warrl said in her head.

Shut ", she thought back at him, you should talk about being
pigheaded

"Good work.  Damned fine work," Idra said, looking up from the maps and
interrupting Tarma's train of thought.  "Tarma, if you're up to a
little more-"

"Captain."  Tarma nodded, and sketched a salute.

"The rest of you-there's hot wine and hot food waiting in my tent, and
a handful of Hawks to give your mounts the good rubdown and treat they
deserve.

Tarma, give Ironheart to Sewen and come with me.  Warrl, too, if he
wants.  The rest of you get under shelter.  We'll be seeing you all
later with news, I hope."

Tarma had been too fatigue-fogged to note; where they were going,
except that they were working their way deeply into the heart of the
encampments.  But after-a while the size of the tents and the splendor
of the banners outside of them began to penetrate her weariness.

What in the name

-On your best behavior, mind mate Warrl said.  For once his mind voice
sounded dead serious.  : this is the camp of the Lord Commander.:

Before Tarma had a chance to react, Idra was ushering her past a pair
of massive sentries and into the interior of a tent big enough to hold
a half dozen of the Hawks' little two-man bivouacs.

Tarma blinked in the light and warmth, and felt her muscles going to
jelly in the pleasant heat.  Mage-lights everywhere, and a jesto-vath
that made Kethry's look like a simple shield spell

Other than that, though, the tent was as plain as Idra's, divided, as
hers was, into a front and back half.  In the front half was a table,
some chairs and document-boxes, a rack of wine bottles.  The curtain
dividing it was half open; on the other side Tarma could see what
looked like a chest, some weapons and armor-and a plain camp cot, piled
high with thick furs and equally thick blankets.

What I wouldn't give to climb into that right now, she was thinking,
when her attention was pulled away by something more important.

"learnount, you old warhorse, here's our miracle-maker,"

Idra was saying to a lean, grizzled man in half-armor standing by the
map-table, but in the shadows, so that Tarma hadn't really noticed him
at first.  Tarma had seen Lord learnount once or twice at a distance;
she recognized him by his stance and his scarlet surcote with Sursha's
rampant gras scat more than anything else, although once he turned in
her direction she saw the two signature braids he wore in front of each
ear, an affectation he'd picked up among his hill clans  "Lord
learnount, may I present Tarma shena Tale'sedrin-"

"Lo'teros, shas tella, Kal'enedral, " he replied, much to Tarma's
surprise; bowing, making a fist and placing it over his heart as he
bowed.

"lie se'var, Yatakar," she replied, returning his salute with intense
curiosity and sharpened interest.  "Ge vede sa'kela Shin 'a 'in."

"Only a smattering, I fear.  I learned it mostly in self-defence-" He
grinned, and Tarma found herself grinning back.  "-to keep from getting
culls pushed off on me by your fellow clansmen."

"Ah, well-come to me, and you'll get the kind of horses the Hawks
mount."

"I'll do that.  Idra has high praise for you, the kyree, and your
she'enedra, Swordsworn," he said, meeting her intensely ice-blue eyes
as few others had been able.  "I could only wish I had a few more of
your kind with us.  So-the bird returned; that told us there was a path
through.  But what's the track like?"

Somehow Tarma wasn't overly surprised that he came directly to the
point.  "Bad," she said shortly, as Idra spread out Jodi's maps over
the ones already on the table.  "It'll be brutal.  The only mounts that
are going to be able to negotiate that terrain are the Hawks'.  Maybe
some of the ponies your mountain-clan scouts have could make it, but
they'd be fair useless on the other side of those hills.  No running
ability, and on Kelcrag's side of the pass, that's what they'll need.
Anything else would break a leg on that track, or break the path down
past using."

"Terrain?"

"Big hills, baby mountains, doesn't much matter.  Shale most of the way
through, and sandstone.  Bad footing."

"Huh."  He chewed a corner of his mustache and brooded over Jodi's
tracings.  "That lets out plan one, then.  Idra-seems it's going to be
up to you."

"Hah-up to me, my rump!  If you can't get old Shoveral to move his big
fat arse in time, you'll get us slaughtered-"

Tarma glanced up out of the corner of her eye, alarmed at those words,
only to see Idra grinning like Warrl with a particularly juicy bone.

"Shoveral knows damned well he's my hidden card; he'll move when he
needs to-now, Swordsworn, how long do you reckon it will take all the
Hawks to get from here-" His finger stabbed down at the location of
their camp.  "-to here?"

The second place he indicated was a spot about a candle mark slow ride
from the rear of Kelcrag's lines.  As Tarma had figured-striking
distance.  "About two days, altogether."

"Huhn.  Say you got to trail's start at dawn by riding half the night.
Think you could get that lot of yours up over that trail; make trail's
end by dark, camp cold for a bit of rest, then be within this strike
distance by, say, midmorning?"

"No problem.  Damn well better have the rest though.  Horses'll need it
or we won't be able to count on 'em."

"Idra, how do we keep the movement secret?"

Idra thought about that a while.  "Loan me those hill clan levies and
their bivouac; they're honest enough to guard our camp.  We'll move out
in groups of about twenty; you move in an equal number of the clansmen.
Camp stays full to the naked eyeKelcrag can't tell one mere from
another, no more can his magickers.  The people that could tell the
difference between them and us won't be able to see what's going on."

"Hah!"  He smacked his fist down into his palm.  "Good; let me send for
Shoveral.  We'll plan this out with just the three of us-four, counting
the Kal'enedral.  Fewer that know, fewer can leak."

The Lord Commander sent one of his pages out after Lord Shoveral, then
he and Idra began planning in earnest.  From time to time he snapped
out a question at Tarma; how far, how many, what about this or that-she
answered as best she could but she was tired, far more weary than she
had guessed.  She found her tongue feeling oddly clumsy, and she had to
think hard about each word before she could get it out.

Finally learnount and Idra began a low-voiced colloquy she didn't
bother to listen to; she just hung on to the edge of the table and
tried enforcing her alertness with Kal'enedral discipline exercises. 
They didn't work overly well; she was on her last wind, for certain.

learnount caught Tarma's wavering attention.  The maps on the table
were beginning to go foggy to her eyes.  "Swordsworn," he said, looking
a little concerned, "you look half dead, but we may need you; what say
you go bed down over there in the corner-" He nodded in the direction
of his own cot.  "If there's a point you need to clarify for us, we'll
give you a shake."  He raised his voice.  "dons-"

One of the two sentries poked his head in through the tent flap.
"Sir?"

"Stir up my squire, would you?  Have him find something for this
starving warrior to eat and drink."

Tarma had stumbled to the other side of the tent and was already
collapsing onto the cot, her weariness washing her under with a
vengeance.  The blankets felt as welcoming and warm as theY looked, and
she curled up in them without another thought, feeling Warrl heaving
himself up to his usual position at her feet.  As the tent and the
voices faded, while the wave of exhaustion carried her into slumber,
she heard Idra chuckling.

"You might as well not bother Jons," the Captain told learnount, just
before sleep shut Tarma's ears.  "I don't think she cares."

Three

Kethry shifted her weight over her mount's shoulders, half-standing in
her stirrups to ease Hellsbane's balance as the mare scrambled up the
treacherous shale of another slope.  They were slightly more than
halfway across the hills; it was cold and damp and the lowering grey
clouds looked close enough to touch, but at least it wasn't raining
again.  She wasn't too cold; under her wool cloak she wore her woolen
sorceress' robe, the unornamented buff color showing her school was
White Winds, and under that, woolen breeches, woolen leggings, and the
leather armor Tarma had insisted she don.  The only time she was
uncomfortable was when the wind cut in behind the hood of the robe.

She was a member of the last party to leave the camp and make the
crossing; they'd left their wounded to the care of learnount's hill
clansmen and his own personal Healer.  Tresti, the Healer-Priest, had
been in the second party to slip away from the camp, riding by the side
of her beloved Sewen.  Oreden and Jiles, the two hedge-mages, had gone
two groups later; The herbalist Rethaire and his two young apprentices
had left next.  Kethry had stayed to the very last, her superior
abilities at sensing mage-probes making her the logical choice to
deflect any attempts at spying until the full exchange of personnel was
complete.

She felt a little at a loss without her partner riding at her left.
Tarma had preceded her more than half a day ago, leaving before
midnight, as the guide with Idra and the first group.  Of all the party
that had made the first crossing, only Jodi had remained to ride with
the tail guard group.

Jodi was somewhere behind them, checking on the back trail  That was
not as comforting to Kethry as it should have been.  Kethry knew her
fears were groundless, that the frail appearance of the scout belied a
tough interior-but

As if the thought had summoned her, a grey shadow slipped up upon
Kethry's right, with so little noise it might have been a shadow in
truth.  Hellsbane had been joined by a second grey mare so similar in
appearance that only an expert could have told that one was a Shin'a'in
full-blood battle steed and the other was not.

That lack of sound was one clue-there was mountain pony in Light foot's
background, somewhere.

Jodi's beast moved as silently as a wild goat on this shifting surface,
so quietly that the scout and her mount raised the hackles on anyone
who didn't know them.

Jodi wore her habitual garb of grey leather; with her pale hair and
pale eyes and ghost-grey horse, she looked unnervingly Like an
apparition of Lady Death herself, or some mist-spirit conjured out of
the patches of fog that shrouded these hills, as fragile and
insubstantial as a thing of shadow and air; and once again Kethry had a
twinge of misgiving.

"Any sign of probing?"  the scout asked in a neutral voice.

Kethry shook her head.  "None.  I think we may have gotten away with
it."

Jodi sighed.  "Don't count your coins before they're in the coffer.
There's a reason why we are running tail, lady, and it's not just to do
with magery, though that's a good share of it."

The scout cast a doubtful look at Kethry-and for the first time Kethry
realized that the woman had serious qualms about her abilities to
handle this mission, if it came to something other than a simple trek
on treacherous ground.

Kethry didn't bother to hide an ironic grin.

Jodi noted it, and cocked her head to one side, moving easily with her
horse.  Her saddle was hardly more than a light pad of leather; it
didn't even creak when she shifted, unconsciously echoing the movements
of her mare.  "Something funny, lady?"

"Very.  I think we've been thinking exactly the same things-about each
other."

Jodi's answering slow grin proved that Kethry hadn't been wrong.  "Ha.
And we should know better, shouldn't we?  It's a pity we didn't know
each other well enough to trust without thinking and
worrying-especially since neither of us look like fighters.  But we
should have figured that Idra knows what she's doing; neither of us are
hothouse plants -or we wouldn't be Hawks."

"Exactly.  So-give me the reasons this particular lot is riding tail;
maybe I can do something about preventing a problem."

"Right enough-one-" The scout freed her right hand from the reins to
hold up a solemn finger.  "-is the trail.  Shale shifts, cracks.  We're
riding after all the rest, and we'll be making the last few furlongs in
early evening gloom.  This path has been getting some hard usage, more
than it usually gets.  If the trail is likely to give, it'll give under
us.  You'll notice we're all of us the best riders, and the ones with
the best horses in the Hawks."

Kethry considered this, as Hellsbane topped the hill and picked her
cautious way down the sloping trail.  "Hmm-hmm.  All right, can we halt
at the next ridge?  There's a-very tiny bit of magery I can work that
might help us out with that "

Jodi pursed her lips.  "Is that wise?";

Kethry nodded, slowly.  "It's a very low-level piece of earth-witchery;
something even a shepherd wise woman might well know.  I don't think
any of Kelcrag's mages is likely to take note of it-assuming they can
even see it, and I doubt they will.  It's witchery, not sorcery, and
Kelcrag's magickers are all courtly mages, greater and lesser.  My
school is more eclectic; we use whatever comes to hand, and that can be
damned useful-somebody looking for High Magick probably won't see Low,
or think it's worth investigating.  After all, what does Kelcrag need
to fear from a peasant granny?"

Jodi considered that for a moment, her head held slightly to one side.
"Tell me, why is it that Jiles and Oreden have gotten so much better
since you've been with us?"

Kethry chuckled, but it was with a hint of sadness.

It had been very hard to convince the hedge wizards that their
abilities did not match their dreams.  "You want the truth?  Their
talents are all in line with Low Magick; earth-witchery, that sort of
thing.  I convinced them that there's nothing wrong with that, asked
them which they'd rather ride, a good, steady trail-horse or your
fire-eater. They aren't stupid; they saw right away what I was getting
at."  She set Hellsbane at the next slope, her hooves dislodging bits
of shale-and sending them clattering down behind them.  "So now that
they aren't trying to master spells they haven't the Talent to use
properly, they're doing fine.  Frankly, I would rather have them with
us than two of those courtly mages.  Water-finding is a lot more use
than calling lightning, and the fire-making spell does us more good
than the ability to light up a ballroom."

"You won't catch me arguing.  So what's this magic of yours going to
do?"

"Show me the weak spots in the trail.  If there's something ready to
give, I'll know about it before it goes."

"And?"

"I should be able to invoke a greater magic at that point, and hold the
pieces together long enough for us to get across."

"Won't that draw attention?"

"It would," Kethry replied slowly, "if I did what a court mage would
do, and draw on powers outside myself-which causes ripples; no, I have
just enough power of my own, and that's what I'll use.  There won't be
any stir on the other planes...."  But it's going to cost me if I do
things that way.  Maybe high.  Well, I'll handle that when the time
comes.  "You said one reason we're riding tail most-that implies
there's more reasons."

"Two-we're tail guards in truth.  We could find ourselves fighting hand
to hand with Kelcrag's scouts or his mages.  They haven't detected us
that we know of, but there's no sense in assuming less than the
worst."

"So long as they don't outnumber us-I'm not exactly as helpless in a
fight as Tresti."  She caught the cloud of uncertainty in Jodi's pale
blue eyes, and said, surprised, "I thought everybody knew about this
sword of mine."

"There's stories, but frankly, lady-"

"Keth.  I, as Tarma would tell you, am no lady."

That brought a glimmer of smile.  "Keth, then.  Well, none of us have
ever seen that blade do anything but heal."

"Need's better at causing wounds than curing them, at least in my
hands," Kethry told her.  "That's her gift to me; in a fight, she makes
a mage the equal of any swords woman born.  If it comes to magic,
though, she's pretty well useless for my purposes-it's to a fighter she
gives magic immunity.

But-I'll tell you what, I've got a notion.  If it comes to battle by
magery, I'll try and get her to you before I get involved in a duel
arcane; she'll shield you from even a godling's magic.  Tarma proved
that, once.  She may even be able to shield more than one, if you all
crowd together."

There was a flash of interest at that, and a hint of relief.  "Then I
think I'll worry less about you.  Well-there's a reason three that
we're riding tail: if we find we've ridden straight into ambush at
trail's end, we're the lot that's got the best chance of getting one of
us back to tell learnount."

"Gain.  Grim reasons, all of them-can we stop here for a breath or
two?"

They had just topped a ridge, with sufficient space between them and
the next in line that a few moments spent halted wouldn't hamper his
progress any.  Jodi looked about her, grimaced, then nodded with
reluctance.  "A bit exposed to my mind, but-"

"This won't take long."  Kethry gathered the threads of earth-magic,
the subtlest and least detectable of all the mage-energies, and
whispered a command along those particular threads that traced their
path across the hills.  There was an almost imperceptible shift in the
energy flows, then the spell settled into place and became invisible
even to the one who had set it.  The difference was that Kethry was now
at one with the path; she felt the path through the hills, from end to
end, like a whisper of sand across the surface of her mental "skin." If
the path was going to collapse, the backlash would alert her.

"Let's go-"

"That's all there is to it?"  Jodi looked at her askance.

"Magery isn't all lightnings and thunders.  The best magery is as
subtle as a tripwire, and as hard to detect."

"Well."  Jodi sent her mount picking a careful path down the hillside,
and looked back at Kethry with an almost-smile.  "I think I could get
to appreciate magery."

Kethry grinned outright, remembering that Jodi's other specialty was
subterfuge, infiltration, and assassination.  " Take my word for it,
the real difference between a Masterclass mage and an apprentice is not
in the amount of power, it's in the usage.  You've been over this trail
already) what do you think-are we going to make trail's end by
dark?."

Jodi narrowed her eyes, taking a moment.  "No," she said finally, "I
don't think so.  That's when I'll take point, when it starts to get
dark.  And that's when we'll have to be most alert."

Kethry nodded, absently, and pulled her hood closer about her neck
against a lick of wind.  "If an attack comes, it's likely to be then.
And the same goes for accident?"

"Aye."

It was growing dark, far faster than Kethry liked, and there was still
no end to the trail in sight.  But there had also been no sign that
their movement was being followed

Suddenly her nerves twanged like an ill-tuned harp string  For one
short, disorienting moment, she vibrated in backlash, for that
heartbeat or two of time completely helpless to think or act.  Then
nearly fifteen years of training and practice took over, and without
even being aware of it, she gathered mage-energy from the core of her
very being and formed a net of it-a net to catch what was even now
about to- fall.

just in time; up ahead in the darkness, she heard the slide of rock, a
horse's fear-ridden shriek, and the harsh cry of a man seeing his own
death looming in his face.  She felt the energy-net sag, strain then
hold.

She clamped her knees around Hellsbane's barrel and dropped her reins,
telling the horse mutely to "stand."  The battle steed obeyed, bracing
all four hooves, far steadier than the rocks about her.  Kethry firmed
her concentration until it was adamantine, and closed her eyes against
distraction.  Since she could not see what she was doing, this would
take every wisp of her attention

Gently, this must be done as gently as handling a penny bird chick
new-hatched.  If she frightened the horse, and it writhed out of her
energy-net-horse and rider would plummet to their doom.

She cupped her hands before her, echoing the form of the power-net, and
contemplated it.

Broken lines of power showed her where the path had collapsed, and the
positioning of her "net" told her without her seeing the trail ahead
just where her captives were cradled.

"Keth-" Jodi's voice came from the darkness ahead, calm and steady; no
sign of panic there.  "We lost a very short section of the path; those
of you behind us won't have any problem jumping the gap.  The immediate
problem is the rider that went over.  It's Gerrold and Vetch; the horse
is half over on his right side and jerrold's pinned under him, but
neither one of them is hurt and you caught both before they slid more
than a few feet.  Gerrold's got the beast barely calmed, but he's not
struggling.  Can you do anything more for them other than just holding
them?"

Kethry eased her concentration just enough to answer.  "If I get them
righted, maybe raise them a bit, can he get Vetch back onto the
path?"

"You can do that?"

"I can try-"

Hoof sounds going, then returning.  Kethry "read the lines of energy
cradling the man and beast, slowly getting a picture of how they were
lying by the shape of the energy-net.

"Gerrold's got Vetch gentled and behaving.  He says if you take it
slow-"

Kethry did not answer, needing all her focus on the task at hand.
Slowly she moved her fingers; as she did she lessened the pressure on
one side of the net and increased it on the other, until the shape
within began to tilt upright.  There was a lessening of tension within
the net, as horse and rider lost fear; that helped.

Now, beneath the hooves of the trapped horse she firmed the net until
it was as strong as the steadiest ground, taking away some of the
mage-threads from the sides to do so.  When nothing untoward occurred,
she took more of those threads, using them to raise the level of that
surface, slowly, carefully, so as not to startle the horse.  One by one
she rewove those threads, raising the platform thumb length by
agonizing thumb length

She was shaking and drenched with sweat by the time she got it high
enough, and just about at the end of her strength.  When a clatter of
hooves on rock and an exultant shout told her that Gerrold had gotten
his mount back onto safe ground, she had only enough energy left to
cling to her saddle for the last few furlongs of the journey.

"Right now," Idra said quietly, stretched out along a hilltop next to
Tarma, "The old war-horse should be giving them a good imitation of a
tired old war-horse."

The hilltop gave them a fairly tolerable view for furlongs in any
direction; they were just beyond the range of Kelcrag's sentries, and
Kethry was shielding them in the way she had learned from the example
of Moonsong k'Vala, the Taletedras Adept from the Pelagiris
Forest-making them seem a part of the landscape-to mage-sight, just a
thicket of brinle-bushes.  In the far distance was the pass filling it
was the dark blot of Kelcrag's forces.

At this moment-as he had for the past two dayslearnount was giving a
convincing imitation of a commander truly interested in coming to an
agreement with his enemy.  Heralds had been coming and going hour by
hour with offers and counteroffers -all of this false negotiation
buying time for the Hawks to get into place.  "Well, it's now or
never," Idra said finally, as she

and Tarma abandoned their height and squirmed down their side of the
hill to join her company.

"Kethry?"

Kethry, on foot like all the rest, nodded and joined hands with her two
mage-partners.  "Shield your eyes," she warned them.  "It'll go on a
count of five."

Tarma and the rest of the Hawks averted their eyes and turned their
horses' heads away as Kethry counted slowly.  When Kethry reached five,
there was a flare of light so bright-that it shone redly through
Tarma's eyelids even with her head turned.  It was followed by a second
flash, and then a third.

From a distance it would look like the lightning that flickered every
day along the hillsides.  But learnount's mages were watching this
particular spot for just that signal of three flickers of light, and
testing for energy-auras to see if it was magelight and not natural
lightning.  Now learnount would break off his negotiations and resume
his attacks on Kelcrag's army, concentrating on the eastern edge.  That
would seem reasonable: Kelcrag had stationed his foot there; they might
be vulnerable to a charge of heavy cavalry.  learnount's own western
flank was commanded by Lord Shoveral, whose standard was a badger and
whose mode of battle matched his token; he was implacable in defence,
but no one had yet seen him on the attack, so Kelcrag might well
believe that he had no heart for it.

He was, one hoped, about to be surprised.

One also hoped, fervently, that Kelcrag's mages had not noticed that it
was mage-light and not lightning that had flickered to their rear.

: they've no reason to look for mage-light, mind mate

Warrl said soberly.  "Kelcrag's wizards are all courtly lopes.  they
very seldom think about hiding what they're doing, or trying to make it
seem like something natural.  To them, mage-light is something to
illuminate a room with, not something to use for a signal.  If they
wish to pass messages, they make a sending.:

"I hope you're right, Furface," Tarma replied, mounting.  "The more
surprised they are, the more of us are going to survive this."

At Idra's signal, the Hawks moved into a disciplined canter; no point
in trying too hard to stay undercover now.

They urged their mounts over hills covered only with scraggy bushes and
dead, dry grass; they would have been hard put to find any cover if
they'd needed it.  But luck was with them.

They topped a final hilltop and only then encountered

Kelcrag's few sentries.  They were all afoot; the lead riders coldly
picked them off with a few well-placed arrows before they-could sound
an alert.  The sentries fell, either pierced with arrows or stumbling
over their wounded comrades.  And the fallen were trampled-for the
Hawks' horses were war-trained, and a war-trained horse does not
hesitate when given the signal to make certain of a fallen foe.  That
left no chance that Kelcrag could be warned.

Ahead of the riders, now stretching their canter into a gallop, was the
baggage train.

Kethry and her two companions rode to the forefront for the moment.
Each mage was haloed by one of Kethry's glowing mage-shields; a shield
that blurred the edges of vision around a mage and his mount as well.
It made Tarma's eyes ache to look at them, so she tried not to.  The
shields wouldn't deflect missiles, but not being able to look straight
at your target made that target damned hard to hit.

The two hedge-wizards growled guttural phrases, made elaborate throwing
motions-and smoking, flaming balls appeared in the air before their
hands to fly at the wagons and supplies.  Kethry simply locked her
hands together and held them out in front of her-and each wagon or tent
she stared at burst into hot blue flame seemingly of its own accord.

This was noisy; it was meant to be.  The non-combatants with the
baggage-drovers, cooks, personal servants, the odd whore-were screaming
in fear and fleeing in all directions, adding to the noise.  There
didn't seem to be anyone with enough authority back here to get so much
as a fire brigade organized.

The Hawks charged through the fires and the frightened, milling
civilians, and headed straight for the rear of Kelcrag's lines.  Now
Kethry and the mages had dropped back until they rode-a bit more
protected-in the midst of the Sunhawks.  They would be needed now only
if one of Kelcrag's mages happened to be stationed on this flank.

For the rest, it was time for bow work.  Kelcrag's men-armored cavalry
here, for the most part; nobles and retainers, and mostly young-were
still trying to grasp the fact that they'd been hit from the rear.

The hawk's swerved just out of bowshot, riding their horses in a
flanking move along the back of the lines.  They didn't stop; that
would make them stationary targets.  They just began swirling in and
out at the very edge of the enemy's range, as Tarma led the first
sortie to engage.

About thirty of them peeled off from the main group, galloping forward
with what must look to Kelcrag's men like utter recklessness.  It
wasn't; they stayed barely within their range as they shot into the
enemy lines.  This was what the Hawks were famous for, this horseback
skirmishing.  Most of them rode with reins in their teeth, a few, like
Tarma and Jodi, dropped their reins altogether, relying entirely on
their weight and knees to signal their mounts.  Tarma loosed three
arrows in the time it took most of the rest of her sortie group to
launch one, her short horse-bow so much a part of her that she thought
of nothing consciously but picking her targets.  She was aware only of
Ironheart's muscles laboring beneath her legs, of the shifting smoke
that stung eyes and carried a burnt flavor into the back of her throat,
of the sticky feel of sweat on her back, of a kind of exultation in her
skill-and it was all over in heartbeats.  Arrows away, the entire group
wheeled and galloped to the rear of the Hawks, already nocking more
missiles for hard on their heels came a second group, a third-it made
for a continuous rain of fire that was taking its toll even of heavily
armored me nand as they rode, the Hawks jeered at their enemies, and
shouted Idra's rallying call.  The hail of arrows that fell on the
enemy wounded more horses than men-a fact Tarma was sorry about-but the
fire, the hail of arrows, and the catcalls inflamed their enemy's
tempers in a way that nothing else could have done.

And, as learnount and Idra had planned, the young, headstrong nobles
let those tempers loose.

They broke ranks, leaders included, and charged their mocking foes. All
they thought of now was to engage the retreating Hawks, forgetful of
their orders, forgetful of everything but that this lot of commoners
had pricked their vanity and was now getting away.

Now the Hawks scattered, breaking into a hundred little groups, their
purpose accomplished.

Tarma managed to get to Kethry's side, and the two of them plowed their
way back through the burning wreckage of the baggage train.

Iron-shod hooves pounding, their mounts raced as if they'd been
harnessed side by side.  Kethry clung grimly to the pommel of her
saddle, as her partner could see out of the corner of her eye.  She was
not the horsewoman that the Shin'a'in was, she well knew it, and
Hellsbane was galloping erratically; moving far too unpredictably for
her to draw Need.  At this point she was well-nigh helpless; it would
be up to Tarma and the battle mares to protect her.

An over-brave pike man rose up out of the smoke before them, thinking
to hook Tarma from her seat.  She ducked beneath his pole arm, and
Ironheart trampled him into the red-stained mud.  Another footman made
a try for Kethry, but Hellsbane snapped at him, crushed his shoulder in
her strong teeth, shook him like a dog with a rag while he shrieked,
then dropped him again.  A rider who thought to intercept them had the
trick Tarma and Ironheart had played on Duke Greyhame's sentry
performed on him and his steed-only in deadly earnest.  Ironheart
reared, screaming challenge, and crow-hopped forward.  The gelding the
enemy rode backed in panic from the slashing hooves, and as they passed
him, his rider's head was kicked in before they could get out of
range.

The battle steeds kited through the smoke and flames of the burning
camp with no more fear of either than of the scrubby shrubbery.  Three
times Tarma turned in her saddle and let fly one of the lethal little
arrows of the Shin'a'in-as those pursuing found to their grief, armor
was of little use when an archer could find and target a helm-slit.

Then shouting began behind them; their pursuers pulled up, looked
back-and began belatedly to return to their battle line  Too late-for
Lord Shoveral had made his rare badger's charge-and had taken full
advantage of the hole that the work of the Sunhawks had left in
Kelcrag's lines.  Kelcrag's forces were trapped between Shoveral and
the shale cliffs, with nowhere to retreat.

Using her knees, Tarma signaled Ironheart to slow, and Hellsbane
followed her stable mate lead.  Tarma couldn't make out much through
the blowing smoke, but what she could see told her all she needed to
know.  Kelcrag's banner was down, and there was a milling mass of
men-mostly wearing learnount's scarlet surcoats-where it had once
stood. All over the field, fighters in Kelcrag's blue were throwing
down their weapons.

The civil war was over.

Kethry touched the tip of her index finger to a spot directly between
the sweating fighter's eyebrows; he promptly shuddered once, his eyes
rolled up into his head, and he sagged into the waiting arms of his
shield brother

"Lay him out there-that's right-" Rethaire directed the disposition of
the now-slumbering Hawk.  His partner eased him down slowly, stretching
him out on his back on a horse blanket with his wounded arm practically
in the herbalist's lap.  Rethaire nodded.  " -good.  Keth-"

Kethry blinked, coughed once, and shook her head a little.  "Who's
next?"  she asked.

"Bluecoat."

Kethry stared askance at him.  A Bluecoat?  One of Kelcrag's people?

Rethaire frowned.  "No, don't look at me that way, he's under
Mercenary's Truce; he's all right or I wouldn't have let him in here.
He's one of Devaril's Demons."

"Ah."  The Demons had a good reputation among the companies, even if
most of Devaril's meetings with Idra generally ended up as shouting
matches.  Too bad they'd been on opposite sides in this campaign.

Rethaire finished dusting the long, oozing slash in their companion's
arm with blue-green powder, and began carefully sewing it up with silk
thread.  "Well, are you going to sit there all day?"

"Right, I'm on it," she replied, getting herself to her feet.  "Who's
with him?"

-"My apprentice; Dee.  The short one."

Kethry pushed sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes, and tried once again
to get it all confined in a tail while she glanced around the space
outside the infirmary tent, looking for the green-clad, chubby figure
of Rethaire's youngest apprentice.  She resolutely shut out the sounds
of pain and the smell of sickness and blood; she kept telling herself
that this was not as bad as it could have been.  The worst casualties
were under cover of the tent; those out here were the ones that would
be walking (or limping) back to their own quarters when they woke up
from Rethaire's drugs or Kethry's spell.  They were all just lucky that
it was still only overcast and not raining.  Sun would have baked them
all into heatstroke.  Rain .. . best not think about fever and
pneumonia.

With no prospect of further combat, Kethry was no longer hoarding her
magical energies, either personal or garnered from elsewhere, but the
only useful spell she had when it came to healing wounds like these was
the one that induced instant slumber.

So that was her job; put the patients out, while Rethaire or his
assistants sewed and splinted them back together again.

Poor Jiles and Oreden didn't even have that much to do; although as Low
Magick practitioners they did have Healing abilities, they'd long since
exhausted their powers, and now were acting as plain, non magical
attendants to Tresti.  That was what was bad about a late-fall campaign
for them; with most of the land going into winter slumber, there was
very little ambient energy for a user of Low Magick to pull on.

Tarma was out with Jodi and a few of learnount's farriers, salvaging
what horses they could, and killing the ones too far gone to save. And,
sometimes, performing the same office for a human or two.

Kethry shuddered, and wiped the back of her hand across her damp
forehead, frowning when she looked at it and saw how filthy it was.

Thank the gods that stuff of Rethaire's prevents infection, or we'd
lose half the wounded.  We've lost too many as it is.  That last sortie
had cost the Sunhawks dearly; they were down to two hundred.  Fifty
were dead, three times that were wounded.  Virtually everyone had lost
a friend; the uninjured were tending wounded companions.

But it could have been so much worse-so very much worse.

She finally spotted apprentice Dee, and picked her way through the
prone and sleeping bodies to get to his side.

"Great good gods!  Why is he out here?"  she exclaimed, seeing the
patient.  He was half-propped on a saddle; stretched out before him was
his wounded leg.  Kethry nearly gagged at the sight of the
blood-drenched leg of his breeches, the mangled muscles, and the
tourniquet practically at his groin.

"Looks worse than it is, Keth."  Dee didn't even look up.  "More torn
up than anything; didn't touch the big vein at all.  He don't need
Tresti, just you and me."  His clever hands were busy cutting bits of
the man's breeches away, while the mercenary bit his lip until it, too,
bled; hoping to keep from crying out.

"What in hell got you, friend?"  Kethry asked, kneeling down at the
man's side.  She had to have his attention, or the spell wouldn't work.
The man was white under his sunburn, his black beard matted with dirt
and sweat, the pupils of his eyes wide with pain.

"Some-shit,-big wolf.  Had m' bow all trained on yer back, m'lady.
Bastard come outa nowhere n' took out m'leg.  Should'a known better'n
t' sight on a Hawk; 'specially since I know 'bout you havin' that
beast."

Kethry started.  "Warrl-Windborn, no wonder you look like hacked meat!
Let me tell you, you're lucky he didn't go for your throat!  I hope
you'll forgive me, but I-can't say I'm sorry-"

The man actually managed a bare hint of smile, and patted her knee with
a bloody hand.  "That'sgain!-war, m'lady.  No offence."  He clenched
his other hand until the knuckles were white as Dee picked pieces of
fabric out of his wounds.

Kethry sighed the three syllables that began the sleep-spell, and felt
her hands begin to tingle with the gathering energy.  Slow, though-she
was coming to the end of her resources.

"But why did you come to us for help?"

"Don't trust them horse-leeches, they wanted t' take the leg off.  I
knew yer people'd save it.  Them damn highborns, they got no notion
what 'is leg means to a mere."

Kethry nodded, grimacing.  Without his leg, this man would be out of a
job-and likely starve to death.

"And th' Demons' ain't got no Healers nor magickers.

Never saw th' need for 'em."

"Oh?"  That was the root and branch of Devaril's constant arguments
with Idra.  "Well, now you know why we have them, don't you?"  She
still wasn't ready.  Not quite yet; the level wasn't high enough. 
Until she could touch him, she had to keep his attention.

"Yeah, well-kinda reckon ol' Horseface's right, now.  Neat trick y'
pulled on us, settin' the camp afire withe magickers.  An' havin' yer
own Healers beats hell outa hopin' yer contract 'members he's stpposed
t' keep ye patched up.  Specially when 'e's lost.  Reckon we'll be
lookin' fer recruits after we get mustered out."  He grimaced again,
and nodded to her.  " "F yer innerested, m'lady-well, th' offer's open.
"F not, well, pass th' word, eh?"

Kethry was a little amused at the certainty in his words.  "You're so
high up in the Demons, then, that you can speak for them?"

He bit off a curse of pain, and grinned feebly just as she reached for
his forehead.  "Should say.  I'm Devaril."

Kethry was wrung with weariness, and her mage-energies were little more
than flickers when Tarma came looking for her.  She looked nearly
transparent with exhaustion, ready to float away on an errant wind.

The swords woman knelt down in the dust beside where Kethry was
sitting; she was obviously still trying to muster up energies all but
depleted.

"Keth-"

The mage looked up at her with a face streaked with dried blood Thank
the Warrior, none of it hers.

"Lady Windborn.  I think I hate war."

"Hai," Tarma agreed, grimly.  Now that the battle-high had worn off, as
always, she was sick and sickened.  Such a damned waste-all for the
sake of one fool too proud to be ruled by a woman.  All that death,
men, women, good beasts.  Innocent civilians.  Hell of a way to make a
living.  Can you get loose?"

"If it isn't for magery.  I'm tapped out."

"It isn't.  Idra wants us in her tent."

Tarma rose stiffly and gave her hand to her partner, who frankly needed
it to get to her feet.  The camp was quiet, the quiet of utter
exhaustion.  Later would come the drinking bouts, the boasts, the
counting of bonuses and loot.  Now was just time to hurt, and to heal;
to mourn the lost friends and help care for the injured; and to sleep,
if one could.  With the coming of dusk fires were being kindled, and
torches.  And, off in the distance, pyres.  The Hawks, like most
mercenary companies, burned their dead.  Tarma had already done her
share of funeral duty; she was not particularly unhappy to miss the
next immolation.

Two of the Hawks not too flagged to stand watch were acting sentry on
Idra's tent.  Tarma nodded to both of them, and pushed her wayin past
the flap, Kethry at her heels.

Idra inclined her head in their direction and indicated a pile of
blankets with a wave of her hand.  Sewen already occupied her cot, and
Geoffrey, Tamas and Lethra, his sergeants, the equipment chest, the
stool, and another pile of blankets respectively.  The fourth sergeant,
Bevis, was currently sleeping off one of Kethry's spells.

"Where's your kyree?"  the Captain asked, as they lowered themselves
down onto the pile.

"Sentry-go.  He's about the only one of us fit for it, so he
volunteered."

"Bless him.  I got him a young pig-I figured he'd earned it, and I
figured he'd like to get the taste of man out of his mouth."

Tarma grinned.  "Sounds like he's been bitching at you.  Captain, for a
pig, he'd stand sentry all bloody night!"

"Have him see the cook when he's hungry."  Idra took the remaining
stool, lowering herself to it with a grimace of pain.  Her horse had
been shot out from under her, and she'd taken a fall that left her
bruised from breast to ankle.

"Well."  She surveyed them all, her most trusted assistants, wearing a
troubled look.  "I've-well, I've had some unsettling news.  It's
nothing to do with the campaign-" She cut short the obvious question
hurriedly.  "-no, in fact Geoffrey is sitting on our mustering-out pay.
learnount's been damned generous, above what he contracted for.  No,
this is personal.  I'm going to have to part company with you for a
while."

Tarma felt her jaw go slack; the others stared at their Captain with
varying expressions of stunned amazement.

Sewen was the first to recover.  "Idra-what'n th' hell is that supposed
t'mean?  Part company?  Why?"

Idra sighed, and rubbed her neck with one sun browned hand.  "It's
duty, of a sort.  You all know where I'm from-well, my father just
died, gods take his soul.  He and I never did agree on much, but he had
the grace to let me go my own way when it was obvious he'd never keep
me hobbled at home except by force.  Mother's been dead, oh, twenty-odd
years. That means I've got two brothers in line for the throne, since I
renounced any claim I had."

"Two?"  Kethry was looking a bit more alert now, Tarma noticed.  "I
thought the law in Rethwellan was primogeniture."

"Sort of, sort of.  That's where the problem is.  Father favored my
younger brother.  So do the priests and about half the nobles.  The
merchants and the rest of the nobles favor following the law.  My older
brother-well, he may have the law behind him, but he was a wencher and
a ne'er-do-well when I left, and I haven't heard he's improved.  That
sums up the problem.  The Noble Houses are split right down the middle
and there's only one way to break the deadlock."

"You?"  Geoffrey asked.

She grimaced.  "Aye.  It's a duty I can't renounce and damned if I like
it.  I thought I'd left politics behind the day I formed the Sunhawks.
I'd have avoided it if I could, but the ministers' envoys went straight
to learnount; now there's no getting out of it.  And in all honesty,
there's a kind of duty to your people that goes with being born into a
royal house; I pretty much owe it to them to see that they get the best
leader, if I can.  So I'm going back to look the both of my brothers
over and cast my vote; I'll be leaving within the hour."

"But-!"  The panic on Sewen's face was almost funny.

"Sewen, you're in charge," she continued implacably.

"I expect this won't take long; I'll meet you all in winter quarters.
As I said, we've been paid; we only need to wait until our wounded are
mobile before you head back there.  Any questions?"

The weary resignation on her face told them all that she wasn't looking
forward to this-and that she wouldn't welcome protests.  What Idra
wanted from her commanders was the assurance that they would take care
of things for her in her absence as they had always done in her
presence; with efficiency and dispatch.

It was the least they could give her.

They stood nearly as one, and gave her drillfieldperfect salutes.

"No questions, Captain," Sewen said for all of them.  "We'll await you
at Hawksnest, as ordered."

Four

Kethry was in trouble.

A glittering ball of blinding white hurtled straight for her eyes.
Kethry ducked behind the ice-covered wall of the fortifications, then
launched a missile of her own at the enemy, who was even now charging
her fortress.

The leading warrior took her return volley squarely on the chest, and
went down with a blood-freezing shriek of anguish.

"Tarma!"  squealed the second of the enemy warriors, skidding to a stop
in the snow beside the fallen Shin'a'in.

"No nward, my brave ones!"  Tarma declaimed.  "I am done for-but you
must regain our ancient homelahd!  You must fight on, and you must
avenge me!"  Then she writhed into a sitting position, clutched her
snow-spattered tunic, pointed at the wall with an outflung arm, and
pitched backward into the drift she'd used to break her fall.

The remaining fighters-all four of them gathered their courage along
with their snowballs and resumed their charge.

Kethry and her two fellow defenders drove them ruthlessly back with a
steady, carefully coordinated barrage.  "Stand fast, my friends,"
Kethry encouraged her forces, as the enemy gathered just outside their
range for another charge.  "Never shall we let the sacred palace
of-of-Whatever-it-is fall into the hands of these barbarians!"

"Sacred, my horse's behind!"  taunted Tarma, reclining at her ease in
the snowbank, head propped up on one arm.  "You soft city types have
mush for brains; wouldn't know sacred if it walked up and bonked you
with a blessing!  That's our sacred ground you're cluttering up with
your filthy city!  My nomads are clear of eye and mind from all the
healthy riding they do.  They know sacred when they see it!"

"You're dead!"  Kethry returned, laughing.  "You can't talk if you're
dead!"

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Tarma replied, grinning widely.

"Well, it's not fair-" Kethry began, when one of Tarma's "nomads"
launched into a speech of her own.

It was very impassioned, full of references to "our fallen leader, now
with the stars," and "our duty to free our ancient homeland," and it
was just a little confused, but it was a rather good speech for a
twelve year old.  It certainly got her fellow fighters' blood going.
This time there was no stopping them; they stormed right over the walls
of the snow fort and captured the flag, despite the best efforts of
Kethry and her band of defenders.  Kethry made a last stand on the
heights next to the flag but to no avail; she was hit with three
snowballs at once, and went down even more dramatically than Tarma.

The barbarians howled for joy, piled their other victims on top of
Kethry, and did a victory dance around the bodies.  When Tarma
resurrected herself and came to join them, Kethry rose to her feet,
protesting at the top of her lungs.

"No, you don't-dead is dead, woman!"  Kethry had come up with one of
her un thrown missiles in her hands; now she launched it from
point-blank range and got the surprised Tarma right in the face with
it.

The never-broken rule decreed loose snowballs only.  Tarma enforced
that rule with a hand of iron, and Kethry would never even have thought
of violating it.  This was a game, and injuries had no part in it.  So
Tarma was unhurt, but now wore a white mask covering her from forehead
to chin.

Only for a moment.  "AAARRRG!"  she howled, scraping the snow off her
face, and springing at Kethry, fingers mimicking claws.  "My disguise!
You've ruined my disguise!"

"Run!"  Kethry cried in mock fear, dodging.  "It's-it's-"

"The great and terrible Snow Demon!"  Tarma supplied, making a grab at
the children, who screamed in excitement and fled.  "I tricked you
fools into fighting for me!  Now I have all of you at my mercy, and the
city as well!  AAAAARRRG!"

It was only when a more implacable enemy-the children's mothers-came to
fetch them away that the new game came to a halt.

"Thanks for minding them, Tarma," said one of the mothers, a former
Hawk herself.  She was collecting two little girls who looked-and
were-the same age.  Varny and her shield mate Sania had met in the
Sunhawks, and when an unlucky sword stroke had taken out Varny's left
eye, they'd decided that since Varny was mustering-out anyway because
of the injury, they might as well have the family they both wanted.
Though how they'd managed to get pregnant almost simultaneously was a
bit of a wonder.

Somewhat to their disappointment, neither child was interested in
following the sword.  Varny's wanted to be a scrivener, and Sania's a
Healerand the latter, at least, was already showing some evidence of
that Gift.

"No problem," Tarma replied, "You know I enjoy it.  It's nice to be
around children who don't take warfare seriously."

In point of fact, none of these children was being trained for
fighting; all had indicated to their parents that they wished more
peaceful occupations.

So their play-battles were play, and not more practice.

"Well, we still appreciate having an afternoon to ourselves, so I hope
you don't ever get tired of them," one of the other mothers replied
with a broad smile.

"Not a chance," Tarma told her.  "I'll let you know next afternoon I've
got free, and I'll kidnap them again."

"Bless you!"  With that, and similar expressions of gratitude, the
women and their weary offspring vanished into the streets of the
snow-covered town.

"Whew."  Tarma supported herself on the wall of the snow fort with both
arms, and looked over at Kethry, panting.  Her eyes were shining, and
the grin she was still wearing reached and warmed them.  "Gods, did we
have that much energy at that age?"

"Damned if I remember.  I'm just pleased I managed to keep up with
them.  Lady bless, I'd never have believed you could get this
overheated in midwinter!  "

"You had it easy.  I was the one who had to keep leading the
charges."

"So that's why you let me take you out so easily!"  Kethry teased.
"Shame on you, being in that poor a shape!  You know, I rather liked
that Snow Demon touch-I was a little uneasy with linin an rhetoric."

"Can't teach a child too early that there are folks that will use him.
I just about had a foal when I found out there weren't any
granny-stories up here on those lines.  We Shin'a'in must have at least
a dozen about the youngling who takes things on face value and gets
eaten for his stupidity.  Come to think of it, the Snow Demon is one of
them.  He ate about half a Clan before he was through."

"Nasty story!"  Kethry helped Tarma beat some of the snow out of her
clothing, and the powdery stuff sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight
as it drifted down.  "Was there such a creature, really?  And was that
what it did?"

"There was.  And it did.  It showed up in an unusually cold winter one
year-oh, about four generations ago.  A Kal'enedral finally took it
out-one of my teachers, to tell the truth.  Mutual kill, very
dramatic-also, he tells me, damned painful.  I'll croak you the song
sometime.  Tonight, if you like."

