me and carried them off, too."
"A practical woman; you're right, I think I would
like her. I take it she had somewhere to hide you?"
"Her brother's farm—it's east of here. Well, I
wasn't exactly in my right mind for a while, but
she managed to help with that for a bit. But then—
then I started having nightmares, and when I did,
every movable thing in my room would go flying
about. Mind you, I never broke anything—"
"Since I gather this was a 'flying about' without
benefit of hands, I would think it would be rather
unnerving."
"Tildy knew she hadn't any way of coping with
me then, so she took me to the nearest mage-school
she knew, which was White Winds. It only took one
nightmare to convince them that I needed help—
and that I was going to be a pretty good mage after I
got that help. That's where I got Need."
Kethry's hands unclenched, and one of them
strayed to the hilt of a plain short-sword wedged in
among the supplies tucked into the shelter.
"Now that's another tale you never told me."
"Not for any reason, just because there isn't much
to tell. We had a guard there, an old mercenary
who'd been hired on to give us a bit of protection,
and to give her a kind of semi-retirement. Baryl
Longarm was her name. When I was ready to take
the roads, she called me into her rooms."
"That must have had you puzzled."
"Since she didn't have a reputation for chasing
other females, it certainly did. Thank goodness she
didn't leave me wondering for long. 'You're the
first wench we've had going out for a dog's age,' she
said, 'and there's something I want you to have. It's
time it went out again, anyway, and you'll probably
have to use it before you're gone a month.' She took
down this sword from the wall, unsheathed it, and
laid it in my hands. And the runes appeared on the
blade."
"I remember when you showed me. 'Woman's
Need calls me, as Woman's Need made me. Her
Need I will answer as my maker bade me.' " Tarma
glanced at Kethry's hand on the hilt. "Gave me a
fair turn, I can tell you. I always thought magic
blades were gold-hiked and jewel-bedecked."
"Then she told me what little she knew—that
the sword's name was Need, that she was in-
destructible so far as Baryl had been able to tell.
That she only served women. And that her service
was such that she only gave what you yourself did
not already have. That to her, a fighter, Need gave
a virtual immunity to all magic, but didn't add so
much as a fillip to her fighting skills—but that for
me, a mage, if I let it take control when it needed
to, it would make me a master swordswoman, though
it wouldn't make the least difference to any spell I
cast. And that it would help Heal anything short of
a death-wound."
"Rather like one of Her gifts, you know?" Tarma
interrupted. "Makes you do your utmost, to the
best of your abilities, but bails you out when you're
out of your depth."
"I never thought about it that way, but you're
right. Is there any way Need could be Shin'a'in?"
"Huh-uh. We've few metal-workers, and none of
them mages—and we don't go in for short-swords,
anyway. Now, what's the problem with you going
back to Mornedealth? Changing the subject isn't
going to change my wanting to know."
"Well, you can't blame me for trying—she'enedra,
I have angered a very powerful man, my husband—"
"Crap! He's no more your husband than I am, no
matter what charade he went through."
"—and a very ruthless one, my brother. I don't
know what either of them would do if they learned
I was within their reach again." Kethry shuddered,
and Tarma reached forward and clasped both her
hands in her own.
"I have only one question, my sister and my
friend," she said, so earnestly that Kethry came out
of her own fear and looked deeply into the shad-
owed eyes that met hers. "And that is this; which
way do you want them sliced—lengthwise, or
widthwise?"
"Tarma!" The sober question struck Kethry as so
absurd that she actually began laughing weakly.
"In all seriousness, I much doubt that either of
them is going to recognize you; think about it, you're
a woman grown now, not a half-starved child. But
if they do, that's what I'm here for. If they try
anything, I'll ask you that question again, and you'd
best have a quick answer for me. Now, are you
satisfied?"
"You are insane!"
"I am Shin'a'in; some say there is little differ-
ence. I am also Kal'enedral, and most say there is
no difference. So believe me; no one is going to
touch you with impunity. I am just crazed enough
to cut the city apart in revenge."
"And this is supposed to make me feel better?"
"You're smiling, aren't you?"
"Well," Kethry admitted reluctantly, "I guess I
am."
"When a child of the Clans falls off her horse, we
make her get right back on again. She'enedra, don't
you think it's time you remounted this one?"
