Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound

by The Oathbound [lit]

getting into here. You're the native; where are we

  going?"

  Kethry reined in, a startled look on her face.

  "I—I've spent so much time thinking about Kavin

  and Wethes . . ."

  "Li'sa'eer!" Tarma exclaimed in exasperation, pull-

  ing Kessira up beside her. "Well, think about it

  now, dammit!" She kneed her mare slightly; Kessira

  obeyed the subtle signal and shouldered Rodi to

  one side until both of the beasts had gotten off onto

  the shoulder of the road, out of the way of traffic.

  There wasn't anybody in sight, but Tarma had had

  yuthi'so'coro—road-courtesy—hammered into her

  from the time she was old enough to sit a horse

  unaided. No Shin'a'in omitted road-courtesy while

  journeying, not even when among deadly enemies.

  And road-courtesy dictated that if you were going

  to sit and chat, you didn't block the progress of

  others while you were doing it.

  "We'll have to use the Stranger's Gate," Kethry

  said after long thought, staring at the point where

  the walls of Mornedealth began paralleling the road.

  "That's no hardship, it's right on the Trade Road.

  But we'll have to register with the Gate Guard,

  give him our names, where we're from, where we're

  going, and our business here."

  "Warrior's Oath! What do they want, to write a

  book about us?" Tarma replied with impatience.

  "Look, this is as much for our sakes as theirs.

  Would you want total strangers loose in your Clan

  territory?"

  "Sa-hai. You're right. Not that strangers ever get

  past the Border, but you're right."

  "The trouble is, I daren't tell them what I really

  am, but I don't want to get caught in a complicated

  falsehood."

  "Now that's no problem," Tarma nodded. "We

  just tell him a careful mixture of the truth with

  enough lie in it to keep your enemies off the track.

  Then?"

  "There are specific inns for travelers; we'll have

  to use one of them. They won't ask us to pay straight

  off, we'll have three days to find work and get our

  reckoning taken care of. After that, they confiscate

  everything we own except what we're wearing."

  Tarma snorted a little with contempt, which ob-

  viously surprised Kethry.

  "I thought you'd throw a fit over the notion of

  someone taking Kessira."

  "I'd rather like to see them try. You've never

  seen her with a stranger. She's not a battle-steed,

  but nobody lays a finger on her without my permis-

  sion. Let a stranger put one hand on her rein and

  he'll come away with a bloody stump. And while

  he's opening his mouth to yell about it, she'll be off

  down the street, headed for the nearest gate. If I

  were hurt and gave her the command to run for it,

  she'd carry me to the closest exit she could remem-

  ber without any direction from me. And if she

  couldn't find one, she might well make one. No, I've

  no fear of anyone confiscating her. One touch, and

  they wouldn't want her. Besides, I have something I

  can leave in pledge—I'd rather not lose it, but it's

  better than causing a scene."

  Tarma took off her leather glove, reached into

  the bottom of her saddlebag and felt for a knobby,

  silk-wrapped bundle. She brought the palm-sized

  package out and unwrapped it carefully, uncover-

  ing to the brilliant sunlight an amber necklace. It

  was made of round beads alternating with carved

  claws or teeth; it glowed on the brown silk draped

  over her hand like an ornament of hardened sun-

  beams.

  "Osberg wore that!"

  "He stole it from me. I took it back off his dead

  body. It was the last thing Dharin gave me. Our

  pledge-gift. I never found the knife I gave him."

  Kethry said nothing; Tarma regarded the neck-

  lace with a stony-cold expression that belied the

  ache in her heart, then rewrapped it and stowed it

  away. "As I said, I'd rather not lose it, but losing

  it's better than causing a riot. Now how do we find

  work?"

  "We'd be safest going to a Hiring Hall. They

  charge employers a fee to find people with special

  talents."

  "Well, that's us."

  "Of course, that's money we won't see. We could

  get better fees if we went out looking on our own,

  but it would probably take longer."

  "Hiring Hall; better the safe course."

  "I agree, but they're sure to notice at the gate

  that my accent is native. Would you mind doing the

  talking?"

  Tarma managed a quirk of the lips that approxi-

  mated a half-smile. "All right, I'll do all the talking

  at the gate. Look stupid and sweet, and let them

  think you're my lover. Unless that could get us in

  trouble."

  Kethry shook her head. "No, there's enough of

  that in Mornedealth. Virtually anything is allowed

  provided you're ready to pay for it."

  "And they call this civilization! Vai datha; let's

  get on with it."

  They turned their beasts once more onto the road,

  and within a candlemark were under scrutiny of

  the sentries on the walls. Tarma allowed a lazy,

  sardonic smile to cross her face. One thing she had

  to give them; these guards were well disciplined.