Kethry raised an eyebrow in surprise.  That meant Tarma was in an
extraordinarily good mood.  While time had brought a certain amount of
healing to the ruined voice that had once been the pride of her Clan,
Tarma's singing was still not something she paraded in public.  Her
voice was still harsh, and the tonalities were peculiar.  She sometimes
sounded to Kethry like someone who had been breathing smoke for
forty-odd years.  She was very sensitive about it and didn't offer to
sing very often.

"What brought this on?"  Kethry asked, as they crunched through the
half-trampled snow, heading back to their double room in the Hawks'
barracks.  "You're seeming more than usually pleased with yourself.

Tarma grinned.  "Partly this afternoon."

Kethry nodded, understanding.  Tarma adored children-which often
surprised the boots off their parents.  More, she was very good with
them.  And children universally loved her and her never-ending patience
with them.  She would play with them, tell them stories, listen to
their woes-if she hadn't been Kal'enedral, she'd have made an excellent
mother.  As it was, she was the willing child tender for any woman in
Hawksnest who had ties to the company.

When she had time.  Which, between drill and teaching duties, wasn't
nearly as often as she liked.  Somewhere in the back of her mind,
Kethry was rather looking forward to the nebulous day when she and
Tarma would retire to start their schools.  Because then, Tarma would
have younglings of her own-by way of Kethry.  More, she would have the
children-that would form the core of her resurrected

Clan.

And bringing Tale'sedrin back to life would make Tarma happy enough
that the smile she wore too seldom might become a permanent part of her
expression.

"So-what's the other part?"  Kethry asked, shaking herself out of her
woolgathering when she nearly tripped on a clump of snow.

Tarma snickered, eyes narrowed against the-snow glare and the weltering
sunlight.  Her tone and her expression were both malicious.  "Leslac's
cooling his heels in the jail as of last night."

"Oh, really?"  Kethry was delighted.  "What happened?"

"Let's wait till we get-inside; it's a long story."

Since they were only a few steps from the entrance to their
granite-walled barrack', Kethry was willing to wait.  As officers, they
could have taken more opulent quarters, but frankly, they didn't really
want them.  Tarma hardly had any need for privacy; Kethry had yet to
find anyone in or out of the Hawks that she wanted to dally with on any
regular basis.  On the rare occasions where comradeship got physical,
she was more than willing to rent a room in an inn overnight.  So they
shared the same kind of spartan quarters as the rest of the
mercenaries; a plain double room on the first floor of the barracks.
The walls were wood, paneled over the stone of the building, there were
pegs for their weapons, and stands for their armor, a single wardrobe,
two beds, one on each wall, and three chairs and a small table.  That
was about the extent of it.  The only concession to their rank was a
wood-fired stove: Tarma felt the winter cold too much otherwise.

They had a few luxuries besides: thick fur coverlets and heavy wool
blankets on the beds, some fine silver goblets, oil lamps and candles
instead of rush-dips-but no few of the fighters had those, paid for out
of their earnings.  Both of them felt that since they worked as closely
as they did with their underlings, there was no sense in having
quarters that made subordinates uncomfortable.  And, truth to tell,
neither of them would truly have felt at ease in more opulent
surroundings.

They pulled off their snow-caked garments and changed quickly, hanging
the old on pegs by the stove to dry.  Kethry noted as she pulled on a
soft, comfortable brown robe and breeches, that Tarma had donned black,
and frowned.  It was true that Kal'enedral only wore dark, muted
colors-but black was for ritual combat or blood feud

Tarma didn't miss the frown, faint as it was.  "Don't get your hackles
up; it's all I've got left everything else is at the launderers or wet.
I'm not planning on calling anybody out-not even that damned off-key
songster.  Much as he deserves it and much as I'd like to.  '

Warrl raised his head from the shadows of the corner he'd chosen for
his own, with a contemptuous snort.  The kyree liked the cold even less
than Tarma, and spent much of his time in the warm corner by the stove
curled up on a pad of old rugs.

: You two have no taste.  I happen to think Leslac is a fine musician'
and a very talented one.:

Tarma answered with a snort of her own.  "All right then, you go warm
his bed.  I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

Warrl simply lowered his head back to his paws, and closed his glowing
golden eyes with dignity

"Tell, tell, tell!"  Kethry urged, having as little love for the
feckless Leslac as did her partner.  She threw herself down into her
own leather-padded hearthside chair, and leaned forward in her
eagerness to hear.

"All right-here's what I was told-" Tarma lounged back in her chair,
and put her feet up on -the black iron footrest near the stove to warm
them.  "Evidently his Bardship was singing that song in the Falcon last
night."

That song was the cause for Tarma's latest grievance with the Bard.  It
seemed that Leslac, apparently out of willfulness or true ignorance,
had not the least notion of what being Kal'enedral meant.  He had
decided that Tarma's celibacy was the result of her own will, not of
the hand of her Goddes The fact was that, as Kal'enedral, Tarma was
celibate because she had become, effectively, neuter.

Kal'enedral had no sexual desire, and- little sexual identity.  There
was a perfectly logical reason for this.  Kal'enedral served first the
Goddess of the South Wind, the Warrior, who was as sexless as the blade
She bore-and they served next the Clans as a whole-and lastly they
served their individual Clans.  Being sexless allowed them to keep a
certain cool perspective that kept them free of feuding and allowed
them to act as inter Clan arbitrators and mediators.  Every Shin'a'in
knew the cost of becoming

Kal'enedral.  Some in every generation felt the price was worth it.
Tarma certainly had-since she had the deaths of her entire Clan to
avenge, and only Kal'enedral were permitted to swear to blood feud -and
Kethry was mortally certain that having been gang-raped by the brigands
that slaughtered her Clan had played no little part in the decision.

Leslac didn't believe this.  He was certain-without bothering to check
into Tarma's background or the customs of the Shin'a'in, so far as
Kethry had been able to ascertain-that Tarma's vows were as simple as
those of most other celibate orders, and as easily broken.  He was
convinced that she had taken those vows for some girlishly romantic
reason; he had just recently written a song, in fact, that hinted-very
broadly-that the "right man" could thaw the icy Shin'a'in.  That was
the gist of "that song."

And he evidently thought he was the right man.

He'd certainly plagued them enough before they'd joined up with Idra,
following behind them like a puppy that couldn't be discouraged.

He'd lost track of them for two years after they'd joined the Sunhawks
and that had been a profound relief.  But much to their disappointment,
he'd found them again and tracked them to Hawksnest.  There he had
remained, singing in taverns to earn his keep-and occasionally
rendering Tarma's nights sleepless by singing under her window.

"That song" was new; the first time Tarma had heard it was when they'd
gotten back from the Surshan campaign.  Kethry had needed to
practically tie her down to keep her from killing the musician.

"That's not a wise place to sing that particular ballad," Kethry
observed, "Seeing as that's where your scouts tend to spend their
pay."

"Hai-but it wasn't my scouts that got him," Tarma chuckled, "which is
why I'm surprised you hadn't heard.  It was Tresti and Sewen."

"What ?  "

"It was lovely-or so I'm told.  Tresti and Sewen sailed in just as he
began the damned thing.  Nobody's said-but it wouldn't amaze me much to
find out that Sewen set the whole thing up, though according to my
spies, Tresti's surprise looked real enough.  She knows what
Kal'enedral means.  Hellfire, we're technically equals, if I wanted to
claim the priestly aspects that go with the Goddess-bond.  She also
knows how you and I feel about the little warbling bastard.  So she
decided to have a very public and very priestly fit about blasphemy and
sacrilegious mockery."

That was one of the few laws within Hawksnest; that every comrade's
gods deserved respect.  And to blaspheme anyone's gods, particularly
those of a Sunhawk of notable standing, was an official offense,
punishable by the town judge.

"She didn't!"

"She ruddy well did.  That was all Sewen and my children had been
waiting for.  They called civil arrest on him and bundled him off to
jail.  And there he languishes for the next thirty days."

Kethry applauded, beaming.  "That's thirty whole days we won't have to
put up with his singing under our window!"

"And thirty whole days I can stroll into town for a drink without
hiding my face!"  Tarma looked very pleased with herself.

Warrl heaved a gigantic sigh.

"Look, Furface, if you like him so much, why don't you go keep him
company?"

: tasteless barbarians.:

tar ma retort died unuttered, for at that moment there was a knock at
their door.

"Come-" Kethry called, and the door opened to show one of the
principals of Tarma's story.  Sewen.

"Are you two busy?"

"Not particularly," Tarma replied, as Kethry rose from her chair to
usher him in.  "I was just telling Keth about your part in gagging our
songbird."

"Can I have an hour or two?"  Sewen was completely expressionless,
which, to those that knew him, meant that something was worrying him,
and badly.

"Sewen, you can have all of our time you need," Kethry said
immediately, closing the door behind him.  "What's the problem?  Not
Tresti, I hope."

"No, no-I-I have to talk to somebody, and I figured it had better be
you two.  I haven't heard anything from Idra in over a month."

"Bloody hell-" Tarma sat bolt upright, looking no little alarmed
herself.  "Pull up the spare chair, man, and give us the details."  She
got up, and began lighting the oil lamps standing about the room, then
returned to her seat.  Kethry broke out a bottle of wine and poured
three generous goblets full before resuming her perch.  She left the
bottle on the table within easy reach, for she judged that this talk
had a possibility of going on for a while.

Sewen pulled the spare chair over to the stove and collapsed into it,
sitting slumped over, with his elbows on his knees and his hands
loosely clasped around the goblet.  "It's been a lot more than a month,
really, more like two.  I was getting a message about every two weeks
before then-most of 'em bitching about one thing or another.  Well,
that was fine, that sounded like Idra.  But then they started getting
shorter, and-you know, how the Captain sounds when she's got her teeth
on a secret?"

"Hai."  Tarma nodded.  "Like every word had to wiggle around that
secret to get out."

"Eyah, that's it.  Hints was all I got, that things were more
complicated than she thought.  Then a message saying she'd made a vote,
and would be coming home-then, right after, another saying she
wouldn't, that she'd learned something important and had to do
something-then nothing."

"She1ta!"  Tarma spat.  Kethry seconded the curse; this sounded very
bad.

"It's been nothing, like I said, for about two months.  Damnit, Idra
knows I'd be worried after a message like that, and no matter what had
happened, she'd find some way to let me know she was all right."

"If she could," Kethry said

"So I'm figuring she can't.  That she's either into something real
deep, too deep to break cover for a message, or she's being
prevented."

Kethry felt a tug on her soul-self from across the room.  Need was hung
on her pegs over there - She let her inner self reach out to the blade.
Sure enough, she was "calling," as she did when there were women in
danger.  It was very faint-but then, Idra was very far away.

"I don't dare let the rest of the Hawks know," Sewen was saying.

Tarma coughed.  "You sure as hell don't.  We've got enough hotheads
among us that you'd likely get about a hundred charging over there,
cutting right across Rethwellan and stirring up the gods only know what
trouble.  Then luck would probably have it that they'd break right in
on whatever the Captain's up to and blow it all to hell."

"Sewen, she is in some sort of trouble.  Need stirred up the moment you
mentioned this; I don't think it's coincidence."  Kethry shook her head
a little in resignation.  "If Need calls-it's got to be more than just
a little difficulty.  Need's muted down since she nearly got us both
killed; I hardly even feel her on a battlefield, with women fighting
and dying all around.  I don't talk about her, much, but I think she's
been changing.  I think she's managed to become a little more capable
of distinguishing real troubles that only Tarma and I can take care of.
So-I think Idra requires help, I agree with you.  All right, what do
you want us to do?  Track her down and see what's wrong?  Just remember
though, if we go-" She forced a smile.  "-Tresti loses her baby-tender
and you lose your Masterclass mage."

Sewen just looked relieved to the-point of tears.  "Look, I hate to
roust you two out like this, and I know how Tarma feels about traveling
in cold weather, but-you're the only two I'd feel safe about sending.
Most of the kids are what you said, hotheads.

The rest-'cept for jodi, they're mostly like me, common born  Keth,
you're highborn, you can deal with highborns, get stuff out of 'em I
couldn't.  And Tarma can give you two a reason for hauling up there."

"Which is what?"

"You know your people hauled in the fall lot of horses just before we
got back from the last campaign.

Well, since we weren't here, Ersala went ahead and bought the whole
string, figuring she couldn't know how many mounts we'd lost, and
figuring it would be no big job to resell the ones we didn't want.
We've still got a nice string of about thirty nobody's bespoken, and I
was going to go ahead and keep them here till spring, then sell 'em.
Rethwellan don't see Shin'a'in-breds, much; those they do are crossbred
to culls.  I doubt they've seen pure bloods much less good pure
bloods

"We play merchant princes, hmm?"  Kethry asked, seeing the outlines of
his plan.  "It could work.  With rare beasts like that, we'd be welcome
in the palace itself."

"That's it.  Once you get in, Keth, you can puff up your lineage and
move around in the court, or something.

You talk highborn, and you're sneaky, you could learn a lot-"

"While I see what the kitchen and stable talk is," Tarma interrupted
him.  "Hai.  Good plan, 'specially if I make out like I don't know much
of the lingo.  I could pick up a lot that way."

"You aren't just doing this to ease your conscience, are you?"  Kethry
asked, knowing there would be others who would ask the same question.
Sewen had been Idra's Second for years now-playing Second to a woman
had let him in for a certain amount of twitting from his peers in other
companies.  Notwithstanding the fact that one quarter to one third of
all mercenary fighters were female, female Company

Captains were few, and of all of them, only Idra led a mixed-sex
Company.  And Idra had been showing no signs of retiring, nor had Sewen
made any moves indicating that he was contemplating starting his own
Company.

"I won't deny that I want the Hawks," he said, slowly.  "But-not like
this.  I want the Company fair and square, either 'cause Idra goes
down, or 'cause she hands 'em over to me.  This-it's too damn iffy,
that's what it is!  It's eating at me.  And what's worse, it's eating
at me that Idra might be in something deep-"

"-and you have to do something to get her out of it, if you can."

"That's it, Keth.  And it's for a lot of reasons.  She's my friend,
she's my Captain, she's the one who took me out of the ranks and taught
me.  I can't just sit here for a year, and then announce she's gone
missing and I'm taking over.  I owe her too damned much, even if she
keeps tellin' me I don't owe her a thing!  How can I act like nothin's
wrong an' not try t' help her?"

"Sewen, if every mere had your ethics-" Tarma began.

He interrupted her with a non laugh-"If every mere had my ethics,
there'd be a lot more work for free fighters  Face it, Swordsworn, I
can afford to have ethics just because of what Idra built the Sunhawks
into.  So I'm not going to let those ethics -or her-down."

"This is an almighty cold trail you're sending us on," Kethry muttered.
"By the time we get to Petras, it'll be past Midsummer.  What are you
and the Hawks going to do in the meantime?"

"We're on two-year retainer from Sursha; we do spring and summer patrol
under old learnount around the Borders to keep any of her neighbors
from getting bright ideas.  Easy work.  Idra set it up before she left.
 I can handle it without making myself

Captain."

"All right, I've got some ideas.  Our people can keen their lips laced
over a secret; so you wait one week after we've left, then you tell
them all what's happened and that we've been sent out under the ivy
bush."

"Why?"  Sewen asked bluntly.

"Mostly so rumors don't start.  Then you and Ersala concoct some story
about Idra coming back, but fevered.  Tresti can tell you what kind-of
fever would need a two-year rest cure.  That gives you a straw-Idra to
leave behind while you take the Hawks out to patrol.  The Hawks will
know the real story and tell them it might cost the Captain her life if
they let it slip."  - "You think it might," he said, soberly.

"I don't know what to think, so-I have to cover every possibility."

"Huh."  He thought about that for a long time, contemplating his wine.
Finally he swallowed the last of it in a single gulp.  "All right; I'll
go with it.  Now-should I replace you two?"

"I think you'd better," Tarma said.  "I suggest promoting either Garth
or Jodi.  Garth is my preference;

I don't think Jodi would be comfortable in a command position; she's
avoided being in command too many times."

"I'll do a sending; there are White Winds sorcerers everywhere.  You
should be getting one or more up here within a couple of months."
Kethry bit her lip a bit, trying to do a rough calculation on how far
her sending would reach.  "I can't promise that you'll get anything
higher than a Journeymanclass, but you never know.  I won't tell them
more than that there's a position open with you-you can let whoever you
hire in on the whole thing after you take them on.  Remember, White
Winds school has no edicts against using magic for fighting, and I'll
make it plain in the sending that this is a position with a mere
company.  That means killing as well as healing.

That should keep the squeamish away.  Have Tresti look them over first,
then Oreden and Jiles.  Tresti will be able to sense whether they'll
fit in."

"I know; she checked you two out while Idra was waiting to interview
you."

Kethry nodded wryly.  "Figures; I can't imagine Idra leaving anything
to chance.  All right, does that pretty much take care of things?"

"I think so...."

"Well, as cold as the trail is going to be, there is no sense in
stirring up a lot of rumors by having us light out of here with our
tails on fire," Tarma said bluntly.  "We might just as well take our
time about this, say our good-byes, get equipment put together act like
this was going to be an ordinary sort of errand we're running for you.
Until we've been gone for about a week, you just make out like I'm
running the string out to sell, and Keth's coming with me for
company."

Sewen nodded.  "That sounds good to me.  I'll raid the coffers for you
two.  You'll be needing stuff to make you look good in the court, I
expect."  He rose and started for the door-then turned back, and
awkwardly held out his arms.

"I-I don't know what I'd have done without you two," he said stiffly,
his eyes bright with what Kethry suspected might be incipient tears.
"You're more than shield brothers you're friends-I-thanks-"

They both embraced him, trying to give him a little comfort.  Kethry
knew that Idra had been in that "more than shield brother-category,
too-and that Sewen must be thinking what she was thinking-that the
Captain's odds weren't very good right now.

"Te'sorthene du'dera, big man," Tarma murmured.  "When we come across
someone special, like you, like Tresti, like Idra-well, you help your
friends, that's all I can say.  That's what friends are there for,
her'y?"

"If anybody can help her out, it'll be you two."

"We'll do our best.  And you know, you can do us a favor-" Kethry
almost smiled at the sudden inspiration.

"What?  Anything you want."

"Leslac.  I want you to teach him a lesson.  I don't care what you do
to him, just get him off Tarma's back."

The weather-beaten countenance went quiet with thought.  "That's a
pretty tall-ord wait a moment-" He began to smile, the first smile he'd
worn since he walked in their door.  "I think I've got it.  "Course, it
all hinges on whether he's really as pig-ignorant about Shin'a'in as he
seems to be."

"Go on-I think after that damned song we can count on that being
true."

Sewen's arms tightened about both their shoulders as he looked down at
them.  "There's this sect of Spider-Priestesses down south; they sort
of dress like Tarma-deal is, they didn't start out life as girls."

Tarma nearly choked with laughter.  "You mean, convince the little
bastard that I'm really a eunuched boy?  Sewen, that's priceless!"

"I rather like that-" Kethry grinned.  "-I rather like that."

"I'll get on it," he promised, giving them a last hug and closing the
door to their room behind him.

Tarma went immediately to her armor-stand, surveying the brigandine for
any sign of weakness or strain.  Kethry put another log in the stove,
then approached the wall where Need hung, reaching out to touch the
blade with one finger.

Yes-the call's still there.  And I can't tell anything, it's so
faint-it it is Idra.  The call gets perceptibly stronger when I think
about her.

"Get anything?"  Tarma asked quietly.

"Nothing definite, other than that Idra's in trouble.  How long do you
think it will take us to get to Petras?"

"With a string of thirty horses-about a month to cross the passes, then
another two, maybe three.  Like you said, it'll be Midsummer at the
earliest."

Kethry sighed.  "If I were an Adept, I could get us both there in an
hour."

"But not the horses.  And how would we explain ourselves?  We'd make a
lot more stir than we should if we did that."

"And stir is not what we want."

"Right."  Tarma stood with a sigh, and stretched, then came back to her
chair and flung herself down into it.  "I seem to recall one contact we
might well want to make.  The Captain didn't talk about her past much,
but she did mention somebody a time or two.  The Court Archivist-" Her
brows knitted in thought.  "Javreck?  Jervase?  No-Jadrek, that's it.
Jadrek.  Seems like his father used to keep Idra and her older brother
in tales; paid attention to them when nobody else had time for them.
Jadrek was evidently a little copy of him.  She'd mention him when
something happened to bring one of those tales to her mind.  And more
important-" Tarma pointed a long finger at Kethry.  "-she also never
failed to preface those recollections by calling him 'the only
completely honest man in the Court, just as his father was."  "

"That sounds promising."

"If he's still there.  Seems to me she said something about him being
at odds with her father and her younger brother when he took over the
Archivist position.  He did that pretty young, since he was younger
than Idra or her brother, and she left the Court before she was twenty.
She also said something about his being crippled, which could cut down
on the amount he sees."

"Yes and no," Kethry replied, more than grateful for Tarma's remarkable
memory.  "People who are overlooked often see more that way.  Need I
tell you that I'm glad you have a mind like a trap?"

"What, shut?"  Tarma jibed.  "Now you know I've got a Singer's memory;
if I'd forgotten one verse of any of the most obscure ballads, I'd have
been laughed out of camp.  Keth, you're worrying yourself,

I can tell.  You're wasting energy."

"I know, I know-"

"Take it one week at a time.  Worry about getting us through the passes
safely.  I'll get you the avalanche map tomorrow; see what you can scry
out with it.  And speaking of snow, do you still want to hear that
business about the Snow Demon?"

"Well ... yes!"  she replied, surprised.  "But I hardly thought
you'd-be in the mood for it now."

"I'm just taking some of my own prescribed medicine."

Tarma grinned crookedly, and went to fetch the battered little
hand-drum she used on those rare occasions when she chanted-you
couldn't call it singing anymore-one of the Shin'a'in history-songs.
"Trying to remember all fifty-two verses will keep me from fretting
into a sweat.  And hoping," she looked down at her black sleeve, the
black of vengeance-taking, "that this outfit doesn't turn out to be an
omen."

Five

H" ai'vetha!  Kele, kele, kele!"

Tarma wheeled Ironheart about on the mare's heels in a piece of
horsemanship that drew a spattering of impromptu applause from those
watching, and chivied the last of the tired horses into the corral
assigned to them by the master of the Petras stock market.  She
controlled them with voice only not hand, nor whip.  She didn't even
call for any encouraging nips at their heels from Warrl, another fact
which impressed the spectators no end.

They were already impressed by the horses.  They were not the kind of
beasts that the inhabitants of Petras were used to seeing.  These were
Shin'a'in purebreds, and the only reason any of them had been passed
over by the Sunhawks was that they were mostly saddlebreds, not
trailbreds.  The Shin'a'in horses bred for trail work were a little
rougher looking, and a bit hardier than the saddlebreds, in the main.
There were always exceptions, like Tarma's beloved Kessira, but the
Shin'a'in kept the exceptions for their own use and further breeding
-as Kessira was being bred, pampered queen mare of the Tale'sedrin
herds.

No, these horses were not what the inhabitants of Petras were used to
seeing in their beast-market.  Their heads, broad in the forehead,
small in the muzzle, and with large, doe-soft eyes were carried high
and proudly on their long, elegant necks; pride showed in every line of
them, despite their weariness.

Their bodies were compact and muscular, the hindquarters being a trifle
higher than these people were accustomed to.  Their legs were
well-muscled and slim; they were no longer shaggy with winter growth as
they had been when the trek started.  Now their coats were silky
despite the dust-and their manes and tails, the pride of a Shin'a'in
mount, were flowing in the wind like many-colored waterfalls.

And they moved like dancers, like birds on the wind, like music made
visible.

In short, they were beautiful.

"GoOd enough to suit a king, eh, she 'enedra?"  Tarma asked in her own
tongue, feeling rather proud of her charges.

"I should think-" Kethry began, when one of the onlookers, a man
possessed of more than a little wealth, by the cut of his grey and
green clothing, interrupted her.

"What are these beauties?"  he asked, in tones that bordered on
veneration.  "Where on earth did they spring from?  Valdemar?  I'd
heard Companions were magnificent, but I'd never heard of anyone other
than Heralds owning them, and I'd never heard that Companions were
anything but white."

"No, m'lord," Kethry replied, as Tarma privately wondered what on earth
a Companion could be.  "These are Shin'a'in purebred saddle mares and
geldings from the Dhorisha Plains."

"Shin'a'in!"  The man stepped back a pace.  "Lord and Lady-how did you
ever get Shin'a'in to part with them?  I'd have thought they'd have
shown you their sword-edge rather than their horses."

"Easily enough-I'm blood-sister to the handler, there.  I thought to
bring a string up here and try our luck."

"She's-Shin'a'in-?"  The man gulped, and eased another footstep or two
away, putting Kethry between himself and Tarma.  Tarma wasn't certain
whether to laugh or continue to look as if she didn't understand.  The
man acted like she was some kind of demon!

"Oh yes," Kethry answered, "and Kal'enedral."  She must have noted his
look of blank nonrecognition, because she added, "Swordsworn."

He turned completely white.  "I-hope-excuse me, lady, but I trust
she's-under control."

"Warrior's Oath, she 'enedra, what in Hell have they heard about us?"
Tarma kept to her own tongue, as per the plan, and was keeping her face
utterly still and impassive, but she knew Kethry could hear the
suppressed laughter in her voice.

"Probably that you eat raw meat for breakfast and raw babies for
dinner," Kethry replied, and Tarma could see the struggle to keep her
expression guileless in the laughter sparkling in her eyes.

"Pardon-but-what's she saying?"  The-man eyed Tarma as if he expected
her to unsheathe her blade and behead him at any moment.

"That she noticed how much you admire the horses, and thanks you for
the compliment of your attention."

Tarma took care to nod graciously at him, and he relaxed visibly.  She
then turned her attention back to the horses.  The corral seemed
sizable enough to hold them comfortably; she'd been a little worried
about that.  Let's see-pump or well for the watering trough?  And where
would it be-ah!  She spotted a pump, after a bit of looking.  Good. One
good thing about so-called civilization: pumps.  Thi'zk maybe I might
see if the Clans would agree to having a couple installed on the
artesian wells.... "Stand," she told Ironheart.  The battle mare
obediently locked her legs in position; it would take an earthquake to
move her now.  Tarma unslung the sword from her back and looped the
baldric over the pommel of the saddle.  "Guard," she ordered.  That
blade was a sweet one, and had been dearly paid for in her own blood;
she didn't intend to lose it.  Ironheart would see that she didn't.

"You'd better tell your friend to stay clear of "Heart or he'll lose a
hand," she called to Kethry, then dismounted and vaulted over the fence
into the stockade to water her other charges.  That bit of bravado
cost, too, but it was worth a bit of strain to put on a proper show.
Tarma meant to leave these folks with their mouths gaping-for that
meant that the highborns would hear of them that much sooner.

: You're going to hurt in the morning,: Warrl observed.

Thus far.  the crowd's attention had been so taken up with the horses
that they hadn't paid much heed to him.  He'd stayed in the shadow of
Ironheart, who was so tall that he didn't stand out as the monster he
truly was.

And-she couldn't tell, but he might well be exercising a bit of his own
magic to look more like an ordinary herd dog.  He'd hinted that he
could do just that on the way here.  Which was no bad idea.

Tarma felt the strain of the muscles she'd used, and privately agreed
with his critical remark about hurting.  For every scar she bore on her
hide, there was twice the scar tissue under it, where it didn't
show-but it certainly made itself felt.  Particularly when she started
showing off.

But they were drawing a bigger crowd by the moment; the onlookers
murmured as the loose horses crowded around her, shoving their heads
under her hands for a scratch, or ripping playfully at her hair.  She
laughed at them, pushed them out of the way, and got to the pump.  As
she began to fill the trough, they pushed in to get at the water, and
she rebuked them with a single sharp "Nes!"  They shied and danced a
bit, then behaved themselves.

Tarma had been doing some serious training with them on the
trail-knowing that once they were in Rethwellan she would have to be
able to command them by voice, for if they spooked, she, Kethry, and
Warrl would not be enough to keep them under control.  Her ability to
keep them in line seemed to impress their audience no end.  She decided
to go all out to impress them.

She picked out one of the herd mares she'd been working with far more
than the others, and called her.  The chestnut mare pricked her ears,
and came to the summons eagerly-she knew what this meant; first a trick
from her, and then a treat was in store.  Tarma ordered the others out
of her way, then raised her hand high over her head.  The mare stepped
out away from her about fifteen paces,: then as Tarma began to turn,
followed her turn as if she was being lunged.

Except there was no lunging-rein on her.

At a command from Tarma she picked up to a trot, then a canter; after
traveling all day, Tarma was not going to ask her to gallop.- At a
third command she stopped dead in her tracks.  At the fourth, she
reared

The fifth command was "Come-" and meant a piece of dried apple and a
good scratch behind the ears.  she obeyed that one with eager
promptitude.

The spectators, now thick on the fence, applauded.  The horses
flickered their ears nervously, but when nothing came of the noise,
went back to watching Tarma, hoping for treats themselves.

Tarma was pleased-more than pleased.  Everything was going according to
the plan they'd mapped out.  "Patience, children," she told the rest.
"Dinner should be here soon."

Their ears flickered forward nearly as one at that welcome word, and
they continued to watch her with expectation in their soft, sweet
eyes.

And within moments, the beast-market attendants did appear, with the
hay and sweet-feed Tarma had told Kethry to order-and more than that

She saw carrots poking out of more than one pocket.  Hmm.  This was
gratifying, if it was evidence of the fact that the attendants were
taken with the looks of the string-but it could also be an attempt on
the part of some other horse breeder to poison her stock.

"I'm checking' mind mate the voice in her head told her.

"Keth, tell the younglings over there to hold absolutely still.  I
think they just want to treat the children, but Warrl's going to check
for drugging, just in case."

Kethry call led out the warning, and the attendants froze; the whole
crowd froze when they saw Warrl's great grey body moving toward them.
Now they could see just how huge he was-his shoulder came nearly to
Tarma's waist-and how much like a wolf he looked.  Tarma took advantage
of the situation to vault the fence again, and begin relieving the
attendants of their burdens.  Warrl sniffed the feed over, then checked
the youngsters themselves and the treats they'd brought.

: they're fine, mind mate Warrl told her, cheerfully.  :

And about ready to soil themselves if I sneeze.:

Tarma laughed, and patted the one next to her on the head as she took
his bale of hay away from him.  "They're all right, Keth.  Um-tell them
to wait until I've finished, then they can give the children their
treats so long as they stay out of the corral.  I don't want anybody in
there; they get spooked, and it'll take half a day to calm them down
again.  And tell them we won't need any night watchers that Warrl will
be guarding them when I'm not here-that should prevent anybody even
thinking about drugging them."

Warrl sprang over the fence with a single, graceful leap.  The horses,
of course, were so used to his presence that they totally ignored him,
being far more interested in their dinner.  With a fence between
themselves and Warrl, the attendants calmed down a bit.

Tarma completed her task, and (with an inward wince) vaulted the fence
a third time, to return to where Ironheart still stood, statue-firm.

"Rest," she said, and the battle mare unlocked her legs, and reached
around to nuzzle at her rider's arm.  The others were getting fed; she
wanted her dinner.

"Hungry, Jel'enedra?"  Tarma murmured, letting her have the handful of
sweet-feed she'd brought with her.  "Patience, we'll be at the inn soon
enough."  She cast a glance over at Kethry's companion.  His eyes were
taking up half of his head.

"Warrl, would you mind staying-"

: If you send me a nice haunch of pig as soon as you get there.:

"And a half-dozen marrowbones already cracked; you deserve it."  She
swung up into her saddle, and turned to Kethry, who was smiling broadly
enough to split her face in two.  "So much for the barbarian dog and
pony show, she'enedra," she said, stifling a chuckle.  "Tell these nice
people they can go home, and let's find our inn, shall we?"

"So how barbarian do you want me to look?"  Tarma asked her partner, as
they strolled down the creaking wooden stairs of the inn to the dimly
lit common room.  "And what kind; The aloof desert princeling, the
snarling beast-thing, what?"

"Better stick with the aloof desert princeling; we don't want these
people afraid to have you near the Court," Kethry chuckled.  Tarma was
plainly enjoying herself, willing to act any part to the hilt.
"Brood-that always looks impressive, and you've certainly got the face
for it."

"Oh, have I now!"  They were continuing to speak in Shin'a'in between
themselves; it was better than a code.  The likelihood of anyone
knowing Tarma's tongue, here in a country where tales of Shin'a'in were
obviously so outlandish that they feared the Swordsworn, was nil.

The common room went absolutely silent as they entered.  Tarma stepped
in first, looking around sharply, as if she expected enemies to emerge
from beneath the tables.  Finally she gave a quick nod as if to
herself, stepped aside, and motioned Kethry to precede her.  She kept a
casual hand on the hilt of the larger of her daggers the entire time.
She'd wanted to wear her sword, but Kethry had argued against the idea;
now she was glad she'd won.  If Tarma had worn anything larger than a
dagger, she might well have caused a panicked exodus!  As it was, the
impression she left was a complicated one; that she was very dangerous
and suspicious of everyone and everything, that she and Kethry were
equal, but that she also considered herself in charge of Kethry's
safety.

It was a masterful performance, carefully planned and choreographed to
avoid a problem before it could come up.  The people of the primary
religious sect of Rethwellan took a dim view of same-sex lovers, and
the partners were doing their best to make that notion, which was
inevitably going to occur to someone, seem a total absurdity.  This
touch me -not body guarding act Tarma was putting on was hopefully
going to do just that-among other things.

They took a table with seats for two in a far corner.  Tarma motioned
for Kethry to take the seat actually in the corner, then took the outer
seat so that she would stand (or rather, sit) between Kethry and The
Rest Of The World.  Kethry signaled the waiter while her partner turned
her own chair so that the back was up against the wall, and finally sat
down.  Tarma continued to watch the room from that vantage, broodingly,
while Kethry placed orders for both of them.  Conversation started back
up again once they were seated, but Kethry noted that it was a trifle
uneasy, and most of the diners kept one eye on Tarma at all times.

"They think you're going to start a holy war any second, she 'enedra,
Kethry said, finally.

"Good," her partner replied, folding her arms, leaning back against the
wall beside their table, and continuing to watch the room with icy,
hooded eyes.  "I hope this act of mine gets us prompt service; I'm
about to eat the candle."

"Now, now, I thought you were being princely."

"I am-but I'm a hungry prince."

At just that moment, a serving wench, shaking in her shoes, brought
their orders.  Tarma looked at the cutlery, sniffed disdainfully, and
drew-the smaller of her daggers, cutting neat bits with it and eating
them off the point.  After a look of her own at the state of the
implements they'd been given, Kethry rather wished the part she was
playing allowed her to do the same.

They were nearly finished when the innkeeper himself, sidling carefully
around Tarma, came to stand obsequiously at Kethry's elbow.  She
allowed him to wait a moment before deigning to notice his presence.
This was in keeping with the rest of the parts they were playing

For although they had arrived in dusty, well-worn traveling
leathers-Tarma's being all-too-plainly armor,

Kethry's bearing no hint of her mage-status they were now dressed in
silks.  Kethry wore a knee length robe, of an exotic cut and a deep
green, and breeches of a deeper green; Tarma wore Shin'a'instyle
wrapped jacket, shirt, and breeches-in black.  With them, she wore a
black sweatband of matching silk confining her short-cropped hair, and
a wrapped sash holding her two daggers of differing sizes, a black silk
baldric for the sword that she had left in the room above, and black
quilted silk boots.  Her choice of outfitting had stirred uneasy
feelings in Kethry, but Tarma had pointed out with irrefutable logic
that if the Captain was to hear of two strangers in Petras, and have
that outfit described to her, she would know who those strangers were.
And she would know by the sable hue that Tarma was expecting her
Captain to be in trouble-possibly in need of avenging.

Their clothing was clearly the most costly (and certainly the most
outre) in the room, and this was (dubious eating utensils
notwithstanding) not an inexpensive inn.  They wanted their presence to
be known and commented on; they wanted word to spread.  Ideally it
would spread to Idra, wherever she was; if not, to the ear of the
King.

"My lady," the innkeeper said, in tones both frightened and fawning,
tones that made Kethry long for their old friend Hadell of the Broken
Sword, or plain, genial Oskar of the Bottomless Barrel.  "My lady,
there is a gentleman who wishes to speak with you."

"So?"  she raised an elegant eyebrow.  "On what subject?"

"He did not confide in me, my lady, but-he wears the livery of the
King."

"Does he, then?  Well, I'll hear him out-if you have somewhere a bit
more-private-than this."

"Of a certainty, if my lady would follow-" He bowed, and groveled, and
at length brought them to a small but comfortably appointed chamber,
equipped with-one table, four chairs, and a door that shut quite
firmly.  He bowed himself out; wine appeared, in cleaner vessels than
they had been favored with before this, and finally, the visitor
himself.

Kethry chose to receive him seated; Tarma stood, leaning against the
wall with her arms folded, in the shadows at her right hand.  Their
visitor gave the Shin'a'in a fairly nervous glance before accosting

Kethry.

"My lady," he said, bowing over her hand.

Kethry was having a hard time keeping from laughing herself sick.  The
right corner of Tarma's mouth kept twitching, sure sign that she was
holding herself in only by the exertion of a formidable amount of
willpower.  This liveried fop was precisely the degree of lackey they
had hoped to lure in; personal servant to the King, and probably a
minor noble himself.  He was languishing, and vapid, and quite
thoroughly full of himself.  His absurd court dress of pale yellow-and
green with the scarlet and gold badge of the King's Household on the
right shoulder was exceedingly expensive as well as in appallingly bad
taste.  There was more than a little trace of a more careful toilette
than Kethry ever bothered with in his appearance.  His carefully
pointed mouse-brown mustaches alone must have taken him an hour to
tease into shape.

"My lord wishes to know the identity of two such-fascinating-strangers
to our realm," he said, when he'd completed his oozing over Kethry's
hand.  "And what brings them here."

"I shall answer the second question first, my lord," Kethry replied,
with just a hint of cool hauteur.  "What brings us, is trade, purely
and simply.  But not just any trade, I do assure you; no, what we have
are the mounts of princes, princes of the Shin'a'in-and we intend them
to grace the stables of the princes of other realms.  The horses we
have brought are princes and princesses themselves-as I am certain you
are aware."

"Word-had reached my noble lord that your beasts were extraordinary-"

"They are creatures whose like no one here has ever seen.  It is only
through my friendship with the noble Tarma shena Tale' sedrin, the Tale
sedrin of Tale'sedrin, that I was able to obtain them."

His glance lit again upon Tarma, who was still standing in the shadows
behind Kethry.  She moved forward into the light, inclined her head
graciously at the sound of her name, and said in Shin'a'in, "I also
happen to be the only Tale'sedrin other than you, but we won't go into
that, will we?"

"My companion tells me she is pleased to make the acquaintance of so
goodly a gentleman," Kethry said smoothly, as Tarma allowed the shadows
to obscure her again.  "As for myself, I am Kethryveris, scion of House
Pheregul of Mournedealth, a House of ancient and honorable lineage."

From the blankness of his gaze, Kethry knew he'd never even heard of
Mournedealth, much less her House-which, so far as she was concerned,
was all to the good.

"A House of renown, indeed," he said, covering his ignorance.  "Then,
let me now tender my lord's words.  I come from King Raschar himself "
He paused, to allow Kethry to voice the expected murmurs of amazement
and gratification.  "He heard of your wondrous beasts, and wishes to
have his Master of Horse view them himself-more than view them, if what
rumor says of them is even half the truth.  And since you prove to be
more than merely common merchants, he would like to tender you an
invitation to extend your visit to Petras in his Court, that he may
learn of you, and you of him."

"And you may end up in the bastard's bed, if he likes your looks,"
murmured Tarma from the darkness.

"Tell your lord that we are gratified-and that we shall await his
Master of Horse with eagerness, and will be more than pleased to take
advantage of the hospitality of his Court."

More smooth nonsense was exchanged, and finally the man bowed himself
out.

They waited, holding their breaths, until they were certain he was out
of earshot-then collapsed into each other's arms, helpless with stilled
laughter.

"Goddess!  "Tale'sedrin of Tale'sedrin' indeed!  That great booby
didn't even know it was a clan name and not a title!"  Tarma choked. 
"Isda sottrekoth!

You know what my people say, don't you, "Proud is the Clanchief.
Prideful is the Clanchief of a two-member clan!"  "

"Laid it on good and thick, didn't I?"  Kethry replied, wiping tears
out of her eyes.  "Goddess bless, I didn't know I had that much manure
in me!"

"Oh, you could have fertilized half a farm, 'my lady " Tarma gasped,
imitating his obsequious bow.  "Bright Star-Eyed!  Here-" she handed
Kethry one of the goblets and poured it full of wine, then took a
second for herself.  "We'd better get ourselves under control if we're
going to get from here to our room without giving the game away."

"You're right," Kethry said, taking a long sip,

and exerting control to sober herself.  "There's more at stake than
just this little game."

"Hai'she'li.  This is just the tail of the beastie.  We're going to
have to get into its lair to see if it's a gras scat or a tree hare-and
if it's got Idra in its mouth."

"And I just realized something," Kethry told her, all thought of
laughter gone.  "We know the new King's name, but we don't know which
of the brothers he is.  And that could make a deal of difference."

"Indeed, yes'tacha,"-' Tarma replied, her eyes gone brooding in truth.
"In very deed."

At dawn Tarma relieved Warrl of his watch on the horses, and amused
herself by first going through a few sword drills, then working them,
much to the titillation of the gawkers.- Toward noon, Kethry (who had
been playing the aristo, rising late, and demanding breakfast in bed)
put in her appearance.  With her was a pale stranger, as expensively
dressed as their visitor of the previous evening, but in much better
taste.  He, too, wore the badge of the King's Household on his right
shoulder.  By his walk Tarma would have known him for a horseman.  By
the clothing and the badge, she knew him for the Master of the King's
Horse.

And by the appreciation in his eyes, Tarma knew him for a man who knew
his business.  She heaved a mental sigh of relief at that; she'd half
feared he might turn out to be as big a booby as the courtier of the
night before.  It would have cut her to the heart to sell these
lovelies to an ignoramus-but if she refused to sell, they'd lose their
cover story.

She had been taking the horses out of the corral, one at a time, and
working them in a smaller pen.  Most of them she did work on a
lunge-there were only a handful- among the thirty she could work loose,
the way she had the chestnut.  She had a particularly skittish young
buckskin gelding out when Kethry and her escort arrived, one she needed
to devote most of her attention to.  So after taking a few mental notes
on the man, she went back to work.

He spent a long time looking over the herd as a whole, and all in
complete silence.

: this is a good one, mind mate Warrl said, from his resting place
under the horse trough.  "He smells of soap and leather, not perfume.
And there's no fear in him' nor on him.:

"Kathal, desteriedre," she told the buckskin-, who kept wanting to
break into a canter.  "What else can you pick up from him?"

: tots of horse-scent, and not a trace of horse-fear.:

"ForJshava.  "

After a time the Master of Horse left his post at the corral, and took_
up a nearly identical stance at the fence of the pen where she was
working the buckskin.  She watched him out of the corner of her eye,
appraisingly.  He was older than she'd first thought.  Medium height,
dark eyes; dark hair, beard and mustache-his complexion would be very
white if not for his suntan-muscles in his shoulders that made his
tunic leather stretch when he moved.  His sole vanity seemed to be a
set of matching silver jewelry: fillet, torque, bracelets, all inset
with a single moonstone apiece.  He leaned comfortably on the fence,
missing nothing she did.  Finally, he spoke to Kethry, who was standing
at his side, dressed for the dayin a cleaner and far more expensive set
of the leathers she'd worn to ride in yesterday.  Sewen had not spared
the Company coffers when it had come time to outfit them for their
ruse.

"I understood that your companion was working the horses yesterday
without a lunge...."

"Only a few of the horses are schooled enough to work that way at the
moment," Kethry said smoothly, "although eventually all of them could
be trained so.  Do you wish to see her work one of them now?"

"If you would both be so kind."

Kethry leaned over the fence.  "You heard him, she'enedra; is Master
Flutterby there ready to pause?"  The buckskin was obeying now, having
tried to fret himself into a froth.  Tarma halted him, then gave him a
quick rubdown, and led him out.  This time she called up a gentle
dappled gelding-one she was rather glad hadn't been chosen by a
Sunhawk.

He was so good-natured-he really wasn't suited to a battlefield, but he
was so earnest he'd have broken his heart or a leg trying to do what
was asked of him.

She didn't even bother to take him into the pen; she worked him in the
open, then mounted him bareback, and put him through a bit of easy
dressage.

When she slid off, the Horsemaster approached; she kept one hand on the
dapple's neck and watched as he examined the animal almost exactly as
she would have.  The dapple, curious, craned his head around and
whuffed the man's hair as he ran his hands gently down the horse's
legs, rear, then front, then picked up a forefoot.  At that, the man
grinned -a most unexpected expression on so solemn a face-and held out
his hand for the dapple to smell, then rubbed his nose, gently.

"Lady," he spoke directly to Tarma, though he must have been told she
didn't speak the language-a courtesy as delicate as any she'd ever been
given, "I would cheerfully sell the Palace to purchase these horses.
For once, rumor has understated fact."

"I think he's rather well hooked, she'enedra," Kethry said, pretending
to translate.  "How is he as a horseman?  Can you feel happy letting
them go to his care?"

Tarma gave that slight bow of respect to him, and allowed a hint of a
smile to cross her face.  "I'm pleased, Warrl's pleased, and have a
look at Dust, if you would."