"I--"
"Or do you prefer to live your life with them
dictating that you shall not return to your own
city?"
Her chin came up; a stubborn and angry light
smoldered in her eyes. "No."
"Then we face this city of yours and we face it to-
gether. For now, make a mattress of Rodi, she'enedra;
and sleep peacefully. I intend to do the same. To-
morrow we go to Mornedealth and make it deal
with us on our terms. Hai?"
Kethry nodded, convinced almost against her will,
and beginning to view the inevitable encounter with
something a little more like confidence.
"Hai," she agreed.
Two
Kethry envied her partner's ability to drop
immediately into sleep under almost any cir-
cumstances. Her own thoughts were enough to keep
her wakeful; add to them the snoring of her mule
and the wailing of the wind outside their shelter,
and Kethry had a foolproof recipe for insomnia.
She wanted to avoid Mornedealth no matter what
the cost. Just the thought that she might encounter
Wethes was enough to make her shudder almost
uncontrollably. In no way was she prepared to deal
with him, and she wondered now if she would ever
be....
And yet, Tarma was right. She would never truly
be "free" unless she dealt with her fear. She would
never truly be her own woman if she allowed fear
and old memories to dictate where she would or
would not go.
The disciplines of the Order of White Winds
mandated self-knowledge and self-mastery. She had
deceived herself into thinking she had achieved
that mastery of self
; Tarma had just shown her
how wrong she was.
It's been seven years, she thought bitterly. Seven
long years—and those bastards still have power over
me. And I'll never be an adept until I break that power.
For that, after all, was the heart of the White
Winds discipline; that no negative tie be permitted
to bind the sorcerer in any way. Positive ties—like
the oath of she'enedran she had sworn with Tarma,
like the bond of lover to lover or parent to child—
were encouraged to flourish, for the sorcerer could
draw confidence and strength from them. But the
negative bonds of fear, hatred, or greed must be
rooted out and destroyed, for they would actually
drain the magician of needed energy.
Sometimes Tarma can be so surprising, see things so
clearly. And yet she has such peculiar blind spots. Or
does she? Does she realize that she's driving us both to
the Plains as if she was geas-bound? She's like a
messenger-bird, unable to travel in any direction but
the one appointed.
Kethry hadn't much cared where she wandered;
this was her time of journey, she wouldn't settle in
any one place until she reached the proficiency of
an Adept. Then she would either found a school of
her own, or find a place in an established White
Winds enclave. So Tarma's overwhelming need to
return home had suited her as well as anything
else.
Until she had realized that the road they were on
led directly to Mornedealth.
It all comes back to that, doesn't it? And until I face
it, I'm stalemated. Dammit, Tarma's right. I'm a full
sorceress, I'm a full adult, and I have one damned fine
swordswoman for a partner. What in Teslat's name am
I afraid of? There is nothing under the law that they
can really do to me—I've been separated from Wethes
for seven years, and three is enough to unmake the
marriage, assuming there really was one. I'm not going
in under my full name, and I've changed so much. How
are they even going to recognize me?
Across the shelter Tarma stirred, and curled her-
self into a tighter ball. Kethry smiled and shook her
head, thinking about her partner's words on the
subject.
"Do you want them sliced lengthwise or widthwise"
—Windborn, she is such a bundle of contradictions.
We have got to start talking; we hardly know anything
about one another. Up until now, we've had our hands
full of bandit-extermination, then there just wasn't the
privacy. But if I'd had all the world to choose a sister
from, I would have picked her over any other. Goddess-
oath and all, I would have chosen her. Though that
Warrior of hers certainly took the decision right out of
our hands.
Kethry contemplated the sleeping face of her part-
ner. In repose she lost a great deal of the cold
harshness her expression carried when she was
awake. She looked, in fact, a great deal younger
than Kethry was.
When she sleeps, she's the child she was before she
lost her Clan. When she's awake—I'm not sure what
she is. She eats, drinks and breathes the Warrior, that's
for certain, yet she hasn't made any move to convert
me. I know it would please her if I did, and it wouldn't
be any great change to do so; her Goddess just seems to
me to be one more face of the Windborn Soulshaper.
She seems like any other mercenary hire-sword—insisting
on simple solutions to complicated problems, mostly
involving the application of steel to offending party.