  No catcalls, no hails, no propositions to Kethry—

  just a steady, measuring regard that weighed them

  and judged them unthreatening for the moment.

  These "soft, city-bred" guards were quite impressive.

  The Stranger's Gate was wide enough for three

  wagons to pass within, side by side, and had an

  ironwork portcullis as well as a pair of massive

  bleached-wood doors, all three now standing open.

  They clattered under the wall, through a wooden-

  walled tunnel about three horse-lengths deep. When

  they reached the other entrance, they found them-

  selves stopped by a chain stretched across the in-

  ner side of the gate. One of the men standing sentry

  approached them and asked them (with short words,

  but courteous) to follow him to a tiny office built

  right into the wall. There was always a Gate Guard

  on duty here; the man behind the desk was, by the

  insignia pinned to his brown leather tunic, a cap-

  tain. Kethry had told her partner as they approached

  the walls that those posted as Gate Guards tended

  to be high-ranking, and above the general cut of

  mercenary, because they had to be able to read and

  write. Their escort squeezed them inside the door,

  and returned to his own post. The Gate Guard was

  a middle-aged, lean, saturnine man who glanced up

  at them from behind his tiny desk, and without a

  word, pulled a ledger, quill and ink from under-

  neath it.

  The Gate Guard was of the same cut as the men

  on the walls; Tarma wondered if Kethry would be

  able to pass his careful scrutiny. It didn't look like

  he missed much. Certainly Keth
ry looked nothing

  like a Shin'a'in, so she'd have to be one damn con-

  vincing actress to get away with claiming a Shin'a'in

  Clanname.

  Tarma stole a glance sideways at her partner and

  had to refrain from a hoarse chuckle. Kethry wore a

  bright, vapid smile, and was continuously fussing

  with the way her cloak draped and smoothing down

  her hair. She looked like a complete featherhead.

  No problem. The Guard would have very little

  doubt why the partner of a rather mannish swords-

  woman was claiming her Clanname!

  At the Guard's brusque inquiry as to their names

  and business, Tarma replied as shortly, "We're

  Shin'a'in mercenaries. Tarma shena Tale'sedrin,

  Kethry shena Tale'sedrin. We're on our way back

  to the Dhorisha Plains; I've got inheritance coming

  from my Clan I need to claim. But we've run out of

  provisions; we're going to have to take some tempo-

  rary work to restock."

  "Not much call for your kind on a temporary

  basis, Swordlady," he replied with a certain gruff

  respect. "Year contract or more, sure; Shin'a'in have

  a helluva reputation. You'd be able to get top wage

  as any kind of guard, guard-captain or trainer; but

  not temporary. Your pretty friend's in mage-robes;

  that just for show, or can she light a candle?"

  "Ah, Keth's all right. Good enough to earn us

  some coin, just no horse-sense, he shala? She's worth

  the trouble taking care of, and for more reasons

  than one, bless her."

  "Eyah, and without you to keep the wolves away,

  a pretty bit like that'd get eaten alive in a week,"

  the Guard answered with a certain gleam of sym-

  pathy in his eyes. "Had a shieldmate like that in

  my younger days, fancied himself a poet; didn't

  have sense enough to come in out of a storm. Caught

  himself a fever standing out in a blizzard, admiring

  it; died of it eventually—well, that's the way of

  things. You being short of coin; tell you what, one

  professional to another—you go find the Broken

  Sword, tell 'em Jervac sent you. And I hear tell the

  Hiring Hall over by the animal market was on the

  lookout for a mage on temp."

  "Will do—luck on your blade, captain."

  "And on yours. Ah—don't mount up; lead your

  beasts, that's the law inside the gates."

  As they led their mounts in the direction the

  Gate Guard had indicated, Kethry whispered, "How

  much of that was good advice?"

  "We'll find out when we find this inn; chances

  are he's getting some kickback, but he could be

  doing us a good turn at the same time. Thanks for

  the help with the ruse of being your protector; that

  should warn off anybody that might be thinking

  your services other than magery are for hire. We

  couldn't have done better for a sympathizer if we'd

  planned this, you know, that's why I played it a bit

  thick. He had the feeling of a she'chorne; that bit

  about a 'shieldmate' clinched it. If you're not lov-

  ers, you call your partner 'shieldbrother,' not

  'shieldmate.' How are you doing?"

  Kethry looked a bit strained, but it was some-

  thing likely only someone who knew her would

  have noticed. "Holding up; I'll manage. The more

  time I spend with nobody jumping me out of the

  shadows, the easier it'll get. I can handle it."

  "Vai datha." If Kethry said she'd be able to han-

  dle her understandable strain, Tarma was willing

  to believe her. Tarma took the chance to look around,

  and was impressed in spite of herself. "Damn,

  Greeneyes, you never told me this place was so

  big!"