The dapple's eyes were half-closed in pleasure as the Horsemaster
continued to scratch under his loose halter.

"I think it's safe to say that they'll be in good hands.  See if you
can wangle a deal with him that will include me as a temporary trainer;
that will give us another excuse to linger."

"My companion is gratified by your praise, my lord," Kethry said to
him, "and impressed with your knowledge; she says she believes she
could not find one to whose_ care she would be more willing to entrust
her beasts."

Again, that unexpected smile.  "Then, if you would care to return with
me, I believe we can agree to something mutually pleasing.  Since you
will be selling into the King's household, there will be no merchant
taxes.  And I think-" He gave the dapple's forehead a last scratch. "-I
think perhaps that I shall keep this one out of his Majesty's sight.  I
have my pick of the King's stables, but only after he has taken his
choice.  It is a pity a mount this intelligent is also so beautiful."

"Do you suppose you can come up with a distractor, Tarma?"

"Do I?  I think so!"  She led the dapple back into the pen, and walked
into the center of the herd to bring out the one horse of the lot that
was mostly show and little substance-a lovely gelding with a coat of
gold, a mane and tail of molten silver, and without a jot of brains in
that beautiful head.  Fortunately, he was reasonably even of temper as
well as being utterly gentle, or there'd have been no handling him.

He'd been included in the lot sent to the Sunhawks although if he'd had
a bit less in the way of good looks he'd have been counted a cull.
Tarma had gotten the notion hat Idra might like a parade-mount, and had
asked her people to be on the lookout for a truly impressive beast of
good temper; for parade, brains didn't matter.  You couldn't have told
his beauty though, except by his lines and the way he carried himself. 
That was because he was filthy from rolling in the dust-which he
insisted on doing when any opportunity presented itself.

Tarma went to work on him with brushes, as he sighed and leaned into
the strokes.  He was dreadfully vain, and he loved being groomed. Tarma
almost suspected him of dust-rolling on purpose, just so he'd get
groomed more often.  As the silver and gold began to emerge from under
the dirt, the Horsemaster exclaimed in surprise.  When Tarma was done,
and paraded the horse before him, he smacked his fist into his palm in
glee.

"By the gods!  One look at him and his Majesty won't give a bean for
the gray!  I thank you, my ladies," he bowed slightly to both Kethry
and her partner, "and let us conclude this business as quickly as may
be!  I won't be easy until these beauties are safely in the Royal
Stables."

As he and Kethry returned the way they had come, Tarma turned the gold
loose in the stockade where he promptly went to his knees and wallowed
in the dirt.

"You," she laughed at him, "are hopeless!"

By twilight they were installed, bag and baggage, in-the Palace, in one
of the suites reserved for minor foreign dignitaries.

It had all happened so fast that Tarma was still looking a little
bemused.  Kethry, who knew just how quickly high-ranking courtiers
could get things accomplished when they wanted to exert themselves, had
been a bit less surprised.

She and the Master of Horse had concluded their bargain in fairly short
order-and to her satisfaction, it had been at his suggestion that Tarma
was retained for continued training.  No sooner had a price been
settled on and a writ made out to a reputable goldsmith, than a stream
of thirty grooms and stable hands had been sent to walk the horses from
the corral at the stockyard to the Royal Stables, each horse to have
its own handler.  The Horsemaster was taking no chances on accident or
injury.

When Kethry returned to the inn, there were already three porters
waiting for her orders, all in the Royal livery.  They were none too
sure of themselves;

Tarma (still in her barbarian persona) had refused them entrance to the
suite, and was guarding the door as much with her scowl as her drawn
sword.

They allowed the porters to carry away most of their belongings, the
ones that didn't matter, like some of that elaborate clothing.  Tarma's
armor and weaponry (including a few nasty little surprises she
definitely did not want anyone to know about), Need, their trail gear,
and the few physical supplies

Kethry needed for her magecraft they brought themselves, in sealed
saddlebags.  They rode Hellsbane and Ironheart; Kethry had no intention
of chancing accidents with a trained battle mare  "Accidents" involving
a Shin'a'in war steed generally ended up in broken bones-and not the
horse's.

More obsequious servants met them once the mares were safely stabled,
and again, Kethry-made it plain to the stable crew that only Tarma was
to handle their personal horses.  To enforce that, they left Warrl with
the mounts, provided with his own stall between the ones supplied to
the two mares.  One look at the kyree was all it took to convince the
stable hands that they did not wish to rouse the beast's ire.  That was
where Tarma and Kethry left their real gear, the things they would
truly need if they had to cut and run, and between Warrl and the
horses, it would be worth a person's life to touch it.

But as they crossed the threshold of the Palace, a curious chill had
settled over Kethry, a chill that had nothing to do with temperature.
Her good humor and faint amusement had vanished.  The Palace seemed
built of secrets-dark secrets.  Their mission suddenly took on an
ominous feeling.

The suite, consisting of a private bathing room, two bedrooms, and an
outer public room, all opulently furnished in dark wood and amber
velvet,

had been a good indication that their putative status was fairly high.
The two personal servants assigned to them, in addition to the regular
staff, had told them that they ranked somewhere in the "minor envoy"
range.  This was close to perfect: Kethry would be able to move about
the Court fairly freely.

Now Tarma was immersed to her neck in a hot bath; Kethry had already
had hers, and was dressing in her most impressive outfit for there
would be a formal reception for them in an hour.

Tarma did not look at all relaxed.  Kethry didn't blame her; she'd been
increasingly uneasy herself.

"There was no sign of Grayin the stables, and I looked for him," Tarma
called abruptly from the bathing room.  Gray was Idra's gelding; a
palfrey, and not the Shin'a'in stallion she rode on campaign.  "No sign
of Hawk tack, either.  It's like she's been long gone, or was never
here at all."

Kethry heard splashing as her partner stood; and shortly thereafter the
Shin'a'in emerged from the bathing room with a huge towel wrapped about
herself.  They'd turned down an offer of bath attendants; after one
look at Tarma's arsenal, the attendants had seemed just as glad.

"If she's been here, we should find out about it tonight.  Especially
after the wine begins to flow.  Do I look impressive, or seducable?"
Kethry glided into Tarma's room, and turned so that her partner could
survey her from all angles.

"Impressive," Tarma judged, vigorously toweling her hair.

"Good; I don't want to have to slap Royal fingers and get strung up for
my pains."

Kethry's loose robes were of dark amber silk, about three shades darker
than her hair, and high necked bound at the waist with a silk-and-gold
cord.  At her throat she wore a cabochon piece of amber the size of an
egg; she had confined her hair into a severe knot, only allowing two
decorous tendrils in front of her ears.  The robes had full, scalloped
edged sleeves that were bound with gold thread She looked beautiful,
and incredibly dignified.

Tarma was dressing in a more elaborate version of her black silk
outfit, this one piped at every seam and hem with silver; she had a
silver mesh belt instead of a silk sash, and a silver fillet with a
black moonstone instead of a headband confining her midnight hair.

"You look fairly impressive, yourself."

"I don't like the feel of this place, I'll tell you that now," Tarma
replied bluntly.  "I've got- my Kal'enedral chain mail on under my
shirt, and I'm bloody well armed to the teeth.  I'm going to stay that
way until we're out of here."

Kethry rubbed her neck, nervously.  "You, too?"

"Me, too."

"You know the drill-"

"You talk and mingle, I lurk behind you.  If I hear anything
interesting, I cough twice, and we get somewhere where we can discuss
it."

All their good humor had vanished into the shadows of the Palace, and
all that was left them was foreboding.

"I don't suppose that Need .. ."

"Not a hint.  Just the same as back at Hawksnest.  Which could mean
about anything; most likely is that the Captain is out of the edge of
her range."

"I hope you're right," Tarma sighed.  "Well, shall we get on with
it?"

Closing the door on the dubious shelter of their suite, they moved,
side by side, deeper into the web of intrigue.

SIX

Perfume, wine, and wire-tight nerves.  Musk, hot wax, and dying
flowers.  The air in the Great Hall was so thick with scent that Tarma
felt overpowered by all the warring odors.  The butter-colored marble
of the very walls and floor seemed warm rather than cool.  Lighted
candles were everywhere, from massed groupings of thin tapers to
pillars as thick as Tarma's wrist.  The pale polished marble reflected
the light until the Great Hall glowed, fully as bright as daylight. The
hundreds of jewels, the softly gleaming gold on brow and neck and arm,
the winking golden bullion weighing down hems sparkled like a panoply
of stars.

It was not precisely noisy here-but the murmuring of dozens, hundreds
of conversations, the underlying current of the music of a score of
minstrels, the sound of twenty pairs of feet weaving through an
intricate dance-the combination added up to an effect as dizzying as
the light, heat or scent.

Carved wooden doors along one wall opened up onto a courtyard garden,
also illuminated for the evening-but by magic, not candles.  But few
moved to take advantage of the quiet and cool garden-not when the real
power in this land was here.

If power had possessed a scent, it would have overwhelmed all the
others in the hall.  The scarlet-and-gold clad man lounging on the
gilded wooden throne at the far end of the Great Hall was young,
younger than Tarma, but very obviously the sole agent of control here.
No matter what they were doing, nearly everyone in this room kept one
eye on him at all times; if he leaned forward the better to listen to
one of the minstrels, all conversation hushed-if he nodded to a lady,
peacock-bright gallants thronged about her.  But if he smiled upon her,
even her escort deserted her, not to return until their monarch's
interest wandered elsewhere.

He was not particularly imposing, physically.  Brown hair, brown eyes;
medium build; long, lantern jawed face with a hard mouth and eyebrows
like ruler-drawn lines over his eyes-his was not the body of a warrior,
but not the body of a weakling, either.

Then he looks at you, Tarma thought, and you see the predator, the king
of his territory, the strongest beast of the pack.  And you want to
crawl to him on your belly and present your throat in submission.

: Unless,: the thin tendril of Warrl's mind-voice insinuated itself
into her preoccupation, just unless you happen to be a pair of rogue
bitches like yourself and your sister.  You bow to your chosen pack
leader and no one else.  And you never grovel.

The brilliantly-bedecked courtiers weren't entirely certain how to
treat Kethry and her black-clad shadow-probably because the King
himself hadn't been all that certain.  Wherever they walked,
conversation faltered and died.  There was veiled fright in the
courtiers' eyes-real fright.  Tarma wondered if she hadn't overdone her
act a bit.

On the other hand, King Raschar had kept his hands off the sorceress.
It had looked for a moment as if he was considering chancing her
"protector's" wrath-but one look into Tarma's coldly impassive eyes,
(eyes, she'd often been told, that marked her as a born killer) seemed
to make him decide that it - might not be worth it.

Tarma would have laid money down on the odds she knew exactly what he
was thinking when he gave her that measuring look; He could well have
reckoned that she might be barbarian enough to act if she took
offense-and quick enough to do him harm before his guards could do
anything about her.  Maybe even quick enough to kill .  hhim.

: The predator recognizes another of his kind.:

Tarma nodded to herself.  Warrl wasn't far wrong.

If this was highborn life, Tarma was just as glad she'd been born a
Shin'a'in nomad.  The candlelight that winked from exquisite jewels
also reflected from hollow, hungry eyes; voices were shrill with
artificial gaiety.  There was no peace to be found here, and no real
enjoyment.  Just a never-ending round of competition, competition in
which the smallest of gestures took on worlds of meaning, and in which
they, as unknown elements, were a very disturbing pair of unexpected
variables.

The only members of this gathering that seemed to be enjoying
themselves in any way were a scant handful of folks, who, by the look
of them, were not important enough to worry the power-players; a few
courting couples, some elderly nobles and merchants-and a pair of men
over in one corner, conversing quietly in the shadows, garbed so as to
seem almost shadows themselves, who stood together with wine cups in
hand: They were well out of the swirl of the main action, ignored for
the most part by the players of this frenetic game.  When one of the
two shifted, the one wearing the darkest clothing, Tarma caught a good
look at the face and recognized him for the Horsemaster.  He had donned
that impassive mask he'd worn when he first looked the horses over, and
he was dressed more for comfort than to impress.  Like Tarma he was
dressed mainly in black-in his case, with touches of scarlet.

His only ornaments were the silver-and-moonstone pieces he'd worn
earlier.

The other man was all in gray, and Tarma could not manage to catch a
glimpse of his face.  Whoever he was, Tarma was beginning to wish she
was with him and the Horsemaster.  She was already tired to the teeth
of this reception.

Although Tarma usually enjoyed warmth, the air in the Great Hall was
stiflingly hot even to her.  As she watched the men out of the corner
of her eye, they evidently decided the same, for they began moving in
the direction of one of the doors that led out into the gardens.  As
they began to walk, Tarma saw with a start that the second man- limped
markedly.

"-Keth, d'you see our friend from this afternoon?"  she said in a
conversational tone.  "Will you lay me odds that the fellow with him is
that Archivist?"

"I don't think I'd care to; I believe that you'd win."  Kethry nodded
to one of the suddenly-tongue-tied courtiers as they passed, the very
essence of gracious calm.  The man nodded back, but his eyes were fixed
on Tarma.  "Care for a breath of fresh air?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

They made their own way across the room, without hurrying, and not
directly-simply drifting gradually as the ebb and flow of the crowd
permitted.  They stopped once to accept fresh wine from a servant, and
again to exchange words with one of the few nobles (a frail, alert-eyed
old woman swathed in white fur) who didn't seem terrified of them.  It
seemed to take forever, and was rather like treading the measures of an
intricate dance.  But eventually they reached the open door with its
carvings and panels of bronze, and escaped into the cool duskiness of
the illuminated gardens.

Tarma had been prepared to fade into the shadows and stalk until she
found their quarry, but the two men were in plain sight beside one of
the mage-light decorated fountains.  They were clearly silhouetted
against the sparkling, blue-glowing waters.

The Archivist was seated on a white marble bench, holding his wine cup
in both hands: the Horsemaster stood beside him, leaning over to speak
to him with one booted foot on the stone slab, his own cup dangling
perilously from loose fingers.

The partners strolled unhurriedly to the fountain, pretending that
Kethry was admiring it.  The Horsemaster saw them approaching; as Tarma
watched, his mouth tightened, and he made a little negating motion with
his free hand to his companion as the two women came within earshot.

But when they continued to close, he suddenly became resignedly
affable.  Placing his cup on the stone bench, he prepared to approach
them.

-"My Lady Kethryveris, I would not have recognized you," he said,
leaving his associate's side, taking her hand in his, and bowing over
it.  "You surprise me; I would have thought you could not be more
attractive than you were this afternoon.  I trust the gathering pleases
you?"

A .. . remarkable assemblage," Kethry replied, allowing a hint of irony
to creep into her voice.  "But I do not believe anyone introduced me to
your friend-?"

"Then you must allow me to rectify the mistake at once."  He led her
around the bench, Tarma following silently as if she truly was Kethry's
shadow, so that they faced the man seated there.  The fountain pattered
behind them, masking their conversation from anyone outside their
immediate vicinity.

"Lady Kethryveris, may I present Jadrek, the Rethwellan Archivist."

For some reason Tarma liked this man even more than she had the
Horsemaster, liked him immediately.

The mage-light behind them lit his features clearly.  He was a man of
middle years, sandy hair going slightly to silver, his face was thin
and ascetic and his forehead broad.  His grey eyes held an echo of
pain, and there were answering lines of pain about his generous mouth.
That was an odd mouth; it looked as if it had been made expressly to
smile, widely and often, but something had caused it to set in an
expression of permanent cynicism.  His grey tunic and breeches were of
soft moleskin, and it almost seemed to Tarma that he wore them with the
intent to fade into the background of wherever he might be.

This is a man the Clans would hold in high esteem -in the greatest of
honor.  There is wisdom in him, as well as learning.  So why is he un
regarded and ignored here?  No matter what Idra said I find it hard to
understand people who do not honor wisdom when they see it.

"I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Jadrek," Kethry
said, softly and sweetly, as she gave him her hand.  "I am more pleased
because I had heard good things of you from Captain Idra."

Tarma felt for the hilts of her knives as inconspicuously as she could,
as both men jerked as if they'd been shot.  This had not been part of
the plans she and Kethry had discussed earlier!

The Archivist recovered first.  "Are you then something other than you
seem, Lady Kethryveris, that you call the Lady Idra "Captain'?"

Kethry smiled, as Tarma loosened the knife hidden in her sleeve and
wished she could get at the one at the nape of her neck without giving
herself away.

Damn-I can't get them both-Keth, what the hell are you doing?

"In no way," her partner replied smoothly.  "I am all that I claim to
be.  I simply have not claimed all that I am.  We hoped to find the
lady here, but strangely enough, we've seen no sign of her."

Keth-Tarma thought, waiting for one or both of the men to make some
kind of move,-you bloody idiot!  I hope you have a reason for this!

The Horsemaster continued to stare in taut wariness, and Tarma had a
suspicion that he, too, had a blade concealed somewhere about him.
Maybe in his boot?  The Archivist was eyeing them with suspicion, but
also as if he was trying to recall something.

"You .. . could be the chief mage of the Sunhawks.  You seem to match
the description," he said finally, then turned slightly to stare at
Tarma.  "And that would make you the .. . Scoutmaster?  Tindel, these
may well be two of Idra's fighters; they certainly correspond with what
I've been told."

- The Horsemaster pondered them, and Tarma noted a very slight
relaxation of his muscles.  "Might be .. . might be," he replied, "But
there are ways to make certain.  Why does Idra ride Gray rather than
her warhorse when not in battle?"  He spoke directly to Tarma, who gave
up pretending not to understand him.

"Because Black enjoys using his teeth," she said, enjoying his start of
shock at her harsh voice, "and if he can't take a piece out of anything
else, he'll go for his rider's legs.  She's tried kicking him from here
to Valdemar for it, and still hasn't broken him of it.  So she never
rides him except in a fight.  And if you know about Black, you'll also
know that we almost lost him in the last campaign; he took a crossbow
bolt and went down with Idra on his back, but he was just too damned
mean to die.  Now you tell me one; why won't she let me give her a
Shin'a'in saddle bred to ride when she's not on Black?"

"Because she won't start negotiations with clients on a bad footing by
being better-mounted than they are," the Archivist said quietly.

"I taught her that," the Horsemaster added.  "I told her that the day
she first rode out of here on her own, and wanted to take the
best-looking horse in the stable.  When she rode out, it was on a
Karsite cob that had been rough-trained to fight; it was as ugly as a
mud brick.  When did she lose it?"

"Uh-long before we joined; I think when she was in Randel's Raiders,"
Kethry replied to the lightning-quick question after a bit of
thought.

"I think perhaps we have verified each other as genuine?"  Tindel asked
with a twisted smile.  Jadrek continued to watch them; measuringly, and
warily still.

"Has Idra been here?"  Kethry countered.

"Yes; been, and gone again."

"Keth, we both know there's something going on around here that
nobody's talking about."  Tarma glanced at the two men, and Tindel
nodded slightly.  "If we don't want to raise questions we'd rather not
answer, I think we'd better either rejoin the rest of the world, or
drift around the garden, then retire."

"Your instincts are correct; as strangers you're automatically under
observation.  It's safe enough to mention Idra, so long as you don't
call her "Captain," "

Tindel offered.  "But I should warn you that we two are not entirely in
good odor with His Majesty-Jadrek in particular.  I might be in better
case after tomorrow, when he sees those horses.  Nevertheless it won't
do you any good to be seen with us.  I think you might do well to check
with other information sources before you come to one of us again."

Tarma looked him squarely in the eyes, trying to read him.  Every bit
of experience she had told her he was telling the truth-and that now
that the approach had been made, it would take a deal of courting
before they would confide anything.  She looked down at Jadrek; if eyes
were the "windows of the soul" his had the storm shutters up.  He had
identified them; that didn't mean he trusted them.  Finally she nodded.
"We'll do that."

"Gods!"  Tindel swore softly.  "Of all the rabbit brained -women!"  He
didn't pace, but by the clenching of his hand on his goblet, Jadrek
knew that he badly wanted to.  "If anybody had been close enough to
hear her-"

"If they're what they say they are, they wouldn't have pulled this with
anyone close enough to hear them," Jadrek retorted, closing his eyes
and gritting his teeth as his left knee shot a spasm of pain up his
leg.  "on the other hand, if they aren't, they might well have wanted
witnesses."

"If, if, if-Jadrek-" Tindel's face was stormy.

"I still haven't made up my mind about them," the Archivist interrupted
his friend.  "If they are Idra's friends, they're going about this
intelligently.  If they're Raschar's creatures, they're being very
canny.  They could be either.  We haven't seen or heard of the pretty
one so much as lighting a candle, but if she's really Idra's prime
mage, she wouldn't.  Char surely knows as much about the Hawks as we
do, and having two women, one of them Shin'a'in Swordsworn, show up
here after Idra's gone off into the unknown, must certainly have
alerted his suspicions.  If the other did something proving herself to
be a mage, he wouldn't be suspicious anymore, he'd be certain."

"So what do we do?"

Jadrek smiled wearily at his only friend.  "We do what we've been doing
all along.  We wait and watch.  We see what they do.  Then-maybe-we
recruit them to our side."

Tindel snorted "And meanwhile, Idra .. ."

"Idra is either perfectly safe-or beyond help.  And in either case,
nothing we do or don't do in the next few days is going to make any
difference at all."

"Next time just stop my heart, why don't you?"  Tarma asked crossly
when they reached their suite.  She shut the door tightly behind them
and set her back against it, slumping weak-kneed at having safely
attained their haven.

"I acted on a hunch.  I'm sorry."  Kethry paused for a fraction of a
second, then headed for her bedroom, the soft soles of her shoes making
scarcely a sound on the marble floor.  Her partner followed, staggering
just slightly as she pushed off from the door.

"You could have gotten us killed," Tarma continued, following the mage
into the gilded splendor of her bedroom.  Kethry turned; Tarma took a
good look at her partner's utterly still and sober expression, then
sighed.  "Na, forget I yelled.  I'm a woolbrain.

There were signs you were reading that I couldn't see, is that it?"

Kethry nodded, eyes dark with thought.  "I can't even tell you exactly
what it was," she said apologetically.

"Never mind," Tarma replied, reversing a chair to sit straddle-legged
on it with her arms folded over the back and her head resting on her
arms, forcing her tense shoulder muscles to relax.  "It's like trail
reading for me; I don't even think about it anymore.

First question; can you find other sources?"

"Maybe.  Some of the older nobles, like that old lady who talked to us;
the ones who weren't afraid of you.  Most older courtiers love to talk,
have seen everything, and nobody will listen to them.  So-" Kethry
shrugged, then glided over to the bed, slipping out of the amber robe
and draping it over another chair that stood next to it.  Fire and
candle light-glinted from her hair and softened the hard muscles of her
body.  "-I use a little kindness, risk being bored, and maybe learn a
lot."

"I guess I'll stick to the original plan then; work the horses, play
that I don't understand the local tongue, and keep my ears open." Tarma
wasn't sure anymore that this was such a good plan, certainly not as
certain as she had been when they first rode in.  This place seemed
full of invisible pitfalls.

"One other thing; there's more than a handful of mages around here, and
I don't dare use my powers much.  If I do, they'll know me for what I
am.  Some of them felt pretty strong, and none of them were in
mage-robes."

"Is that a good sign, or a bad?"

"} don't know."  Kethry unpinned her hair and shook it loose, then
slipped on a wisp of shift supplied by their host and climbed into her
bed.  The mattress sighed under her weight, as she settled under the
blankets in the middle: then she sat up, gazing forlornly at her
partner.  She looked like a child in the enormous expanse of featherbed
and she looked uncomfortable and unhappy as well.

Tarma knew that lost expression.  This place was far too like the
luxurious abode of Wethes Goldmarchant, the man to whom Kethry's
brother had sold her when she was barely nubile.

Kethry plainly didn't want to be left alone in here.  They also didn't
dare share the bed without arousing very unwelcome gossip.  But there
was a third solution.

"I don't trust our host any farther than I could toss Ironheart," she
said, standing up abruptly, and shoving the chair away with a grating
across the stone floor.  "And I'm bloody damned barbarian enough that
nothing I do is going to surprise people, provided it's weird and
warlike."

With that, she stalked into her bedroom, stripped the velvet coverlet,
featherbed and downy blankets from the bedstead, and wrestled the lot
into Kethry's room, cursing under her breath the whole time.

"Tarma!  What-"

"I'm bedding- down in here; at the foot of your bed so the servants
don't gossip.  They've been watching me bodyguard you all day, so this
isn't going to be out of character."

- She stripped to the skin, glad enough to be out of those over-fine
garments, and pulled on a worn-out pair of breeches and another of
those flimsy shifts, tossing her clothes on the chair next to
Kethry's.

"But you don't have to make yourself miserable!"  Kethry protested
feebly, her gratitude for Tarma's company overpowering her
misgivings.

"Great good gods, this is a damn sight better than the tent."  Tarma
laughed, and laid her weapons, dagger and sword, both unsheathed, on
the floor next to the mattress.  "Besides, when the servants come in to
wake us up, I'll rise with steel in hand.  That ought to give 'em
something to talk about and distract them from who we were associating
with last night.  And-"

"And?"

"Well, I don't entirely trust Raschar's good sense if his lust's
involved; for all we know, he's got hidden passages in the walls that
would let him in here when I'm not around.  Hmm?"

"A good point," Kethry conceded with such relief that it was obvious to
Tarma that she had been thinking something along the same lines.  "Are
you sure you'll be all right?"

Tarma tried her improvised bed, and found it better than she'd
expected.  "Best doss I've had in my life," she replied, wriggling
luxuriously into the soft blankets, and grinning.  "You'd better find
out what happened to Idra pretty quick, she'enedra.  Otherwise,

I may not want to leave."

Kethry sighed, reached up for the sconce beside her, and blew out the
candle, leaving the room in darkness.

The following day Tarma managed to frighten the maids half to death,
rising from the pile of bedding on the floor with sword in hand at the
first sound of anyone stirring.  The younger of the two fainted dead
away at the sight of her.  The other squeaked and ran for the door.
They didn't see that maid again, so Tarma figured she had refused to go
back into their suite; defying any and all punishments.  The other girl
vanished as soon as Kethry revived her, and they didn't see her again,
either, so she probably had done the same.  The next servants to enter
the suite were a pair of hag like old crones with faces fit to frighten
fish out of water; they attended to the cleaning and picking up of the
suite, and took themselves out again with an admirable efficiency and
haste.  That was more like what Tarma wanted out of servants; the
giggly girls fussing about drove her to distraction at the best of
times, and now-well, now she wasn't going to take anything or anyone at
face value.  Those giggly girls were probably spies-maybe more.

Kethry heaved a sigh or two of relief when they saw the last of the new
set of servitors.

Hell, she's an old campaigner; she knows it, too.  Gods, I hate this
place.

After wolfing down some bread and fruit from the- over-generous
breakfast the second set of servants had brought, Tarma headed off to
oversee the further training of the horses, concentrating on the gold
and the dapple.  The gold she wanted schooled enough that he wouldn't
cause his rider any proglems; the dapple she wanted trained to the
limits of his understanding.  She hoped that might sweeten the
Horsemaster's attitude toward them.

She kept her ears open-and as she'd hoped, the stable folk were fairly
free with their tongues while they thought she couldn't understand
them.  Besides several unflattering comments about her own looks, she
managed to pick up that Idra had gone off rather abruptly, but that her
disappearance had not been entirely unexpected.  Her name was coupled
on more than one occasion with the words "that wild-goose quest."  She
learned little more than that.

Of the other brother, Prince Stefansen, she learned a bit more.  He'd
run off on his brother's coronation day.  And he'd done something worse
than just run, according to rumor, though what it was, no one

- really seemed to know.  Whatever, it had been enough to goad the new
king into declaring him an outlaw.  If Raschar caught him, his head was
forfeit.

And that was fair interesting indeed.  And was more than Tarma had
expected to learn.

"That doesn't much surprise me, given what I've heard," Kethry remarked
that evening, when they settled into their suite after another one of
those stifling evening gatherings.  This one had been only a little
less formal than their reception.  It seemed this sort of thing took
place every night-and attendance was expected, even of visitors.  "I'd
gathered something like that from Countess Lyris.  It was about the
only useful thing to come out of this evening."

"I think I may die of the boredom, provided the perfume doesn't kill me
off first," Tarma yawned.  She was sprawled on the floor of Kethry's
room on her featherbed (which the maids had not dared move.) Her eyes
were sleepy; her posture wasn't.  Kethry knew from years of partnering
her that no one and nothing would move inside or near the suite without
her knowing it.  She was operating on sentry reflexes, and it showed in
a subtle tenseness of her muscles.

"The perfume may; I don't think boredom is going to be a problem,"
Kethry replied slowly.  She leaned back into the pillows heaped at the
head of the bed, and combed her hair while she spoke in tones hardly
louder than a whisper.  The candlelight from the sconce in the
headboard behind her made a kind of amber aura around her head.  "There
is one hell of a lot more going on here than meets the eye.  This is
what I've gotten so far: when Idra got here, she supported Raschar over
Stefansen.  The whole idea was-that Stefansen was going to be allowed
to exile himself off to one of the estates and indulge himself in
whatever way he wanted.

Presumably he was going to fade away into quiet debauchery Raschar was
crowned-and suddenly Stefansen was gone, with a price on his head.
Nobody knows where he went, but the best guess is north."

Tarma looked a good deal more alert at that, and leaned up against the
bedside, propping her head on her hands.  "Oh, really?  And what came
of the original plan?  Especially if Stefansen had agreed to it?"

Kethry shrugged, and frowned.  It was a puzzle, and one that left a
prickle between her-shoulderblades, as if someone were aiming a weapon
for that spot.  "No one seems to know.  No one knows what it was
Stefansen did to warrant a death sentence.  But Raschar was-and is,
still, according to one of my sources-very nervous about proving that
he is the rightful claimant to the throne.  There's a tale that the
Royal Line used to have a sword in Raschar's grandfather's time that
was able to choose the rightful heir-or the best king, the stories
aren't very clear on the subject, at least not the ones I heard.  It
was stolen forty or fifty years ago.  Idra apparently volunteered to
see if she could find it for Raschar, the assumption being that the
sword would pick him.  They say he was very eager for her to find
it-and at the moment everyone seems convinced that she took off to go
looking for it."

Tarma shook her head, slowly.  Her mouth was twisted a little in a
skeptical frown.  "That doesn't sound much like the Captain to me.
Sure, she might well say she was going off looking for it, but to
really do it?  Personally?  Alone?  When the Hawks are waiting for her
to join them and it's nearly fighting season?  And why not rope in one
of Raschar's tame mages to help smell out the magic?  It's not
likely."

"Not bloody likely," Kethry agreed.  "I could see it as an excuse to
get back to us, but not anything else."

"Have you made any moves at old Jadrek?"

Kethry sighed.  Jadrek had been exceptionally hard to get at.  For a
lame man, he could vanish with remarkable dexterity.  "I'm courting
him, cautiously.  He doesn't seem to trust anyone except Tindel.  I did
find out why neither Raschar nor his father cared for Jadrek or his.
The hereditary Archivists of Rethwellan both suffered from an overdose
of honesty."

"Let's not get abstruse, shall we?"

Kethry grinned.  This part, at least, did have a certain ironic humor
to it.  "Both Jadrek and his father before him insisted on putting
events in the Archives exactly as they happened, instead of tailoring
them to suit the monarch's sensibilities."

"So what's to stop the King from having the Archives altered at his
pleasure?"

"They can't," Kethry replied, still amused in spite of her feelings
that they were both treading an invisible knife edge of danger.  "The
Archive books are be spelled  They have to be kept up to date, or, and
I quote, 'something nasty happens."  The Archives, once written in, are
protected magically and can't be altered, and Raschar doesn't have a
mage knowledgeable enough to break the spell.  Once something is in the
Archives, it's there forever."

Tarma choked on a laugh, and stuffed the back of her hand into her
mouth to keep it from being overheard in the corridor outside.  They
had infrequent eavesdroppers out there.  "Who was responsible for this
little pickle?"

"One of the first Kings-predictably called 'the Honest'-he was also an
Adept of the Leverand school, so he could easily enforce his honesty. I
gather he wasn't terribly popular; I also gather that he didn't much
care."

Tarma made a wry face.  "Hair shirts and dry bread?"

"And weekly fasts-with the whole of his Court included.  But this isn't
getting us anywhere-"

Tarma nodded, and buried one hand in her short hair, leaning her head
on it.  "Too true.  Ideas?"

Kethry sighed, and shook her head.  "Not a one.  You?"

To her mild surprise, Tarma nodded thoughtfully, biting her lip.
"Maybe.  Just maybe.  But try the indirect approach first.  My way is
either going to earn us our information-or scare the bird into cover so
deep we'll never get him to fly."

"Him?"

Again Tarma nodded.  "Uh-huh.  Jadrek."

Three days later, with not much more information than they'd gotten in
the first two days, Tarma decided it was time to try her plan.

It involved a fair amount of risk; although they planned to be as
careful as they could, they were undoubtedly going to be seen at some
point or other, since skulking about would raise suspicions.  Tarma
only hoped that no one would guess that their goal was Jadrek's
rooms.

She waited for a long while with her ear pressed up against the edge of
the door, listening to the sounds of servants and guests out in the
hall.  The hour following the mandatory evening gathering was a busy
one; the nightlife of the Court of Rethwellan continued sometimes until
dawn, and the hour of dismissal was followed by what Kethry called "the
hour of scurrying" as nobles and notables found their own various
entertainments.

Finally-"It's been quiet for a while now," Tarma - said, when the last
of the footsteps had faded and the last giggling servant departed.  "I
think this is a lull.  Let's head out before we get another influx of
dicers or something."

As usual, Kethry sailed through the door-first, with Tarma her sinister
shadow.  There was no one in the gilded hallway, Tarma was pleased to
note.  In fact, at least half the polished bronze lamps were out,
indicating that there would be no major entertainments tonight in this
end of the Palace.

I hope Warrl's ready to come out of hiding, Tarma thought to herself, a
little worriedly.  This whole notion of mine rests on him.

"Must you think of me as if I couldn't hear you?: Warrl snapped in
exasperation.  "Of course I'm ready.  Just get the old savant's window
open and I'll- be in through it before you can blink.:

Sorry, Tarma replied sheepishly.  I keep damnit, Furface, I'm still not
used' to mind-talking with you!  It's just not something Shin'a'in
do.

Warrl did not answer at once.  "I know,: he said finally.  : And I
shouldn't eavesdrop, but it's the mind mate bond.  I sometimes have to
force myself not to listen to you.  We've got so much in common; you're
Kal'enedral and I'm neuter and we're both fighters.  You know there are
times when I wonder if your Lady might not take me along with you in
the end-I think I'd like that.:

Tarma was astonished; so surprised that she stopped dead for a moment.
You-you would?  Really?

"Not if you start acting like a fool about it!: he snapped, jolting her
back to sense.  : Great Horned Moon-will you keep your mind on your
work?:

To traverse the guests' section they wore clothing that suggested they
might be paying a social call; but once they got into the plainer
hallways of the quarters belonging to those who were not quite
nobility, but not exactly servants-like the Archivist and the Master of
Horse-they stepped into a granite-walled alcove long enough to strip
off their outer garments to reveal their well-worn traveling leathers.
In the dim light of the infrequent candles they looked enough like
servants that Tarma hoped no one would look at them too carefully. They
covered their hair with scarves, and folded their clothing into bulky
bundles; they carried those bundles conspicuously, so that they were
unlikely (Tarma hoped) to be levied into some task or other as extra
hands.

The corridor had changed.  Gone were the soft, heavy hangings, the
frequent lanterns.  The passage here was bare stone, polished granite,
floor and wall, and the lighting was by cheap clay lanterns or cheaper
tallow candles placed in holders along the walls at long intervals.  It
was chilly here, and damp, and the tallow candles smoked.

"Well, this explains one thing about that sour old bastard," Tarma
muttered under her breath, while Kethry counted doors.

"Seven, eight-who?  What?"

"Jadrek.  Why he's such a meddler-face.  Man's obviously got bones as
stiff as I'm going to have in a few years.  Living in this section must
make him as creaky as a pair of new boots."

"Ten-never thought of-that.  Remind me to stay on the right side of
Royal displeasure.  This should be it."

Kethry stopped at a wooden door set into the corridor wall, a door no
different from any of the others, and knocked softly.

Tarma listened as hard as she could; heard limping footsteps; then the
door creaked open a crack, showing a line of light at its edge.

She rammed her shoulder into it without giving Jadrek a chance to see
who was on the other side of it, and shoved it open before the
Archivist had time to react.  Kethry was less than half a step behind
her.  They were inside and had the door shut tightly behind them before
Jadrek had a chance to go from shock to outrage at their intrusion.

Tarma put her back to the rough wood of the door and braced herself
against it; no half-cripple like Jadrek was going to be able to move
her away from the door until she was good and ready.  The rest was up
to Kethry's silver tongue.

Jadrek glared, his whole attitude one of affronted dignity, but did not
yell for help or gibber in helpless anger as Tarma had half expected.
Instead every word he spoke was forceful, but deadly cold,
controlled-and quiet.

"What, pray, is this supposed to mean?"  The grey eyes were shadowed
with considerable pain at the moment; Tarma hoped it was not because of
something she'd done to him in getting the door open.  "I have come to
expect a certain amount of cavalier treatment, but not in my own
quarters!"

"My lord-" Kethry began.

"I," he said bitterly, "am no one's lord.  You may abandon that
pretence."

Kethry sighed.  "Jadrek, I humbly beg your pardon, but we were trying
to find a way to speak with you without drawing undue attention.  If
you want us to leave this moment, we will-but damni tall we are trying
to find out what's become of our Captain, and you seem to be the only
source of reliable information!"

He raised one eyebrow in surprise at her outspokenness, and looked at
her steadily.  "And you might well be the instrument of my execution
for treason."

Tarma whistled softly through her teeth, causing both of their heads to
swivel in her direction.  "That bad, is it?"

His jaw tightened, but he did not answer.

"Believe or not, I've got an answer for you.  Look, I would assume you
are probably the most well read man in this city; that's what the
Captain seemed to think," Kethry continued.  "do you know what a kyree
is?"

He nodded warily.

"Do you know what it means to be mind mated to one?"

-"A little.  I also know that they are reputedly incapable of lying
mind-to-mind-"

At Kethry's hand signal, Tarma stood away from the door, crossed the
room at a sprint and flung open the casement window that looked out
over the stableyard.  She had seen Jadrek at this window the night
before, which was how she and Kethry had figured out which set of rooms
was his.  Warrl was ready, in the yard below; Tarma could see him
bulking dark in the thin moonlight.  Before Jadrek could react to
Tarma's sudden movement, Warrl launched himself through the open window
and landed lightly in the middle of the rather small room.  It seemed
that much smaller for his being there.

The kyree looked at Jadrek-seemed to look through him-his eyes glowing
like topaz in the sun.  Then he bowed his head once in respect to the
Archivist, and mind spoke to all three of them.

"I am Warrl.  We are Captain idra's friends; we want to help her, but
we cannot if we do not know what has happened to her.  Wise One, you
are one of the few honest men in this place.  Will you not help us?:

Jadrek stared at the kyree, his jaw slack with astonishment.
"But-but-"

: You wonder how I can speak with you, and how I managed to remain
concealed.  I have certain small powers of magic,: the kyree said,
nearly grinning.  : You may have heard that the barbarian brought her
herd dog with her.  I chose to appear somewhat smaller than I am; the
stable hands think me a rather large wolf-dog cross.:

The Archivist reached for the back of a chair beside him to steady
himself.  He was pale, and there was marked confusion in his eyes.
"I-please, ladies, sit down, or as a gentleman, I cannot-and I feel the
need of something other than my legs to support me-"

There were only two chairs in the room; Tarma solved the problem of who
was to take them by sinking cross-legged to the floor.  Warrl curled
behind her as a kind of backrest, which made the room look much less
crowded.  While Kethry took the second chair and Jadrek the one he had
obviously ( by the book on the table beside it) vacated at their knock,
Tarma took a quick, assessing look around her.

There were old, threadbare hangings on most of the stone walls,
probably put up in a rather futile attempt to ward off the damp chill.
There was a small fire on the hearth to her right, probably for the
same reason.  Beside the hearth was a chair-or rather, a small bench
with a back to it-with shabby brown cushions.  This was the seat Jadrek
had resumed, his own brown robes blending with the cushions.  Beside
this chair stood a table with a single lamp, a book that seemed to have
been put down rather hastily, and a half-empty wineglass.  Across from
this was a second, identical seat.  To Tarma's left stood a set of
shelves, full of books, odd bits of rock and pieces of statuary, and
things not readily identifiable in the poor light.  At the sight of the
books, Tarma felt a long-suppressed desire to get one of them in her
hands; she hadn't had a good read in months, and her soul thirsted for
the new knowledge contained within those dusty volumes.

In the wall with the bookcase was another door, presumably to Jadrek's
bedchamber.  In the wall directly opposite the one they had entered was
the window.

Pretty barren place.  This time Tarma was thinking directly at the
kyree.

"He has less-far less-respect than he deserves,: Warrl said with some
heat.: This man has knowledge many would die for, and he is looked upon
as some kind of fool!:

"I ... had rather be considered a fool," Jadrek said slowly.

The kyree raised his head off his paws sharply, and looked at the man
in total astonishment.  "You, hear me?: "Yes-wasn't I supposed to?"

Tarma and the Kyree exchanged a measured glance, and did not answer him
directly.  "Why would you rather be considered a fool?"  Tarma asked,
after a moment of consideration.

"Because a fool hears a great deal-and a fool is not worth killing."

"I think," Kethry said, leaning forward, "you had better begin at the
beginning."

Some hours later they had a full picture, and it was not a pleasant
one.

"So the story is that Stefansen intended some unspecified harm to his
brother, and when caught, fled.  In actuality, Tindel and I overheard
some things that made us think Raschar might be considering assuring
that there would be no other male claimants to the throne and we warned
Stefansen."

"Where did he go?"  Kethry asked.

"I don't-know; I don't want to know.  The less I know, the less I can
betray."  His eyes had gone shadowy and full of secrets.

"Good point.  All right, what then?"

"Have you had a good look around you?"

"Raschar's pretty free with his money," Tarma observed.

"Freer than you think; he supports most of the hangers-on here.  He's
also indulging in some expensive habits.  Tran dust, it's said.
Certainly some very expensive liquors, dainties, and ladies."

"Nice lad.  Where's the money coming from?"

- Jadrek sighed.  "That's the main reason why I and my father before
me-are not in favor.  King Destillion began taxing the peasantry and
the merchant class far too heavily to my mind about twenty years ago;
Raschar is continuing the tradition.  About half of our peasants have
been turned-into serfs; more follow every year.  Opposing that was a
point Stefansen agreed with me on-and one of the reasons why Destillion
intended to cut him out of the succession."

"But didn't?"  Kethry asked.

Jadrek shook his head.  "Not for lack of trying, but the priests kept
him from doing so."

"Idra," Tarma reminded them.

"She saw what Raschar was doing, and began to think that despite
Stefansen's habit of hopping into bed with anything that wiggled its
hips at him, he might well have been a better choice after all.  He
certainly had more understanding of the peasantry and how the kingdom's
strength depends on them."  Jadrek almost managed a smile.  "Granted,
he spent a great deal of time with them, and pretty much with rowdies,
but I'm not certain now that his experience with the rougher classes
was a bad thing.  Well, Idra wanted an excuse to go after him-I
unearthed the old story of the Sword that Sings.  Raschar has one chink
in his armor; he's desperate to prove he's the rightful monarch.  Idra
took Raschar the old Archive books and got permission to look for the
Sword. Then-she vanished."

The fire crackled while they absorbed this.  "But she'd intended to go
after Stefansen?"  Kethry asked, finally.

Jadrek nodded.  "It might well be that she decided to just go, before
Raschar could change his mind-"

Tarma finished the sentence.  "But you aren't entirely certain that
something didn't happen to her.  Or that something didn't happen right
after she set out."

He nodded unhappily, twisting his hands together in his lap.  "She
would have said good-bye.  We've been good friends for a long time.  We
used to exchange letters as often as her commissions permitted.

I ... saw the world through her eyes...."

There was a flash of longing in his face, there for only an instant,
then shuttered down.  But it made Tarma wonder what it must be like, to
have dreams of adventuring-and be confined to the body of a half-lame
scholar.

She stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with the insight.  The tiny room
felt far, far too confining.  "Jadrek, we'll talk with you more; later.
Right now you've given us plenty to think on."

"You'll try and find out what's happened to her?"  He started to stand,
but Kethry gently pushed him back down into his chair as Tarma turned
abruptly, not wanting to see any more of this man's pain.  She turned
the latch silently, cracked the door open and checked for watchers in
the corridor beyond.

"Looks clear-" Kethry and Warrl slipped out ahead of her, and Tarma
glanced back over her shoulder soberly.  The Archivist was watching
them from his chair, and there was a peculiar, painful mixture of hope
and fear on his face.  "Jadrek, that was why we came here in the first
place.  And be warned-if anything has happened to Idra, there might not
be a town here once the Hawks find out about it."

And with that she followed her partner back into the corridor.

Seven

Jadrek tried to return to his book, but it was fairly obvious that he
was going to be unable to concentrate on the page in front of him.  He
finally gave up and sat staring at the flickering shadows on the
farther wall.  His left shoulder ached abominably; it had been wrenched
when the door had been jerked out of his hands.  This would be a night
for a double dose of medicine, or he'd never get to sleep.

