was not.
He was tall; like Tarma, golden-skinned and blue-
eyed. Unlike Tarma, his hair was a pure silver-
white; it hung to his waist, two braids framing his
face, part of the rest formed into a topknot, the
remainder streaming unconfined down his back.
Feathers had been woven into it—a tiny owlet nes-
tled at the base of the topknot, a nestling Kethry
thought to be a clever carving, until it moved its
head and blinked.
His eyes were large and slightly slanted, his fea-
tures sharp, with no trace of facial hair. His eye-
brows had a slight, upward sweep to them, like
wings. His clothing was green, all colors of green—
Kethry thought it at first to be rags, until she saw
how carefully those seeming rags were cut to re-
semble foliage. In a tree, except for that hair, he'd
be nearly invisible, even with a wind blowing. He
wore delicate jewelry of woven and braided silver
wire and crystals.
He carried in his right hand a strange weapon; a
spearlike thing with a wicked, curving point that
seemed very like a hawk's talon at one end and a
smooth, round hook at the other. In his left he
carried Tarma's medallion.
Tarma rose to her feet, gracefully. "Peace, Moon-
song."
"And upon you, Child of the Hawk." Both of
them were speaking Shin'a'in—after months of tu-
toring Kethry was following their words with rela-
tive ease.
"Tarma," the Shin'a'in replied, "and Kethry. My
she'enedra. You will share hearth and meal? It is
tree-hare, taken as is the law; rejected suitors, no
mates, no young, and older than this season's
birthing."
"Then I share, and with thanks." He sank to the
ground beside the fire with a smoothness, an ease,
that Kethry envied; gracefully and soundlessly as a
falling leaf. She saw then that besides the feathers
he had also braided strings of tiny crystals into his
hair, crystals that reflected back the firelight, as
did the staring eyes of the tiny owlet. She remem-
bered what Tarma had told her, and concluded
they were being given high honor.
He accepted the bowl of stewed meat and dried
vegetables with a nod of thanks, and began to eat
with his fingers and a strange, crystalline knife
hardly longer than his hand. When Tarma calmly
began her own portion, Kethry did the same, but
couldn't help glancing at their visitor under cover
of eating.
He impressed her, that was certain. There was
an air of great calm and patience about him, like
that of an ancient tree, but she sensed he could be a
formidable and implacable enemy if his anger was
ever aroused. His silver hair had made her think of
him as ancient, but now she wasn't so certain of his
age. His face was smooth and unlined; he could
have been almost any age at all, from stripling to
oldster.
Then she discovered something that truly fright-
ened her; when she looked for him with mage-
sight, he wasn't there.
It wasn't a shielding, either—a shield either left
an impression of a blank wall or of an absolute
nothingness. No, it was as if there was no one
across the fire from them at all, nothing but the
plants and stones of the clearing, the woods beyond,
and the owlet sitting in a young tree.
The owlet sitting in a young tree!
It was then she realized that he was somehow
appearing to her mage-sight as a part of the forest,
perfectly blended in with the rest. She switched
back to normal vision and smiled to herself. And as
if he had known all along that she had been scan-
ning him—in fact, if he were practiced enough to
pull off what he was doing, he probably did—he
looked up from his dinner and nodded at her.
"The banner of the Hawk's Children has not
been seen for seasons," he said breaking the si-
lence. "We heard ill tales. Tales of ambush on the
road to the Horse Fair; tales of death come to their
very tents."
"True tales," Tarma replied, the pain in her voice
audible to Kethry ... and probably to Moonsong. "I
am the last."
"Ah. Then the blood-price—"
"Has been paid. I go to raise the banner again;
this, my she'enedra, goes with me."
"Who holds herds for Tale'sedrin?"
"Liha'irden. You have knowledge of the camps
this spring?
"Liha'irden ..." he brooded a moment. "At
Ka'tesik on the border of their territory and yours.
So you go to them. And after?"
"I have given no thought to it." Tarma smiled
suddenly, but it was with a wry twist to her mouth.
"Indeed, the returning has been sufficient to hold
my attention."
"You may find," he said slowly, "that the Plains
are no longer the home to you that they were."
Tarma looked startled. "Has aught changed?"