  "I'm used to it," Kethry shrugged.

  "Well, I'm not," Tarma shook her head in amaze-

  ment. The street they led their beasts on was fully

  wide enough for two carts with plenty of space for

  them to pass. It was actually paved with bricks,

  something Tarma didn't ever remember seeing be-

  fore, and had a channel down the middle and a

  gutter on either side for garbage and animal drop-

  pings. There were more people than she ever re-

  called seeing in one place in her life; she and Kethry

  were elbow to elbow in the crush. Kessira snorted,

  not liking so many strangers so close. "Why isn't

  anyone riding? Why'd the Guard say riding was

  counter the law?" Tarma asked, noticing that while

  there were beasts and carts in plenty, all were

  being led, like theirs—just as the guard had told

  them.

  "No one but a member of one of the Fifty is

  allowed to ride within the walls, and for good rea-

  son. Think what would happen if somebody lost

  control of his beast in this crush!"

  "Reasonable. Look, there's our inn—"

  The sign was plain enough-—the pieces of an ac-

  tual blade nailed up to a shingle suspended above

  the road. They turned their mounts' heads into a

  narrow passage that led into a square courtyard.

  The inn itself was built entirely around this yard.

  It was two-storied, of the ubiquitous wood stained a

  dark brown; old, but in excellent repair. The court-

  yard itself was newly swept. The stabling was to

  the rear of the square, the rest of the inn forming

  the other three sides.

  "Stay here, I want to have a look at the stabling.

  That will tell me everything I need to know." Tarma

  handed over her mare's reins to Kethry, and strode

  purposefully toward the stable door. She was inter-

  cepted by a gray-haired, scar-faced man in a leather

  apron.

  "Swordlady, welcome," he said. "How may we

  serve you?"

  "Bed, food and stabling for two—if I like what I

  see. And I'd like to see the stables first."

  He grinned with the half of his mouth not puck-

  ered with a scar. "Shin'a'in? Thought so—this way,

  lady."

  He himself led the way into the stables, and

  Tarma made up her mind then and there. It was

  clean and swept, there was no smell of stale dung

  or urine. The mangers were filled with fresh hay,

  the buckets with clean water, and the only beasts

  tied were those few whose wild or crafty eyes and

  laid-back ears told Tarma were that they were safer

  tied than loose.

  "Well, I do like what I see. Now if you aren't

  going to charge us like we were gold-dripping pal-

  ace fatheads, I think you've got a pair of boarders.

  Oh, and Jervac sent us."

  The man looked pleased. "I'm Hadell; served with

  Jervac until a brawl got me a cut tendon and

  mustering out pay. About the charges; two trade-

  silver a day for both of you and your beasts, if you

  and the mage are willing to share a bed. Room isn't

  big, I'll warn you, but it's private. That two pieces

  gets you bed and breakfast and supper; dinner you

  manage on your own. Food is guard-fare; it's plain,

  but there's plenty of it and my cook's a good one.
<
br />   I'll go the standard three days' grace; more, if you've

  got something to leave with me as a pledge. Suits?"

  "Suits," Tarma replied, pleased. "I do have a

  pledge, but I'd rather save it until I need it. Where's

  your stableboy? I don't want my mare to get a

  mouthful of him."

  "Her," Hadell corrected her. "My daughter. We're

  a family business here. I married the cook, my girl

  works the stables, my boys wait tables."

  "Safer than the other way 'round, hey? Espe-

  cially as she gets to the toothsome age." Tarma

  shared a crooked grin with him, as he gave a pierc-

  ing whistle. A shaggy-haired urchin popped out of

  the door of what probably was the grain room, and

  trotted up, favoring Tarma with an utterly fearless

  grin.

  "This is—" he cocked his head inquiringly.

  "Tarma shena Tale'sedrin. Shin'a'in, as you said."

  "She and her partner are biding here for a bit,

  and she wants to make sure her mount doesn't eat

  you."

  "Laeka, Swordlady." The urchin bobbed her head.

  "At your service. You're Shin'a'in?" Her eyes wid-

  ened and became eager. "You got a battlesteed?"

  "Not yet, Laeka. If I can make it back to the

  Plains in one piece, though, I'll be getting one.

  Kessira is a saddle-mare; she fights, but she hasn't

  the weight or the training of a battlesteed."

  "Well, Da says what the Shin'a'in keep for

  thesselves is ten times the worth o' what they sells

  us."

  The innmaster cuffed the girl—gently, Tarma

  noticed. "Laeka! Manners!" Laeka rubbed her ear

  and grinned, not in the least discomfited.

  Tarma laughed. "No insult taken, Keeper, it's

  true. We sell you outClan folk our culls. Come with