Sleep would not have come easily, anyway-not after this evening's
conversation.  Tindel had been after him for the past several days to
talk to the women, but Jadrek had been reluctant and suspicious; now
Tindel would probably refrain from saying "I told you so" only by a
strong exercise of will.

What did decide me, anyway?  he wondered, trying to find a comfortable
position as he rubbed his aching shoulder, the dull throb interfering
with his train of thought.  Was it the presence of the kyree?  No, I
don't think so; I think I had made up my mind before they brought him
in.  I think it was the pretty one that made up my mind Kethry.  She's
honest in a way I don't think could be counterfeited.  I can't read the
Shin 'a 'in, but if you know what to look for, Kethry's an open book.

He sighed.  And let's not be fooling ourselves; it's the first tine in
years that a pretty woman looked at you with anything but contempt,
Jadrek.  You're as susceptible to that as the next man.  More.... He
resolutely killed half-wisps of wistful might be and daydreams, and got
up to find his medicines.

{:

Tarma left Warrl watching the Archivist's door from the corridor, just
in case.  His positioning was

- not nearly as good as she'd have wished; in order to keep out of
sight he'd had to lair-up in a table nook some distance away from
Jadrek's rooms, and not in direct line of sight.  Still, it would have
to do.

She had some serious misgivings about the Archivist's safety,
especially if it should prove that he was being watched.

Creeping along the corridors with every sense alert was unnervingly
like being back with the Hawks on a scouting mission.  Kethry had
hesitantly and reluctantly tendered the notion of using her powers to
spy out the situation ahead of them; Tarma had vetoed the idea to her
partner's obvious relief.  If there was any kind of mage-talented spy
keeping an eye on Jadrek, use of magic would not only put alerts on the
Archivist but on them as well.  Their own senses must be enough.  But
it was tense work; Tarma was sweating before they made it to the
relative safety of the guesting section.

They slipped their more ornate outfits back on in

- the shelter of the same alcove where they'd doffed them, and
continued on their way.  Now was the likeliest time for them to be
caught, but they got back to their rooms without a sign that they had
been noticed-or so Tarma thought.

She was rather rudely disabused of that notion as soon as they opened
the door to their suite.

Moonlight poured down through one of the windows in the right-hand wall
of the outer room, making a silver puddle on a square of the pale
marble floor.  As Tarma closed the door and locked it, she caught
movement in that moonlight out of the corner of her eye.  She jerked
her head around and pulled a dagger with the hand not still on the
latch in the automatically defensive reaction to seeing motion where
none should be.  The moonlight shivered and wavered, sending erratic
reflections across the room, and acting altogether unlike natural
light.

- Tarma snatched her other hand away from the latch, and whirled away
from the door she had just locked.  Her entire body tingled, from the
crown of her head to the soles of her feet-with an energy she was
intimately familiar with.

The only time she ever felt like this was when her teachers were about
to manifest physically, for over the years she had grown as sensitive
to the energies of the Star-Eyed as Kethry was to mage-energies.

But the spirit-Kal'enedral, her teachers, never came to her when she
was within four wall sand doubly never when she was in walls that were
as alien to them as this palace was.

She sheathed her blade-little good it would do against magic and
spirits-set sweating palms against the cool wood of the door.  She
stared dumbfounded at the evidence of all she'd been told being
violated the shadow and moonlight was hardening into a man-shaped
figure; flowing before her eyes into the form of a Shin'a'in garbed and
armed in black, and veiled.  Only the Kal'enedral wore black and only
the spirit-Kal'enedral went veiled-and here, where no one knew that, it
was wildly unlikely that this could be an illusion, even if there were
such a thing as a mage skilled enough to counterfeit the Warrior's
powers well enough to fool a living Kal'enedral.

And there was another check-her partner, who had, over the years, seen
Tarma's teachers manifesting at least a score of times.  Beside her,
Kethry stared and smothered a gasp with the back of her hand.  Tarma
didn't think it likely that any illusion could deceive the mage for
long.

To top it all, this was not just any Shin'a'in, not just any
spirit-Kal'enedral; for as the features became recognizable (what could
be seen above his veil) Tarma knew him to be no less than the chief of
all her teachers!

He seemed to be fighting against something; his form wavered in and out
of visibility as he held out frantic, empty hands to her, and he seemed
to be laboring to speak.

Kethry stared at the spirit-Kal'enedral in absolute shock.  This-this
could not be happening!

But it was, and there was no mistaking the flavor of the energy the
spirit brought with him.  This was a true leshya'e Kal'enedral, and he
was violating every precept to manifest here and now, within sight of
non-Shin'a'in.  Which could only mean that he was sent directly by
Tarma's own aspect of the four-faced Goddess, the Warrior.

Then she saw with mage-sight the veil of sickly white power that was
encasing him like a filthy web, keeping him from full manifestation.

"There's-Goddess, there's a counter spell-" Kethry started out of her
entrancement.  "It's preventing any magic from entering this room!  He
can't manifest!  I-I have to break it, or-"

"Don't!"  Tarma hissed, catching her hands as she brought them up. "You
break a counter spell and they'll know one of us is a mage!"

Kethry turned her head away, unable to bear the sight of the
Kal'enedral struggling vainly against the evil power containing him.
Tarma turned back to her teacher to see that he had given up the effort
to speak-and she saw that his hands were -moving, in the same Shin'a'in
hand-signs she had taught Kethry and her scouts.

"Keth-his hands-"

As Kethry's eyes were again drawn to the leshyate's figure, Tarma read
his message.

Death-danger, she read, and Assassins.  Wise one.

"Warrior!  It's Jadrek-he's going to be killed!"  reached behind her
for the door, certain that they were never going to make it to Jadrek's
rooms in time.

But Warrl had been watching her thoughts, probably alerted through the
bond they shared to her agitation.

"Mindmate, I go.: rang through her head.

At the same moment, as if he had heard the Kyree's reply the leshya'e
Kal'enedral made a motion of triumph, and dissolved back into moonlight
and shadow.

While Kethry was still staring at the place where the spirit had stood,
Tarma was clawing the door open, all thought of subterfuge gone.

She headed down the corridor at a dead run, and she could hear Kethry'
right behind her; this time there would be no attempt at concealment.

Warrl's "voice" was sharp in her mind; angry, and tasting of
battle-hunger.  "Mindmate one comes.  He smells of seeking death.:

Keep him away from Jadrek!

There was no answer to that, as she put on a burst of speed down the
corridor-at least not an answer in words.  But there was a surge of
great anger, a rage such as she had seldom sensed in the kyree, even
under battle-fire.

Then Tarma had evidence of her own of how strong the mind mate bonding
between herself and the kyree had become-because she began to get
image-flashes carried on that rage.  A man, an armed man, with a long,
wicked dagger in his hand, standing outside Jadrek's door.  The man
turning to face Warrl even as Jadrek opened the door.  Jadrek stepping
back a pace with fear stark across his features, then turning and
stumbling back into his room.  The man ignoring him, meeting the threat
of Warrl, unsheathing a sword to match the knife he carried.

Tarma felt the growl the kyree vented rumbling in her own throat as she
ran.  Felt him leap

Now they were in the older section-running down Jadrek's corridor.
Kethry was scarcely a step behind her as they skidded to a halt at
Jadrek's open door.

There was blood everywhere-spilling out over the doorsill, splashed on
the wall of the corridor.  The kyree stood over a body sprawled
half-in, half out of the room, growling under his breath, his eyes
literally glowing with rage.  Warrl had taken care of the intruder less
than seconds before their arrival, for the body at his feet was still
twitching, and the kyree's mind was seething with aggression and the
aftermath of the kill.  His hackles were up, but he was unmarked; of
the blood splashed so liberally everywhere, none of it seemed to be
Warrl's.

"Goddess-" Tarma caught at the edge of the doorframe, and panted, her
knees weak with relief that the kyree had gotten there in time.

"Jadrek!"  Kethry snapped out of shock first; she slid past the slowly
calming kyree into the room beyond.  Tarma was right behind her,
expecting to find the Archivist in a dead faint, or worse; hurt, or
collapsed with shock.

She was amazed to find him still on his feet.

He had his back to the wall, standing next to the fireplace behind his
chair, a dagger in one hand, a fireplace poker in the other.  He was
pale, and looked as if he was likely to be sick at any moment.  But he
also looked as if he was quite ready to protect himself as best he
could, and was anything but immobilized with fear or shock.

For one moment he didn't seem to recognize them; then he shook his head
a little, put the poker carefully down, sheathed the dagger at his
belt, then groped for the back of his chair and pulled it toward
himself, the legs grating on the stone.  He all but fell into it.

"Jadrek-are you all right?"  Tarma would have gone to his side, but
Kethry was there before her.

Jadrek was trembling in every nerve and muscle as he collapsed into his
chair.  Ga~ breat7' more-too close.  Too close.

Kethry took his wrist before he could wave her away and felt for his
pulse.

He stared at her anxious face, so close to his own, and felt his heart
skip for a reason other than fear.  Damnit, you fool, she's just
worried that you're going to die on her before you can help her with
the information they need!

Then he thought, feeling a chill creep down his back; Gods-I might.  If
Char-has had a watcher on me all this time, it means he's suspected me
of warning Stefan.  And if that watcher chose to strike tonight only
because I spoke to a pair of strangers-Archivist, your hours are
numbered.

Kethry checked Jadrek's heartbeat, fearing to find it fluttering
erratically.  To her intense relief, it was strong, though
understandably racing.

"I-gods above-I think I will be all right," he managed, pressing his
free hand to his forehead.  "But I would be dead if not for your
kyree."

"Who was that?"  Kethry asked urgently.  "Who-"

"That .. . was a member of the King's personal guard," he replied
thickly.  "Brightest Goddess-I knew I was under suspicion, but I never
guessed it went this far!  They must have had someone watching me."

"Watching to see who you talked to, no doubt," Tarma said grimly, her
lips compressed into a thin line.  "And the King must have left orders
what was to happen to you if you talked to strangers.  Hellfire and
corruption!"

"Now I'm a liability, so far as Raschar is concerned."

He was pale, and with more than shock, but there was determination in
the set of his jaw as he looked to Tarma.  "Char has only one way of
dealing with liabilities .. . as you've seen.  Lord and Lady help me,
I'm under a death sentence, without trial or hearing!  I-I haven't got
a chance unless I can escape.  Woman, you've got to help me!  If you
want any more help with finding Idra, you've got-"

Kethry had angry words on her tongue, annoyed that he should think them
such cowards, but Tarma beat her to them.

"What kind of gutless boobs do you think we are?"  Tarma snapped.  "Of
course we'll help you!  Damnit man, it was us coming to you that
triggered this attack in the first place!  Keth, clean up the mess.  Go
ahead and use magic, we're blown now, anyway."

Kethry nodded.  "After the visitor, I should say so-even if there
wasn't anyone 'watching," he'll have left residue in the trap-spell."

"Did you pick up any 'eyes'?"

She let her mage-senses extend.  "No .. . no.  Not then, and not now.
Evidently they haven't guessed at our identity."

"Small piece of Warrior's fortune.  Well, I'm getting rid of the body
before somebody falls over it;

it's likely this bastard was the only watcher, Archivist, or you'd have
been caught out before this."  She paused to think.  "If I hide him,
they may wait to check things out until after he was due to report
Hell, if they can't find him, they may wait a bit longer to see if he's
gone following after one of Jadrek's visitors; that should buy us a
couple more hours; Jadrek, are there any empty rooms along here ?

"Most of them are empty," he said dully, holding his hands up before
his eyes and watching them shake with a kind of morbid fascination.
"Nobody is quartered along here who isn't in disgrace; this is
the-oldest wing of the palace, and it's been poorly maintained and
repaired but little."

"Gods, no wonder nobody came piling out to see what the ruckus was."
Tarma's lip curled in disgust.  Bastard really gives you respect,
doesn't he?  Well, that's another piece of good luck we've had

-tonight."

- And Tarma turned back to deal with the corpse as Kethry began
mustering her energies for "clean-up."

Tarma bundled the body into its own cloak, giving

Warrl mental congratulations over the relatively clean kill; the Kyree
had only torn the man's throat out.  The man had been relatively small;
she figured she could handle the corpse alone.  She heaved the bundle
over her shoulder with a grunt of effort, trusting to the thick cloak
to absorb whatever blood remained to be spilled, and went out into the
corridor, picking a room at random.  The first one she chose didn't
have its own fireplace, so she left that one-but the second did.  It
was a matter of moments and a good bit of joint-straining effort to
stuff the carcass up the chimney; by the time she returned, a little
judicious use of magic had cleaned up every trace of a struggle around
Jadrek's quarters, and Kethry and the Archivist were in the little
bedroom that lay beyond the closed door in his sitting room.  The mage
was helping Jadrek to make a pack of his belongings, and Jadrek was far
calmer now than Tarma had dared to hope.  Warrl was stretched across
the doorway, still growling under his breath.  He gave her a gentle
warn-off as she sent him a thought; his blood-lust was up, and he
didn't want her in his mind until he had quieted himself.

Jadrek had lit a half dozen candles and stuck them over every available
surface.  The bedroom was as sparse as the outer room had been, though
smelling a little less of damp.  There was just a wardrobe, a chest,
and the bed.

"Jadrek, how well do you ride?"  Tarma asked, taking over the bundle
Kethry was making and freeing her to start a new one.

"Not well," he said shortly, folding packets of herbs into a cloth.
"It's not my ability to ride, it's the pain.  I used to ride very well;
now I can't stand being in a saddle for more than an hour or so."

"And if we drugged you?"

He shrugged.  "Drugged, aren't I likely to fall off?  And you'd have to
lead my beast, even if you tied me into the saddle; that would slow you
considerably."

"Not if I put you on "Heart.  Or-better yet, Keth, you're light and you
don't go armored.  How about if I take all the packs and "Bane carries
double?"

Kethry examined the Archivist carefully.  "It should be all right.
Jadrek doesn't look like he weighs much.  Put him up in front of me,
and I can hold him on even if he's insensible."

The Archivist managed a quirk of one corner of his mouth.  "Hardly the
way I had hoped to begin my career of adventuring."

Tarma raised an eyebrow at him.

"You look surprised.  Swordlady, I did a great deal of my studying in
hopes of one day being able to aid some heroic quester.  After all,
what better help could a hero have than a lo remaster  Then," he held
out one hand and shoved the sleeve of his robe up so they could see the
swollen wrists, "my body betrayed-me and my dreams.  So goes life."

Tarma winced in sympathy; her own bones ached in the cold these days,
enough that rough camping left her stiff and limping these days for at
least an hour after rising, or until she finished her warming
exercises.  She didn't like to think how much pain swollen joints
meant.

"Have you any plan?"  the Archivist continued.  "Or are we just going
to run for it?"

Tarma shook her head.  "Don't you think it Running off blindly is
likely to run us right into a trap.  We came out of the south, the
Hawks are to the south and west-I'd bet the King's men'll expect us to
run for familiar territory."

"So we go opposite?"  Jadrek hazarded.  "North?  -Then what?"

Tarma folded a shirt into a tight bundle and wedged it into the pack.
"North is where Stefansen went.  North is where Idra likely went.  No?
So we'll track them North, and hope to run into one or both of them,"

"I know where Stefansen intended to go," Jadrek said slowly, "I did
tell Idra before she went missing.

But frankly it's some of the worst country to travel in winter in all
of Rethwellan."

"All the better to shake off pursuit.  Cough it up, man, where are we
going?"

"Across the Comb and into Valdemar."  He looked seriously worried. "And
winter storm season in the Comb is deadly.  If we're caught in an ice
storm without shelter, well, let me just say that we probably won't be
a problem for Raschar anymore."

"This-is almost too easy," Tarma muttered, surveying the empty court
below Jadrek's window.  "Keth, is there anything you can't live without
back in the room?"

The mage pursed her lips thoughtfully, then shook her head.

"Good, then we'll leave from here.  Nobody's been alerted yet, and
evidently Jadrek's in poor enough condition that nobody has even
considered he might slip out his window."

"With good reason, Swordlady," Jadrek replied, coming to Tarma's side
and looking down into the court himself.  "I can't imagine how I could
climb down."

"Alone, you couldn't; we'll help you," Kethry told him.  "I can
actually make you about half your real weight with magic,

then we'll manage well enough."

The Archivist looked down again, and shuddered, but to his credit, did
not protest.

They'd sent Warrl for a short coil of rope from the stables; there were
always lead-ropes and lunges lying around, and any of those would be
long enough.  He returned just as Kethry completed her spell casting;
they tied one end around Jadrek's waist, then Kethry scrambled out of
the window and down the wall to steady him from below as Tarma lowered
him.  Before they were finished, Tarma had a high respect for the man's
courage; climbing down from the window put him in such pain that when
they untied him they found he'd bitten his lip through to keep from
crying out.

All their gear was still with the mares.  When they'd left Hawksnest,
they'd chosen to use a different kind of saddle than they normally
chose, one meant for long rides and not pitched battles.  Like the-
saddles Jodi preferred, these were little more than a pad with
stirrups, although the pad extended out over the horse's rump.  When
Tarma carried Warrl pillion, he had a pad behind her battle-saddle to
ride on; there was just enough room on the extended body of this saddle
for him to do the same.  So Kethry had no trouble fitting Jadrek in
front of her, which was just as well.

Jadrek had mixed something with the last of his wine and gulped it down
before attempting the window.  He was fine, although still in pain,
when they started saddling up.  But by the time the mares were
harnessed and all their gear was in place, he was fairly intoxicated
and not at all steady.

- They did manage to get him into the saddle, but it was obvious he
wouldn't be staying there without Kethry's help.

Warrl?  Tarma thought tentatively.

"All is well, mind mate came the reassuring reply.  There is no one in
sight, and I am distracting the gate guards.  you go swiftly, there
will be no one to stop or question you.:

; "Let's move out now," she told her partner, "while "Furface has the
guards playing 'catch-me-if-you-can' with him."

Kethry nodded; they rode out of the palace grounds as quietly-they'd
signaled the mares for silence, and now Hellsbane and Ironheart were
moving as stealthily as only two Shin'a'in bred-and-trained war steeds
could.  They managed to get out unchallenged, and waited outside the
palace for Warrl to catch up with them, then put Ironheart and
Hellsbane to as fast a pace as they dared, and by dawn were well clear
of the city.

"Any sign of tracking?"  Tarma asked her partner, reining Ironheart in
beside her as they slowed to a brisk walk.

Kethry closed her eyes in concentration, extended a little tendril of
energy along the road behind them, then shook her head.  "My guess
would be that they haven't missed the spy yet.  But my guess would also
be, that with all the mages I sensed in Raschar's court, they'll be
sending at least one with each pursuit party."

"Anything you can do about that?"

"Some."  She reformed that tendril of energy into a deception-web that
might confuse their back trail "Listen, we need supplies; how about if
I lay an illusion on you and "Heart and you go buy us some at the next
village we hit?"

"How about if you spell all three of us right now?  Say-old woman and
her daughter and son?  Nobody knows Shin'a'in battle mares out here,
and "Heart and "Bane are ugly enough to belong to peasants: you needn't
spell them."

"Huh; not a bad thought.  What about Warrl?"

"I can seem much smaller if I need to.:

Kethry started.  "Furface, I wish you wouldn't just speak into my mind
like that-you never used to!"

"My pardon.  I grow forgetful of courtesy.  How does the Wise One?:

Jadrek was three-quarters asleep, slumped forward in Kethry's hold, his
head nodding to the rhythm of Hellsbane's hooves.  Kethry touched his
neck below his ear lightly enough not to disturb him.  "All right; his
pulse is strong."

"If you would have my advice?

When the kyree tendered his opinion, it was worth having.  "Go
ahead."

: Rouse him up and make him speak with you.  He will do his body more
harm by riding unconscious.:

"On that subject," Tarma interrupted, "how long can you keep our
illusions going?  What kind of shape are you in.?"

Kethry shrugged.  "I've been mostly resting my - powers so far.  I can
keep the spell up indefinitely.

"Because I want to stay under roofs at night for as long as we can.
Rough camping is going to be hard on our friend at best-be a hell ava
note to save him from assassins and lose him to pneumonia."

Kethry nodded, thinking of how much pain the Archivist was already in.
"What kind of roofs?"

"In order of preference-out-of-the-way barns, the occasional friendly
farmer, and the cheapest inns in town."

"Sound, I think.  Pull up here, I might as well

- cast this thing now, and I can't do it on a moving - horse."

"Here" was a grove of trees beside the road, they put the horses off
and allowed them to browse while ~ Kethry concentrated.

Warrl flung himself down into the dry grass, and lay there, panting. He
was not built for the long chase.  Before too very long, Tarma would
have to bring him up to ride pillion behind her for a rest.

Kethry got Jadrek leaning back against her, then spread her hands wide,
palms facing out.  A shell of bright, roseate light expanded from her
hands outward, to contain them and their horses.  Tarma could see her
lips moving silently in the words of the spell.  There was a tiny "pop"
like a cork being pulled from a bottle; then Tarma felt an all-too
familiar itching at the back of her eyes, and when she looked down, she
saw that she was wearing a man's garb of rough, brown homespun instead
of her Kal'enedral-styled black silks.  So Keth was going to disguise
her as a young man; good, that should help to throw off nonmage
spies.

Jadrek was now an old, gray-haired woman with a face like a wrinkled
apple, and a body stooped from years of hard work.  Behind him, Kethry
was a chunky, fresh-faced peasant wench; brown-cheeked, brown-haired
and quite unremarkable.

"Huh," Tarma said.  "This's a new one for you.  You look like you'd
make some dirt-grubber a great wife."

Kethry giggled.  "Good hips.  Breed like cow, strong like bull, dumb
like ox.  Hitch to plow when horse dies."  As Tarma stifled a chuckle,
she turned her attention to her passenger.  "Jadrek, wake up, there's a
good fellow."  She shook his shoulder gently.  "Open your eyes slowly.
I've put an illusion on us all and it may make you dizzy at first."

"Huhnn.  I ... thought I heard you saying that...."  The Archivist
raised his head with care, and opened eyes that looked a bit dazed.
"Gods.  What am I?"

"A crippled-up old peasant woman.  Warrl says you'll do yourself more
harm than good by riding asleep; he wants you to talk to me."

"How .. . odd.  I thought I heard him speaking in my head again.  I
seem to remember him saying just that...."

The partners exchanged a startled look.  Evidently Jadrek had a
mage-Gift no one had ever suspected, for normally the only folk who
heard Warrl's mind voice were those he intended to speak to.  That
Talent might be useful-if they all lived to reach the Border.

"Let's get on with it," Tarma broke the silence before it went on too
long, and glanced at the rising sun to her right.  "We need to get as
far as we can before they figure out we've bolted back there."

They stopped at a good-sized village; there was a market going on, and
Tarma rode in alone and bought the supplies they were going to need. By
mercenary's custom, they'd kept all their cash with them in money belts
that they never let out of their sight, so they weren't short of funds,
at least.  Tarma did well in her bargaining; better than she'd
expected.  Even more encouraging, no one gave her a second glance.

Poor Jadrek had not exaggerated the amount of pain he was going to be
in.  By nightfall his eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets and he
looked

- more than half dead; but they found a barn, full of new-cut hay, dry
and warm and softer than many beds Tarma had slept in.  The dry warmth
seemed to do Jadrek a lot of good; he was moving better the next
morning, and didn't take nearly as much of his drugs as he had the day
before.

And oddly enough, he seemed to get better as the trip progressed.
Kethry was wearing Need at her side again, after having left the
ensorcelled blade with her traveling gear in the stables.  Tarma was
jUst thanking her Goddess that they hadn't ever brought the blade into
their quarters-no telling what would have happened had it met with the
counter spell on their rooms.  Of a certainty Raschar - would have
known from that moment that they :--were not what they seemed.

- - Fall weather struck with a vengeance on the sixth morning.  They
ended up riding all day through rain; Rethwellan's fall and early
winter rains were notorious far and wide.  Jadrek was alert and
conversing quietly and animatedly with Kethry; he seemed in better
shape, despite the cold rain, than he'd been back at the palace.  Now
Tarma wondered -remembering the enigmatic words of Moonsong k'Vala, the
Taletedras Adept-if Need was working some of her magic on Jadrek
because Kethry was concerned for him It would be the first time in
Tarma's knowledge that a male for whom Kethry cared had spent any
length of time in physical contact with the mage while she was wearing
the blade.

As for Kethry caring for him-they were certainly hitting it off fairly
well.  Tarma was growing used to the soft murmur of voices behind her
as they talked for the endless hours of the day's ride.  So
maybe-just-maybe-the sword was responding to that liking.

As the days passed: "Keth," she asked, when they'd halted for the night
in the seventh of a succession of hay barns  "Do-you remember what the
Hawkbrother told you when we first met him about Need?"

"You mean Moonsong, the Adept?"  Kethry glanced over at Jadrek, but the
witch light she was creating showed the Archivist already rolled up in
a nest of blankets and hay, and sound asleep.  "He said a lot of
things."

"Hai-but I'm thinking there's something that might be pertinent to
Jadrek."

Kethry nodded, slowly.  "About Need extending her powers to those I
care for.  Uh-huh; I've been wondering about that.  Jadrek certainly
seems to be in a lot less pain."

Tarma snuggled into the soft hay, sword and dagger within easy reach.
Behind her, Warrl was keeping watch at the door, and Ironheart and
Hellsbane were drowsing, having stuffed themselves ^with fresh hay He's
not drug gi hi lf h

Kethry settled into her own bedroll and snuffed the witch light

"And he's not the bitter, suspicious man we met at the Court," she said
quietly in the darkness.  "I think we're seeing the man Idra knew."
Tarma heard the hay rustle a bit, then Kethry continued, very softly,
"And I like that man, she'enedra.  So much that I think your guess
could be right."

K,ethes, ves'tacha?"

"Unadorned truth.  I like him; he treats me as an intellectual equal,
and that's rare, even among mages.  That I'm his physical superior ...
doesn't seem to bother him.  It's just ... what I am.  He'll never ride
"Bane the way I do, or swing a sword;

"Sounds like-"

"Don't go matchmaking on me, woman!"  Kethry softened the rebuke with a
dry chuckle.  "We've got enough on our plate with tracking Idra, the
damned weather, and the mage we've got on our back trail

So we are being followed."

Nothing you can do about it; my hope is that when he hits the Comb
he'll get discouraged and turn back.

Tarma nodded in the dark; this was Keth's province.

She wouldn't do either of them any good by fretting about it.  If it
came to physical battle, then -she'd be able to do some good.

And for whatever the reason, Jadrek was able to do with less of his
drugs every day, and that was all to the good.  They were making about
as good a headway with him now as they would have been able to manage
alone.  And maybe .. .

She fell asleep before she could finish the thought.

Now they were getting into the Comb, and as Jadrek had warned, the Comb
was no place to be riding through with less than full control of one's
senses.

The range of hills along the Northern border called the Comb was among
some of the worst terrain Tarma had ever encountered.  The hills
themselves weren't all that high-but they were sheer rock faces for the
most part, with little more than goat tracks leading through them, and
not much in the way of vegetation, just occasional stands of wind
warped trees, a bit of scrub brush, rank grasses, and some moss and
lichen-enough browse for the horses-barely, and Tarma was supplementing
the browse with grain, just to be on the safe side.

It had been late spring, still winter in the mountains whehe Hawksnest
lay, when they'd headed down into Rethwellan.  It had been early fall
by the time they'd made it to the capital.  It had been late fall when
they bolted.  Now it was winter-the worst possible time to be traveling
the Comb.

Now that they were in the hills the rains had changed to sleet and
snow, and there were no friendly farmers, and no inns to take shelter
in when hostile weather made camping a grim prospect.

And they no longer had the luxury of pressing on; when a suitable
campsite presented itself, they took it.  If there wasn't anything
suitable, they suffered.

They'd been three days with inadequate camps, sleeping cold and wet,
and waking the same.  Kethry had dropped the illusions two days ago;
there wasn't anybody to see them anymore.  And when they were on easy
stretches of trail, Tarma could see Kethry frowning with her eyes
closed, and knew she was doing something magical along the back
trail-which probably meant she needed to hoard every scrap of personal
energy she could.

Jadrek, predictably, was in worst case.  Tarma wasn't too far behind
him in misery.  And sometimes it seemed to her that their progress was
measured in hand spans not furlongs.  The only comfort was in knowing
that their pursuers-if any-were not likely to be making any better
progress.

Tarma looked up at the dead, grey sky and swore at the scent of snow on
the wind.

Kethry urged Hellsbane up beside her partner when the trail they were
following dropped into-a hollow between two of the hills, and there was
room enough to do so.  The mage was bundled up in every warm garment
she owned; on the saddle before her the Archivist was an equally
shapeless bundle.  He was nodding; only Kethry's arms clasped about him
kept him in the saddle.  He had had a very bad night, for they'd been
forced to camp without any shelter, and he'd taken the full dosage of
his drugs just so that he could mount this morning.

"Snow?"  Kethry asked unhappily.

"Hai.  Damnitall.  How much more of this is he going to be able to
take?"

"I don't know, she'enedra.  I don't know how much more of this I'm
going to be able to take.  I'm about ready to fall off, myself."

Tarma scanned the terrain around her, hoping for someplace where they
could get a sheltered fire going and maybe get warm again for the first
time in four days.  Nothing.  Just crumbling hills, overhangs she dared
not trust, and scrub.  Not a tree, not a cave, not even a tumble of
boulders to shelter

- in.  And even as she watched, the first flakes of snow began.

She watched them, hoping to see them melting

- when they hit the ground-as so far, had always been the case.  This
time they didn't.  "Oh hellfire.  Keth, this stuff is going to stick,
I'm afraid."

The mage sighed.  "It would.  I'd witch the weather, but I'd do more
harm than good."

"I'd rather you conjured up a sheltered camp."

"I've tried," Kethry replied bleakly.  "My energies are at absolute
nadir.  I spent everything I had getting that mage off our trail.  I'd
cast a jesto-vath, %I need some kind of wall and ceiling to make it

Tarma stifled a cough, hunched her shoulders against the cold wind, and
sighed.  "It's not like you had any choice; no more than we do now.
Let's get on.  Maybe something will turn up.

But nothing did, and the flurries turned to a full-fledged snowstorm
before they'd gone another

"We've got to get a rest," Tarma said, finally, as they gave the horses
a breather at the top of a hill.  "Jadrek how are you doing?"

"Poorly," he replied, rousing himself.  The tone of his voice was dull.
"I need to take more of my medicines, and I dare not.  If I fell asleep
in this cold-"

"Right; Look-there's a bit of a corner down there."  Tarma pointed
through the curtaining snow to a cul-de-sac visible just off the main
trail.  "It might be sheltered enough to let us get a bit warmer.  And
the horses need more than a breather.

"I won't argue," Kethry replied.  "I can feel Bane straining now."

Unspoken was the very real danger that was on all of their minds.  It
was obvious that the snow was falling more thickly with every candle
mark it was equally obvious that unless they found a good camp" site
they'd be in danger of death by exposure if they fell asleep. That
meant pressing on through the night if they didn't find a secure site. 
The little rest might be the closest to sleep that they get-And when
they got to the cul-de-sac, they found evidence of how real the danger
was.

Huddled against the boulders of the back was what was left of a man.

Rags and bones, mostly.  The carcass was decades old, at least.  There
were no marks of violence on him, except that done by scavengers, and
from the way the bones lay Tarma judged he'd died of cold.  ' "Poor
bastard," she said, picking up a sword in a halfrrotten sheath, and
turning it over, looking for

; some trace of ownership ~marks.  "Helluva way to die."

Kethry was tumbling stones down over the pitiful remains; Jadrek was
doing his best to help.  "Is there any good way to die?"

"In your own bed.  In your own time.  Here-can you make anything of
this?"

Jadrek dug into his packs while the women were occupying themselves
with the grisly remains they'd found.  He was aching all over with
pain, even through the haze of drugs.  Worse, he was slowing them
down.

But there was a solution, of sorts.  They didn't need him now, and if
the weather worsened, his presence-or absence-might mean the difference
Detween life and death for the two partners.

So he was going to overdose.  That would put him to sleep.  If they did
find shelter, there would be no harm done, and he would simply sleep
the overdose off.  But if they didn't

If they didn't, the cold would kill him painlessly, and they'd be rid
of an unwieldy burden.  Without him they'd be able to take paths and
chances they weren't taking now.  Without him they could devote energy
to saving themselves.

He swallowed the bitter herb pellets quickly' before they could catch
him at it, and washed away the bitterness with a splash of icy water
from his canteen.  Then he pressed himself up against the sheltered
side of Kethry's mount, trying to leech some heat from her body into
his own.

kethry took the sword from her partner, and looked it over.  The sheath
looked as if it had once had metal fittings; there were gaping sockets
in the pommel and at the ends of the quill ions of the sword that had
undoubtedly once held gemstones.  there was no evidence of either,
now.

"Yoor bastard.  Might have been a mere, down on his luck," Tarma said.
"That's when you know you're hitting the downward slide-when you're
selling the decorations off your blade.

Kethry slid the sword a little out of the sheath; it resisted, with a
grating sound, although there was no sign of rust on the dull grey
blade.  Tarma leaned over her shoulder, and scratched the exposed metal
with the point of her dagger, then snorted at the shiny marks the steel
left on the metal of the sword.

"Well, I feel a little less sorry for him, Kethry retorted.  "My guess
is that he was a thief, This was some kind of dress blade, but the
precious metal and the stones have been stripped from it.

"Have to be a dress sword," the Shin'a in said in disgust.  "Nobody in
their right miNd would depend on that thing.  It isn't steel or even
crude-forged iron.  You're right, he must have been a thief-and
probably the pretties were stripped by somebody that came across the
body.

Tarma turned back to her inspection of her mare's condition, and Kethry
nodded, shoving the blade back into its sheath.  "You're right about
this thin,"

she agreed.  "Metal that soft wouldn't hold an edge for five minutes.
Damn thing is nearly useless.  that pretty much confirms it.  The
departed wasn't dressed particularly well, I doubt he'd have much use
for a dress-sword."  She started to stick the thing point-down into the
cairn they'd built-then, moved by some impulse she didn't quite
understand, put it into her pack, instead.

There was something about that sword-something buried below the seeming
of its surface, something: that tasted of magic.  And if there was
magic involved, Kethry thought vaguely, it might be worth saving to
look into later.

Neither Tarma nor Jadrek noticed; Tarma was checking Ironheart's feet,
and Jadrek was pressed up against Hellsbane's side with his eyes
closed, trying to absorb some of the mare's warmth into his' own
body.

Tarma straightened up with a groan.  "Well, people,

I hate to say this, but-"

Kethry and Jadrek sighed simultaneously

"I know," Kethry replied.  "Time to go."

Darkness was falling swiftly, and the snow was coming down thicker than
ever.  They'd given up trying to find a campsite themselves; Tarma had
sent Warrl out instead.  That meant they had one less set of eyes to
guard them, but Warrl was the only one who stood a chance of finding
shelter for them.

Tarma was leading both horses; on a trail this uncertain, she wanted it
to be her that stumbled or fell, not the mares.  She was cold to the
point of numbness, and every time Hellsbane tripped on the uneven
ground, she could hear Jadrek catching his breath in pain, and Kethry
murmuring encouragement to him.

; - Tarma was no longer thinking much beyond the next step, and all her
hopes were centered on the Kyree.  If they didn't find shelter by dawn,
they'd be so weary that no amount of will could keep them from
resting-and once resting, no amount of foreknowledge would keep them
from falling asleep : ~ And they would die.  ~ ~Tarma wondered how many
ghosts haunted the %g - , fools or the desperate, lured into trying to
~ad the rocky hills and falling victim to no enemy but the murderous
weather.

she half-listened to the wind wailing among the ~s above them.  It
sounded like voices.  The voices of hungry ghosts, vengeful ghosts,
jealous of the The kinds of ghosts that showed up in the tales of her
people, now and again, who sought to lure others to their deaths, so
that they might have company.  How many fools-how many ghosts a white
shape loomed up out of the dusk before them, blocking the path.  A
vague, ivory rider on an ethereal silver horse, appearing suddenly and
soundlessly out of the snow, like a pallid harbinger of doom.

"Li'sa'eer!"  Tarma croaked, and dropped the reins of both horses,
pulling the sword slung at her back in the next instant, and wondering
wildly if goddess-blessed steel could harm a hungry ghost.

"Mindmate, no!:

Warn jumped down from the hillside to her right to interpose his bulk
between her and the spirit .  Mind-mate-this is helP!  " The voice of
the one astride the strange white beast was not at of a spirit; nor,
when Tarma allowed a corner of her to test the feel of him, was there
any of the mage magic.  The man's voice was not she asso~normally
sounded, it was warm, deep, and held a tinge of amusement.  Your four
footed friend came looking for aid, and we heard his calling.  I did
not mean to startle you.  lady."

Tarma's harms shook as she resheathed the blade.  "Goddess bless-warn a
body next time!  You just about ate six thumbs of steel!"

"Again, your pardon, but-we could not tell exactly where you were. Your
presences seem rather blurred."

"Never mind that," Kethry interrupted from behind

Tarma, her voice sharp.  "Who are you?  What are you?  Why should we
trust you?

The man did not seem to be taken aback by her words.  "You're wise not
to take anything on appearance, lady.  You don't know me-but I do know
you, I've talked to your friend mind-to-mind, and know who you are and
what you wish.  You can trust me on three counts."  He and his horse
moved in to stand nose to nose with Ironheart.  Tarma saw with no
little surprise that even in the fading light the beast's eyes were
plainly a bright and startling blue.  "Firstly-that you are no longer
in Rethwellan you crossed the Border some time back, and you are in
Valdemar.  The enemy on your back trail will not be able to pass the
Border, nor would I give you to him.  Secondly, that the man you seek,
Prince Stefansen, is Valdemar's most welcome guest, and I will be
taking you to him as quickly as your tired beasts can manage.  And
thirdly, you can trust me because of my office."

Look-we're tired, we don't know anything about your land, and our
friend, who might, is not even half-conscious."

: So that was what was making Keth's voice sound like she was walking
on glass.

I seem to be making a mess of this," the man replied ruefully.  "I am
Roald, one of the Heralds of Valdemar.  And you may believe your large,
hairy friend there, that any Herald is to be trusted."

: they are, mind mate Warrl confirmed.  "With more than life.  There is
no such creature as a treacherous Herald.: all right, Tarma thought,
worn past exhaustion

- We've got no chance out here-and you've never been wrong before this,
Furface.  "Lead on, Herald Roald," she said aloud.  And

:: wearily hoped Warrl was right this time, too.

Eight

Tarma clasped her blue-grey pottery mug in both her hands and sniffed
the spicy, rich aroma of the hot wine it contained a trifle warily. The
stuff was too hot to drink; not that she minded.  The heat of it had
warmed the thick clay of the mug, and that, in turn, was warming her
hands so that they no longer ached in each separate joint.  And the
heat gave her an excuse to be cautious about drinking it.

She blinked sleepily at the flames in the fireplace before her, trying
to muster herself back up to full alertness.  But she was feeling the
heat ceeping into her bones, and with the heat came relaxation.  The
fire cast dancing patterns of light and shadow up into the exposed
rough-hewn beams of the square common room, and made the various
trophies of horns and antlers hung on the polished wooden walls seem to
move.  She didn't want to stir, not at all, and that had the potential
for danger.

She was wearing, bizarrely enough, some of Roald's spare clothing, all
of her own too thoroughly soaked even to bother with.  A Kal'enedral in
white-Warrior bless, now that's a strange thought.  Roald was the only
one of them near to her size; off his horse he was scarcely more than a
couple of thumb lengths taller than Tarma, and was just as rangy-thin.
He was exceedingly handsome in a rugged way, with a heavy shock of dark
blond hair, a neat little beard, and eyes as blue as his horse's.

I thought I'd never be warm again.  She settled a little more down into
her chair and the eiderdown they'd given her to wrap around herself,
and blinked at the kyree stretched out between her and the flames,
Warrl was fast asleep on the red-tiled hearth at her feet, having
bolted a meal of three rabbits first.  He trusts them.  Especially
Roald.  Dare we?

Her chair was set just to one side of the fireplace, practically on the
hearthstone.  Directly across from her, Kethry was curled up in a
second chair, wrapped in eiderdown, looking small and unwontedly
serious.  She'd been summarily stripped of her wet gear, the same as
Tarma, but opted for one of Lady Mertis' soft green wool gowns.  Jadrek
had been spirited away as well, and re garbed in Stefansen's
warmest-heavy brown wool breeches and tunic and knitted shirt.

If Roald hadn't come when he did-Star-Eyed, we came perilously close to
losing him.  If I'd known he'd taken enough of that painkilling stuff
to put him out like that

Jadrek was pacing the floor beside the two chairs and within the arc of
heat and light cast by the fire.  He limped very badly-walking slowly,
haltingly, trying to shake the fog of his medicines from his head so
that he could talk coherently again.  He was moving so stiffly that
Tarma hurt just watching him.

I wonder; he knew we were in bad trouble when we stopped that last
time.  I wonder if he didn't dose himself on purpose, figuring that
we'd either find shelter and he'd be all right, or that we wouldn't,
and while he was unconscious the cold would kill him painlessly and get
him out of our hair.  That's something a Clansman might do.  Damnit-I
like this man, And he has no reservations about Stefansen and this
Herald.  But I do.  I must.

Stefansen's wife, Mertis (that had come as a shock to Jadrek, that
Stefansen had actually wedded), was seated in another chair a bit
farther removed from the fire, nursing their month-old son.  I like
her, too.  That's a sweet little one-why do I have to distrust these
people ?

Stefansen, who resembled Idra to a startling degree, (except that on a
man's face the features that had been harsh for a woman were strong,
and those that had been handsome were breathtaking) was talking quietly
with Roald, the two of them sitting on a pair of chairs they'd pulled
up near to Mertis.  A most domestic and harmonious scene, if you could
ignore the worry in everyone's eyes.

Good thing we had Jadrek to vouch for us, or Stefansen might have left
us to freeze, and be damned to his Herald friend.  He did not like the
fact that we'd come looking for him out of Rethwellan.  He's still
watching me when he thinks I'm not paying any attention.  We're both
like wary wolves at first meeting, neither one sure the other isn't
going to bite.

This turned out to be Roald's own hunting lodge, which, since it was
not exactly a small dwelling, told Tarma that whatever else he was, the
Herald was also a man of means.  It was now the "humble" abode of the
Prince-in-exile, his bride of ten months, and their infant son.
Valdemar had given Stefansen the sanctuary he needed, but it was a
secret sanctuary; the King and Queen of Valdemar dared not compromise
their country's safety, not with Rethwellan sharing borders with both
themselves and their hereditary enemy, Karse.

The wine was cool enough to drink now, and Tarma had decided she
couldn't detect anything dangerous in it.  She sipped at it, letting it
soothe her raw throat and ease the cold in the pit of her stomach.
While she drank, she scrutinized Mertis again over the edge of the
mug.

Tarma watched the gentle woman rocking her son in her arms, studying
her with the same care she'd have spent on the reconnoitering of an
enemy camp.  Mertis was not homely, by any means, but not a raving
beauty, either.  She had a sweet, soft face; frank brown eyes that
seemed to demand truth of you; wavy, sable-brown hair.  Not the kind of
woman one would expect to captivate an experienced rake like Stefansen.
Which meant there was more to her than showed on the surface.

Then again-Tarma hid a smile with her mug as she thought of the moment
when Roald had brought them stumbling up to the door of the lodge.
Mertis had been everywhere, easing Jadrek down from his grip on
Kethry's saddle, helping him to stumble into the warm, brightly lit
lodge, building up the fire with her own hands, issuing crisp,
no-nonsense orders to her spouse, the Herald, and the two servants of
the lodge, without regard for rank.  That just might have been her
secret-that she had been the only woman to treat Stefansen like a
simple man, a person, and not throw herself at his feet, panting like a
bitch in heat.

Or it might have been a half dozen other things, but one was a
certainty; Tarma knew love well enough to recognize it when those two
looked at each other.  And never mind that Mertis was scarcely higher
In birth than Kethry

"Jadrek?"  Stefansen called softly, catching Tarma's attention.  "Have
you walked yourself out yet?  I'd rather you got a night's sleep, but
Roald seems to think we need to talk now."

"Not just you two-all of us, the mercenaries included," the Herald
corrected.  "We all have bits of information that need to be put
together into a whole."

Stefansen is looking wary again.  I'll warrant he didn't expect us to
be included in this little talk.  Ah well, duty calls.  "Just for the
record," Tarma said, unwinding herself from the eiderdown, "I'd tend to
agree.  And the sooner we get to it, the less likely one of us will
forget some triviality that turns out to be vital.  My people say,
'plans, like eggs, are best at the freshest.  '

Kethry nodded, and got up long enough to turn her chair in a
quarter-circle so that it faced the room rather than Tarma; Tarma did
the same as the men pulled theirs closer, and Roald brought in a third
chair for Jadrek.  Mertis left hers where it was, but put the babe back
in the cradle and leaned forward to catch every word.

Tarma watched the Prince, his spouse, and the Herald as covertly-but as
intently-as she could.  Warrl trusted them, and she'd never known the
kyree to be wrong.  He trusted them enough that he'd eaten without
checking the food for tampering, and was now sleeping as soundly as if
he hadn't a worry in the world.  Still, there was a first time for
everything, even for the kyree being deceived.

There's no sign of the Captain here, either.  But that might not mean
anything.