"Only yourself, Lone Hawk. Only yourself. The
hatched chick cannot go back to the shell, the fal-
con who has found the sky does not willingly sit
the nest. When a task is completed, it is meet to
find another task—and you may well serve the Lady
by serving outlanders."
Tarma looked startled and pale, but nodded.
"OutClan Shin'a'in—" He turned his attention
abruptly to Kethry. "You bear a sword—"
"Aye, Elder."
He chuckled. "Not so old as you think me, nor so
young either. Three winters is age to a polekit, but
fifty is youth to a tree. You bear a sword, yet you
touched me with mage-sight. Strange to see a mage
with steel. Stranger still to see steel with a soul."
"What?" Kethry was too startled to respond
politely.
"Hear me, mate of steel and magic," he said,
leaning forward so that he and the owlet transfixed
her with unblinking stares. "What you bear will
bind you to herself, more and more tightly with
each hour you carry her. It is writ that Need is her
name—you shall come to need her, as she needs
you, as both of you answer need. This is the price
of bearing her, and some of this you knew already. I
tell you that you have not yet reached the limit to
which she can—and will—bind you to herself, to
her goals. It is a heavy price, yet the price is worth
her service; you know she can fight for you, you
know she can heal you. I tell you now that her
powers will extend to aid those you love, so long as
they return your care. Remember this in future
times—"
His blue eyes bored into hers with an intensity
that would have been frightening had he not held
her beyond fear with the power he now showed
himself to possess. She knew then that she was
face-to-face with a true Adept, though of a disci-
pline alien to hers; that he was one such as she
&n
bsp; hardly dared dream of becoming. Finally he leaned
back, and Kethry shook off the near-trance he had
laid on her, coming to herself with a start.
"How did you—"
He silenced her with a wave of his hand.
"I read what is written for me to see, nothing
more," he replied, rising with the same swift grace
he had shown before. "Remember what I have read,
both of you. As you are two-made-one, so your task
will be one. First the binding, then the finding. For
the hearth, for the meal, my thanks. For the future,
my blessing. Lady light thy road—"
And as abruptly as he had appeared, he was
gone.
Kethry started to say something, but the odd look
of puzzlement on Tarma's face stopped her.
"Well," she said at last, "I have only one thing to
say. I've passed through this forest twenty times, at
least. In all that time, I must have met Hawkbrothers
ten out of the twenty, and that was extraordinary.
But this—" she shook her head. "That's more words
at once from one of them than any of my people has
ever reported before. Either we much impressed
him—"
"Or?"
"Or," she smiled crookedly, "We are in deep
trouble."
Kethry wasn't quite sure what it was that woke
her; the cry of a bird, perhaps; or one of the riding
beasts waking out of a dream with a snort, and so
waking her in turn.
The air was full of gray mist that hung at waist
height above the needle-strewn forest floor. It glowed
in the dim blue light that signaled dawn, and the
treetops were lost beyond thought within it. It was
chill and thick in the back of her throat; she felt
almost as if she were drinking it rather than breath-
ing it.
The fire was carefully banked coals; it was
Tarma's watch. Kethry sighed and prepared to go
back to another hour of sleep—then stiffened. There
were no sounds beyond what she and the two saddle-
beasts were making. Tarma was gone.
Then, muffled by the fog, came the sound of
blade on blade; unmistakable if heard once. And
Kethry had heard that peculiar shing more times
than she cared to think.
Kethry had lain down fully-clothed against the
damp; now she sprang to her feet, seizing her blade
as she rose. Barefooted, she followed the sound
through the echoing trunks, doing her own best to
make no sound.
For why, if this had been an attack, had Tarma
not awakened her? An ambush then? But why hadn't
Tarma called out to her? Why wasn't she calling
for help now ? What of the Hawkbrothers that were
supposed to be watching out for them?
She slipped around tree trunks, the thick carpet
of needles soft beneath her feet, following the noise
of metal scissoring and clashing. Away from the
little cup where they had camped the fog began to
wisp and rise, winding around the trunks in woolly
festoons, though still thick as a storm cloud an arm's
length above her head. The sounds of blades came
clearer now, and she began using the tree trunks to
hide behind as she crept up upon the scene of
conflict.
She rounded yet another tree, and shrank again
behind it; the fog had deceived her, and she had
almost stumbled into the midst of combat.