Then she turns around and hits me with a sophisticated
proverb, or some really esoteric knowledge—like know-
ing that mind-magic is used in Valdemar. And she's
hiding something from me; something to do with that
Goddess of hers, I think. And not because she doesn't
trust me . . . maybe because I don't share her faith. Her
people—nobody really knows too much about the
Shin'a'in; they keep pretty much to themselves. Of
course that shouldn't be too surprising; anyone who
knew the Dhorisha Plains the way they do could dive
into the grass and never be seen again, if that's what he
wanted to do. You could hide the armies of a dozen
nations out there, and they'd likely never run into each
other. Assuming the Shin'a'in would let them past the
Border. 1 suspect if Tale'sedrin had been on the Plains
instead of camped on the road to the Great Horse Fair
the bandits would be dead and the Hawk's Children
still riding. And I would be out a sister.
Kethry shook her head. Well, what happened, hap-
pened. Now I have to think about riding into Morne-
dealth tomorrow. Under a glamour?
She considered the notion for a moment, then
discarded it. No. I'll go in wearing my own face,
dammit! Besides, the first sorcerer who sees I'm wear-
ing a glamour is likely to want to know why—and
likely to try to find out. If I'm luckly, he'll come to us
with his hand out. If I'm not, he'll go to Wethes or
Kavin. No, a glamour would only cause trouble, not
avoid it. I think Tarma's right; we'll go in as a merce-
nary team, no more, no less, and under her Clanname.
We'll stay quiet, draw no attention to ourselves, and
maybe avoid trouble altogether. The more complicated
a plan is, the more likely it is to go wrong. . . .
Kethry began formulating some simple story for
her putative background, but the very act of having
faced and made the decision to go in had freed her
of the tension that was keeping her sleepless. She
had hardly begun, when her weariness claimed her.
The blizzard cleared by morning. Dawn brought
cloudless skies, brilliant sun, and still, cold air that
made everything look sharp-edged and brightly-
painted. They cleared camp and rode off into a
world that seemed completely new-made.
Tarma was taken totally by surprise by the change-
ling forest; she forgot her homesickness, forgot her
worry over Kethry, even temporarily forgot how
cold she was.
Birdcalls echoed for miles through the forest, as
did the steady, muffled clop of their mounts' hooves.
The storm had brought a fine, powder like snow,
snow that frosted every branch and coated the un-
derbrush, so that the whole forest reflected the
sunlight and glowed so that they were surrounded
by a haze of pearly light. Best of all, at least to
Tarma's mind, the soft snow was easy for the beasts
to move through, so they made good time. Just past
midafternoon, glimpses of the buildings and walls
of Mornedealth could be seen above and through
the trees.
It was a city made of the wood that was its staple
in trade; weathered, silver-gray wooden palisades,
wooden walls, wooden buildings; only the founda-
tions of a building were ever made of stone. The
outer wall that encircled it was a monument to
man's ingenuity and Mornedealth's woodworkers;
it was two stories tall, and as strong as any corres-
ponding wall of stone. Granted, it would never
survive being set afire, as would inevitably happen
in a siege, but the wall had never been built with
sieges in mind. It was intended to keep the beasts
of the forest out of the city when the hardships of
winter made their fear of man less than their hun-
ger, and to keep the comings and goings of strang-
ers limited to specific checkpoints. If an enemy
penetrated this realm so far as to threaten Morne-
dealth, all was lost anyway, and there would be
nothing for it but surrender.
Since the only city Tarma had ever spent any
length of time in was Brether's Crossroads—less
than half the size of Mornedealth—the Shin'a'in
confessed to Kethry that she was suitably impressed
by it long before they ever entered the gates.
"But you spent more than a year hunting down
Gregoth and his band. Surely you—"
"Don't remember much of that, she'enedra. It was
a bit like being in a drug haze. I only really came
awake when I was tr—" she suddenly recalled that
Kethry knew nothing of her faceless trainers and
what they were, and decided that discretion was in
order. "When I had to. To question someone, or to
read a trail. The rest of the time, I might just as
well not have been there, and I surely wasn't in any
kind of mood for seeing sights."
"No—you wouldn't be. I'm sorry; I wasn't think-
ing at all."
"Nothing to apologize for. Just tell me what I'm
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 4