Jadrek spoke first, outlining what Raschar had been doing since
Stefansen's abrupt departure.  Tarma was surprised by the Prince's
reactions; he showed a great deal more intelligence and thoughtfulness
than rumor had given him credit for.  He seemed deeply disturbed by the
information that Raschar was continuing to tax the peasantry into
serfdom.  He looks almost as if he's taking it personally- huh, for
that matter, so does Mertis.  And I don't think it's An act.

Then Tarma and Kethry took up the thread, telling the little conclave
what they'd observed in their week or so at the Court, and what they'd
noted as they passed through the southern grain lands of Rethwellan.

The Prince asked more earnest questions of them, then, and seemed even
more disturbed by the answers.  He plainly did not like Kethry's report
of the mages lurking in the Court-and the tale of the attack on Jadrek
shocked him nearly white.

And that is not an act, Tarma decided.  He's more than shocked, he's
angry.  I wouldn't want to be Raschar and in front of him right now.

And finally all three spoke of Idra-what Jadrek knew, and what the
partners had heard before she'd vanished.

That changed the anger to doubt, and to apprehension.  "If she headed
here, she didn't arrive," Stefansen said, unhappily, the firelight
flaring up in time to catch his expression of profound disturbance.
"Damn it!  Dree and I had our differences, not the least of which was
that she voted for Char, but she's the one person in this world that I
would never wish any harm on.  Where in hell could she have gotten to
if she didn't come here?"

Tarma wished at that moment that she could have Warrl's thought-reading
abilities.  The Prince seemed sincere, but it would have been so very
easy for Idra to have met with an accident once she'd crossed into
Valdemar, particularly if Stefansen hadn't known about her change of
heart.  He could be using his surprise and dismay at learning that to
cover his guilt.

At the same time all her instincts were saying he was speaking only
truth

If only-I knew!

She turned her attention to Roald.  He seemed to be both holding
himself apart from the rest, and yet at the same time vitally concerned
about all of them.  Goddess-even us, and he just met us a few hours
ago, Tarma realized with a start.  And there was a knowledge coming
from somewhere near where her Goddess-bond was seated that told her
that this Herald was, as Warrl put it, someone to be trusted with more
than one's life.  If Stefansen murdered Idra, he'd know, she thought
slowly. I don't know how, but somehow he'd know.  And I bet he wouldn't
be sharing hearth and home with kim.  I can't see him giving
hearth-rights to a murderer of any kind, much less a kin-slayer.  Now I
wonder-how much of his worry is for us two, and how much is about us
?

After a long silence, Jadrek said: "This is not something I ever
expected to hear myself saying, but whatever has happened to Idra, I
fear her fate's going to have to take second place to what is happening
to the Kingdom."  Jadrek turned to the Prince, slowly, and with evident
pain.  "Stefan, Raschar is a leech on the body of Rethwellan."  Tarma
could see his eyes now, and the open challenge in them.  "You never
retracted your oath to your people as Crown Champion.  You still have
the responsibility of the safety of the Kingdom.  So what are you going
to do about the situation?"

"Jadrek, you never were one to pull a blow, were you?"  The Prince
smiled thinly.  "And you're still as blunt as ever you were.  Well, let
me put it out for us all to stare at.  Do you think I should try to
overthrow Char?"

"You know that's what I think," Jadrek replied, eyes glinting in the
firelight.  He looked alert and alive-and a candle mark ago Tarma would
never have reckoned on his reviving so fast.  "You'd be a thousand
times better as a king than your brother, and I know that was the
conclusion your sister came to after seeing him rule for six months."

"Roald?"

"You've matured.  You've truly matured a great deal in the time you've
been here," the Herald said thoughtfully.  "I don't know if it was
fatherhood, or my dubious example, but-you're not the willing rakehell
you were, Stefan.  The careless fool you were would have been a worse
king than your brother, ultimately-but the man you are now could be a
very good ruler."  :;

Stefansen turned to Mertis, and stopped dead at a strange, hair-raising
humming.  Tarma felt the tingling of a power akin to the Warrior's
along her: spine; she glanced sharply at Kethry in startlement, only to
see that the mage wore an equally surprised expression.  The humming
seemed to be coming from-; the heap of saddle packs and weaponry they'd
dumped just inside the door, after Mertis had extracted their soiled,
soaked clothing for cleaning.

Stefansen rose as if in a dream, as the rest of them remained frozen in
their seats.  He walked slowly to the shadowed pile, reached down, and
took something in his hands.

A long, narrow something.

Bits of enshrouding darkness began peeling from it, and light gleamed
where the pieces had fallen away.  The thing he held was a sword-not
hers not Kethry's-a sword in a half-decayed sheath

As the last of the rotten sheath flaked off of it, Tarma could see from
the shape of it that it was the dead man's sword that they'd found-and
no longer the lifeless, dull grey thing it had been.  In Stefansen's
hands it was keening a wild song and glowing white-hot, lighting up the
entire room.

Stefansen stood with it in both hands, as frozen for a moment as the
rest of them were.  Then he dropped it-and as it hit the wooden floor
with a dull thud, the light died, and the song with it.

"Mother of the gods!  " he exclaimed, staring at the blade at his feet.
"What in hell is that?"

Jadrek shook his head.  "This is just not to be believed-Idra pretends
to go ha ring off after the Sword That Sings-then we just happen to
stumble on it on a remote trail, and just happen to bring it with
us-"

"Archivist, I hate to disagree," Tarma interrupted, but it's not so
much of a coincidence as you might think.  Idra wanted an excuse to go
north.  If she'd wanted one to go south, I would bet you'd have found a
different legend, but the Sword's legend says it was stolen and taken
north, so that's the one you chose.  There's only one real road through
the Comb.  No thief would take that, and no fugitive well that left
this goat-track we followed.  I know it's the closest path to the real
road, and I'll bet it's one of the few that go all the way through.  No
great coincidence there.  As for the coincidence of Us finding the dead
thief, and of Keth taking the sword-I'll bet he was found a good dozen
times, or why were the gold work and the gems gone from the sheath and
the pommel?  But nobody in their right mind would bother taking a blade
that wouldn't cut butter.  And we've been stopping in every likely
sheltered spot, so it's small wonder that we ran across him and his
booty.  But I would be willing to stake Ironheart that no mage ever ran
across the body.  Mages can sense energies, even quiescent ones; right,
Keth?"

"That's true," Kethry corroborated.  "I knew there was something about
it, but I didn't have the strength to spare to deal with it right then.
So I did what most mages would do-I packed it up to look into it later,
if there was a later.  Besides, knowing how these mage-purposed things
work, I would say that the sword might well have known where it was
going.  It could well have 'told' me to bring it here."

"And the sword, once it sensed you were wavering on making a bid for
the throne, made itself known," Mertis concluded wryly.

"It appears," Stefansen said ruefully, "that I don't have any
choice."

"No more than I did, my friend," Roald replied with a chuckle, and a
smile.  "No more than I did."

But Stefansen sagged, and his face took on an expression of despair.
"This is utterly hopeless, you know," he said.  "Just how am I supposed
to get back the crown when my only allies are a baby, an outlander,
three women, a-forgive me, Jadrek-half crippled scholar, an outsized
beast, and a sword that's likely to betray me by glowing and singing
every time I touch it?"

"I really don't see why you're already giving up," Roald chided.
"Thrones have been overturned with less.  What do you really need for a
successful rebellion ?  "

"For a start, you need someone who knows where each and every secret
lies," Jadrek said, sitting up straighter, his eyes shining with
enthusiasm.  "Someone who knows which person can be bought and what his
price is, which person can be blackmailed, and who will serve out of
either love or duty.  I haven't been sitting in the corners of the
Court being ignored all these years without learning more than a few of
those things."

"We could infiltrate the capital disguised," Kethry said, surprising
her partner.  "Magical disguises, if we have to.  No one will know us
then; Jadrek can tell me who are the ones he wants contacted; if we can
get one of us into the Court itself, we could pass messages, arrange
meetings.  I know Tarma could go in as a man, with an absolute minimum
of disguising, all physical."

So we've thrown in with this lot, have we, she 'enedra?  Is it the
cause that attracts you, or the fact that it's Jadrek's cause?  But,
since Kethry had added herself to the little conspiracy, Tarma added
her own thought,-in spite of her better judgment.  "Huh, yes-if we can
figure something that would put me into the Court without suspicion."

"Challenge the current champion of the King's Guard to combat," Mertis
put in, surprising Tarma considerably.  "That's anyone's right if they
want to get in the Guard.  Free swords do it all the time, there's
nothing out of the ordinary about it.  If you do well, you've got a
place; if you beat him, you automatically become head of the Guard.
That would put you at Raschar's side every day.  You couldn't get any
closer to the heart of the Court than that."

Stefansen looked doubtfully at the lean swords woman

"Challenge the champion?  Has she got a chance ?  "

Still not sure you trust us, hmm, my lad?  I can't say as I blame you.
I'm still not entirely sure of you.

But Mertis smiled, and Tarma sensed that the gentle-seeming lady had a
good set of claws beneath her velvet.  "If half the tales I've heard
about the Shin'a'in Swordsworn are true, she'll have his place before
he can blink.  And right at Raschar's side is the place we could best
use you, Swordlady."

It became evident to Tarma that guileless Mertis was no stranger to
intrigue as the evening wore on, and the plan began to look more and
more as if it had a strong chance of success.  In fact, it was she who
turned to Roald, and asked, bluntly, "And what is Valdemar prepared to
grant us besides sanctuary?"

Roald blinked once, and replied as swiftly, "What will Valdemar get in
return?"

"Alliance in perpetuity if we succeed," Stefansen said, "My word on
that, and you know my word-"

"Is more than good."

"Thank you for that.  You know very well that you could use an ally
that shares a border with Karse.  You also know we've stayed neutral in
that fight, and you know damned well that Char would never change that
policy.  I will; I'll ally with you, unconditionally.  More-I'll pledge
Valdemar favor for favor should you ever choose to call it in.  And
I'll swear it on the Sword-that will bind every legal heir to the
pledge for as long as the Sword is used to choose rulers."

Roald let out his breath, slowly, and raised his eyebrows.  "Well,
that's a lot more than I expected.  But you know we don't dare do
anything openly.  So that means covert help .. ."  His brow wrinkled in
thought for a moment.  "What about this every rebellion needs finances,
and arms.  Those I think I can promise."

Kethry looked rather outraged; Tarma was just perplexed.  Who exactly
was this herald?

Kethry took the question right out of her mouth.

"Just what power is yours that you can fulfill those promises?"  Kethry
asked with angry cynicism.  "It's damned easy to promise things you
know you won't have to supply just to get us off your backs and out of
your kingdom!"

Stefansen looked as if Kethry had blasphemed the gods of his House.
Mertis' jaw dropped.

I think Keth just put her foot in it, Tarma thought, seeing their
shocked reaction to what seemed to be a logical question.  Something
tells me that "herald" means more than "royal mouthpiece" around here

"He-Roald-is the heir to the throne of Valdemar,"

Mertis managed to stammer.  "Your Highness,

I am sorry-"

Tarma nearly lost her own jaw, and Kethry turned pale.  Insulting a
member of a Royal House like that had been known to end with a summary
execution.  "It's I who should beg pardon," Kethry said, shaken. 
"I-I've heard too many promises that weren't fulfilled lately, and I
didn't want Jad-my friends, I mean, counting on something that wouldn't
ever happen.  Your Highness-"

"Oh, Bright Havens-" Roald interrupted her, looking profoundly
embarrassed.  ""Highness," my eye!  How could I have been insulted by
honesty?  Besides, we aren't all that much sticklers about rank in the
Heraldic Circle.  Half the time I get worse insults than that!  And how
were you to know ?  You don't even know what a Herald of Valdemar is!"
He shrugged, then grinned.  "And I don't know what a Swordsworn is, so
we're even!  Look, the law of Valdemar is that every Monarch must also
be a Herald; our Companions Choose us, rather like that musical sword
of Stefan's.  Both Father and Mother are Heralds, which makes them
co-consorts, so until they seek the Havens-may that take decades!  -I'm
not all that important, and I act pretty much as any other Herald.  The
only difference is that I have a few more powers, like being able to
make promises in the name of the throne to my friend, and know my
parents will see that those promises are met.  Now, about those
arms-"

Tarma was profoundly troubled; Kethry had thrown herself in with these
people as if she had known them all her life, but it was the
Shin'a'in's way to be rather more suspicious than her oath sister -or
at least more than Kethry was evidencing at the moment.  She needed to
think alone, and undisturbed.  And maybe ask for some advice.

She let the folds of the eiderdown fall to her sides, and stood up.
Four sets of eyes gave her startled glances, Kethry's included.

"I need to clear my head," she said, shortly.  "If you'll excuse me, I
think I'd like to go outside for a little."

"In the dark?  In a snowstorm?"  Jadrek blurted, astounded.  "Are you-"
He subsided at a sharp look from Kethry.

"Swordlady," the Herald said quietly, but looking distinctly troubled,
"you and the others are guests in my home; you are free to do whatever
you wish.  You will find a number of cloaks hanging in the entry.  And
I am certain an old campaigner like you needs no admonitions to take
care in a storm."

She followed the direction of his nod to the darkened end of the hall;
past the door there, she found herself in an entryway lit by a single
small lantern.  As he had said, there were several cloaks hanging like
the shadows of great wings from pegs near the outer door.  She took the
first one that came to her hand, one made of some kind of heavy, thick
fur, and went out into the dark and cold.

Outside, the storm was dying; the snow was back to being a thin veil,
and she could see the gleaming of the new moon faintly through the
clouds.  She was standing on some kind of sheltered, raised wooden
porch; the snow had been swept from it, and there was a open clearing
beyond it.  She paced silently down the stairs and out into the un
trampled snow, her footsteps making it creak underfoot, until she could
no longer feel the lodge looming so closely at her back.  Trees and
bushes made black and white hummocks in front of her and to both sides;
fitful moonlight on the snow and reflected through the clouds gave just
enough light to see by.  She felt unwatched, alone.  This spot would
do.  And, by sheer stroke of fortune, "south" lay directly before
her.

She took three deep breaths of the icy, sharp edged air, and raised her
head.  Then, still with her back to the building, she lifted her eyes
to the furtive glow of the moon, and throwing the cloak back over her
shoulders, spread her arms wide, her hands palm upward.

She felt a little uncomfortable.  This wasn't the sort of thing she
usually did.  She was not accustomed to making use of the side of her
that, as Kal'enedral, was also priestess.  But she needed answers from
a source she knew she could trust.  And the leshya'e Kal'enedral would
not be coming to her here unless she called to them.

She fixed her gaze on that dimly gleaming spot among the clouds;
seeking, but not walking, the Moonpaths.  Within moments her trained
will had brought her into trance.  In this exalted state, all sensation
of cold, of weariness, was gone.  She was no longer conscious of the
passing of time, nor truly of her body.  And once she had found the
place where the Moonpaths began, she breathed the lesser of the
Warrior's true names.  That murmur of meaning on the Moonpaths should
bring one of her teachers in short order.

From out of the cold night before her came a wind redolent of
sun-scorched grasslands, of endless, baking days and nights of
breathless heat.  It circled Tarma playfully, as the moonglow wavered
before her eyes.  The night grew lighter; she tingled from head to toe,
as if lightning had taken the place of her blood.  She felt, rather
than heard the arrival of Someone, by the quickening of all life around
her, and the sudden surge of pure power.

She lowered her hands and her eyes, expecting to see one of Her Hands,
the spirit-Kal'enedral that were the teachers of all living
Kal'enedral

-to see that the radiant figure before her, glowing faintly within a
nimbus of soft light, appeared to be leshya'e Kal'enedral, but was
unveiled-her body that of a young, almost sexless woman.  A woman of
the Shin'a'in, with golden skin, sharp features, and raven-black hair.
A swords woman garbed and armed from head to toe in unrelieved
black-and whose eyes were the featureless darkness of a starry night
sky, lacking pupil or iris.

The Star-Eyed Herself had answered to Tarma's calling, and was standing
on the snow not five paces from her, a faint smile on Her lips at
Tarma's start of surprise.

My beloved jel'enedra, do you value yourself so little that you think I
would not come to your summons ?  Especially when you call upon Me so
seldom Her voice was as much inside Tarma's head as falling upon her
ears, and it was so musical it went beyond song.

"Lady, I-" Tarma stammered.

Peace, Sword of My forging.  I know that Your failure to call upon Me
is not out of fear, but out of love; and out of the will to rely upon
your own strength as much as you may.  That is as it should be, for I
desire that My children grow strong and wise and adult' and not weakly
dependent upon a strength outside their own.  And that is doubly true
of My Kal'enedral, who serve as My Eyes and My Hands.  *

Tarma gazed directly into those other-worldly eyes, into the deep and
fathomless blackness flecktd with tiny dancing diamond-points of light,
and knew that she had been judged, and not found wanting.

"Bright Star-I need advice," she said, after a pause to collect her
thoughts.  "As You know my mind and heart, You know I cannot weigh
these strangers.  I want to help them, I want to trust them-but how
much of that is because my oath sister comes to their calling?  How
much do I deceive myself to please her?"

The warm wind stirred the black silk of Her hair as She turned those
depthless eyes to gaze at some point beyond Tarma's shoulder for a
moment.  Then She smiled.

*I think, jel'enedra, that your answer comes on its own feet, two and
four.  *

Two feet could mean Kethry-but four?  Warrl?

Snow crunched behind Tarma, but she did not remove her gaze from the
Warrior's shining face.  Only when the newcomers had arrived to stand
shoulder to shoulder with her did she glance at them out of the tail of
her eye.

And froze with shock.

On her right stood-or rather, knelt, since he fell immediately to one
knee, and bowed his head-the Herald, Roald, his white cloak flaring
behind him in Her wind like great wings of snow.  On Tarma's left was
the strange, blue-eyed horse.

Tarma felt her breath catch in her throat with surprise, but this was
only to be the beginning of her astonishment.  The horse continued to
pace slowly forward, and as he did so, he almost seemed to blur and
shimmer, much as Tarma's spirit teachers sometimes did-as if he were,
as they were, not entirely of this world.  Then he stopped, and stood
quietly when the Warrior laid Her hand gently upon his neck.  He
gleamed with all the soft radiance of the hidden moon, plainly
surrounded by an aura of light that was dimmer, but not at all unlike
Hers.

* Rise, Chosen; it is not in Me to be pleased with subservience She
said to the Herald, who obeyed Her at once, rising to stand silently
and worshipfully at Tarma's shoulder.  ~Vai dat1la-so, young
princeling, your land forges white Swords that fit the same sheath as
My black, eh She laughed, soundlessly, looking from Roald to Tarma and
back again.  Such a pretty pair you make, like moon and cloud, day and
night, bright and dark.  How an artist would die for such a sight! Two
such opposites-and yet so much the same

It was only then that Tarma saw that the white clothing she had been
wearing had been transmuted to the Warrior's own ebony, as was proper
for Kal'enedral.

And you, My gentle Child * She continued, caressing the white horse's
shining neck, *-are leshya'e Kal'enedral of another sort, hmm?  Like My
Hands, and unlike.  Perhaps to complete the set I should see if any of
My Children would become as you.  What think you, should their be sable
Companions to match the silver The look the horse-no, Companion-bent
upon Her was one of reproach.  She laughed again.  Not?  Well, it was
but a thought.  But this is well met, and well met again!  This is a
good land, yours.  It deserves good servants, strong defenders-vigilant
champions to guard it and hold it safe as My Hands hold Mine.  Do we
not all serve to drive back the Dark, each in his own fashion?  So I
say-well met, Children of My Other Self!*

She turned that steady regard back to Tarma.  Are you answered, My
cautious one

Tarma bowed her head briefly, filled with such relief that she was
nearly dizzy with it.  And filled as suddenly with an understanding of
exactly what and who this Herald and his Companion were.  "I am
answered, Bright Star."

Then let white Sword and black serve as they are meant-to cleave the
True Darkness, and not each: other, as you each feared might befall

There was another breath of hot wind, a surging of power that left
Tarma's eyes dazzled, and She was gone.."

The Herald closed his eyes briefly, and let out the breath he had been
holding in a great sigh.  As the horse returned to stand beside him, he
opened his eyes again, and turned to face Tarma.

"Forgive me for doubting you, even a little," he said, his voice and
the hand he extended to her trembling slightly.  "But I followed you
out here because-"

"For the same reason I would have followed you had our positions been
reversed," Tarma interrupted, clasping the hand he stretched out.  "I
wasn't expecting

Her when I called, but I think I know now why She came.  Both of us
have had our doubts settled, haven't we-brother?"

His hold on her hand was warm and steady, and his smile was unwavering
and equally warm.  "I think, more than settled, sister."

She caught his other hand; they stood facing each other with hands
clasped in hands for a very long time, savoring the moment.  There was
nothing even remotely sexual about what they shared in that timeless
space; just the contentment and love of soul-sib meeting soul-sib,
something akin to what Tarma had for Kethry

-and, she realized, with all the knowledge that passed to her from her
Goddess in her moment of enlightenment, what this Herald shared with
his Companion.  For it was no horse that stood beside Roald, and she
wondered now how she could have ever thought that it was.  Another
soul-sib.  And-how odd-even the Heralds don't know exactly what their
Companions are

It was Roald who finally sighed, and let the moment pass.  "I fear," he
said, dropping her hands reluctantly, "that if we don't get back to the
others soon, they'll think we've either frozen to death, or gotten
lost."

"Or," Tarma laughed, giving his shoulders a quick embrace before
pulling her cloak back around herself, "murdered each other out here'
By the way-" She stretched out her arm, showing him that the tunic she
wore was still the black of a starless night.  "-I wonder how we're
going to explain what happened to the clothing I borrowed?"

He laughed, long and heartily.  "Be damned if I know.  Maybe they won't
notice?  Right-not likely.  Oh well, I'll think of something.  But you
owe me, Swordlady; that was my second best set of Whites before you
witched it!"

Tarma joined his laughter, as snow crunched under their boots.  "Come
to the Dhorisha Plains when this is over, and I'll pay you in Shin'a'in
horses and Shin'a'in gear!  It will break their artistic hearts, but I
think I can persuade some of my folk to make you a set of unadorned
Kal'enedral white silks."

"Havens, lady, you tempt my wandering feet far too much to be denied!
You have a bargain," he grinned, taking the porch steps two at a time
and flinging open the door for her with a flourish.  "I'll be at your
tent flap someday when you least expect it, waiting to collect."

And, unlikely as it seemed, she somehow had the feeling that he would
one day manage to do just that.

,

Nine

It was difficult, but by no means impossible, to pull energies from the
sleeping earth in midwinter.  All it took was the skill-and time and
patience, and Kethry had those in abundance.  And further, she had
serious need of any mote of mage-energy she could harbor against the
future, as well as any and all favors she could bank with the
other-planar allies she had acquired in her years as a White Winds
sorceress.  She had not had much chance to stockpile either after the
end of the Sunhawks' last commission, and the journey here had left her
depleted down to her lowest ebb since she and Tarma had first met.

So she was not in the least averse to spending as much time in the
hidden lodge with Stefansen and Mertis as the winter weather made
necessary; she had a fair notion of the magnitude of the task awaiting
them.  She and Jadrek and Tarma might well be unequal to it

In fact, she had come to the conclusion that they would need resources
she did not have-yet.

On a lighter note, she was not at all displeased about being "forced"
to spend so much time in Jadrek's company.  Not in the least.

She was sitting cross-legged on the polished wooden floor next to the
fireplace, slowly waking her body up after being in trance for most of
the day.  Jadrek was conversing earnestly with Roald, both of them in
chairs placed where the fire could warm him, and she could study him
through half slitted eyes at her leisure.

Jadrek seemed so much happier these days-well, small wonder.  Stefansen
respected him, Mertis admired him, Tarma allowed him to carry her off
to interrogate in private at almost any hour.  She was willing to
answer most of his questions about the "mysterious" (at least to the
folk of Rethwellan) nomad Shin'a'in.  Roald did him like courtesy about
the equally "mysterious" Heralds of Valdemar.  Both of them accorded
him the deference due a serious scholar.  Warrl practically worshiped
at his feet Jadrek's ability to "hear" the beast being in no wise
abated), and he seemed to share Tarma's feeling of comradeship with the
kyree.  Being given the respect he was (in all sober truth) due had
done wonders for his state of mind.  As the days passed, the lines of
bitterness around his mouth were easing into something more pleasant.
He smiled, and often, and there was no shadow of cynicism in it; he
laughed, and there was no hint of mockery.

Physically he was probably in less pain than he had been for
years-which Kethry was quite sure was due to Need's Healing abilities.
Need was exerting her magic for a man because he was important to
Kethry.  For Kethry had no doubt as to how she felt about the
Archivist.  If there was ever going to be one man for her, Jadrek was
that man.

All the men I've known, she thought with a touch of wry humor, and all
the men I've been courted by-it boggles the mind.  Mages, fighters-some
of them damned good looking.  Good lord, if you were to count
Thalhkarsh, I've even been propositioned by a godling!  And who is it
that attracts me like no one else ever has ?  A scholar half again my
age, who I could probably break in half if I put my mind to it, with no
recourse to Need required.

"... Like all those weird ling things out of the Pelagirs," Roald
finished, "Except that this thing seems impossible to kill."

"The Pelagirs?"  Jadrek exclaimed, perplexed.  "But I thought you said
this thing was seen north of Lake Evendim?"

"It was-right in the heart of the Pelagir Hills."

"Wait a moment," Jadrek said, rummaging in the pile of clutter under
his chair, and hunting up a piece of scraped vellum and a bit of
charcoal.  "All right-here's the lake-your Pelagirs are where?"

"Up here."  The Herald took the charcoal from him and sketched.

"Huh."  Jadrek studied the sketch thoughtfully.  "We have a range of
hills we call the Pelagirs, too-here."

"Well!  I will be dipped for a sheep-"

"Fairly obvious, now that we have the information, isn't it?"  Jadrek
said with a grin.  "Your Pelagirs and ours are the same; except that
your inland sea cuts off the tail of the range, leaving it isolated
from the rest up in your northwest corner.  And now that I know that's
true, I think I know what your 'man-beast' is, assuming I've got the
description right.  Four arms, twice man-height, face like a boar and
taloned hands ?  No sign of genitals, nipples or navel, and the color
of clay?"

"That's it."

"It's a krashak, a mage-made construct.  Virtually immortal and
indestructible."

"You can name it; can you tell us how to get rid of it?"  Roald
pleaded.

"Oddly enough, yes; it's a funny thing, but High Magick seems curiously
vulnerable to Earth Magick, and with all the mages hanging about Char I
took to looking for spell-breakers.  It will take courage, but if you
can get in close to the thing without it seizing you, and throw a
mixture of salt, moly and Lady's Star into its eyes and mouth, it will
literally fall apart."  He coughed, coloring a little with
embarrassment.  "I know it sounds like a peasant superstition, but it
does work.  I found a mage I could trust, and asked him.  Now I-I
alwaYs carry some with me...."

Roald only looked impressed.  "Havens, how long did you have to look
before you found that out?

Jadrek flushed, this time with pleasure.  Well, I got the first hint of
it from a translation of Grindel's Discourses on Unnatural History."

"The Orwind translation, or the Quenta?

"The Orwind...."  Their voices sank again and Kethry lost the thread of
their conversation.  It didn't much matter; she was more interested in
watching

Jadrek in an unguarded mood.  Oh, that mind!  I don't think anything
ever escapes him.  And, for all that he's been treated badly, he so
enjoys people-such a vital spirit in that flawed body.  He's so alive.
And damn it, I-Windborn, he makes me so shameless that I feel like a
cat in heat around him.  I want to purr and cuddle up against him-gods,
I am bloody well infatuated.

If he so much as raised an eyebrow of invitation at me, I'd warm his
bed in a minute!

Unfortunately, he seemed blissfully unaware of that fact, so far as she
could tell.  Oh well.

As for Tarma, from the moment she had reentered the hall arm in arm
with Roald, Stefansen and Mertis accepted her without reservation And
that meant that Mertis was only too haPPY to let her play nursemaid to
little Megrarthon whenever she wished.  Which was most of the time.

And which was precisely what she was doing at this very moment.

She's as happy as Jadrek, Kethry mused.  For that matter, so is the
babe.  Just look at her

Tarma was cuddling the happily cooing child in her black-clad arms, her
expression a soft and warm one that few besides Kethry had ever seen.
The hands that had killed so often, and without remorse, were holding
the little one as gently as if he were made of down and spun glass.
'the harsh voice that had frightened many an errant fighter into
instant obedience was crooning a monotonous lullabye.

She'd be happiest surrounded by a dozen small ones, or two or three
dozen.  And they know it; children know it, somehow.  I've never seen
one run from her, not even in the midst of a house-to-house battle.
More often than not, they run to her.  And rightly; she'd die to
protect a child.  When this is over-when this is over, I swear we'll
give this up.  Win or lose, we'll refound her Clan for her, and to the
nether hells with my school if that's what it takes.  I'll spend the
rest of my life as a hedge -wizard and Shin 'a 'in horse breeder if I
have to.

While she watched, Tarma put the now-slumbering child back in his
cradle; rose, stretching like a cat, then began heading for the fire.
The two men at hearthside turned at the soft sound of her footstep, and
smiled as one.  She saw the smiles, and returned their grins with a
good-natured shake of her head.

"And what are you two smirking about?"  she asked, clasping her hands
behind her and detouring slightly to stroll over to them, her lithe,
thin body seeming almost to move fluidly, bonelessly.

The rest has done her good, too.  She's in better shape than she's been
in months-years

"Trying to imagine you as a man, Darksib," Roald teased, using the pet
name he'd invented for her.  "Put a youngling around you, and you'd
give yourself awayin a breath."

"Hah.  I'm a better actor than that.  But as to that," she paused
before them, crossed her arms, and frowned a little, "you know, we
really ought to be getting on with it.  Raschar isn't sitting back, not
likely.  He's consolidating his power, you can bet on it.  We had
better be safely in place before he gets himself so ensconced on the
throne that there'll be no dislodging him without an army."

Kethry felt the last of her muscles emerge into wakefulness' and began
uncoiling from her position in the hearth-corner.  "The sleeper
awakes," Roald noted.

"Not sleeper," she corrected, imitating Tarma's long stretch.  "I've
been listening while I was coming out of trance.  And, loath though I
am to leave, in agreement with Tarma.  I'm at full power now; Tarma and
Jadrek have recovered.  It's time to go."

She half expected Jadrek to protest, but he, too, nodded.  "If we don't
go now," he opined, gravely, "Stefan won't have a kingdom to come back
to.  But

I do have one excellent question-this plan of ours calls for Tarma to
replace the champion, and you can bet that Char won't let a Shin'a'in
within a spear's cast of him now.  So to truly ensure her safety, that
means a full magical disguise.  With all the mages in the Court, how
are you going to hide the fact that Tarma's be spelled  They won't let
anyone with a smell of magic on him compete with the King's champion,
you know."

Tarma raised an interrogative eyebrow at her.  "The thought had
occurred to me, too," she said.  "Every trial-by-combat that I've ever
seen has specifically forbidden any kind of magic taint, even lucky
amulets."

"Well, I'll answer that in an hour," Kethry replied.

"Why in an hour?"

"Because that's how long it will take me to try a full Adept
manifestation, and see if it succeeds or fails."

Kethry didn't want an audience, not for this.  Not even Tarma.  So she
took one of the fur cloaks and went out into the snow-laden scrub
forest until she found a little clearing that was far enough from the
lodge that she couldn't see or sense the building or the people within
it.  The weather was beautiful; the air was utterly still, the sky a
deepening blue, the sun beginning its downward journey into the west.
There would be no better time than now.

A mage of the White Winds school was tested by no one except himself,
with a series of spells marking the rise in ability from Apprentice to
Journeyman, from Journeyman to Master, and from Master to Adept.  A
mage could attempt these spells whenever he chose, and as many times as
he chose.  They would only work when he was truly ready.  The series
was constructed so that the power granted by each was used to fuel the
spell for the next.

A little like priming a pump, I suppose; and if you don't have faith
that you're ready, you can't bear to waste the power.  I feel ready,
Kethry decided.  Well

She initiated the Journeyman spell, gathering her own, strictly
personal power about her like a cloak, and calling the Lesser Wind of
Fire and Earth, the Stable Elements.  It chose to come out of the
south, always a good omen, and whirled about her three times, leaving
more power than it took to call it.  She fairly glowed with energy now,
even to normal eyes.

Next-the Master Spell, and the Greater Wind of Air and Water, the
Mutable Elements-the Mutables were much harder to control than the
Stable Elements.

She raised her hands high over her head, and whispered the words of the
spell as she formed the energy left by the first with her will into the
mageshapes called the Cup and the Mill-concentrating with all her
soul-calling, but not coercing.

This time the wind came from all four directions and melded into a
gentle whirlwind around her, a wind that sang and sparkled with
unformed power.  When it, too, had circled her three times, she was
surrounded by a shell of light and force that shifted and changed
moment by moment, opalescing with every color that the mind could
conceive.

She drew a deep breath and launched herself fearlessly into the Spell
of Adept Manifestationcalling the White Wind itself-the Wind of the
Five Elements.

It required the uttermost of any mage that dared it; she must take the
power granted her by the first two spells and all of her own, and weave
it into an intricate new shape with her will-and the power fought back,
resisting the change to itself, twisting and twining in her mental
"hands."  Simultaneously, she must sing the words of the spell,
controlling tone, tempo, and cadence to within a hairsbreadth of
perfection.  And she must keep her mind utterly empty of all other
thought but the image of the form she strove to build.  She dared not
even allow a moment to contemplate failure, or fail she would.  One
mistake, and the power would vanish, escaping with the agility of a
live thing.

She finished.  She held her breath.  There was one moment of utter
quietude, as time and all time governed ceased-and she wondered.

Had she failed?

And then the White Wind came.

It fountained up out of the ground at her feet as she spread her arms
wide, growing into a geyser of power and light and music that
surrounded her and permeated her until all she could see and hear and
feel was the light and the force.  She felt the power fill her mind and
give her soul great wings of fire

It was sundown when she stepped back through the door; Tarma had
plainly expected her to be exhausted, and was openly astonished to see
that she wasn't.

"It worked," she said with quiet rapture, still held by the lingering
exaltation-and just a little giddy with the intoxication of all that
power flowing through her.

"It did?"  Tarma asked, eyebrows arching toward her hairline, as Jadrek
and Roald approached with avid curiosity plain on their faces

"I'll prove it to you."  Kethry cupped her hands together,
concentrating on the space enclosed there.  When the little wisp of
roseate force she called into her hands had finished whirling and
settled into a steady glow, she began whispering to it, telling it
gently what she asked of it in the ancient language of the White Winds
sorcerers.

While she chanted, Stefansen and Mertis joined the little group,
surrounding Kethry on all sides.  She just smiled and nodded, and
continued whispering to her sorcerous "captive."

Then she let it go, with joy; as a child releases a butterfly, and no
longer with the wrench of effort the illusion-spell used to cause her.
She was an Adept now, and forces that she had been incapable of
reaching were hers to command from this moment on.  Not carelessly,
no-and not casually-but never again, unless she chose to, would she
need to exhaust her own strength to cast a spell.  With such energies
at her command, the illusion-spell was as easy as lighting a candle.

The faintly glowing globe floated toward Tarma, who watched it with
eyes gone round in surprise.  The Shin'a'in's eyes followed it,
although the rest of her remained absolutely motionless, as the power
globe rose over her head.

Then it thinned into a faint, rosy mist, and settled over the swords
woman like a veil.

The veil clung to her for a moment, hiding everything but a vague shape
within its glowing, cloudy interior.  Then it was gone.

And where Tarma had been, there stood a young man, of no recognizable
racial type.  He had a harsh, stubborn, unshaven face, marked with two
scars, one running from his right cheek to his chin, the other across
his left cheek.  His nose had been broken in several places, and had
not healed straight at any time.  His hair was dirty brown,
shoulderlength, and curled; his eyes were muddy green.  He was at least
a handsbreadth taller than Tarma had been, and correspondingly broader
in the shoulders.

And that was a new thing indeed, for before this Kethry had never been
able to change size or general shape in her illusion spells.  Even
Tarma's clothing had changed, from her Shin'a'in Kal'enedral silks, to
rough homespun and tattered leather.  The only similarity between Tarma
and this man was that both carried their swords slung across their
backs.

"Bright Havens," breathed Roald.  "How did you do that?"

Tarma studied her hands and arms, wonder in her un-Tarmalike eyes. Tiny
scars made a lacework of white across the hands and as far up the arms
as could be seen beneath the homespun sleeves.  They were broad, strong
hands, and as dissimilar to Tarma's fine-boned, long ones as could be
imagined.

Kethry smiled.  "Magic," she said.

"And how do you keep Char's mages from seeing that magic?"  Stephansen
asked.

Kethry just smiled a little more.  "What else?  More magic.  The spell
only an Adept can control, the spell that makes magic undetectable and
invisible even to the best mage-sight."

Tarma was back to looking like herself again, and feeling a good deal
happier as a result, as they rode out the next morning.  Jadrek had his
own horse now, a gentle palfrey that had belonged to Mertis, a
sweet-tempered bay gelding with a gait as comfortable as any beast
Tarma had ever encountered.

He also had some better medicines) more effective and far less
dangerous than his old, courtesy of a Valdemaren Healer Roald brought
to the lodge himself after Jadrek had had a particularly bad night.

Kethry had augmented the protection of his traveling cloak with another
spell she had not been able to cast until she reached Adept level.
Jadrek would ride warm now no matter what the weather.

Tarma had turned down Kethry's offer to do the same for her; she wanted
no spells on her that might betray her to a magic-sniffing mage if she
needed to go scouting.  But Roald had managed to round up enough
cold-weather gear for all of them to keep them protected even without
spell casting They were far better prepared this time for their journey
as they rode away from the lodge on a clear, sparkling dawn just before
Midwinter.

They felt-and to some extent, acted-like adolescents on holiday.  If
the weather turned sour, they simply put up their little tent, Kethry
cast a jesto-vath on it, and they whiled away the time talking.  When
the weather was fair, while they never completely dropped vigilance,
they tended to rely mostly on Warrl's senses while they enjoyed the
view and the company.  Beneath their ease was the knowledge that this
"holiday" would be coming to an end once they broke out of the Comb,
and there was a definite edge of "cherish the moment while you have it"
to their cheer.

An ice storm had descended on them, but you'd never have known it
inside their little tent.  Outside the wind howled-inside it was as
warm as spring sunshine.  This was a far cry from the misery of their
earlier journey on this same path.

Jadrek was still not capable of sitting cross-legged on the tent floor
the way the two women were doing, but they'd given him more than enough
room to stretch out, and the bedrolls and packs to use as cushioning
and props, and he was reasonably comfortable.

Better than I've been in ages, he thought wonderingly.

Better than-than since I took that fever as a child, and started having
trouble with my poor bones afterward.  That's been twenty, almost
thirty years.... he watched his quest companions through slitted,
sleepy eyes, marveling how close he had come to them in the space of a
few short weeks.  Tarma-the strong arm' so utterly without a conscience
when it comes to certain choices.  Brave, lady bless, braver than
anyone I could have imagined.  As honor-bound as anyone

I know.  The outside, so cold-the inside, so warm, so caring I'm not
surprised, really, that once she and Roald got the measure of each
other, they hit it off so well that they began calling each other
"Darksib" and "Brightsib " There's a great deal about her that is like
the Heralds I've known

The kyree at Tarma's back sighed, and flicked his tail.

warrl-if for no other reason than to have come to know something about
his kind, I'd treasure this quest.  If all kYree are like him, I don't
wonder that they have little to do with humankind There aren't many
around like Tarma, and I can't imagine Warrl mind mating to anyone that
didn't have her sense of honor and her prof oz and compassion

KethrY was un braiding and combing out her amber hair; it caught the
light of the jesto-vath on the tent walls and glowed with the warmth of
a young sun.  Jadrek felt his heart squeeze.  Keth, Kethry,
Kethriveris-lady, lady, how is it you make me feel like a stripling
again?  And I have no hope, no right to feel thiS way about you.  When
this mad scheme of ours is over, some stalwart young warrior will come,
and your eyes and heart will kindle, and he'll carry you off.  And I'll
never see you again.  Why should you find a mind attractive enough to
put up with a crippled, aging body?  I'm half again your age-why is it
that when we're talking you make me feel no age at all ?  Or every age?
how is it that you challenge my mind as well as my heart?  How did you
make me come alive again?

He stifled a sigh.  Enjoy it while it lasts, old man, he told himself,
trying not to be too bitter about it.  The end is coming all too
soon.

As it happened, the end came sooner than they had anticiPated.

KethrY frowned, and broke off her teasing in mid-sentence.

"Keth?"  Tarma asked, giving Ironheart the signal to slow.

"There's-oh Windborn!  I thought I'd thrown that bastard off!"  Kethry
looked angry-and frightened.  A gust of wind pulled her hood off and
she didn't even bother to replace it.

"The mage," Tarma guessed, as Jadrek brought his horse up alongside
theirs.

"The mage.  He's better than I thought.  He's waiting for us, right
where the path breaks out of the hills."

"Ambush ?  "

Kethry frowned again, and closed her eyes, searching the site with
mage-senses.  "No," she said finally.

"No, I don't think so.  He's just-waiting.  In the open.  And he's got
all his de fences up.  He's challenging me."

Tarma swore.  "And no way past him, as he probably damn well knows."

Kethry looked at her soberly, reining in Hellsbane.

"She'enedra, you aren't going to like this-"

"Probably not; what if we charge him?  You mages seem to have a problem
with physical opposition to magical de fences

"On that narrow path?  He could take us all.  And in no way are we
going to be able to sneak past him, not with Jadrek.  I'm going to have
to challenge him to a duel arcane."

"Wha,"?  "

"He's an Adept, I can tell that from here.  If I issue Adept's
challenge he'll have to answer it, or lose his status."

"And you've been Adept how long?  He'll eat you for lunch!"

"Better he eats me alone than all of us.  We can't just think of
ourselves now, Stefan is depending on us.  If-Tarma, he won't take me
without a fight, and if I go down, it won't be alone.  You can find
another mage to disguise you.  Once we get into Rethwellan, I become
the superfluous member of] the party."

"You're not going down!"  Tarma choked, as Jadrek tightened his mouth
into a thin line.

"I don't plan on it," Kethry said wryly.  "I'm just telling you what to
do if it happens.  Contract, my love.

Tarma's face went cold and expressionless; her heart stopped.  "This is
professional, right?"  They lived by the mercenary code and would die
by it, probably-and by that code, you didn't argue with the terms of
the contract once you'd agreed to it.

Kethry nodded.  "This is the job we've contracted for.  We're not being
paid in money-"

"But we've got to do our jobs."  Tarma nodded.  "You win.  I stopped
trying to keep you wrapped in wool a long time ago; I'm not going to
start up again.  Let's do it."  And she kicked Ironheart into a canter,
with Kethry, Warrl and Jadrek following behind.

I've got to do this, Kethry thought, countering her fear with
determination.  If I don't, he'll kill them.  I might escape, but I
could never shield all four of us, not even at Adept level.  I haven't
tapped into enough of the shielding spells to know how, yet.  But he
doesn't know I'm Adept, and there aren't that many White Winds mages
around.  I might well be able to surprise him with a trick or two.

She kicked Hellsbane and sent her galloping past Tarma, up the slope of
the barren hill before them, knowing that she would have to reach the
waiting magician first and issue her challenge before he caught sight
of the others.  Otherwise he would blast first, and ask questions
after.

Her move took both Tarma and the mage by surprise, for she was able to
top the rise and send up the challenge signal before either Tarma or
her foe had a chance to react.

The mage waiting below her was one of the ones she'd seen wandering
about Raschar's court; a thin man, dark of hair and eye.  He was
clean-shaven, which made it all the easier to note his sardonic
expression, and he wore his hair loose and shoulder length.  Now he
wore his mage-robes; whatever his school was, it was one Kethry didn't
recognize.  The robes were a dull red, and banded and embroidered in
dark brown.  Like hers, they were split front and back for ease in
riding.  The chestnut gelding he straddled appeared tired and drained,
and stood quietly with head down as he sat with his reins loose.

"A challenge?"  he called incredulously.  "You'd challenge me?  Why in
the Names of the Seven should I even bother with you, girl?"

As answer, she called up her Adept Manifestation.

From her body rose the misty golden form of a hawk, twenty feet tall,
with fiery wings; a hawk that mantled at him and opened its beak in a
silent screech of defiance.  "I challenge you, Adept to Adept."  she
called coldly.  "You will answer such a challenge; you have no
choice."

He called up his Manifestation; a winged snake, with scales and wing
membranes that glistened in shades of green and blue.  Calling it was
his formal answer to her formal challenge; now they were both bound to
the duel.  "You're a fool, you know that," he said matter-of-factly,
dismounting, and letting his Manifestation fade away.  "You can't have
been an Adept for very long; I've been one for ten years.  You can't
hope to beat me."

By this time Tarma, Jadrek and Warrl had reached her on the crest of
the hill.  Kethry unbuckled Need, feeling strangely naked without the
blade, and passed her to Tarma.  "Hold her for me.  Nothing's allowed
in the circle but ourselves," she said, watching as the other mage took
up a stand near the center of the tiny, barren, windswept valley and
put up his half of the magical dome that would only be dispelled by the
death or defeat of one of them.  Then she allowed her Manifestation to
dissipate, and leapt down from Hellsbane's saddle, striding
purposefully to take her stand opposite him.  "That remains to be
seen," she answered him, locking all emotion down, and replying with
absolute calm.  "So-let it begin!  "

With those words, the dome of mage-power sealed, leaving the others
helpless witnesses outside.