The fog ringed this place, moving as if alive, a
thick tendril of it winding out, now and again, to
interpose itself between Tarma and her foe. It
glowed—it glowed with more than the predawn
light. To mage-sight it glowed with power, power
bright and pure, power strong, true, and—strange.
It was out of her experience—and it barred her
from the charmed circle where the combatants
fenced.
Tarma's eyes were bright with utter concentra-
tion, her face expressionless as a sheet of polished
marble. Kethry had never seen her quite like this,
except when in the half-trance she induced when
practicing or meditating. She was using both sword
and dagger to defend herself—
Against another Shin'a'in.
This man was unmistakably of Tarma's race. The
tawny gold skin of hands and what little Kethry
could see of his face showed his kinship to her. So
did the strands of raven hair that had been bound
out of his face by an equally black headband, and
ice-blue eyes that glinted above his veil.
For he was veiled; this was something Tarma
never had worn for as long as Kethry had known
her. Kethry hadn't even known till this moment
that a veil could be part of a Shin'a'in costume, but
the man's face was obscured by one, and it did not
have the feeling of a makeshift. He was veiled and
garbed entirely in black, the black Tarma had worn
when on the trail of those who had slaughtered her
Clan. Black was for blood-feud—but Tarma had
sworn that there was never blood-feud between
Shin'a'in and Shin'a'in. And black was for Kal'ene-
dral—three times barred from internecine strife.
There was less in their measured counter and
riposte of battle than of dance. Kethry held her
breath, transfixed by more than the power of the
mist. She was caught by the deadly beauty of the
weaving blades, caught and held entranced, drawn
out of her hiding place to stand in the open.
Tarma did not even notice she was there—but
the other did.
He stepped back, breaking the pattern, and mo-
tioned slightly with his left hand. Tarma instantly
broke off her advance, and seemed to wake just as
instantly from her trance, staring at Kethry with
the startled eyes of a wild thing broken from hiding.
The other turned, for his back had been to Kethry.
He saluted the sorceress in slow, deliberate cere-
mony with his own blade. Then he winked slowly
and gravely over his veil, and—vanished, taking the
power in the magic fog with him.
Released from her entrancement, Kethry stared
at her partner, not certain whether to be fright-
ened, angry or both.
"What—was—that—" she managed at last.
"My trainer; my guide," Tarma replied sheep-
ishly. "One of them, anyway." She sheathed her
sword and stood, to all appearances feeling awk-
ward and at a curious loss for words. "I ... never
told you about them before, because I wasn't sure it
was permitted. They train me every night we aren't
within walls . .. one of them takes my watch to see
you safe. I... I guess they decided I was taking too
long to tell you about them; I suppose they figured it
was time you knew about them."
"You said your people didn't use magic—but
he—he was alive with it! Only your Goddess—"
"He's Hers. In life, was Kal'enedral; and now—"
she lifted up her hand, "—as you saw. His magic is
Hers—"
"What do you mean, 'in life'?" Kethry asked, an
edge of hysteria in her voice.
"You mean—you couldn't tell?"
"Tell what?"
"He's a spirit. He's been dead at least a hundred
years, like all the rest of my teachers."
It took Tarma the better part of an hour to calm
her partner down.
They broke out of the trees, as Tarma had prom-
ised, just past midafternoon.
Kethry stared; Tarma sat easily in Kessira's sad-
dle, and grinned happily. "Well?" she asked, finally.
Kethry sought for words, and failed to find them.
They had come out on the edge of a sheer drop-
off; the mighty trees grew to the very edge of it,
save for the narrow path on which they stood. Be-
low them, furlongs, it seemed, lay the Dhorisha
Plains.
Kethry had pictured acres of grassland, a sea of
green, as featureless as the sea itself, and as flat.
Instead she saw beneath her a rolling country of
gentle, swelling rises; like waves. Green grass there
was in plenty—as many shades of green as Kethry
had ever seen, and more—and golden grass, and a
faint heathered purple. And flowers—it must have
been flowers that splashed the green with irregular
pools of bright blue and red, white and sunny yel-
low, orange and pink. Kethry took an experimental
sniff and yes, the breeze rising up the cliff carried
with it the commingled scents of growing grass and
a hundred thousand spring blossoms.
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 11