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 walls -- and 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 or 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 counterspell -- "
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 counterspell 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 leshya'e's figure, Tarma read his message.
Death-danger, she read, and Assassins. Wise one.
"Warrior! It's Jadrek -- he's going to be killed!" She 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 mindmate 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. Gods -- one breath 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 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?"
1He 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 loremaster? 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, mindmate,: came the reassuring reply. :There is no one in sight, and I am distracting the gate guards. If 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."
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