For a long moment, the combatants stood, simply watching each other.
Tarma took advantage of the lull to order Jadrek to station himself and
Warrl on the dividing line between the two mages, and on the side of
the dome opposite hers.  "Warrl has some tricks-I expect you might,
too," she said distantly, trying to think like a mage.  "I don't trust
this bastard not to cheat.  Well, Keth won't either; I don't doubt
she's expecting something.  But if anything should happen-"

"I'll do what I can," Jadrek promised anxiously, taking out his little
bag of herbs and salt from his pocket, then replacing it.  "It-it isn't
likely to be much, but-'

"Jadrek, I've seen a slung stone bring down a king."  She frowned in
thought.  "We should split up; if something does go bad, you and Warrl
go for Keth, I'll go for the mage.  He can't know how Need works, he
can't know that in my hands she protects from sorcery.  I'll be safe
from anything he can throw, and I'll keep him off your tail.  Now,
quick, before they start to do anything-"

He limped to the opposite side of the dome; Tarma could see him dimly
through the red energy-haze.  Warrl crouched beside him, ready to
spring in an instant.

Tarma unsheathed the be spelled sword called Need and took her own
stance; blade point down in the earth, both of her hands resting on the
pommel, feet slightly apart.  She was ready.

Just in time, for within the dome of hazy red, the battle was joined in
earnest.

From the body of the stranger came a man-sized version of his
Manifestation, flying upward to the top of the dome; Kethry's met it
halfway.  Serpent struck at hawk and was deflected; hawk tried to seize
serpent in its talons, but the serpent wriggled free, then the snake
tried to wrap itself around the hawk's body and neck.  The hawk struck
with beak and talon; the serpent let go.  Both buffeted each other with
punishing wing-blows.  The battle rained glowing scales, feathers, and
droplets of fluid, all of which vanished before they touched the
ground.

Both Manifestations froze for an instant, then plummeted ground ward
hawk with eyes glazing and fang marks in its chest, serpent with one
wing ripped from its body.

Both thinned to mist and were gone before either struck the ground.
Round one: a draw' Tarma thought to herself, shifting her weight to
relieve muscles that had tensed, and feeling a tiny pebble roll out
from under her foot.

Within the dome appeared two smaller domes, each covering a mage.  Then
all the fury of all the lightning storms Tarma had ever witnessed
rolled into one broke loose within the greater dome.  Lightning struck
again and again on the two shields, seeking weak spots; it crawled over
the surface of the little domes or rolled itself into balls that
circled the perimeters without finding entrance.  And all in complete
silence; that was the truly frightening and eerie part.  Tarma's eyes
were dazzled to the point of having trouble seeing when the lightning
finally died to nothing, and the lesser domes vanished.  As Tarma
blinked away the spots interfering with her vision, she tried to assess
the condition of both Kethry and her erstwhile rival.  They both seemed
equally tired.

Round two; another draw.

Kethry might have looked tired, but she also looked slightly pleased.
Maybe a draw is good-Warrior bless' I hope so

Even more encouraging, the other mage looked slightly worried.

Kethry initiated the next round; throwing (literally) daggers of light
at the red-robed sorcerer, daggers which he had to deflect, dodge, or
absorb.  He returned in kind, but he was not as good in this contest as
Kethry; his blades tended to go awry.  Hers never failed to reach their
mark, and frequently hit.

Where they hit, they left real wounds, wounds that smoked and bled. The
red mage managed to keep from being hit anywhere vital, but the daggers
were taking a steady toll.

After being hit one too many times, he suddenly threw up his hands, and
a wall of flame sprang up in front of him, a wall that devoured the
daggers when they reached it.

The fire grew until it reached the top of the dome, cutting him off
from Kethry.  Arms of flame began to lick from the wall, reaching
toward her.

Fighting fire with fire might not work, here, Keth, Tarma thought,
biting her lip a little.  You could both end up scorched by your own
powers

But Kethry chose not to fight with fire, but with air; a whirlwind, a
man-high tornado of milky white sprang up in front of her, sucking in
those reaching arms of flame.  And every time it ate one of those arms,
it grew a little larger.  Finally, it reached nearly to the top of the
dome-and it began to move on the red-robed mage and his fiery
protective wall.

Star-Eyed!  If it got bigger just by eating a couple of licks of flame,
what'll it do when it hits the fire-mother;

Evidently the same thought occurred to the mage, for his eyes had gone
white-rimmed with panic.  He backed into the restraining wall of the
protective dome, then began shouting and waving his hands wildly.

And a twice-man-sized thing rose from the barren earth behind Kethry.

No-oh no-that bastard, he had that thing hidden there; he's had this
planned from the start!  Tarma recognized the krakash, the
mage-construct, from Jadrek's descriptions.  She started to sprint for
the edge of the dome, even knowing she wouldn't be able to pass it.

Kethry turned to meet it, first making frantic motions with her hands,
then groping for a blade she did not have.  The thing reached for her
with the two upper arms, missing, but raking her from neck to knee with
its outsized talons.  She collapsed, clutching herself with pain; it
seized her as she fell with the lower two of its four arms.  It lifted
her as she fought to get free-and broke her back across its knee, as a
man would break a dry branch.

"No!"

Tarma heard her own voice, crying the word in anguish, but it didn't
seem to belong to her.

The whirlwind died to a stirring of dust on the ground; the dome
thinned to red mist, and vanished.

Tarma's mind and heart were paralyzed, but her body was not.  She
reacted to the disaster as she had planned, charging the mage at a dead
run, while Jadrek sprinted fearlessly for the thing.

The startled wizard saw her coming, and threw blasts of pure energy at
her-spheres of blinding ball-lightning which traveled unerringly toward
her, hit, and did nothing, leaving not even a tingle behind as they
dissipated.  The mage had just enough time to realize that she was
protected before she reached him.

While part of her sobbed with anguish, another part of her coolly
calculated, and brought Need about in a shining, swift arc, as she
allowed her momentum to carry her past him.  She saw his eyes, filled
with fear, saw his hands come up in a futile attempt to deflect the
sword-then felt the shock along the blade as she neatly beheaded him, a
tiny trail of blood-droplets streaming behind the point of the sword as
it finished its arc.

Before his body had hit the ground she whirled and made for Jadrek,
cursing the fate that had placed mage and construct so many paces
apart.  The old man hadn't a chance.

As she ran, she could see that the Archivist had something in his
hands.  He ducked under the grasp of the horrid creature's upper two
arms with an agility Tarma never dreamed to see in him.  And with the
courage she had known he possessed, came up in the thing's face,
casting one handful of powder into its eyes and the second into its
mouth.

The thing emitted a shriek that pierced Tarma's ears

Then it crumbled into a heap of dry earth before she had made more than
a dozen steps in its direction.  As it disintegrated, it dropped Kethry
into the brown dust like a broken, discarded toy.

Tarma flung herself down on her knees at Kethry's side, and tried to
stop the blood running from the gashes the thing's talons had left.
Uselessly-for Kethry was dying even as she and the Archivist knelt in
the dust beside her.

Jadrek made a choking sound, and took Kethry into his arms, heedless of
the blood and filth.

Tarma fumbled the hilt of Need into her hands, but it only slowed the
inevitable.  Need could not mend a shattered spine, nor could she Heal
such ghastly wounds; all the blade could do was block the pain.  It was
only a matter of time-measured in moments-before the end.

"Well ..."  the mage whispered, as Jadrek supported her head and
shoulders in his arms, silent tears pouring from his eyes, and sobs
shaking his shoulders.  "I .. . always figured .. . I'd never .. . die
in bed."

Tarma clenched both of her hands around the limp ones on Need's hilt,
fiercely willing the blade to do what she knew in her heart it could
not.  "Damn it, Keth-you can't just walk out on us this way!  You can't
just die on us!  We-" she could not say more for the tears that choked
her own throat.

"Keth-please don't; I'll do anything, take my life, only please don't
die-" Jadrek choked out, frantically.

"Don't .. . have much choice .. ."  Kethry breathed, her eyes glazing
with shock, her life pumping out into the dust.  "Be brave ... she
'enedra ... finish the contract.  Then go home ... make Tale'sedrin
live .. . without me."

"No!"  Tarma cried, her eyes half-blind with tears.  "No!"  she
wrenched her hands away, leaping to her feet.  "It's not going to end
this way! Not while I'm Kal'enedral!  By the Warrior, I swear NO!"

Thrusting a blood-drenched fist at the sky, she summoned all the power
that was hers as Kal'enedral, as priestess, as Swordsworn warrior-power
she had never taken, never used.  She flung back her head, and screamed
a name into the uncaring, grey sky, a name that tore her throat even as
her heart was torn.

The Warrior's Greater Name

The harsh syllables of the Name echoed and reechoed, driving her
several paces backward, then sending her to her knees in the dust.
Then-silence.  Silence as broodingly powerful as that in the eye of the
hurricane.  Tarma looked up, her heart cold within her.  For a moment,
nothing changed.

Then everything ceased; time stopped.  The very tears on Jadrek's
cheeks froze in their tracks.  Sound died, the dust on the breeze hung
suspended in little immobilized eddies.

Tarma alone could move; she got to her feet, and waited for Her-to
learn what price she would be asked to pay for the gift of Kethry's
life.

A single shaft of pure, white light lanced into the ground, practically
at Tarma's feet, accompanied by an earsplitting shriek of tortured air.
Tarma did not turn her eyes away, though the light nearly blinded her
and left her able to see nothing but white mist for long moments.  When
the mist cleared from her vision, She was standing where the light had
been, Her face utterly still and expressionless, Her eyes telling Tarma
nothing.

They faced one another in silence for long moments, the Goddess and her
votary.  Then She spoke, Her voice still melodious; but this time, the
music was a lament.

That you call My Name can mean only that you seek a life, jel'enedra,*
She said.  The giving of a life-not the taking

"As is my right as Kal'enedral," Tarma replied, quietly.

AS is your right She agreed.  As it is My right to ask a sacrifice of
you for that life.  *

Now Tarma bowed her head and closed her eyes upon her tears, for she
could not bear to look upon that face, nor to see the shattered wreck
that had been her dearest friend lying beyond.  "Anything," she
whispered around the anguish

Your own life ?  "The future of Tale 'sedrin ?  Would you release
Kethry from her vow if I demanded it and have Tale 'sedrin become a
Dead Clan?*

"Anything."  Tarma defiantly raised her head again, and spoke directly
to those star-strewn eyes, pulling each of her words out of the pain
that filled her heart.  "Keth-she's worth more to me than anything. Ask
anything of me; take my body, make me a cripple, take my life, even
make Tale'sedrin a Dead Clan, it doesn't matter.  Because without
Kethry to share it, none of that has any meaning for me."

She was weeping now for the first time in years; mostly when she hurt,
she just swallowed the tears and the pain, and forced herself to show
an impassive face to the world.  Not now.  The tears scalded her cheeks
like hot oil; she let them.

DO you, Kal'enedral,feel so deeply, then

Tarma could only nod.  It-is well came the surprising answer.  And what
price your obedience

"I put no price on obedience, I will serve You faithfully,

Lady, as I always have.  Only let Kethry live, and let her thrive and
perhaps find love-and most of all, be free.  That's worth anything You
could ask of me."

The Warrior regarded her thoughtfully for an eternity, measuring,
weighing.

Then-She laughed

And as Tarma stared in benumbed shock, She held out Her hands, palm
outward, one palm facing Tarma, one Kethry.  Bolts of blinding white
light, like Kethry's daggers of power, leaped from Her hands to'Tarma,
and to the mage still cradled in Jadrek's arms.

Or, possibly, to the ensorcelled blade still clasped in the mage's
hands.

Tarma did not have much chance to see which, for the dagger of light
hit her full in the chest, and suddenly she couldn't hear, couldn't
see, couldn't breathe.  She felt as if a giant hand had picked her up,
and was squeezing the life out of her.  She was blind, deaf, dumb, and
made of nothing but excruciating pain

Only let Keth live-only let her live-and it's worth any price, any
pain

Then she was on her hands and knees, panting with an agony that had
left her in the blink of an eye-half-sprawled in the cold dust of the
valley.

While beside her, a white-faced Jadrek cradled a dazed, shocked-and
completely Healed-Kethry.  Only the tattered wreckage of her traveling
leathers and the blood pooled beneath her showed that it had not all
been some kind of nightmare.

As Tarma stared, still too numb to move, she could hear the jubilant
voice of the Warrior singing in her mind.

It is well that you have opened your heart to the world again, My
Sword.  My Kalenedral were meant to be without desire, not without
feeling.  Remember this always: to have something, sometimes you must
be willing to lose it.  Love must live free, jel'enedra.  Love must
ever live free

Jadrek blinked, trying to force what he had just witnessed into some
semblance of sense.  He was mortally confused.

One moment, Kethry is dying; there is no chance anyone other than a god
could survive her injuries.  Then Tarma stands up and shrieks something
in Shin'a 'in-and

Kethry stirred groggily in his arms; he flushed, released her, and
helped her to sit up, trying not to stare at the flesh showing through
the rents in her leather riding clothing-flesh that had been lacerated
a moment ago.

"What ... happened?"  she asked weakly, eyes dazed.

I don't really know," he confessed.  And thinking:

Tarma was here, and now she's over there and I didn't see her move, I
know I didn't!  Am I going mad?

Tarma got slowly to her feet, wavering like a drunk, and staggered over
to them; she looked drained to exhaustion, her face was lined with pain
and there were purplish circles beneath her eyes.  It looked to Jadrek
as if she was about to collapse at any moment.

For that matter, Keth looks the same, if not worse what am I thinking?
Anything is better than being a heartbeat away from death!

Tarma fell heavily to her knees beside them, scrubbing away the tears
still marking her cheeks with the back of a dirty hand, and leaving
dirt smudges behind.  She reached out gently with the same hand, and
patted Kethry's cheek.  The hand she used was shaking, and with the
other arm she was bracing herself upright.  "It's all right," she
sighed, her voice sounding raw and worn to a thread.  "It's all right.
I did something-and it worked.  Don't ask what.  Bright Star, I am
tired to death!"

She collapsed into something vaguely like a sitting position right
there in the dust beside them, head hanging; she leaned on both arms,
breathing as heavily as if she had just run an endurance race.

Kethry tried to move, to get to her feet, and fell right back into
Jadrek's willing embrace again.  She held out her hand, and watched
with an expression of confused fascination as it shook so hard she
wouldn't have been able to hold a cup of water without losing half the
contents.

"I feel awful-but-" she said, looking down at the shreds of her tunic
with astonishment and utter bewilderment.  "How did you-"

"I said don't ask," Tarma replied, interrupting her.  "I can't talk
about it.  Later, maybe-not now.  It-put me through more than I
expected.  Jadrek, my friend-"

Yes?",

"I'm about as much use as a week-old kitten, and Keth's worse off than
I am.  I'm afraid that for once you're going to get to play man of
muscle."

She looked aside at him, and managed to muster up a half grin.  There
wasn't much of it, and it was so tired it touched his heart with pity,
but it was real, and that comforted him.

Whatever has happened, she knows exactly what she's doing, and it will
be all right.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he said, trying to sound just as
confident.

"There's still myself,: Warrl's dry voice echoed in their thoughts.: I
have no hands, but I can be of some help.:

"Right you are, Furface.  Oh gods," Tarma groaned as she got back up to
her knees, and took Kethry's chin in her hand, tilting it up into the
light.  Jadrek could see that Kethry's pupils were dilated, and that
she wasn't truly seeing anything "What I thought-Keth, you're shocky.
Fight it, love.  Jadrek and Warrl are going to find some place for us
to hole up for a while."  Tarma transferred her hold to

Kethry's shoulder and shook her gently.  "Answer me, Keth."

"Gods-" Kethry replied, distantly.  "And sleep?"

"As soon as we can.  Fight, she enedra.

"Warrl, get the horses over here, would you ?  Jadrek, you're going to
have to help Keth mount.  She's got no more bones right now than a
sponge."  He started to protest, but she cut him off with a weary wave
of her hand.  "Not to worry; our ladies are battle mares and they know
the drill, I'll get them to lie down, you watch what I do, then give
Keth a hand, and steady her as they get up.  No lifting, just
balancing.  Hai?"

"As long as I'm not going to have to fling her into: the saddle," he
replied, relieved, "I don't see any problem.

"Good man," she approved.  "Next thing-Warrl will go looking for
shelter; I want something more substantial than the tent around us
tonight.  You'll have to stay with us, keep Keth in her seat.  I'll be
all right, I've ridden semiconscious for miles when I've had to.  When
Warrl finds us a hole, you'll have to help us off, and do all the usual
camp duties."

"No problem there, either; I'm a lot more trail wise than I was before
this trip started."  Aye, and sounder in wind and limb, too.

Warrl appeared, the reins of Jadrek's palfrey in his mouth, the two
battle mares following without needing to be led.  Jadrek watched as
Tarma gave her Ironheart a command in Shin'a'in, and was astounded to
see the mare carefully fold her long legs beneath her and sink to the
dusty ground, positioning herself so that she was lying within an arm's
length of the exhausted swords woman  Tarma managed to clamber into the
saddle, winding up kneeling with her legs straddling the mare's back.
She gave another command, and the mare slowly lurched to her feet,
unbalanced by the weight of the rider, but managing to compensate for
it.  Tarma glanced over at Jadrek.  "Think you can deal with that ?"

"I think so."

Tarma repeated her command to Hellsbane; the second mare did exactly as
her herd-sister had.  Jadrek helped Kethry into the same position Tarma
had taken, feeling her shaking from head to toe every time she had to
move.  Tarma gave the second command, and the mare staggered erect,
with Jadrek holding Kethry in the saddle the whole time.

Warrl flicked his tail, and Jadrek felt a wave of approval from the
kyree.  :] go, pack mates  You go on-it were best you removed
yourselves from the scene of combat.:

"Spies?"  Jadrek asked aloud.

"Possible.  Also things that feed on magic, and more ordinary carrion
eaters.  Shall we take the enemy beast?:

Tarma looked over her shoulder at the weary gelding, which was still
where the mage had left it, off to one side of the trail.  '"I don't
think so," she REGAINED after a Moment.  "It's just short of
foundering.

Jadrek, could you strip it?  Leave the harness, bring anything useful
you find in the packs, then let the poor thing run free."

He did as she asked; once free of saddlLe and bridle the beast seemed
to take a little more interest in life and moved off at a very slow
walk, heading deeper into the hills.  Warrl trotted down the trail, and
vanished from sight once past the place where it exited the valley.
Jadrek mounted his own palfrey with a grunt of effort, and rode it in
close beside Kethry, so that he could steady her from the side.

"You ready, wise brother?"  Tarma asked.

"I think so.  And not feeling particularly wise."

"Take lead then; my eyes keep fogging.  Ironheart knows to follow her
sister."

They headed out of the little valley, and the trail became much easier;
the hills now rolling rather than craggy, and covered with
winter-killed grass.  But after a few hundred feet it became obvious
that their original plan wasn't going to work.  Kethry kept drifting in
and out of awareness, and sliding out of her saddle as she lost her
hold on the world.  Every time she started to fall, Jadrek had to rein
in both Hellsbane and his palfrey to keep her from falling over.  The
gaits and sizes of the two horses just weren't evenly matched enough
that he could keep her steady while riding.

He finally pulled up and dismounted, walking stiffly back toward the
drooping Shin'a'in.  Tarma jerked awake at the sound of his
footsteps.

"What?  Jadrek?"  she said, shaking her head to clear it.

He looked measuringly at her; she looked awake enough to think.  "If I
tethered Vega's reins to the back of your saddle, would that bother
"Heart?"  he asked.

"no, not 't all" Tarma replied, slurring her words a little.  "She's
led b'fore.  Why?"

"Because this isn't going to work; I'm going to put the packs on Vega
and ride double with Keth, the way you carried-me up here, only with me
keeping her on."

Tarma managed a tired chuckle.  "Dunno why I didn' think of that.  Too
... blamed ... tired...."

She dozed off as Jadrek made the transfer of the packs, then put a long
lead-rein on Vega's halter-and fastened it to the back of Tarma's
saddle.  He approached Hellsbane with a certain amount of trepidation,
but the mare gave him a long sniff, then allowed him to mount in front
of Kethry with no interference-although with his stiff joints, swinging
his leg over "Bane's neck instead of her back wasn't something he
wanted to repeat if he had any choice.  He would have tried to get up
behind Kethry, but he wasn't sure he could get her to shift forward
enough, and he wasn't certain he'd be able to stick on the battle mare
back if she broke into anything other than a walk.  So instead he
brought both of Kethry's arms around his waist, and loosely tied her
wrists together.  She sighed and settled against his shoulder as
comfortably as if it were a pillow in her own bed

He rather enjoyed the feeling of her snuggled up against his back,
truth be told.

He nudged Hellsbane into motion again, and they continued on down the
trail.  The sky stayed grey but showed no signs of breaking into rain
or sleet, and there was no hint of a change in the weather on the
sterile, dusty air.  The horses kept to a sedate walk, Tarma
half-slept, and Kethry was so limp he was certain she was completely
asleep.  It was a little frightening, being the only one of the group
still completely functional.  He wasn't used to having people rely on
him.  It was exciting, in an uneasy sort of way, but he wasn't sure
that he liked that kind of excitement.

Warrl returned from time to time, always with the disappointing news
that he hadn't found anything.

Jadrek began to resign himself to either riding all night-and hoping
that there wasn't going to be another storm-or trying to put up the
tent by himself.  But about an hour before sunset, the kyree came
trotting back with word that he'd found a shepherd's hut, currently
unused.  Jadrek set Hellsbane to following him off the track, and
Ironheart followed her without Tarma ever waking.

She did come to herself once they'd stopped, and she seemed a bit less
groggy.  She got herself dismounted without his help, got their
bedrolls off Vega, and carried them inside with her.  She actually
managed to get their bedding set up while Jadrek slid the
half-conscious mage off her horse, then assisted her to stagger inside,
and laid her down on the bedding.  With a bit of awkwardness at the
unaccustomed tasks, he got the horses bedded down in a shed at the side
of the little building.

By the time he'd finished, Kethry was sound asleep in her bedroll.  and
Tarma was crawling into her own.  "Can't keep my eyes open," she
apologized.

"Then don't try, I can do what's left."  I think, he added mentally.

But his trail skills had improved; he managed to get a fire going in
the fire pit thought about making supper, and decided against it,
opting for some dried beef and trail biscuit instead.  With the fire
dimly illuminating their shelter, he made a quick inspection of the
place, thinking: It would be my luck to come upon a nest of hibernating
snakes.  '

But he found nothing untoward, in fact, it was a very well built
shelter, with stone walls, a clean dirt floor, and a thatched roof.  It
was a pity it didn't have a real fireplace-a good half of the smoke
from the fire was not finding the smoke hole in the center of the roof,
and his eyes were watering a bit-but it was clean, and dry, and now
growing warm from the fire.

He watched the moving shadows cast by the fire onto the wall, chewed
the leathery strip of jerky,

and tried to sort himself out.

Warrl came in once to tell him that he'd hunted and eaten, and was
going to stand guard outside after that, he was alone.

What kind of a fool have I shown myself to be?  he thought, still
confused by the events of the last few hours.  Did anyone even
notice?

He watched Kethry as she slept, feeling both pleasure and pain in the
watching.  How much did Tarma see ?  Gods above?  I'm afraid I've gone
and fallen in love, like a green sick fool.  At my age I should bloody
well know better.

Still-given the state they'd all been in

Tarma probably hadn't been in a condition to notice much of anything
except her oath sister plight.

And I would give a great deal to know how she managed to bring Kethry
back from Death's own arms.  Because she's as much as admitted it was
all her doing.  And I can only wonder what it cost her besides strength
and energy-maybe that's why she didn't want to talk about it.  Still
and all, she really isn't acting as if it cost her nearly as much as if
whatever had happened shook her down to her soul.  I think perhaps she
learned something she didn't expect to.  Whatever it was-I think
perhaps the outcome is going to be a good one.  She almost seems warmer
somehow.  More open.  Would she ever have put all her safety and Keth's
in my hands before?  I-I don't think so.

He stretched, taking pleasure in the feel of joints that weren't
popping, and bones that didn't creak.  He was sore from the
unaccustomed work, but not unbearably so.

Although-Lady of Light, I've been working like a porter all afternoon,
and not had so much as a twinge in the old bones!  Now was that just
because I was keyed up, or was it something else?  Well, I'll know
tomorrow.  If I ache from head to toe, I'll know I was not privileged
to be the recipient of a miracle!

And meanwhile-the fire needs feeding.

So he watched Kethry, huddled in his own blankets while he fed the
fire, and waited for the morning.

Carterts Lane in the capital city of Petras was living up to its name,
even this close to the time for the evening meal.  The street was wide
enough for four wagons moving two abreast in each direction, and all
four lanes were occupied by various vehicles now.  The steady rumbling
of wheels on cobblestones did not drown out the equally steady hum of
voices coming from all sides.  Carter's Lane boasted several popular
taverns and drink shops not the least popular of which was the Pig and
Potion.  This establishment not only had an excellent cook and an
admirable brew master but in addition offered various forms of
accommodation-ranging from single cubbyholes (with bed) that rented by
the hour, to rooms and suites of rooms available by the week or
month.

It was from the window of one of the latter sorts of lodging that a
most attractive young wench was leaning, her generous figure frequently
taking the eyes of the cart drivers from their proper work.  She was,
in fact, the inadvertent cause of several tangles of traffic.  She paid
this no heed, no more than she did the equally persistent calls of
admiration or inquiries as to her price.  She was evidently watching
for something-or someone.

And to the great disappointment of her admirers, she finally spotted
what she was watching for.

"Arson!"  the brown-haired, laughing-eyed wench called from her
second-floor window.  "I've waited days for you, you ungrateful
beast!"

"Now, Janna-" The scar-faced fighter who emerged from the crowd to
stand on the narrow walkway beneath her looked to be fully capable of
cutting his way out of any fracas-except, perhaps, this one.

"Don't you 'now, Janna," me, you brute!"  She vanished from the window
only to emerge from the door beside it.  The door let onto a balcony
and the balcony gave onto a set of stairs that ran down the outside of
the inn.  Janna clattered down these stairs as fast as her feet could
take her.  "You leave me here all alone, and you never come to see me,
and you never send me word, and-"

"Enough, enough!"  the warrior begged, much to the amusement of the
patrons of the inn.  "Janna, I've been busy."

"Oh, busy!  Indeed, I can guess how busy!"  She confronted him with her
eyes narrowed angrily, standing on the last two stairs so that her eyes
were level with his.  Her hands were on her hips, and she thrust her
chin forward stubbornly, not at all ready to make peace.

"Give 'im a rest, lass," called another fighter lounging at an outside
table' one wearing the same scarlet-and-gold livery as Arton.  "King's
nervy; keeps 'im on 'and most of th' time.  "E 'as been busy."

"Oh, well then," the girl said, seeming a bit more mollified.  "But you
could have sent word."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"  he grinned, with just a touch of arrogance.
"And we ought to be making up for lost time, not wrangling in the
street."

"Oh-Oh!"  she squealed in surprise as he picked her up, threw her over
his shoulder, and carried her up the stairs.

He pulled the door open; closed it behind him.

Silence.

One of the serving girls paused in her distribution of ale mugs,
sighed, and made cal eyes at the closed door.  "Such a man.  Wisht I
'ad me one like 'im."

"Spring is aborning, and young love with it," intoned a street
minstrel, hoping that the buxom server would take notice of him.

"Young lust, you mean, rhymester," laughed the second fighter. "Arton's
no fool.  That's a nice little piece he brought with him out of the
country-and cheap at the price of a room, a bit of feeding, and a few
gewgaws.  One of these days I may go see if she's got a sister who
wants to leave the cow flops for the city."

"If you can get any girl to look at your ugly face," sneered a third.

The mutter of good-natured wrangling carried as far as the second-floor
room, where the young fighter had collapsed into a chair, groaning. The
room's furnishings were simple; a bed, a table, a wardrobe and three
chairs.

And an enormous wolflike creature on the hearth.

"Warrior's Oath, Keth-you might make yourself lighter next time!"  the
warrior groaned.  "My poor back!"

""If I'd known you were going to play border bridegroom

I'd have helped you out, you idiot)" the brown-haired girl retorted,
closing the shutters of the room's single window, then snatching a
second chair and plopping down into it.  "Tarma, where the hell have
you been these past few days?  A note of three words does not suffice
to keep me from having nervous prostrations."

%"I 'told you she was all right,: the kyree sni led.  : But you
wouldn't believe me.:

"Warrl's right, Keth.  I figured that he'd tell you if anything was
wrong, so I wasn't going to jeopardize my chances by doing something
marginally out of character.  And I've been busy, as I said," Tarma
replied, rubbing her eyes.  ""Damn, can't you do something about the
way these spells of yours make my eyes itch?"

"Sorry; not even an Adept can manage that."

Tarma sighed.  "Char has gotten the wind up about something-maybe he's
even getting some rumors about our work, who knows; Anyway, he's been
keeping me with him day and night until I could find somebody he trusts
as much as me to spell me out.  How is the conspiracy business
going?"

Kethry smiled, and ran her hands through her hair.  "Better than we'd
hoped, in a lot of ways.  Jadrek will be giving me the signal as soon
as he's done with his latest client, so why don't we save our news
until we're all together?"

"Fine by me; I don't suppose you've got anything to eat around here?"

"Why?  Don't they feed you at the palace?"

"Having gotten leave to go, I wasn't about to stick around and maybe
get called back just so I could feed my face," Tarma retorted.

Kethry raised one eyebrow.  "Char's that nervy?"

Tarma spotted half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese on the table
behind Kethry and reached forward to seize both.  "He's that nervy,"
she agreed, slicing bits off the cheese with her belt-knife and
alternating those tidbits with hearty bites of bread.  She would have
said more, but a gentle tapping came from the wall.  Kethry jumped up
out of her chair and faced the wall, holding both palms at shoulder
height and facing it.  The wall itself blurred for a little, then the
door that had been hidden by Kethry's illusion swam into view.  Jadrek
pushed it open and stepped into the room.

There had not been a door there when they'd taken these two rooms;
Jadrek's suite opened only into the inn, and Kethry's had two doors,
the exterior and one like Jadrek's, opening on the inn corridor.

But what could be done by hands could also be done by magic, and within
one day of Kethry's taking possession of this room, she had made, then
concealed, the door in their common wall.  It was a real door and not a
magic portal, just in case Jadrek ever needed to make use of it when
Kethry was not present, for Kethry had set the spell of concealment so
that he controlled it on his side of the wall.

"And how does the Master Astrologer?"  asked Tarma, genially.

"Better than when he was master Archivist," Jadrek chuckled.  "I think
I shall have Stefan find a successor.  Astrology is a more lucrative
profession!"

' Why am I not surprised?"  Tarma asked sardonically.

"Gentle lies always cost more than the truth.  I take it none of your
'clients' have recognized you?"

"It wouldn't be likely," he replied mildly, taking the third,
unoccupied seat around the little table.

"Most of my 'clients' are merchants' wives.  Whenwould any of them have
seen the Court Archivist?"

"Or, given your notable ability to fade into the background, noticed
him if they'd seen him?"  added Kethry.  "All right-Tarma, love, you
first."

"Right.  Jadrek, I managed to deliver all but one of your messages; the
one to Count Wulfres I left with Tindel.  Wulfres wouldn't let me get
near him; I can't much blame him, since I have been building quite a
formidable reputation as Char's chief bully boy

"Is that why he trusts you?"  Kethry asked.

"Partially.  Don't worry, though.  That reputation is actually doing me
more good than harm.  If anyone notices when I take somebody aside for
a little chat, it doesn't do them any benefit to tell the King, because
Char assumes I'm delivering threats!"  She chuckled.  "Keth, that Adept
we took out was the only one Char had; the rest of his mages are Master
and Journeyman class.  So don't worry about this disguise continuing to
hold."

Kethry heaved a sigh of profound relief.  "Thank the gods for that.
That did have me nervy.  How are you getting on with Char?  You said
far better than we'd hoped-"

"That's a good summation; he doesn't trust any of his native Guards,
and he doesn't trust his nobles.  That leaves him with me, a couple of
other landless meres, and a handful of outland emissaries.  Since I'm
trying to give an imitation of a free fighter with a veneer of
civilization and a range of interests slightly beyond food, fornication
and fighting," he seems to be gravitating more and more toward me."

"And needless to say, you're encouraging him."

"Idra taught you well, Warrl commented.  : You encourage familiarity
with the King while never going over the line of being social inferior.
That takes a delicate touch I did not suspect you had, mind mate

"Having you coaching me in my head hasn't hurt, Furball.  Thanks to
you, I've never once been even remotely disrespectful; been pounding
heads when some of the Guards go over the line, in fact.  And as a
result Char's slowly taking me as cup-companion as well as
bodyguard."

"That's certainly better than we hoped!  " Jadrek exclaimed.

"Tarma, what about Idra?"  Kethry asked, both elbows on the table, chin
in her hands.  She looked unwontedly sober.

Tarma sighed, and rubbed one temple.  "Keth, we both know by now she's
got to be dead."

Kethry nodded, reluctantly, as Jadrek bit his lip.  "I just didn't want
to be the one to say it," she replied sadly.  "Need's pull just hasn't
been strong enough for her to have still been alive."

"I, too, have suspected the same.:

Tarma sighed.  "I think I realized it-I mean, really believed it-a
couple of days after-" She stopped for a moment, and looked squarely at
Jadrek.  He's an out Clansman-she thought, weighing him in her
mind.-but-why not?  No reason why he shouldntt know; if Keth has her
way, he won't be an out Clansman for long.  "-after I called one of the
leshyate and got the Star-Eyed Warrior instead, that night in Valdemar.
You know, the evening when Roald and I came back as best of friends? He
saw Her, too-and She made it clear to both of us that we were all on
the same side.  D'you remember how She turned the set of his Whites I
was wearing black?"

Kethry nodded slowly, then real enlightenment dawned.  "Black
feud...."

"Right," Tarma nodded.  "She could have left my clothing alone; She
could have changed it to brown, if She was truly offended at me being
out of Kal'enedral colors, which I think is rather unlikely.  She
doesn't get that petty.  But She didn't leave the Whites white-and
She'd already convinced me that Roald and Stefansen were on the side of
the righteous.

She can be very subtle when She chooses, and She was trying to give me
a subtle message, that I was back on blood-trail.  So who would be the
logical one for me to avenge-and who would be the logical target for
vengeance?"

"Idra-and Char."

"Right and right again.  My only questions now are-was it accident or
premeditated, and how he did it."  She tightened her jaw, and felt very
nearly murderous at that moment.  "And the closer I get to him, the
likelier I am to find the answers to both."

She let the sentence hang for a long moment, then coughed slightly.
"Jadrek?  Your turn."

"I've been approached by three of those nobles you contacted for me,
via their wives," he said, visibly shaken by Tarma's assertions-and
yet, unsurprised by them, as if her words had only confirmed something
he had known, but had not wished to acknowledge that he knew.  "They
were already planning some sort of action on their own, which, given
their temperaments, was something I had thought fairly likely.  In
addition, I have been approached by those I did not expect-prelates of
no less than five separate orders.  It seems they had already spoken
quietly with my chosen highborn-"

"And went on to you.  Logical."  Tarma nodded thoughtfully.  "And what
prompted their dissatisfaction ?,"

"Oh, a variety of causes-from the altruistic to the realistic."  He
wrinkled his brow in thought.  "Mind you, I don't personally know as
much about the clergy as I do the Court, but they seem to be
appropriate responses given the personalities of those I spoke with and
the philosophies of their orders."

"Huh.  When we start to get clergy on our side...."  Tarma propped her
feet up on the table, ignoring Kethry's frown of disapproval, and sat
in thoughtful silence for a long time.  "All right," she said, when the
silence had begun to seem unbreakable, "It's time for some hard
choices, friends.  We're getting the support, and not only are we
moving a bit ahead of schedule, but we're getting some unexpected help.
So which of the plans are we going to follow?"

She tilted her head at Jadrek, who pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "I'd
rather not run a full-scale uprising, frankly," he said.  "It's too
unwieldy for this situation, I think; your commanders really have to be
in the field for it to succeed.  Tarma, you are the most militant of
us, and we need you here-so that would leave me or Kethry."

"Not me," Kethry objected.  "Fighters don't like following a mage, and
I don't blame them.  I'm no strategist, either."

"And I am neither fighter nor strategist," Jadrek replied.

"Stalemate," Tarma observed, flexing her shoulders to try and relax the
tense muscles there.  "Not that I don't agree with you both.  Warrl?"

"I, also.  It is too easy to lose a civil war.:

"All right, we're agreed that rousing the countryside is out, then?"

The other two nodded, slowly.

"Assassination.  "

: That, I favor,: Warrl replied, raising his head from his paws.  "It
would be an easy thing for me.  Wait until he is in the garden with a
wench-over the wall-: He snapped his jaws together suggestively.  "It
would give me great pleasure, and I could easily be gone before alarm
could be effective.:

"Not clear-cut enough," Jadrek asserted.  "There will always be those
wanting to make a martyr out of Char.  It's amazing how saintly a
tyrant becomes after he's dead.  We want Stefanfirmly on the throne, or
this country will be having as many problems as it already has, just
different ones."

Warrl sighed, and put his head back down.

"Sorry, mind mate-I sympathize.  That leaves the small-scale uprising;
here, in the city.  Can we pull that off?"

"Maybe.  By Midsummer we'll have the working people solidly behind us;
those that aren't losing half their incomes to Char's taxes are losing
half their incomes because the others have less to spend," Kethry said,
nibbling at her thumbnail.  "What I've been working with are the
merchants, and they are vastly discontent with the way things are
going.  If there's an uprising, they will be on our side of the riot.
The problem is that these are not people used to fighting."

"Maybe not, but I'll bet most of them have a few hired fighters each,
either as guards for themselves!  or for their goods," Tarma pointed
out.  "If there were some way that we could promise that their property
would stay safe, I'll bet they'd turn those fighters over to us
for-say-two days.  Assuming that they are professional enough to fight
together as a force instead of a gaggle of individuals."

"I'll work on that," Kethry replied.

"I suspect we'll have most of the clergy, too, by Midsummer," Jadrek
offered.  "And for many of the same reasons.  And I know of at least
two militant orders within the city walls.  Those warriors will fight
as a single unit."

"Good.  What about the highborn?  Don't they have retinues?"

Jadrek shook his head with regret.  "No, not inside the city walls.
That was one of Destillion's edicts; no noble can have more than four
armed; retainers when at Court.  And you know the size of Char's guard
force.

"He's got a small army, not even counting his personal guard," Tarma
agreed ruefully.  "Still maybe

I can come up with a notion.  I might be able to work a bit of
subversion in Char's forces, who knows?  Let's stick with the local
uprising plan.

feel-that I-I love her.  But there never seems to be any time, much
less the right time.

He studied the way she was holding herself, the sagging shoulders, the
way she kept turning her head a little to ease the stiffness he knew
was in her neck because he had loosened those muscles for her far too
many times of late.  His own neck felt as stiff, and he felt echoes of
those same aches in his own shoulders.  Gods.  We're both tired,
mentally and physically.  She's spent more hours cajoling stubborn
suspicious merchants than I care to think about; I've spent almost the
same number of hours dancing around the touchy sensibilities of priests
and highborn.  Not the way I would have chosen to spend our time, and
both of us return from meetings so-completely drained.  Conspiracy is
for the young.  Combining it with a love affair is insanity!  '

Warrl gave an amused snort from where he lay curled on his chosen spot
on the hearth.  : You manage well enough, wise one,: the rough voice in
Jadrek's mind said.

That is solely, I suspect, because our opportunities have numbered far
less than our wishes, Jadrek thought at him, feeling a little more
revived just by the casual contact with the kyree's lively mind.  I
fear that even the supposed wisdom of accumulated years fails to keep
my desire from outstripping my capabilities.

The only difference between my youth and my age is that now I am not
ashamed to admit the fact.

The kyree snorted contemptuously again, but Jadrek ignored him and
continued.  Furthermore, I shudder to think what Tarma is likely to say
about this liaison when she learns of it.

: You know less about her than you think,: was the kyree's enigmatic
reply.  Suddenly the great beast raised his head, and stared in the
direction of the palace.  : A message-:

"What?"Jadrek asked aloud, as Kethry turned to look sharply at the
lupine creature.

"Tarma sends her regrets, but Char requires her presence, and she seems
to think that the tran-dust he intends to abuse this evening might make
him talkative.  Needless to say, she does not intend to miss her
opportunity: The kyree turned warm and glowing eyes on the Archivist. :
She asks me to come to the stable at dark, so that she can return here
afterward without worrying about spies on her back trail  I would
suggest' given your earlier plaint about not having any time to
yourselves, that you might take advantage of the occasion that has been
presented to you .. . unless you have other plans.:

Jadrek nearly choked on a laugh at Kethry's indignant blush.

"I think we can find some way of filling in the time," he said aloud,
as she glared at both of them.

* * *

The hour grew late; the candle burned down to a stub, and Kethry
replaced it-and still no sign of Tarma.  Jadrek regretted-more than
once-that his ability to communicate with Warrl was sharply limited by
distance.

Kethry suddenly dropped the candle end she was about to discard, and
her whole body tensed.

"What?"  Jadrek asked, anxiously, wondering if she had sensed some sort
of occult probing in their direction.

"It's-anger," she replied, distantly.  "Terrible terrible anger.  I've
never felt anything like this in

"Her?  Her who?"  She didn't answer him, and he said, a little more
sharply.  "Who, Keth?  Keth?"

She shook her head as if to clear it, and resumed her seat at the
table, but he could see that her hands were trembling before she
clasped them in front of her on the table to conceal the fact.  i.:

"Keth?"  he repeated gently, but insistently.

"It's - it's the she 'enedran bond between us," she said at last.  "We
each can feel things the other does, sometimes.  Jadrek, she's in a
killing rage; she's just barely keeping herself under control!  And I
can't tell why."  ;

She looked up at him, and he could see fear, the mirror to his own, in
her eyes.  "I've never felt anything like this out of her; she's
usually so controlled, even when I'm ready to spit nails.  It has to be
something Char said or did-but what could nh bring her to the brink
like this?  There's enough rage resonating down the bond that I'm half
prepared to go kill something!"

"I don't know," he said slowly.  "And I'm almost afraid to find out."

They stared at each other helplessly, until finalli he reached out and
laid his hand over her clenched ones, offering what little comfort he
had to give.

After that, it was just the deadly waiting.

Finally, after both of them had fretted themselves into a state of
nervous exhaustion, they heard Warrl's nails clicking on the wooden
steps outside.  Tarma's presence was revealed only by the creaking of
the two trick boards, one in the fifth step, one in the
eighth-otherwise she never made a sound.  Kethry jumped to her feet,
ran to the door and flung it open.

Tarma/Arton stood in the light streaming from the door, so very still
that for a moment Jadrek wasn't entirely certain she was breathing. She
remained in the doorway for a long, long moment, her face utterly
expressionless except for the eyes, which burned with a rage so fierce
Kethry stepped back an involuntary pace or two.

Warrl came up from behind her and nudged Tarma's hand with his nose;
only then did she seem to realize where she was, and walk slowly
inside, stopping only when she came to the table.

She did not take a seat as she usually did; she continued to stand'
half-shrouded in shadows, and looked from Jadrek to Kethry and back
again.  Finally she spoke.

"I've found out what happened to Idra."

% "... so once Char had downed a full bottle of brandy to enhance the
tran, he'd gotten himself into a mood where he was talkative, but
wasn't really thinking about what he was saying."

Kethry tensed, feeling Tarma's anger burning within hera half-mad fire
at the pit of her stomach.

Tarma spoke in a tonelessly deadly voice, still refusing to seat
herself.  "Alcohol and tran have that effect in combination-connecting
the mind to the mouth without letting the intellect have any sayin what
comes out".  And as I'd been hoping, his suspicious nature kept him
from wanting to confide in any of his courtiers.  And there was good
old Arton, so sympathetic' so reliable, always dependable.  So he threw
his rump-kissers out, and began telling me how everybody abused him,
everybody turned on him.  Especially his sister."

She shifted her weight a little; the floorboard creaked beneath her,
and Kethry could feel the anger rising up her spine.  Channel that-she
told herself, locking her will into Adept's discipline.  There's enough
pure rage here to burn kalf the city down, if you channel it.  Use the
anger-don't let it use you!

With that invocation of familiar discipline came a certain amount of
relief; the fires were partially contained, harvested against future
need.  It wasn't perfect; she was still trembling with emotion, but at
least the energy wasn't being all wasted.

And there will be future need '

"Then he told me about how his sister had first supported him, then
betrayed him.  How he had known from the first that the hunt for the
lost sword had been nothing more than a ruse to get her across the
border and into contact with Stefan.  He carried on about that for long
enough to just about put me to sleep; what an ungrateful, cold bitch
she was, how she deserved the worst fate anyone could imagine.  He was
pretty well convinced she was she 'chorne, too, and you know how they
feel about: that here-I had just about figured that was all I was going
to get out of him, when suddenly he stopped raving."

Kethry felt a prickle of fear when the bond of she'enedran between
herself and Tarma transmitted sent another surge of the incredibly cold
rage her oath sister was feeling.  I've never known anyone who could
sustain that kind of emotion for this long without berserking.  Had
Tarma been anything other than; Kal'enedral-someone, or several
someones' would be long dead by now, hacked into many small pieces ..
.

" "I fixed her," he said.  "I fixed her properly.  planned it all so
beautifully, too.  I had Zaras be spell one of his apprentices to look
like me, and sent the apprentice off with the rest of the Court on a
three day hunt.  Then Zaras and I waited for the bitch in the stables;
I distracted her, he hit her from behind with a spell, and when she
woke up, her body belonged to Zaras.  He had her saddle up and ride out
just as if it were any other day, but this time her destination was my
choice.  We took her to the old tower on the edge of Hielmarsh; it's
deserted, and the rumors I had spread about hauntings keep the clods
away."  "

From there, what Tarma told them horrified even Kethry, inured to the
brutality of warfare as she was.  And she, of the three of them, had
been the least close to the Captain; Tarma's own internal torment was
only too plain to her oath sister who was continuing to share in it-and
Jadrek's expression could not be described.

Idra's torture and "punishment" had begun with the expedient most
commonly used to break a woman-multiple rape.  Rape in which her own
brother had been the foremost participant.  Char's methods and means
when that failed became more exotic.  Jadrek excused himself halfway
through the toneless recitation to be audibly sick.  When he returned,
pale, shaking and sweating with reaction, Tarma had nearly finished.
Kethry's stomach was churning and her throat was choked with silent
weeping.

"His own sister-" Kethry shuddered, her eyes burning and blurring with
her tears.  "No matter how much he hated her, she was still his
sister!"

Tarma came closer, looming over the table like a dark angel.  She took
the dagger from her belt, and held it out into the light of the
table-candle.  She held it stiffly, point down, in a fist clenched so
tightly on the hilt that her knuckles were white.

Oathbreaker, I name him," Tarma said, softly,

but with all the feeling that she had not given vent to behind the
words of the ages-old ritual of Outcasting.  "Oathbreaker he, and all
who stand by him.  Oathbreaker once-by the promises made to kin, then
shattered.  Oathbreaker twice-by the violation of king-oath to
liegeman.  Oathbreaker three timeS-Oathbreaker a thousand times-by the
violation of every kin-bond known and by the shedding of shared
blood."

"Oathbreaker, I name him," Kethry echoed, rising to place her cold hand
over Tarma's, taking up the thread of the seldom-used passage from the
Mercenaries' Code.  She choked out her words around a knot of black
anger and bleak mourning, both so thick and dark that she could barely
manage to speak the ritual coherently through the chaos of her
emotions.  She was still channeling, but now she was channeling the
emotion through the words of the ritual.  Emotion was power; that was
what made a death-curse so potent, even in the mouth of an untutored
peasant.  This may well once have been a spell and it was capable of
becoming one again.  She knew that even though she was no priest,
channeling that much emotion-energy through it had the potential of
making the Outcasting into something more than "mere ritual."

"Oathbreaker I do name him, mage to thy priest.  Oathbreaker once-" she
choked, hardly able to get the words out, "by the violation of sacred
bonds.  Oathbreaker twice-by the perversion of power granted him for
the common weal to his own ends.  Oathbreaker three times-by the
invocation of pain and death for pleasure."

Somewhat to her surprise, she saw Jadrek stand, place his trembling,
damp hand atop hers, and take up the ritual.  She had never guessed
that he knew it.  "Oathbreaker, I name him, and all who support him,"
he said, though his voice shook.  "Oathbreaker I do name him, who am
the common man of good will, making the third for Outcasting.
Oathbreaker once-by the lies of his tongue.  Oathbreaker twice -by the
perversion of his heart.  Oathbreaker three times-by the giving of his
soul willingly to darkness.  "

Tarma slammed the dagger they all had been holding into the wood of the
table with such force that it sank halfway to the hilt.  "Oathbreaker
is his name;" she snarled.  "All oaths to him are null.  Let every
man's hand be against him; let the gods turn their faces from him; let
his darkness rot him from within until he be called to a just
accounting.  And may the gods grant that mine be the hand!"

She brought herself back under control with an effort that was visible,
and turned a face toward them that was no longer impassive, but was
just as tear-streaked as Kethry's own.  "This is the end of it: he
couldn't break her.  She was too tough for him, right up to the last.
He didn't get one word out of her, not one-and in the end, when he
thought his bullyboys had her restrained, she managed to break free
long enough to grab a knife and kill herself with it."

The fire-and-candle light flared up long enough to show that the
murderous rage was still burning in her, but still under control.  "I
damn near killed him myself, then and there.  Warrl managed to keep me
from painting the room with his blood.  It would have been suicide, and
while it would have left the throne free for Stefan, I'd have left at
least two friends behind who would have been rather unhappy that I'd
gone and gotten myself killed by the rest of Char's Guard."

" "Unhappy' is understating the case," Jadrek replied gently, slowly
resuming his seat.  "But yes-at least two.  Good friend-sister-please
sit."  Kethry could see tears still glinting in his eyes-but she could
also see that he was thinking past his grief; something she and Tarma
couldn't quite manage yet.

As Tarma lowered herself stiffly into her accustomed chair, he
continued.  "Our plans have been plagued by the inability to bring a
force of trained fighters whose loyalty is unswervingly ours into the
city.  Now I ask you, who served under Idra-what would her Sunhawks
think to hear this ?"

"Gods!"  Kethry brought her fist to her mouth, and bit her knuckles
hard enough to break the skin "They'd want revenge, just like us-and
not just them, but every man or woman who ever served as a Hawk!"

Jadrek nodded.  "In short-an army.  Our army.  One that won't swerve
from their goal for any reason, or be stopped by anything short of the
death of every last one of them."

Now, for a brief time, they fought their battle with pen and paper.
Messages, coded, in obscure dialects, or (rarely) in plain trade speech
left the city every day that there was someone that they judged was
trustworthy enough to carry them.  Tarma, from her position as trusted
insider, was able to tell them that the few messages that were
intercepted baffled Char's adherents, and were dismissed out of hand as
merchant-clan warring.  The rest went south and east, following the
trade roads, to find the men and women who wore (or had once worn) the
symbol of the Sunhawk.

The answers that returned were not of paper and ink, but flesh and
blood-and of deadly anger.

The last time Justin Twoblade and his partner had entered Petras, it
had been with a feeling of pleasant anticipation.  Petras had been the
turn around point for the caravan they'd been guarding, and it was well
known for its wines and its wenches; He'd had quite a lively time of
it, that season in Petras.

Now he entered the city a second time, again as caravan guard.  Three
things differed: he would not be leaving, at least not with the traders
he was guarding; his partner was not Ikan Dryvale

And his mood was not pleasant.

He and his partner parted company with the caravan as soon as their
clients had selected a hostelry, taking their pay with them in the form
of the square silver coins that served as common currency among the
traders of most of this part of the world.  Then, looking in no way
different than any other mustered-out guards, they collected their
small store of belongings, loaded them on their horses, and headed for
a district with a more modest selection of inns.

And if they seemed rather heavily armed and armored, well, they had
been escorting jewel traders; it was only good sense to arm heavily
when one escorted such tempting targets.

"What was the name of that inn we're looking for?"  Justin asked his
new partner, his voice pitched only just loud enough to be heard over
the street noise.  "I didn't quite catch it from the contact."

"The Fountain of Beer," Kyra replied, just as quietly, her eyes
flicking from side to side in a way that told Justin she was watching
everything about her without making any great show of doing so.

"I suspect that's it ahead of us."  His hands were full; reins of his
horse in the left, pack in the right, so he pointed with his chin.  The
sign did indeed sport a violently yellow fountain that was apparently
spouting vast quantities of foam.

"If you'll take care of the lodgings, I'll take care of the stableman,"
Kyra offered.  "We've both got tokens; one of us should hit on a
contact if we try

"Good," Justin replied shortly; they paused just at the inn gate and
made an exchange of packs and reins.  Kyra went on into the stableyard
with their horses, as he sought the innkeeper behind his bar.

Justin bargained heatedly for several minutes,;) arriving at a fee of
two silver for stabling, room and meals for both; but there was a third
coin with the two square ones he handed the innkeeper-a small, round,
bronze coin, bearing the image of a rampant hawk on one side and the
sun-in-glory on the other.  It was, in fact, the smallest denomination
of coin used in Hawksnest-used only in Hawksnest, and: almost never
seen outside of the town.

The innkeeper neither commented on the coin, nor returned it-but he did
ask "Justice Twoblade ?"  when registering them on his rolls.

"Justice" was one of the half-dozen recognition words that had come
with Justin's message.

"Justin," the fighter corrected him.  "Justin of the Hawk."

That was the appropriate answer.  The man nodded, and replied "Right.
Justice."

Justin also nodded, then stood at the bar and nursed a small beer while
he waited for Kyra to return.  The potboy showed them to a small, plain
room on the ground floor at the back of the inn.

"Stableman's one contact for certain sure," Kyra told him as soon as
the boy had left.  "He wished me 'justice," I gave 'im m'name as Kyra
Brighthawk, and then 'e tol' me t' wait fera visitor."

"Innkeeper's another, gave me the same word.  Always provided we aren't
in a trap."  Justin raised one laconic eyebrow at Kyra's headshake. "My
child, you don't grow to be an old fighter without learning to be
suspicious of your own grandmother.  I would suggest to you that we
follow 'enemy territory' rules."

Kyra shrugged.  "You been the leader; I'll live with whatever ye guess
we should be doin'."

Justin felt of the bed, found it satisfactory, and stretched his lanky
body on it at full length.  "It is a wise child that obeys its elders,"
he said sententiously, then quirked one corner of his mouth.  "It is
also a child that may live to become an elder."

Kyra shrugged good-naturedly.

A few moments later, the boy returned with a surprisingly good dinner
for two, which he left.  Justin examined it with great care, by smell
and by cautious taste.

"Evidently we aren't supposed to leave," Justin guessed, "And if this
stuff has been tampered with, I can't tell it."

Kyra followed his careful inspection of the food with one of her own.
"Nor me, an' my "randy was a wise woman  I don' know about you, friend,
but I could eat raw snake."

"Likewise.  My lady?"  Justin dug a healthy portion out of the meat pie
they'd been served, and handed it to her solemnly.

She accepted it just as solemnly.  It might have been noted, had there
been anyone else present, that neither partook of anything the other
had already tried.  If any of the food had been 'tampered with," it
would likely be only one or two dishes.  If that were the case-one of
them would still be in shape to deal with the consequences.

When, after an hour, nothing untoward happened to either of them,
Justin grinned a little sheepishly.

"Don't apologize," Kyra told him.  "I tell ye, I dr uther eat a cold
dinner than find m'self wakin' up lookin' at the wrong end of
somebody's knife."

They demolished the rest of the food in fairly short order-then began
another interminable wait.  After a candle mark of pacing, Kyra.finally
dug a long branch of silvery derthenwood out of her pack, as well as a
tiny knife with a blade hardly bigger than a pen nib.  She sat down on
the floor next to the bed and began the slow process of turning the
branch into a carved chain.  Justin watched her from half-closed eyes,
fascinated in spite of himself by the delicate work.  The chain had
only a few links to it when the wait began; when it ended, there was
scarcely a finger length of branch remaining.

Then, without warning, a portion of the wall blurred and Kethry stepped
through it.

Kethry just held out her arms, welcoming both of them into an embrace
which included tears from all three of them.

"Gods, Keth-" Justin finally pulled away, reluctantly

It has been so damned hard keeping this all inside."

"I know; none better-Windborn, I cannot tell you how glad I am to see
you two!  You're the first to come; may the Lady forgive me, but there
were times I wondered if this was going to work."

"Oh, it's working all right; better than you could guess."  He wiped
his eyes and nose on the napkin from their tray and locked his emotions
down.  "All right, lady-mage, we need information, not waterfalls.

"First-tell me how you got here so fast."

"We weren't about t' let anybody beat us here," Kyra replied.  "Not
after that message.  Sewen sent me on ahead t' tell ye that Queen
Sursha give us leave t' deal with this soon's we get some of her new
army units in t' replace us.  The rest of the Hawks'll be here in 'bout
a month."

"Ikan's out rounding up all the former Hawks we can track down," Justin
continued.  "We'll be trickling in the same as the Hawks will-no more
than two or three at a time, and disguised.  One of the merchant houses
is going to let some of us use their colors; Ikan took the liberty of
taking your name in vain to old Grumio.  We have the support of
Sursha's Bards, and half a dozen holy orders.  We'll be everything from
wandering entertainers to caravan guards.  You've got a plan, I take
it?"

"Tarma has; she's worked it out with a couple of highborn we can
trust," Kethry told him.  "All I really know about is my part of it,
but generally we're hoping to accomplish the whole thing with a minimum
of bloodshed."

"Specific blood," Kyra replied, with a smoldering anger Justin
shared.

"Oh, yes.  One of the lot we've already taken out-Raschar's Adept.  But
the others-" Kethry allowed her own anger to show.  "-Tarma's
identified every person that had a hand in the deed.  And they will
answer to us."

Justin nodded, slowly.  "What about arms?  There's going to be at least
half of us without much, given the disguises."

"Being smuggled in to us from an outside source, so that Char won't be
alerted that something's up by activity in forges and smithies.  We're
getting everything Tarma could think of; bows, arrows with war-points,
various kinds of throwing knives, grapnels, climbing spikes, pikes,
swords-the last is the hardest, that, and armor, but we're hoping most
of you will manage to bring your own.  Do either of you have a guess
how many there might be that we can count on?"

"Six hundred at an absolute minimum," Justin said with grim
satisfaction.  "That's four hundred Hawks and the two hundred that
either retired to Hawksnest or that Ikan knows for a fact he can get
hold of and will want in."

"Gods-that's better than I'd hoped," Kethry said weakly.  "There're
four hundred regular troops here, about a hundred and fifty assorted
militia, and fifty personal guards belonging to Char.  There're some
other assorted fighters, but Tarma tells me they won't count for much;
there're Char's adherents, and their private guards, but we don't know
but that they won't turn their coats or hide if things look chancy.
That means we'll be going pretty much one-on-one; all the professionals
starting the fight even."

"Even with his mages?"  Justin asked dubiously.

Kethry raised her chin, her eyes glinting like emerald ice in the light
from the window beside her.  "He hasn't a mage that can come close to
me in ability, and I have more power at my disposal than any of them
could hope for."

"Where are you getting that kind of power?"  Justin asked in surprise.
"I mean-you're alone-"

"You-and the Hawks.  Your anger.  I can't begin to tell you how strong
a force I've already tapped off just you two; when I start to think
about six hundred Hawks, it makes my head reel.  It's the kind of power
a mage sees perhaps once in a lifetime, and if I weren't an Adept I'd
never be able to touch it, much less control it."

"You're Adept class now?"  Justin said incredulously.

"Great good gods-no wonder you aren't worried!  "

"Not with power like that at my disposal.  I can channel all that
anger, harvest it, and save it for the hour of striking.  We're the
attackers, this time.  I can set up as many spells as it takes as far
in advance as I need to, spells specifically designed to take out each
mage; and wait until the moment of attack to trigger them.  I'm
assuming only half of those will work.  The rest will probably be
deflected.  But the mages will be off-balance, and I can take them out
one at a time.  I know how mages think when they're under magical
attack they tend to ignore anything mundane, and they seldom or never
work together.  White Winds is one of the few schools that teaches
working in concert.  I think we can plan that they will be
concentrating on me and not on anything non magical  And that they
won't even think to band together against me."

Justin nodded, satisfied.  "Sounds like you people have a pretty good
notion of what you're about.  Now comes the hard part."

"Uh-huh," Kethry nodded.  "Waiting."

Singly, or by twos and threes, the Hawks came, just as Justin had told
Kethry they would.  Each of them arrived in some disguise, some seeming
utterly harmless-a peasant farmer here, a party of minstrels there, a
couple of merchant apprentices.  Day by day they trickled into Petras,
and no one seemed to notice that they never left it again.  Each went
to one of the dozen inns whose masters had bought into the conspiracy,
carrying with them a small bronze coin and a handful of recognition
words.  Each was met by Kethry, or by one of the other "official
greeters"-Justin, Kyra or Ikan, who had arrived within days of the
first two.

From there, things got far more complicated than even most of these
professional mercenaries were used to.

Beaker coughed, scratched his head, and turned his weary donkey in to
what passed for a stableman at the Wheat Sheaf inn.  The stableman here
was, like most of the clients, of farm stock; and probably had never
even seen a warhorse up close, much less handled one.  Beaker's dusty
donkey was far more in his line of expertise.  The "stable" was a
packed-earth enclosure with a watering trough and a pile of hay
currently being shared by three other mangy little donkeys and a brace
of oxen.  Beaker had serious second and third thoughts about this being
the contact point for a rebel force, but the instructions had said the
Wheat Sheaf and specified the stableman as the contact.

"Ye wanta watch that one," Beaker drawled, handing the wizened peasant
the rough rope of the donkey's halter with one hand, and four coins
with the other-three copper pennies and one bronze Hawkpiece.  "She'll
take revenge if she even thinks ye're gonna lay hand toer

"Oh, aye, I know th' type," the fellow replied, grinning, and proving
that a good half of his teeth had gone with his lost youth.  "Ol' girl
like this, she hold a grudge till judgment day, eh?"  He pocketed all
four coins -without a comment.

Well, that was the proper sign and counter.  Beaker felt some of his
misgivings slide away, and ambled on into the dark cave of the
rough-brick inn.

Like most of its ilk, it had two floors, each one large room.  The
upper would have pallets for sleeping; the lower had a huge fireplace
at one end where a stout middle-aged woman was tending an enormous pot
and a roast of some kind.  It was filled with clumsy benches and
trestle tables now, but after the inn shut down for the night, those
that could not afford a pallet upstairs would be granted leave to sleep
on table, bench, or floor beneath for half the price of a pallet.
Opposite the fireplace was the "bar"; a stack of beer kegs and a rack
of mugs, presided over by the innkeeper.

Beaker debated looking prosperous, when his stomach growled and made
the decision for him.  He paid the innkeeper for a mug of beer, a bowl
of soup and a slice of roast; the man took his money, gave him his
drink and a slice of not-too-stale bread.  Beaker slid his pack off his
back, rummaged his own bowl and spoon out of it, then shrugged it back
on before weaving his way through the tables to the monarch of the
"kitchen."

Rather to his surprise-the inn staff of places like this one were
rather notorious for being surly-the woman gave him a broad smile along
with a full bowl, and put a reasonably generous slice of meat on his
bread.  Juggling all three carefully, he took a seat as near to the
door as possible, and sat down to eat.

The food was another pleasant surprise; fresh and tasty and
stomach-filling.  And the inn was cool after the heat and dust of the
road.  The beer was doing a respectable fob of washing the grit out of
his throat.  [Beaker was about halfway through his meal when he heard
someone come up behind him.

"How's the food t'day, sojer?"

Beaker grinned and turned in his seat.  "Kyra, when are you gonna get
rid of that damn accent?"

"When cows fly, prob'ly.  Makes me fit in here.  though."  She
straddled the bench beside him, a mug and bowl of her own in hand. 
"Eat here ev'ry chance I get.  Ma Kemak, she sure can coOk.  Pa Kemak
don' water the Ibeer' neither.  Finish that up, boy.  We gotta get you
off th' street soon's we can;" She set him a good example by nearly
inhaling her soup.

From the inn Kyra led Beaker on a rambling stroll designed to shake off
or bore any pursuit, bringing him at last to the stableyard entrance of
a wealthy merchant.  A murmured word with the chief stableman got them
inside; from there they slipped in the servant's door and climbed a
winding staircase to the attic of the house.  Normally a room like this
was crowded with the accumulated junk of several generations, now it
was barren except for a line of pallets.  There were only two
windows-both shuttered-but there WaS enough light that Beaker could
recognize most of those sprawled about the room.

"Beat you, Birdbrain," Garth mocked from a corner; looking around,
Beaker could see that a good half of the pallets were occupied-and that
evidently, he was the last of Tarma's scout troop to arrive.

"Well, hell, if they'd given me something' besides a half-dead dwarf
donkey t' get here on--"

"No excuse," Jodi admonished.  "Tresti and I were Shayana mendicants;
we came here on our own two feet."

"Beaker, what have you got in the way of arms?"  asked someone on the
opposite side of the room; peering through the attic gloom, Beaker
could make out that the speaker was a skirmisher he knew vaguely, a
Hawk called Vasely.

"One short knife, and my sword," he replied.  "And I've got my
brigandine under this shirt."

"Get over here and pick out what you want, then.  Take whatever you
think you can use, we aren't short of anything but swords and
body-armor."

Beaker crossed the attic, picking his way among the pallets, and sorted
through the piles of arms.  Shortly thereafter he was being caught up
on the developments by his fellow scouts.

He learned that they hid their faces by day, slipping out only at night
to meet in the ballrooms and stable yards of the great lords who had
also joined the conspiracy.  There they would hear whatever news there
was to hear, and practice their skills.

Each night, as the Hawks gathered to spar, Kethry would siphon off the
incredibly dangerous energy of their anger and hate.  Dangerous,
because the energy generated by negative emotions was hard to
control-and attracted some very undesirable other planar creatures. 
But it was a potent force, and one Kethry was not going to let go
unused. She channeled what she accumulated each night into the dozen
trap-spells she was building, one for each of Char's mages.  She was
beginning to think that she might well be able to carry this off-for
despite her brave words to Justin, she had no idea if what she planned
was going to work, nor how well.  She was just too new at being Adept
to be certain exactly what her capabilities were.

"I wish you'd tell me what you're going to do," Jadrek said
plaintively.  He'd been watching her as she traced through the last of
the parchment diagrams, laying in the power she had acquired that
night.  There were times his patience astounded her still.... "I didn't
realize you'd want to know," she replied, sealing the new layer of
power in place, and looking up at him with surprise as she finished.
"Come around here behind me and have a look, then."

He rose, moved to her right shoulder, and bent over the table with his
expression sharp with curiosity.  "Well, you know I'm not a mage, but I
do know some of the mage-books-and Keth, what you've been doing doesn't
even look remotely familiar.

"You know what a trap-spell is.  That's this part."  She leaned over
the parchment and pointed out the six tiny diagrams encircling the last
mage's Name, as he looked over her shoulder with acute interest she
could feel without even seeing his face.

"That's just the part that's like a trigger on a physical trap,
right?"

"Exactly, except that what will activate the trigger won't be something
the mage does, but something

I do-a kind of a mental twist to release the rest of it."

He examined the elaborately inscribed sheet with care, leaning on the
back of Kethry's chair, and not touching the page.  "That looks
familiar enough from my reading-but what's all the rest of this?"

"That's something new, something I put together.  There's a mind-magic
technique called a mirror egg that Roald told me about," she said,
sitting back.  He responded to her movement by beginning to massage her
neck as she talked.  "It involves surrounding someone with an
egg-shaped shield that is absolutely reflective on the inside.  It's
something you do, he told me, when you've got a projective that refuses
to lock his mind-Gift down, or is using it harm fully Everything he
projects after that gets flung straight back into his face-Roald says
it's a pretty effective way of teaching someone when admonishment
fails."

"I would think so," Jadrek agreed.

"Ah-" his gentle hands hit a particularly tense spot, and Kethry fell
silent until he'd gotten the muscles looser.  "I thought about it, and
it occurred to me that there was no reason why the same kind of thing
couldn't be applied to magical energy.  So I found a spell to make a
mirrored shield, and another to shape a shield into an egg shape, and
combined them.  That's this bit."  She traced the twisted patterns with
her finger above the diagram.  "When Jiles got here, he agreed to let
me throw one on him as a test."

"It worked?"

"Better than either of us had guessed.  Scared him white.  You see,
with most other trap-spells if you have the patience to work your way
through it, you can find the key point and get yourself loose by
cutting it.  Not this one-because everything you do reflects back at
you. There're only two ways to break this one-from the outside, or to
build up such pressure inside that the spell can't contain it."

Jadrek pondered that in silence for a moment, while Kethry let her head
sag and revelled in the relaxation his hands were leaving in their
wake.

"What's to keep the mages from building up that kind of pressure?"  he
asked at last.

"Nothing-if they can.  But if they try-and they don't figure out that
they're going to have to shield themselves within the shield-they'll
fry themselves before they free themselves."

Jadrek spoke slowly, and very quietly.  "That-is not a nice
spell...."

"These aren't nice people," Kethry replied, recalling all the
soul-searching she'd done before deciding that this was the thing to
do.  "Frankly, if I could call lightnings down on all of them, I would,
and take the guilt on my soul.  I agree, it isn't a thing one should
use lightly, and just before I trigger the traps, I intend to burn the
papers.  I won't need them any more at that point, and I'd rather that
the knowledge didn't get into too many hands just yet."

"And later?  How do you keep someone else from finding out how you did
it?  What if-"

"Gods-Jadrek, love, once a thing's been thought of-it gets out, no
matter what.  So once this is all over with, I'm going to arrange for
the information to be sent to every mage school I know of, and spread
it as far and wide as I can."

"What?"  Jadrek asked, so aghast that he stopped massaging.

"You can't stop knowledge; you shouldn't try.  If you do, half the time
it's the wrong people that get it first.  So I'm doing the best thing
you can do with something like this-making sure everybody knows about
it.  That way, if it's used, it will be recognized.

Mages trapped inside one of these eggs will realize what's happened and
get outside help before they hurt themselves, ones outside will know
the counter."

"Oh," he said, resuming what he'd broken off.  There was silence for a
while as he plainly pondered what she'd said.

One more thing to love about him.  He doesn't always agree with me, but
he hears me out, and he thinks about what I've said before making up
his own mind.

"Huh," he said, when she'd begun to drowse a little under his gentle
ministrations.  "I guess you're right; if you can't guarantee that
something harmful stays out of the wrong hands-"

"And I can't; there's no way."

"Then see that all the right hands get it."

"And that they get the antidote.  I don't know that this is all that
moral, Jadrek, I only know that the alternative-taking the chance that
someone like Zaras figures out what I did first-is less moral."  She
sighed.  "I never thought that becoming an Adept would bring all these
moral predicaments with it.

He kissed the top of her head.  "Keth, power brings with it the need to
make moral judgments; history proves that.  You have no choice but to
make those decisions."

She sighed again, and reached up to lay one of her hands across his
where it rested on her shoulder.  "I just hope that I always have
someone around to keep reminding me when something I'm thinking about
doing 'isn't nice."  I may still do it-but I'd better have good reasons
for doing so."

He squeezed her shoulder, gently.  "Don't worry.  As long as I'm
around, you will."

That's what I hoped you'd say, she thought to herself closing her eyes
and leaning back.  That is exactly what I hoped you'd say.

Twelve

Tarma-"

arma looked up from the maps spread before her to see Jadrek nudging
his way into the knot of fighters she was tutoring.  She'd had ample
time to learn every twist and turn of the maze within the Palace, and
she was endeavoring to make sure every person of the secret army knew
every corridor and storeroom before the planned coup.  She felt a
twinge of excitement when she saw that Jadrek's expression was at once
tense and anticipatory.

She excused herself and turned her pupils over to Jodi.  "What is it?"
she asked him quietly, not wanting to raise hopes that might be dashed
in the next moment.  "You look like you've swallowed a live fish, and
you're not certain if you're enjoying the experience."

He raised an eyebrow.  "You aren't- far wrong; that's about how my
stomach is feeling.  Stefan's in Petras."

"Warrior's Oath!"  She bared her teeth in a feral grin as those nearby
glanced at her in startlement.  Although they had been planning for
this very moment, suddenly she felt rather as though the fish was
wriggling about in her stomach.

"When?  How long ago did you make contact?  Where is he now?"

"About three candle marks ago, and he's with Keth at the inn; it seemed
the safest place for him."

"All right-this is it.  He's here, we're ready.  Let me get Sewen and
Ikan, and I'll meet you at Kethry's.!"  She turned on her heel and
began making her way across the crowded, dimly lit ballroom.  She kept
sight of Jadrek as he slipped back out the door, and she noticed that
he was slump-shouldered and limping slightly.

Poor devil, he-looks like warmed-over death.  All this is giving me
energy, but it's sapping his.  Keth, too.  Talk all day' plot all
night, spell cast when you aren't plotting

: Chase one another around the bedroom when you aren't spell casting :
Warrl broke into her thoughts.

Still at it, are they?  Tarma thought at him.  Well, if the liaison has
survived this much stress for this long, Keth's right about him being
The One.  Good.  I'd welcome

Jadrek as Clanbrother with no reservations.  He's the closest thing
I've seen since Keth to a Shin 'a 'in.

: And he has ?nore sense than both of you put together.

You know, he still thinks you don't know about the love afair," Warrl
chuckled.  "Keth kasn't enlightened him.  I can't read her as easily as
I can him' what with all her mage-shields, so I don't know why she
hasn't told him that you knew about it from the first.  She might
assume he pnows you know-or she might be waiting to see how he handles
the situation.:

I suspect the latter, given Keth's devious Mind.  Hmm.  If anyone would
know about Jadrek's condition, you would; you're practically in his
pocket most of the day.  He was limping-how's he doing, physically?

: extremely well; his bones only bother him when he's very tired' like
tonight, or very chilled.  Need knows how Kethry worries about him, so
Need takes very good care of him.:

Good enough to make the Palace assault with us?  We need his
knowledge.

"I would judge so.  He'll have every fighter of the hawks watching out
for him, after all.:

Hai.  He'll probably come out better than the rest of us will.
Well-back to business.

She had reached Sewen and Ikan by the end of that mental conversation,
which had all taken place in the space of a few heartbeats.  They
looked up at her approach, and knowing her as well as they did, she
reckoned they would have no trouble reading the news in her eyes.

"Time, is it?"  Sewen straightened, and rolled up the map they'd been
working with.

She nodded.  "He's here."  No need to say who "he" was-not when all
they lacked for the past several days to put the plan into motion had
been Stefansen's physical presence.  "Keth's room.  Ready?"

Both nodded; Ikan signaled Justin, who came to take his place, Sewen
did the same with the scout Mala.  Within moments the three of them,
darkly cloaked and moving like shadows through the ill-lit streets,
were on their way to Kethry's room.

Warrl, as always, told the others of their approach;

Kethry was at the door before they set foot on the staircase, and held
it open just enough that they could slip inside.

Jadrek was already there, seated at the table; beside him, looking
somehow far more princely than Tarma had remembered, was Stefansen.

It was Stefansen the ruler who rose to greet them; to clasp the hands
and shoulders of both Ikan and Sewen with that same ease and frank
equality Idra had always shown, and thank them for their presence and
help with a sincerity that none of them doubted.  The meeting was, in
some ways, rather unnerving for Sewen and Ikan; Tarma knew how much
like his sister Stefansen looked, but the others hadn't been warned.
And in the soft light from their candles the resemblance was even
stronger.  Tarma could almost hear their thoughts-shock, a touch of
chill at the back of the neck

Then they shook themselves into sense.

Kethry gestured, bringing three more chairs into abrupt existence, as
Jadrek unrolled the first of a series of maps on the table.  All six of
them seated themselves almost simultaneously; Stefansen cleared his
throat, and the odd note in the sound caught Tarma's attention-and by
the way the other two looked up at him in startlement, Sewen's and
Ikan's as well.

"Jadrek has kept me appraised of what's been going on," he said, with a
kind of awkward hesitation that he had not displayed before.  "So I
know the reason all you Sunhawks are here.  I don't-I don't deal well
with emotion, it's hard for me to say things that I feel.  But I just
want you to know that I-understand.  I have half a dozen reasons for
wanting to roast Char over a slow fire, and that one is at the top of
the list.  But I think all of you have a prior claim on his hide.  I
was never as close to Idra as even the lowliest of her Hawks.  So-if
it's possible-when this is over, he's yours."

Sewen's eyes lit at those words.  "The Hawks thank you for that,
Highness-an' I'll tell you true, they'll fight all the better for the
knowing of the promise."

"It only seemed fair...."  He looked straight into Tarma's eyes, as if
asking whether this had been the wise choice.  She nodded slightly, and
he looked easier.

"Very well, gentlemen, ladies-" he said after a moment of silence. "All
the pieces are on the game board.  Shall we begin?"

It was Midsummer's Night, and folk in carnival garb thronged the
streets.  Among the mob of wildly costumed maskers, who would notice
six hundred odd more celebrants?

Who would notice masks on a night of masking?  Who would note six
hundred-odd sets of phony weaponry among so many thousand tawdry pieces
of junk like them?  Who would take alarm from another merchant or
peasant playing at warrior?

Except that beneath the cheap gilding and pasted-on glass jewels,
beneath the paper and the tinsel, the arms and armor of this lot was
very real.

This was the night of all nights that the rebels had hoped to be able
to use-in part because of the ability to move freely, and in part
because of one aspect in particular of the Midsummer's Night
celebrations of Rethwellan.  Though the folk of Petras were mostly long
since severed from any direct ties to the farms that formed a good
third of Rethwellan's wealth, Midsummer's Night was still the night
which ensured the fertility of the land.  There would be revelling in
the streets right up until the stroke of midnight-but at midnight, the
streets would be deserted.  Every man and woman in Petras would be
doing his or her level best to prove to the Goddess in Her aspect as
Lover that the people of Rethwellan still worshiped Her in all the
appropriate ways.  This Midsummer's Night they would be trying
especially hard, because over the past three months the priests of the
city had been doing their best to encourage exactly that behavior
tonight.  Some of them had even unbent themselves enough to admit
that-on this one night-perhaps it didn't altogether worry Her if your
partner did not happen to be your lawfully wedded spouse.  And that if
one felt guilty after being infected with Her sacred desires and
fulfilling same-well, for a case of indulgence after Midsummer's Night,
penances would be few and light, and forgiveness easily obtained.

For all but six hundred-odd, who would not be fulfilling Her desires as
Lover, but as Avenger.

Tarma picked her way through the thinning crowds, still wearing her
guise of Arton.  It was that guise that was going to give the Hawks the
entry to the Palace grounds.  From all directions, she knew, the Hawks
were converging on the Palace; she would be one of the last to arrive.
Kethry was already in place, waiting to spring her trap-spells.  If
they didn't work, she would be in a position to guide Hawks to the
mages to deal with them physically while she kept them occupied
magically.  If they did work, she would be a most welcome addition to
their arsenal.

And just in case Char somehow slipped through their fingers-Warrl?

: Here) mind mate

Got the horses in place?

Warrl's duty was to work with Horsemaster Tindel; the fastest of the
Shin'a'in-bred mounts she'd sold Char the year before were to be
saddled and kept at the ready, in a cul-de-sac just outside the Palace
gate, with Warrl and Tindel guarding them.  If Char got away from them,
Tarma and the best riders among the Hawks would be hot on his heels :

Saddled, bridled, and ready to ride.:

: Good.  Let's hope we don't have to use them.

"Devoutly.:

Tarma approached one of the side gates, that gave out onto a delivery
area.  Tonight the gate stood open for the convenience of servants, and
the courtyard beyond was dark and deserted.  And there was Kethry-still
in her own disguise, and looking angry enough to bite a board in two.
Tarma altered her walk, swaying a little, as if drunk.  She was
carrying what looked like a jug loosely in her right hand.  As it
happened, it wasn't a jug; it was her sword, magicked with another
illusion.

Kethry spotted her; Tarma put a little more of a stagger into her step.
;

"There you are, you beast!  And drunk as a pig!"  she shrilled, to the
amusement of the two gate guards.

"Jjanna?"  Tarma slurred uncertainly, coming to :) a halt just before
the gate.

"Of course it's Janna, you brute!  You asked me to meet you here, you
sot!  I've been waiting for hours!"

"Don't you believe her, Arton," snickered the right-hand gate guard.
"She ain't been here more'n half a candle mark-an' she showed up with a
big blond lad on one arm, too.  Reckon she's been playin' more'n one
game tonight, eh?"

"You-damned-slut!"  Tarma snarled, feigning that she had suddenly gone
fighting-drunk.  She advanced on Kethry, brandishing the jug.  Kethry
backed up until she was just inside the gate itself, giving every
evidence of genuine and absolute fear.  "I'm gonna beat you bloody, you
fornicating little bitch!

Kethry whirled, and threw herself on the left hand guard, begging his
protection, distracting both guards for the crucial moment that it took
Tarma to get within arm's length of the right-hand guard.

Then Tarma pivoted, and took her guard out with the pommel of her
sword, just as Kethry executed a neat right cross to the point of her
target's chin.  Both went down without a sound.  Within heartbeats the
Hawks were swarming the gate-as two of their number, already be spelled
into looking like the two guards they were replacing, dragged the
bodies into the gatehouse, trussed and gagged them, and took up their
stations.  The fighters filled the courtyard on the other side, hidden
in the dark shadow of the Palace, waiting for Tarma and Kethry to make
the next moves.

Kethry stood in frozen immobility for a single moment; sensitized to
stirrings of energies by her own status as Kal'enedral, Tarma actually
felt her spring her trap-spells.

Kethry's eyes met hers with incredulous shock They're holding-all of
them!"

Lady with us, then, and let's hope they keep holding.  New body,
Keth."

"Right," the mage answered, and Tarma waited impatiently as the figure
of "Janna" blurred, became a rosy mist, and the mist solidified into a
new guise-a very ordinary looking-female fighter in the
scarlet-and-gold livery of Char's personal guard.

"All right, Hawks," Tarma said, in a low, but carrying voice.  "This is
it-form up on your leaders-"

She marched up to the unlocked delivery door Kethry beside her, and
pushed it open.  The half drunk guard beyond blinked at her without
alarm, and bemusedly; he was one of Char's own personal guards and
Tarma (in her "ruse of Arton) had ordered him to stand duty tonight on
this door for a reason.  He was one of the men that had participated in
the rape and torture of Idra.

She swung once, without a qualm, cutting him down before he had a
chance to do more than blink at her.  Her only regret was that she had
not been: able to grant him the lingering death she felt-he deserved. 
She and Kethry hastily dragged his body out of the way; then she waved
to the waiting shadows in the court behind her.

And the Sunhawks poured through the door, a flood of vengeance in human
shape, a flood which split into many smaller streams-and all of them
were deadly.

"No luck," Tarma said flatly, as her group met (as planned) with
Stefan's, just outside the corridor leading to the rooms assigned to
the unattached ladies of the court.  "He wasn't in his quarters, and he
wasn't with the mages."

"Nor with any of his current mistresses," Stefansen reported.  "That
leaves the throne room."

Their combined group, which included Jadrek (who had accompanied
Stefan) and both the other Sunhawk mages, now numbered some fifty
strong.  The new force surged down the pristine white marble of the
Great Hall to their goal of the throne room, all of them caught up in
battle-fever.  The Hawks had met with opposition from Char's fighters,
some of it fierce.  The bodies lying in pools of spreading scarlet on
the snowy marble of the halls were not all wearing Char's livery. Sewen
had been hurt, and Ikan.  Garth was dead, and more than fifty others
Tarma had known only vaguely.  But the Hawks had triumphed, even in the
pitched battle with the seasoned troupers of Char's army, and all but a
handful of those who had murdered their Captain were now making their
atonements to her in person.

But among that handful-and the only one as yet uncaught-was Raschar.

Those in the lead shouted as they reached their goal-the great bronze
double doors of the throne room-first in triumph, and then in anger, as
they attempted to force those doors open.  The sculptured doors to the
throne room were locked, from the inside.

Justin and Beaker-and a half dozen more battered at them-futilely-as
the rest came up.  Their efforts did not even make the glittering doors
tremble.

"Don't bother," Stefansen shouted over the noise, "Those damned doors
are a hand span thick.  We'll have to try to get in from the garden."

"No we won't," Kethry snarled, audible in her rage even over the
frustrated efforts of those still trying to batter their wayin. "Stand
back!"

She raised her hands high over her head, her face a mask of fury, and
Tarma felt the surge of power that could only mean she had summoned
some of that terrible anger-energy she had channeled away but not used
in the trap-spells.  This was the best purpose for such energies, Tarma
knew-anything destructive would do

Kethry called out three piercing words, and a bolt of something very
like scarlet lightning lanced from her hands to the meeting point of
the double doors.  There was a smell of hot metal and scorched air, and
a crash that shook every ornament in the hall to the floor.  The
fighters around her cringed and protected their ears from the
thunder-shock; the doors rocked, but did not open.

"Fight it down, girl," Tarma cautioned her, and Kethry visibly wrestled
her own temper into control; if she lost to it, she had warned Tarma,
she would be prey to the stored anger.

Kethry closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, then faced the
obstacle again.  "Oh no," she told the doors and the spell that was on
them, "you don't stop me that easily!"

Again she called the lightning, and a third time-and on the fourth, the
doors burst off their hinges, and fell inward with a crash that shook
the floor, cracked the marble of the walls of the Great Hall, and
rained debris down on all their heads from the ceiling.  None of which
they particularly noticed, as they stormed into the throne room

To find it empty.

Jadrek cursed, with a command of invective that; astounded Kethry, and
pointed to where a scarlet and gold tapestry behind the throne flapped
in a current of air.  "The tunnel-it was walled off years ago-"

"Figures that the little bastard would have it opened up," Stefan spat.
"Think, man-where does it come out?"

Jadrek closed his eyes and clenched both hands at his temples, as
Kethry tried to will confidence and calm into him.  "If the records I
studied are right-and I remember them right," he said finally, "it
exits in the old temple of Ursa, outside the city walls."

Tarma and her chosen riders had already spun around and were sprinting
for the door, and Kethry was right behind them.  Because she had
alreadY laid most of the spell on them, it was child's play to invoke
the guises she'd set for just this eventuality-even while pelting down
the hall as fast as her legs could carry her.  They were exceedingly
simple illusions, anyway-not faces, but livery, the scarlet and gold
livery of Char's personal guards, exactly as the guise she wore was
garbed.

They didn't have far to run; and Hawks now held the main gate and had
forced it open, so there was nothing to bar the path to their allies.
As they pounded into the torch-lit court behind the main gate, a dozen
Shin'a'in-bred horses, driven by Warn, and led by Tindel, galloped past
that portal.  Their iron-shod hooves drew sparks from the stones of the
paving, and they tossed their heads as they ran, plainly fresh and
eager for an all-out run.

Which was exactly what they were going to get.

As the horses swirled past the Palace door, the Hawks ran to meet them,
not bothering to give Tindel the time to bring them to a halt.  Instead
they mounted on the run, as Tarma had taught them.  Even Kethry, the
worst rider of all, managed somehow, grabbing pommel and cantle and
getting herself in the saddle of the still-cantering gelding she'd
singled out without really thinking about what she was doing.

"Where?"  Tindel shouted, over the pounding of hooves as they thundered
out the gates again, leaving a panting Warrl to collapse behind them.
This was no race for him and he knew it.

"Temple of Ursa-" Tarma yelled in reply, and Tindel cut anything else
she was about to say off with a wave of his hand.

"I know a quicker way," he bellowed.

He urged his grey into the fore, and led them in a mad stampede down
crazy, twisting alleys Kethry had never seen before, a good half of
which were just packed dirt.  Festival gewgaws and dying flowers were
pounded to powder as they careened through; once a tiny hawker's
cart-thankfully unattended-was knocked over and kicked aside; reduced
to splinters as it hit a wall.  Kethry's nose was filled with the
stench of back-alley middens and trampled garbage; she was splashed
with stale water and other liquids best left nameless.  Her eyes were
dazzled by sudden torchlight that alternated with the abyssal dark
valleys between buildings.

She got only vague impressions of walls flying past, half-seen openings
as they dashed by cross streets; and the pounding of hooves surrounding
her throbbed like the pounding of the power at her fingertips.

Then, a startled shout, a wall that loomed high against the stars, and
an invisible wall of cooler air and absolute blackness that they
plunged through still without a pause

Then they were outside the city walls, continuing the insane gallop
along the road that led to a handful of old, mostly deserted temples,
and beyond that, to Hielmarsh.

The moon was full; it was nearly as bright as day, without a single
cloud to obscure the light.  The fields and trees before them were
washed with silver, and the horses, able now to see where they were
going, increased their pace.

Kethry urged her beast up to the front of the herd, until she rode just
behind Tarma and Tindel.  She gripped her horse with aching knees and
tried to see up the road.  The temple couldn't be far-not if it was to
be reached by a tunnel.

It wasn't.  The white marble of a building that could only be the
temple in question stood out clearly against the dark shadows of the
trees behind it-at this pace, hardly more than a breath or two away.

Just as they came within shouting distance of the temple, moonlight
reflecting from a cloud of dust on the road ahead of them told them
without words that Char had already started the next stage of his
flight.  This road led almost directly to Hielmarsh, Kethry knew.  He
was heading for his little stronghold, or perhaps the mazes of the
marsh.  There would be no pulling him out of there.

But Hielmarsh was hours away, and that dust cloud a few furlongs at
most.  And their horses were Shin'a'in, not much exhausted by the race
they'd run so far, scarcely sweating, and still on their first wind.

The little party ahead of them knew they were coming, though, they had
to; they had to hear the rolling thunder of two dozen pairs of hooves.
They also had to know there was no escaping

But the Hawks didn't want a pitched battle if they could help it.

The dust was settling, which meant the quarry had turned at bay. Kethry
saw Tarma give the signal to pull up as they came within sight of Char
and his men.  The knot of fighters ahead of them huddled together on
the moon-drenched road, swords glinting silver as they held them at
ready.  Kethry and the rest of the Hawks obeyed their leader, and
slowed their horses to a walk.

The King's party numbered almost forty-putting the Hawks at a
two-to-one disadvantage if they fought.  Tarma's contingency plan, as
Kethry knew, called for no such fight.  That was the reason for the
magical disguises.

"Majesty!"  Tarma called, knowing Char would see the Arton he trusted.
"Your brother's stormed and taken the Palace; he's holding the city
against you.  I got what men I could and tried to guess which way you'd
be heading."

Raschar dug his spurs into his gelding's sides and rode straight to his
faith full retainer."  "Arton!"  he cried, panic straining his voice,
"Hellfire, I heard you'd gone down at the gates!  I have never been so
glad to see anybody in my life!"

As he pulled up beside Tarma, Kethry could see his skin was pale and he
was sweating, and his eyes were hardly more than black holes in his
head.

"Rein in, Majesty; I've got you some help.  Here-" she called up at the
mixed group of guards and common soldiers still milling about
uncertainly up ahead.  "-you lot!  Get back to the temple!  Split
yourselves up, I don't much care how.  Half of you head back down to
hold the road for as long as you can, the rest of you lay a false trail
off to Lasleric.  Come on, move it out, we haven't got all night!"

There hadn't been a single officer among them, and the mixed contingent
was obviously only too happy to find someone willing to issue orders
that made sense-unlike the frantic babbling of their King.

They obeyed Tarma without a murmur, sending their nervous beasts around
the clot of Hawks blocking the road.  Within moments they were out of
sight, returning back toward the temple and beyond.

Tarma waited until they were completely out of sight before giving
Kethry a significant look.

Kethry nodded, and dropped the spell of illusion she'd been holding on
their company.

Char stared, his jaw sagging, as what appeared to be his guard was
revealed as something else entirely.

Then he paled, his face going whiter than the moonlight, as he
recognized Tindel, Tarma and Kethry.

"What-" He started to stutter, then drew himself up and took on a kind
of nervous dignity.  "Just what is this supposed to mean?  Who are you?
What do you want?"

"You probably haven't heard of us before, your Majesty," Tarma drawled,
as two of the Hawks closed in on the King from the rear, coming up on
either side.  "We're just a common mercenary troop.  We go by the name
of "Idra's Sunhawks."  "

When she spoke the name, he choked, and row led his horse savagely. 
Too late; the Hawks were already within grabbing distance of his reins.
He tried to throw himself to the ground, but other hands caught him,
and held him in his saddle until he could be tied there.

"Should take us about three candle marks to get him back-" Tindel
began.

A growl from the ranked fighters behind Tarma interrupted him, and he
stopped, looking startled.

"Stefan promised him to us, my friend," Tarma said quietly.  "He goes
back only when we're finished with him."

"But-"

"We called the Oathbreaking on him," Kethry pointed out.  "He's ours by
the code, no matter how you look at it."

Tindel looked from face to stubbornly set face, and shrugged.  "Well,
what do we do with him?"

"Huh.  Hadn't thought that far-" Tarma began.

"I had," Kethry said, firmly.

There was still a vast reservoir of anger-energy for her to draw on,
and while the coercion of innocent spirits was strictly forbidden a
White Winds sorceress, the opening of the gates of the otherworld to a
ghost that had a debt to collect was not.

And Idra most certainly had a long, bitter debt owed to her.

"We called Oathbreaking on him-that's a spell, partner.  I do believe
we ought to see that spell completed."

Tarma looked at her askance; so did the rest of the Hawks.  Char,
gagged, made choking sounds.  "How do you propose to do that?  And just
what does it mean to see it completed?"

Kethry shifted in her saddle, keeping Char under the tail of her eye.
"It only takes the priestess and the mage to complete the spell, and I
know how.  Jadrek found the rest of it in some of the old histories.

As for what it does-it brings all the broken oaths home to roost."

"Does that mean what I think it does?"

Kethry nodded, and Tarma smiled, a bloodthirsty grin that sent a chill
even up her partner's backbone.

"All right-where?"

"The temple back there will do, I think; all we need is a bit of
sanctified ground."

With Char's horse between them, they led the mystified mercenaries
toward the white shape of the temple on their back trail  It was,
fortunately, deserted.  Kethry did not especially want any witnesses to
this besides the principals.

The temple was in a state of extreme disrepair; walls half fallen and
crumbling, the pavement beneath their horse's hooves cracked and
uneven.  Tarma began to look dubious as they penetrated deeper into the
complex.

"Are we far enough in, do you think?  I don't want to chance one of the
horses falling, and maybe breaking a leg if there's any help for it."

"This will do," Kethry judged, reining in her mount, and swinging a
little stiffly out of the saddle.

The rest dismounted as well, with several of them swarming the King's
mount to pull him roughly to the ground.  The horses, eased of their
burdens, sighed and stamped a little, pawing at the weathered stone.

"Now what?"  Tarma asked.

"Tindel-you and Beaker and Jodi stand here; you three hold Char."  She
indicated a spot on the pavement in the center of a roughly circular
area that was relatively free from debris.  "Tarma, you stand South,
I'll stand North.  The rest of you form a circle with us as the
ends."

The Hawks obeyed, still mystified, but willing to trust the judgment of
the mage they'd worked so closely with for three years.

"All right-Tarma, just-be Kal'enedral.  That's all you need to do.  And
hold in mind what this bastard has done to our sister and Captain."

"That won't be hard," came the icy voice from across the circle.

Kethry took a deep breath and brought stillness creating a channel from
herself for the anger of the others.  If she let it affect her-it would
consume her.

When she thought she was ready, she took a second deep breath, raised
her arms, and began.

"Oathbreaker, he stands judged; Oathbreaker to priestess, Oathbreaker
to mage, Oathbreaker to true man of his people.  Oathbreaker, we found
him; Oathbreaker in soul, Oathbreaker in power, Oathbreaker in duty.
Oathbreaker, we brought him; Oathbreaker in thought, Oathbreaker in
word, Oathbreaker in deed.  Oathbreaker, he stands, judged, and
condemned-"

She called upon the power she had not yet exhausted, and the rising
power within the circle.

"Let the wall of Strength stand between this place and the world-"

As the barrier had been built between herself and the dark mage for the
magic duel, so a similar barrier sprang up now; one pole beginning from
where she stood, the other from where Tarma was poised.  This wall was
of a colorless, milky white; it glowed only faintly.

"Let the Pillars of Wisdom stand between this world and the next-"

Mist swirled up out of the ground, just in front of Char and his
captors.  Kethry could see his eyes bulging in fear, for the mist held
a light of its own that augmented the moonlight.  The mist formed
itself into a column, which then split slowly into two.  The two
columns moved slowly apart, then solidified into glowing pillars.

"Let the Gate of Judgment open-"

More mist, this time of a strange, bluish cast, billowed in the space
between the two Pillars.  Kethry felt the energy coursing through her;
it was a very strange, almost unnerving feeling.  She could see why
even an Adept rarely performed this spell more than once in a
lifetime-it wasn't just the amount of power needed, it was that the
mage became only the vessel for the power.  It, in a very real sense,
was controlling her.  She spoke aloud the final Word of Opening, then
called with thought alone to the mist-shape within the Pillars, and fed
it all the last of the Hawks' united anger in a great burst of
unleashed power.

The mist swirled, billowed-grew dark, then bright, then dark again.  It
glowed from within, the color a strange silver-blue, Then the mist
condensed around the glow, forming a suggestion of a long road, a road
under sunlight-and out of the center of the glowing cloud rode Idra.

Char gave a strangled cry, and fell to his knees before the rider.  But
for the moment she was not looking at him.

She was colorless as moonlight, and as solidly real as any of Tarma's
leshya'e-Kal'enedral.  When Kethry had decided to open the Gate, she
had faced this moment of seeing Idra's face with a tinge of fear,
wondering what she would see there.  She feared no longer.  The long,
lingering gazes Idra bestowed upon each of her "children" were warm,
and full of peace.  This was no spirit suffering torment

But the face she turned upon her brother was full of something colder
than hate, and more implacable than anger.

"Hello, Char," she said, her voice echoing as from across a vast
canyon.  "You have a very great deal to answer for."

Tarma led two dozen bone-weary Hawks back into Petras that morning;
they made no attempt to conceal themselves, and word that they were
coming-and word of what they carried-preceded them.  The streets of
Petras cleared before their horses ever set hoof upon them, and they
rode through a town that might well have been emptied by some
mysterious plague.  But eyes were watching them behind closed curtains
and sealed shutters; eyes that they could feel on the backs of their
necks.  There was fear echoing along with the sounds of hoofbeats along
those streets.  Fear of what the Hawks had done; fear of what else they
might do

By the time they rode in through the gates of the Palace, a nervous
crowd had assembled in the court, and Stefansen was waiting on the
stairs.

The Hawks pulled up in a semicircle before the new King, still silent
but for the sound of their horses' hooves.  As the last of the horses
moved into place, the last whisper coming from the crowd died, leaving
only frightened, ponderous silence, a silence that could almost be
weighed and measured.

There was a bloodstained bundle lashed on the back of Raschar's horse,
a bundle that Tindel and Tarma removed, carried to the new King's feet,
and dropped there without ceremony.

The folds of what had been Char's cloak fell open, revealing what the
cloak contained.  Stefan, though he had visibly steeled himself, turned
pale.  There was just about enough left of Raschar to be
recognizable.

"This man was sworn Oathbreaker and Outcast," Tarma said harshly,
tonelessly.  "And he was so sworn by the fUll rites, by a priest, a
mage, and an upright man of his own people, all of whom he had wronged,
all of whom had suffered irreparable loss at his hands.  We claim
Mercenary's Justice on him, by the rights of that swearing; we executed
that Justice upon him.  Who would deny us that right?"

There was only appalled silence from the crowd.

"I confirm it," Stefansen said into the silence, his voice firm, and
filling the courtyard.  "For not only have I heard from a trusted
witness the words of his own mouth, confessing that he dishonored,
tortured and slew his own sister, the Lady Idra, Captain of the
Sunhawks and Princess of the blood, but I have had the same tale from
the servants of his household that we questioned last night.  Hear then
the tale of Raschar the Oathbreaker."

Tarma stood wearily through the recitation, not really hearing it,
although the murmurs and gasps from the crowd behind her told her that
Stefan was giving the whole story in all its grimmest details..  The
mood of the people was shifting to their side,

moment by moment.

And now that the whole thing was over, all she wanted to do was rest.
The energy that had sustained her all this time was gone.

"Are there any" she heard Stefansen cry at last, his voice breaking a
little, "who would deny that true justice has been dispensed this
day?"

The thunderous NO!  that followed his question satisfied even Tarma.

Quite a little family party, Tarma thought wryly, surveying the motley
individuals draped in various postures of relaxation around the
shabby-comfortable library of Stefansen's private suite.

: enjoy it while you can,: Warrl laughed in her mind,: It won't be too
often that you can throw cherrystones at both a King and a Crown Prince
when they tease you.:

It was only Roald, and he was asking for it

Stefansen had been officially crowned two days ago, and Roald had
arrived as Valdemar's official representative, complete with silver
coronet on his blond head-and with a full entourage, as well.  The time
between the night of the rebellion and the day of the coronation had
been so hectic that no one had had a chance to hear the full story of
the rebellion from either Tarma, Kethry or Jadrek.  So Stefansen had
decreed today that he was having a secret Council session, had all but
kidnapped his chosen party and locked all of them away.  Included in
the party were himself and Mertis; and he had taken care that there was
a great deal of food and drink and comfortable seats for all.  And once
everyone was settled in, he had demanded all the tales in their proper
order.

The entire "Council" was mostly Sunhawks or ex-Mawks; Sewen and Tresti;
Justin and Ikan; Kyra, Beaker and Jodi.  Tarma herself, and Kethry, of
course.  Then the "outsiders"-Tindel, Jadrek, and Roald.

It had taken a long time to get through the whole story-and when Kyra
had finished the last of the tales, telling in her matter-of-fact way
how Idra had ridden out of the cloud of mist and moonlight, you could
have heard a mouse sneeze.

"What I don't understand is how you Hawks took that so calmly," Tindel
was saying.  "I was as petrified as Char, I swear-but you-it was like
she was-real."

"Lad," Beaker said in a kindly tone (to a man at least a decade or two
his senior!), "We've ridden with Idra through things you can't imagine;
she's stood by us through fear and flood and Hellfire itself.  How
could we have been afraid of her?  She was only dead.  It's the living
we fear."

"And rightly," Justin rumbled into the somber silence that followed
Beaker's words.  "And speaking of the living, you will never guess who
sauntered in two days ago, Shin'a'in."

Tarma shook her head, baffled.  She'd been spending most of her free
time sleeping.

"Your dear friend Leslac."

"Oh no!"  she choked.  "Justin, if I've ever done you any favors, keep
him away from me!"

"Leslac?"  Roald said curiously.  "Minstrel, isn't he?  Dark hair,
swarthy, thin?  Popular with women?"

"That's him," groaned Tarma, hiding her face in her hands.

"What's it worth to you," he asked, leaning forward, and wearing a
slyly humorous expression, "to get him packed off to Valdemar?
Permanently?"

"Choice of Tale'sedrin's herds," she said quickly, "Three mares and a
stallion, and anything but battle steeds

"Four mares, and one of them sworn to be in-foal."

"Done, done, done!"  she replied, waving her hands.  frantically.

"Stefan, old friend," Roald said, turning to the King, "Is it worth an
in-foal Shin'a'in mare to force a sword point marriage by royal decree
on one moth-eaten Bard?"  Roald's face was sober, but his eyes danced
with laughter.

"For that, I'd force a sword point marriage on Tindel!"  Stefansen
chuckled.  "Who's the lucky lady?

"Countess Reine.  She's actually a rather sweet old biddy, unlike her
harridan sister, who is-thank the gods!-no longer with us.  I'm rather
fond of her, for all that she hasn't the sense of a new hatched chick."
Roald shook his head, and sighed.  "A few years back, her sister went
mad during a storm and killed herself.  Or so it's said, and nobody
wants to find out otherwise.  I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on her,
to keep her out of trouble."

"How delightful."

"Oh, it isn't too bad; she just has this ability to attract men who
want to prey on her sensibilities.  They are, of course, all of
honorable intent."

"Of course," said Stefan, solemnly.

"Well, Leslac seems to be another of the same sort.  It's common
knowledge in my entourage that the poor dear is absolutely head over
heels with him.  And his music.  He, naturally, has been languishing at
her feet, accepting her presents, and swearing undying love when no one
else is around, I don't doubt.  I can see it coming now; he figures
that when I find out, I'll confront him-he'll vow he isn't worthy of
her, being lowborn and all, I'll agree, and he'll get paid off.  But I
actually have no objection to lowborn-highborn marriages; I expect
Reine's family will be only too happy to see the end of the stream of
vultures that's been preying on her, and I can see a way of doing two
friends a favor here.  I'm certain that the threat of royal displeasure
if he makes Reine unhappy will keep the wandering fancy in line once I
get him back with me."

"I," Tarma said fervently, "will be your devoted slave for the rest of
your life.  Both of you."

Stefan shook his head at her.  "I owe you too much, Tarma, and if this
will really make you happy-"

"It will!  Trust me, it will!"

"Consider it ordered, Roald.  Now I have a question for you two
fellow-conspirators over there.  What can I do for you?"

"If you're serious-" Kethry began.

"Totally.  Anything short of being crowned; unless the Sword sings for
you, even I can't manage that.  Titles?  Lands?  Wealth-I can't quite
supply; Char made too many inroads in the Treasury, but-"

"For years we have wanted to found a joint school," Kethry said,
slowly.  ""Want' is actually too mild a word.  By the edicts of my own
mage school, now that I'm an Adept I just about have to start a branch
of the White Winds school.  What we need, really, is a place with a big
enough building to house our students and teachers, and enough lands to
support it.  But that kind of property isn't easily come by."

"Because it's usually in the hands of nobles or clergy.  I'm
disappointed," Stefan said with a grin, "I thought you'd want something
hard.  One of Char's hereditary holdings was a fine estate down in the
south, near the border-a large manor house a village of its own, and an
able staff to maintain it.  It is, by the by, where I was supposed to
end my days in debauchery.  It has an indoor riding arena attached to
the stable because Char hated to ride when it rained, it has a truly
amazing library; why it even has a professional sane, because the
original builder was a notable fighter.  Is that just about what you're
looking for?"

Tarma had felt her jaw dropping with every word, until, when Stefan
glanced over at her with a sly smile and a broad wink, she was unable
to get her voice to work.  ;'

Kethry answered for her.  "Windborn-gods, yes!

I-Stefan, would you really give it to us?"

"Well, since the property of traitors becomes property of the crown,
and since I have some very unpleasant memories of the place-Lady
Bright, I'm only too pleased that you want it!  Just pay your taxes
promptly, that's all I ask!"

Tarma tried to thank him, but her voice still wouldn't work.  Kethry
made up for her-leaping out of her chair and giving the King a most
disrespectful hug and kiss, both of which he seemed to enJoy
immensely.

"Furthermore, I'll be sending my offspring of both sexes to you for
training," he continued.  "If nothing else, I want them to have the
discipline of a good sword master something I didn't have.  Maybe that
will keep them from being the kind of brat I was.  This will probably
scandalize my nobles-"

"Oh, it will, lover," Mertis laughed, "But I agree with the notion.  It
will do the children good."

"Then my nobles will have to live with being scandalized.  Now, I want
the rest of you to decide what you'd like," he said when Kethry had
resumed her seat, but not her calm.  "Because I'm going to do my best
by all of you.  But right now I fear I do have a Council session, and
there are a lot of unpleasant messes Char left behind him that need
attending to."

Stefan rose, and gave his hand to Mertis, and the two exited gracefully
from the library.  The rest clustered around Tarma and her partner,
congratulating them

All but Jadrek, who had inexplicably vanished.

The partners made their weary way to their rooms.  It had been a long
day, but for Tarma, a very happy one.

But Kethry was preoccupied-and a little disturbed,

Tarma could sense it without any special effort.

"Keth?"  she asked, finally, "What's stuck in your craw?  "

"It's Jadrek.  He hasn't said anything or come near me since the night
of the rebellion."  She turned troubled and unhappy eyes on her
partner.  "I don't know why; I thought he loved me-I know I love him.
And this afternoon-just disappearing like that-"

"Well, we're official now.  He's reverting to courtly manners.  You
don't go sneaking around to a lady's room; you treat her with
respect."

"Courtly manners be hanged!"  Kethry snapped.  "Dammit Tarma, we'll be
gone soon!  Doesn't he care?  If he doesn't say something-"

"Then you'll hit him over the head and carry him off, like the
uncivilized barbarian mercenary I know you are.  And I'll help."

Kethry started laughing at that.  "I hate to tell you this, but that's
exactly what I've been contemplating."

"Go make wish-lists of things you think you'll be needing for this new
school of ours," Tarma advised her.  "That should keep your mind
occupied.  I have the feeling this is going to sort itself out before
long."

She parted company with her she 'enedra at Kethry's door.  They had
rooms inside the royal complex now, not in the visitors area. Stefansen
was treating them as very honored guests.

She knew she wasn't alone the moment she closed the door behind her.
She also knew who it was without

Warrl's helpful hint of: It's Jadrek.  I let him in.  He wants to
talk,:

"Tarma-"

"Hello, Jadrek," she said calmly, lighting a candle beside the door
before turning around to face him.  "We haven't been seeing a lot of
you; we've missed you."

"I've been thinking," he said awkwardly.  "I-"

She crossed her arms and waited for him to continue.  He straightened
his back and lifted his chin.  "Tarma shena Tale'sedrin," he said, with
all the earnest solemnity of a high priest, "Have I your permission to
pay my court to your oath sister

She raised an eyebrow.  "Can you give me a good reason why I should?"

Her question wilted him.  He sat down abruptly, obviously struggling
for words.  "I-Tarma, I love her, I really do.  I love her too much to
just play with her, I want something formal binding us, something-in
keeping with her honor.  She's lovely, you know that as well as I do,
but it isn't just her exterior I care for, it's her mind.  She
challenges me, like nobody I've ever known before.  We're equals-I want
to be her partner, not-not a-I don't know, I want to have something
like Mertis and Stefan have, and I know we'll give each other that!  I
want to help you with your schools, too.  I think it's a wonderful
dream and I want to make it real, and work alongside of both of you to
make it more than a dream.

"We're something more than partners, she and I, Tarma reminded him.
"There's certain things between us that will affect any children
Kethry: may have."

"I took the liberty of asking Warrl about that," he said, blushing.  "I
don't have any problem with-children.

With them being raised Tale'sedrin.  Everything

I know about the Shin'a'in, everything I've learned in working with
you-I would be very, very proud if you considered my blood good enough
to flow into the Clans.  Tarma, this is probably going to sound stupid,
but I've come to-love-you.  You've done so much for me, more than you
guess.  What I really want is that what we've built with the three of
us in the last few months should endure-the friendship, the love, the
partnership.  I never had that before-and I'd do anything right now to
prevent losing either of you."

Tarma looked into his pleading eyes-and much to his evident shock and
delight, she took both his hands, pulled him up out of his chair into
her arms, hugged him just short of breaking his ribs, and planted a
kiss squarely in the middle of his forehead before letting him go
again.

"Well, out Clan brother," she laughed, "while I can't speak for the
lady, I would suggest you trot next door and ask her for her hand
yourself-because I do know that if you don't, you're going to find
yourself trussed hand and foot and lying over Hellsbane's rump like so
much baggage.  You see, we happen to be barbarians, and we will do
anything to prevent losing you.  He shala?"

His mouth worked for a moment, as he stared at her, his eyes
brightening with what Tarma suspected were tears of joy.  Then he took
her face in both his hands, kissed her' and ran out her door as if joy
had put wings on his back.

"Better get Stefan to pick your successor," she called after him.
"Because we're going to keep you much too busy to putter about in his
Archives."

And so they did.

PRONUNCIATION:

': glottal stop, a pause, but not quite as long a pause as between two
words ac: as in air ay: long "a" as in way ah: soft "a" as in ah ee:
long "e" as in feet ear: as in fear e: as in fend i: long "i" as in
violent oh: long "o" as in moat oo: as in boot corthu: (cohr-thoo)-one
being dester'edre: de stair ay-dhray)-wind born sibling dhon:
(dthohn)-very much du'dera: (coo dear ah-(I) give (you) comfort
fortshava: (fohr shahvah)-very, very good get' kc (get key)-(could you)
explain gestena: (gestaynah)-thank you had: (hi)-yes had shala: (hi
shahlah)-do you understand?  haiishe~li: (hi she lee)-surprised "yes,"
literally "yes, I swear!"  had'vetha: (hi vet hah-yes, (be) running
her'y: (hear ee)-(is this not) the truth isda: (eesdah)-have you (ever)
seen (such) jel'enedra: (jel enaydrah)-little sister jel'sutho'edrin:
(jel soothohaydthrin)-forever younger siblings," usually refers to
horses jostumal: (johstoomahl)-enemy, literally, "one desiring (your)
blood" kadessa: (kahdessah)-rodent of the Dhorisha Plains Kal'enedral:
(kahl enaydhrahl)-Her sword-brothers or Her sword children Kal'enel:
(kahl enel)-the Warrior aspect of the four faced

Goddess, literally, "Sword of the Stars."  Also called Enelve tastre
(Star-Eyed) and Da'gretha (Warrior).  kathal: (kahthahl)-go gently
kele: kay lay-(go) onward kestra: (kestrah)-a casual friend krethes:
(kraythes)-speculation kulath: (koolahth)-go find leshya'e: (layshee-ah
eeWspirit; not a vengeful, earth bound ghost, but a helpful spirit
Liha'irden: lee hah eardhren)-deer-footed li'ha'eer: (lee hah
eeahr)-exclamation, literally, "by the gods" li'sa'eer: (lee sah
eeahr)-exclamation of extreme surprise, literally "by the highest
gods!"  nes: (nes)-bad nos: (nohs)-it is pre tera (praytearah)-gras
scat sadullos: (sahdoolohs)-safer se: (sy)-is are she'chorne: (stray
chornah)-homosexual; does not have negative connotations among the
Shin'a'in.  she'enedra: (stray enaydrah)-sister by blood-oathing sheka:
(shaykah)-horse droppings shena: (shaynah)-of the Clan, literally 'of
the brotherhood' shesti: (shestee)-nonsense Shin'a'in: (shin ayin-the
people of the plains soitrekoth: (soh traykoth)-fool who will believe
anything, literally, "gape-mouthed hatchling" staven: (stahven)-water
Tale'edras: (tahle aydhrahs)-Hawkbrothers, a race who may or may not be
related to the Shin'a'in, living in the Pelagiris Forest

Tale'sedrin: (tahle saydhrin)-children of the hawk te'sorthene: (tay
sohrthayne~heart-friend, spirit friend

Vai datha: (vi dahthah~expression of resignation or agreement,
literally "there are many ways."

var'athanda: (vahr ahthahndah)-to be forgetful of ves'tacha: (Ves
tahchah)-beloved one vysaka: (visahkah~the spiritual bond between the
Kal'enedral and the Warrior,.its presence can actually be detected by
an Adept, another Kal'enedral, and the Kal'enedral him herself  It is
this bond which creates the "shielding" that makes Kal'enedral celibate
neuter and somewhat immune to magic.

vyusher: (vi-ooshear)-wolf yai: (yi)~two ynthi'so'coro: (yoothee soh
cohr-oh~ road courtesy; the rules Shin'a'in follow when traveling on a
public road.

Appendix Two

Songs and Poems

(? ~

SUFFER THE CHILDREN

(Tarma: Oathbreakers)

These are the hands that wield a sword With trained and practiced
skill; These are the hands, and this the mind, Both honed and backed by
will.  Death is my partner, blood my trade, And war my passion wild But
these are the hands that also ache To hold a tiny child.

CH: Suffer, they suffer, the children,

When I see them, gods, how my heart breaks!  It is ever and always the
children Who will pay for their parents' mistakes.

Somehow they know that I'm a friendI see it in their eyes, Somehow they
sense a kindly heart So young, so very wise.  Mine are the hands that
maim and kill-But children never care.  They only know my hands are
strong And comfort is found there.

Little enough that I can do To shield the young from pain ~Not while
their parents fight and die For land, or goods, or gain.  All I can do
is give them love-All

I can do is strive To teach them enough of my poor skill To help them
stay alive.

CH: Cursed Oathbreakers, your honor's in pawn And worthless the vows
you have made Justice shall see you where others have gone, Delivered
to those you betrayed!

These are the signs of a mage that's forsworn The True Gifts gone dead
in his hand, Magic corrupted and discipline torn, Shifting heart like
shifting sand; Swift to allow any passion to run, Given to hatred and
rage.  Give him wide berth and his company For darkness devours the
Dark Mage.

These are the signs of a traitor in war Wealth from no visible source,
Shunning old comrades he welcomed before, Holding to no steady course.
If you uncover the one who'd betray, Heed not his words nor his pen.
Give him no second chance-drive him away False once will prove false
again.

These are the signs of the treacherous priest Pleasure in anyone's
pain, Abuse or degrading of man or of beast, Duty as second to gain,
Preaching belief but with none of his own, Twisting all that he
controls.  Fear him and never face him all alone, He corrupts innocent
souls.

shun

These are the signs of the king honor-broke Pride coming first over
all, Treading the backs and the necks of his folk That he alone might
stand tall, Giving himself to desires that are base, Tyrannous,
cunning, and cruel.  Bring him down-set someone else in his place. 
Such men are not fit to rule.

ADVICE TO YOUNG MAGICIANS

(Kethry)

The firebird knows your anger And the firebird feels your fear, For
your passions will attract her And your feelings draw her near.  But
the negative emotions Only make her flame and fly.  You must rule your
heart, magician, Or by her bright wings you die.

Now the cold-drake lives in silence And he feeds on dark despair Where
the shadows fall the bleakest You will find the cold-drake there.  For
he seeks to chill your spirit And to lure you down to death.  Learn to
rule your soul, magician, Ere you dare the cold-drake's breath.

And the griffon is a proud beast He's the master of the sky.  And no
one forgets the sight Who has seen the griffon fly.  But his will is
formed in magic And not mortal flesh and bone And if you would rule the
griffon You must first control your own.

The kyree is a creature With a soul both old and wise You must never
think to fool him For he sees through all disguise.  If you seek to
call a kyree All your secrets he shall plumb~ So be certain you are
worthy Or the kyree-will not come.

For your own heart you must conquer If the firebird you would call You
must know the dark within you Ere you seek the cold-drake's hall Here
is better rede, magician Than those books upon your shelf If you seek
to master others You must master first yourself.

OATH BOUND

(The Oathbound, Tarma & Kethry)

CH: Bonds of blood and bonds of steel Bonds of god-fire and of need,
Bonds that only we two feel Bonds of word and bonds of deed, Bonds we
took-and knew the cost Bonds we swore without mistake Bonds that give
more than we lost, Bonds that grant more than they take.

Tarma:

Kal'enedral, Sword-Sworn, I, To my Star-Eyed Goddess bound, With my
pledge would vengeance buy But far more than vengeance found.  Now with
steel and iron will Serve my Lady and my Clan All my pleasure in my
skill Nevermore with any man.

Kethry:

Bound am I by my own will Never to misuse my power Never to pervert my
skill To the pleasures of an hour.  With this blade that I now wear
Came another bond indeed While her arcane gifts I share I am bound to
woman's Need.  Tarma:

And by blood-oath we are bound Held by more than mortal bands For the
vow we swore was crowned By god-fires upon our hands.

Kethry:

You are more than shield-sib now We are bound, and yet are free So I
make one final vow That your Clan shall live through me.

ADVICE TO WOULD-BE HEROES

(Tarma)

So you want to go earning your keep with your sword And you think it
cannot be too hard And you dream of becoming a hero or lord With your
praises sung out by some hard.  Well now, let me then venture to give
you advice And when all of my lecture is done We will see if my words
have not made you think twice About whether adventuring's "fun!"

Now before you seek shelter or food for yourself Go seek first for
those things for your beast For he is worth far more than praises or
pelf Though a fool thinks to value him least.  If you've ever a moment
at leisure to spare Then devote it, as if to your god, To his grooming,
and practice, and weapons-repair And to seeing you both are
well-shod.

Eat you lightly and sparingly-never full-fed For a full belly founders
your mind.  Ah, but sleep when you can-it is better than bread For on
night-watch no rest will you find.  Do not boast of your skill, for
there's always one more Who would prove he is better than you.  Treat
sword ladies like sisters, and not like a whore Or your wenching days,
child, will be few.

When you look for a captain, then look for the man Who thinks first of
his men and their beasts, And who listens to scouts, and has more than
one plan, And heeds not overmuch to the priests.

And if you become captain, when choosing your men Do not look at the
"heroes" at all.  For a hero dies young-rather choose yourself ten Or a
dozen whose pride's not so tall.

Now your Swordmaster's god-whosoever he be When he stands there before
you to teach And don't argue or whine, think to mock foolishly Or
you'll soon be consulting a leech!

Now most booty is taken by generals and kings And there's little that's
left for the low So it's best that you learn skills, or work at odd
things To keep food in your mouth as you go.

And last, if you should chance to reach equal my years You must find
you a new kind of trade For the plea that you're still spry will fall
on deaf ears There's no work for old swords, I'm afraid.

Now if all that I've told you has not changed your mind Then I'll teach
you as best as I can.  For you're stubborn, like me, and like me of the
kind Becomes one fine swords-woman or -man!

THE PRICE OF COMMAND

(Captain Idra)

This is the price of commanding That you always stand alone, Letting no
one near To see the fear That's behind the mask you've grown.  This is
the price of commanding.

This is the price of commanding That you watch your dearest die,
Sending women and men To fight again, And you never tell them why. 
This is the price of commanding.

This is the price of commanding, That mistakes are signed in red And
that you won't pay But others may, And your best may wind up dead. 
This is the price of commanding.

This is the price of commanding All the deaths that haunt your sleep.
And you hope they forgive And so you live With your memories buried
deep.  This is the price of commanding.

This is the price of commanding That if you won't, others will.  So you
take your post, Mindful of each ghost You a debt to them to fill. This
is the price of commanding.

THE ARCHIVIST

(Jadrek)

I sit amid the dusty books.  The dust invades my very soul.

It coats my heart with weariness and chokes it with despair

My life lies beached and withered on a lonely, bleak, uncharted
shoal.

There are no kindred spirits here to understand, or care.

When I was young, how often I would feed my hungry mind with tales

And sought the fellowship in books I did not find in kin.

For one does not seek friends when every overture to others fails

So all the company I craved I built from dreams within.

Those dreams-from all my books of lore I plucked the wonders one by
one

And waited for the day that I was certain was to come

When some new hero would appear whose quest had only now begun

With desperate need of lore and wisdom I alone could plumb.

And then, ah then, I'd ride away to join with legend and with song.

The trusted friend of heroes, figured in their words and deeds.

Until that day, among the books I'd dwell-but I have dwelt too long

And like the books I sit alone, a relic no one needs.

I grow too old, I grow too old, my aching bones have made me lame

And if my futile dream came true, I could not live it now.

The time is past, long past, when I could ride the wings of fleeting
fame

The dream is dead beneath the dust, as 'neath the dust I bow.

So, un regarded and alone I tend these fragments of the past

Poor fool who bartered life and soul on dreams and useless lore.

And as I watch despair and bitterness enclose my heart at last

Within my soul's dark night I cry out, "Is there nothing more?"

LIZARD DREAMS

(Kethry: Oathbound)

Most folk avoid the Pelagir Hills, where ancient wars and battles

Were fought with magic, not with steel, for land and gold and
chattels.

Most folk avoid the forest dark for magics still surround it

And change the creatures living there and all that dwell around it.

Within a tree upon a hill that glowed at night with magic

There lived a lizard named Gervase whose life was rather tragic.

His heart was brave, his mind was wise.  He longed to be a wizard.

But who would ever think to teach their magic to a lizard?

So poor Gervase would sit and dream, or sigh as sadly rueing

That fate kept him forever barred from good he could be doing.

That he had wit and mind and will it cannot be debated

He also had the kindest heart that ever gods created.

One day as Gervase sighed and dreamed all in the forest sunning

He heard a noise of horse and hound and sounds of two feet running.

A human stumbled to his glade, a human worn and weary Dressed in a
shredded wizard's robe, his eyes past hope and dreary.

The magic of his birthplace gave Gervase the gift of speaking.

He hesitated not at all-ran to the wizard, squeaking,

"Hide human, hide!  Hide in my tree!"  he danced and pointed madly.

The wizard stared, the wizard gasped, then hid himself right gladly.

Gervase at once layin the sun until the hunt came by him

Then like a simple lizard now he fled as they came nigh him.

And glowered in the hollow tree and hissed when they came near him

And bit a few dogs' noses so they'd yelp and leap and fear him.

"Thrice damn that wizard!"  snarled his foe.  "He's slipped our hunters
neatly.

The hounds have surely been misled.  They've lost the trail
completely."

He whipped the dogs off of the tree and sent them homeward running

And never once suspected it was all Gervase's cunning.

The wizard out of hiding crept.  "Thrice blessing I accord you!

And is there somehow any way I can at all reward you?"

"I want to be a man like you!"  Gervase replied unthinking.

"A wizard-or a man?"  replied the mage who stared, unblinking.

"For I can only grant you one, the form of man, or power.

What will you choose?  Choose wisely, I must leave within the hour."

Gervase in silence sat and thought, his mind in turmoil churning.

And first the one choice thinking on, then to the other turning.

Yes, he could have the power he craved, the magic of a wizard

But who'd believe that power lived inside a lowly lizard ?

Or he could have the form of man, but what could he do in it?

And all the good he craved to do-how then could he begin it?

Within the Councils of the Wise there sits a welcome stranger

His word is sought by high and low if there is need or danger.

He gives his aid to all who ask, who need one to defend them

And every helpless creature knows he lives but to befriend them.

And though his form is very strange compared to those beside him

The mages care not for the form, but for the mind inside him.

For though he's small, and brightly scaled, they do not see a lizard.

He's called by all, boa th great and small, "Gervase, the Noble
Wizard."

He's known by all, both great and small, Gervase the Lizard Wizard!

LOVERS UNTRUE

(Tarma: "Swordsworn")

"I shall love you till I die!"  Talasar and Dera cry.  He swears "On my
life I vow Only death could part us now!"  She says "You are life and
breath Nothing severs us but Death!"  Lightly taken, lightly spoke,
Easy vows are easy broke.

"Come and ride awhile with me," Talasar says to Varee, "Look, the moon
is rising high, Countless stars bestrew the sky.  Come, or all the
hours are flown It's no night to lie alone."  This the one who lately
cried That he'd love until he died.

"Kevin, do you think me fair?"  Dera smiles, shakes back her hair.  "I
have long admired you Come the night is young and new And the wind is
growing coldI would see if you are bold-" Is this she who vowed till
death Talasar was life and breath?

Comes the dawn-beneath a tree Talasar lies with Varee.  But look-who
should now draw near

Dera and her Kevin-dear He sees her-and she sees him

Oh confusion!  Silence grim!

Till he sighs, and shakes his head-(pregnant pause)

"Well, I guess we must be dead!"

THE LESLAC VERSION

(Leslac and Tarma)

Leslac: The warrior and the sorceress rode into Viden-town

For they had heard of evil there and meant to bring it down

An overlord with iron hand who ruled his folk with fear

Tarma: Bartender, shut that minstrel up and bring another beer.

The warrior and the sorceress went searching high and low

: That isn't true, I tell you, and I think that I should know!

They meant to find the tyrant who'd betrayed his people's trust

And bring the monster's power and pride to tumble in the dust.

They searched through all the town to find and bring him to defeat.

T: Like Hell!  What we were looking for was wine and bread and meat!

They found him in the tavern and they challenged him to fight.

: We found him holding up the bar, drunk as a pig, that night.

The tyrant laughed and mocked at them, with vile words and base.

: He tripped on Warrl's tail, then took exception to my face.

The warrior was too wise for him; his blade clove only air!

T: He swung, I ducked, he lunged-and then he tripped over a chair.

L: With but a single blow the warrior brought him to his doom!

T: About that time he turned around-I got him with a broom.

L: And in a breath the deed was done!  The tyrant-lord lay dead!

T: I didn't mean for him to hit the fire iron with his head!

L: The wife that he had kept shut up they freed and set on high

And Viden-town beneath her hand contentedly did lie.

T: I went to find his next-of-kin and to the girl confess

"Your husband wasn't much before, but now he's rather less-"

T: "He was a drunken sot, and I'll be better off," she said.

"And while I can't admit it, I'm not sorry that he's dead.

So here's a little something-but you'd best be on your way

I'll claim it was an accident if you'll just leave today."

L: In triumph out of Viden-town the partners rode again

To find another tyrant and to clean him from his den

The scourge of evil and the answer to a desperate prayer!"

T: Don't you believe a word of it-I know, 'cause I was there!

wIND'S FOUR QUARTERS (Tarma: "Swordsworn")

CH: Wind's four quarters, air and fire Earth and water, hear my desire
Grant my plea who stands alone Maiden Warrior, Mother and Crone.

Eastern wind blow clear, blow clean, Cleanse my body of its pain,
Cleanse my mind of what I've seen, Cleanse my honor of its stain.  Maid
whose love has never ceased Bring me healing from the East.

Southern wind blow hot, blow hard, Fan my courage to a flame, Southern
wind be guide and guard, Add your bravery to my name.  Let my will and
yours be twinned, Warrior of the Southern wind.

Western wind, stark, blow strong, Grant me arm and mind of steel On a
road both hard and long.  Mother, hear me where I kneel.  Let no
weakness on my quest Hinder me, wind of the West.

Northern wind blow cruel, blow cold, Sheathe my aching heart in ice,

Armor 'round my soul enfold.  Crone I need not call you twice.  to my
foes bring the cold of death!  Chill me, North wind's frozen breath.

THE SWORD LADY OR:

"THAT SONG"

(Leslac)

Swordlady, valiant, no matter the foe, Into the battle you fearlessly
go Boldly you ride out beyond map and chart Why are you frightened to
open your heart?

Swordlady, lady of consummate skill, Lady of prowess, of strength and
of will, Swordlady, lady of cold ice and steel, Why will you never
admit that you feel?

Swordlady, mistress of all arts of war, Wise in the ways of all
strategic lore, You fear no creature below or above, Why do you shrink
from the soft touch of love?

Swordlady, brave to endure wounds and pain, Plunging through lightning,
through thunder and rain, Flinching from nothing, so high is your
pride, Why then pretend you hold nothing inside?

Swordlady, somewhere within you is hid A creature of feeling that no
vow can rid, A woman-a girl, with a heart soft and warm, No matter the
brutal deeds that you perform.

Swordlady, somewhere inside of you deep, Cowers the maiden that you
think asleep, Frozen within you, in ice shrouded womb That you can only
pretend is a tomb.

Swordlady, all of the vows you have made Can never make your heart die
as you've bade.  Swordlady, after the winter comes spring; One day your
heart will awaken and sing.

Swordlady, one day there must come a man Who shall lift from you this
self-imposed ban, Thawing the ice that's enshrouded your soul, On that
day sword lady you shall be whole.

SHIN'AA'IN WAR SONG

(The old tradition holds that the Shin'a'in-now forty-odd Clans in
all-originally came from four: the Tale'sedrin (Children of the Hawk),
the Liha'irden (Deer-sibs), the Vuyshertedras (Brothers of the Wolves),
and the Pretera'sedrin (the Children of the Grasscats).  Hence the
monumental seriousness of the threat of declaring Tale'sedrin a dead
Clan in Oathbound.)

Gold the dawn-sun spreads his wings Follow where the East-wind sings,
Brothers, sisters, side by side, To defend our home we ride,

Eyes of Hawks the borders see Watchers guard it carefully Let no
stranger pass it by Children of the Hawk, now fly!

CH: Maiden, Warrior, Mother, Crone, Help us keep this land our own.
Rover, Guardian, Hunter, Guide, With us now forever ride.

Speed of deer, oh grant to these Swift to warn of enemies, Fleeter far
than any foe Deer-child, to the border go!

Cunning as the Wolf-pack now, To no overlord we bow!  Lest some lord
our freedom blight, Brothers of the Wolves, we fight!

Brave, the great Cat guards his lair, Teeth to rend and claws to tear.
Lead the battle, first to last, Children of the Cat, hold fast!

Hawk and Cat, and Wolf and Deer, Keep the plains now safe from fear,
Brothers, sisters, side by side, To defend our home, we ride!

SHIN'AA'IN SONG

OF THE SEASONS

(Although Tarma seldom mentioned the fact, her people have a
four-aspected male deity to compliment the female.  This song gives Him
equal time with Her.)

The East wind is calling, so come ride away, Come follow the Rover into
the new day,

Come follow the Maiden, the Dark Moon, with me,

The new year's beginning, come ride out and see.

Come follow the Rover out onto the plains,

Come greet the new life under sweet, singing rains,

Come follow the Maiden beneath vernal showers,

For where her feet passed you will find fragrant flowers.

The South wind, oh hear it, we ride to the call We follow the Guardian,
the Lord of us all We follow the Warrior, the strong to defend,

The New Moon to fighters is ever a friend.

With summer comes fighting, with summer, our foes;

And how we must thwart them the Guardian knows.

The Warrior will give them no path but retreat,

The Warrior and Guardian will bring their defeat.

Come follow the West wind, the wind of the fall, The Mother will cast
her cloak over us all.

Come follow the Hunter out onto the plain,

Return to the Clan with the prey we have slain.

For now comes the autumn, the time of the West,

The season of Full Moon, of harvest, then rest.

So take from Her hands all the fruits of the fields,

And thank Him for all that the autumn-hunt yields.

The North wind, the cold wind, the wind of the snow,

Tells us, it is time winter pastures to go.

The Guide knows the path, and the Crone shows us how

The Old Moon, and time for returning is now.

And if, with the winter, should come the last breath,

And riding, we ride out of life into death,

The Wise One, the Old Moon, will ease our last load,

The Guide will be waiting to show the new road.

THREES

(Leslac)

Deep into the stony hills, miles from keep or hold

A troupe of guards comes riding with a lady and her gold

Riding in the center shrouded in her cloak of fur,

Companioned by a maiden and a toothless, aged cur.

Three things see no end, a flower blighted ere it bloomed,

A message that was wasted, and a journey that is doomed.

One among the guardsmen has a shifting, restless eye,

And as they ride he scans the hills that rise against the sky.

He wears both sword and bracelet worth more than he can afford,

And hidden in his baggage is a heavy, secret hoard.

Of three things be wary, of a feather on a cat,

The shepherd eating mutton and the guardsman that is fat.

From ambush, bandits screaming charge the packtrain and its prize,

And all but four within the train are taken by surprise,

And all but four are cut down as a woodsman fells a log, The guardsman,
and the lady, and the maiden, and the dog,

Three things know a secret first the lady in a dream, The dog that
barks no warning and the maid who does not scream.

Then off the lady pulls her cloak, in armor she is clad,

Her sword is out and ready, and her eyes are fierce and glad.

The maiden gestures briefly and the dog's a cur no more

A wolf, sword-maid an~ sorceress now face the bandit corps!

Three things never an~er or you will not live for long,

A wolf with cubs, a man with power and a woman's sense of wrong.

_, ,

The bandits growl a challenge and the lady only grins,

The sorceress bows mockingly, and then the fight begins!

When it ends there are but four left standing from that horde

The witch, the wolf, the traitor, and the woman with the sword!

Three things never trust in, the maiden sworn as "pure,"

The vows a king has given and the ambush that is "sure."

They strip the traitor naked and they whip him on his way

Into the barren hillsides like the folks he used to slay.

They take a thorough vengeance for the women he cut down And then they
mount their horses and they journey back to town.

Three things trust and cherish well, the horse on which you ride,

The beast that guards and watches and the sister at your side!

For further information on these songs, send a stamped, self-addressed
envelope to:

FIREBIRD ARTS AND MUSIC

(formerly Off-Centaur Publications) PO Box 424 E1 Cerrito, CA 94530

