disappeared into the forest. The glowing globe went
dark then, and vanished slowly, dissolving like
smoke.
"And that is the tale of how Gervase became an
apprentice to Cinsley of White Winds. What hap-
pened to him after that—is another tale."
The applause Kethry received was as hearty as
ever Tarma had gotten back in the days when her
voice was the pride of the Clans.
"Well done," Tarma whispered, when the atten-
tions of those gathered had turned to the next to
entertain.
"I was wondering if my doing magic would of-
fend anyone—" Kethry began, then looked up, sud-
denly apprehensive, seeing one of the Clansfolk
approaching them.
And not just any Shin'a'in, but the Shaman.
The grave and imposing woman was dressed in
earthy yellows this evening; she smiled as she ap-
proached them, as if she sensed Kethry's apprehen-
sion. "Peace, jel'enedra," she said quietly, voice barely
audible to the pair of them over the noise of the
musicians behind her. "That was well done."
She seated herself on the carpeted floor beside
them. "Then—you didn't mind my working magic?"
Kethry replied, tension leaving her.
"Mind? Li'sa'eer! Anything but! Our people sel-
dom see outClan magic. It's well to remind them
that it can be benign—"
"As well as being used to aid the slaughter of an
entire Clan?" Tarma finished. "It's well to remind
them that it exists, period. It was that forgetfulness
that lost Tale'sedrin."
"Hai, you have the right of it. Jel'enedra. I sense a
restlessness in you. More, I sense an unhappiness
in both you and your oathkin."
"Is it that obvious?" Kethry asked wryly. "I'm
sorry if it is."
"Do not apologize; as I said, I sense it in your
she'enedra as well."
"Tarma?" Kethry's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Look, I don't think this is where we should be
discussing this," Tarma said uncomfortably.
"Will you come to my tent, then, Kal'enedra; you
and your oathsister?" The request was more than
half command, and they felt almost compelled to
follow her out of the tent, picking their way care-
fully among the crowded Clansfolk.
Tarma was curious to see what the Shaman's
dome-shaped tent looked like within; she was
vaguely disappointed to see that it differed very
little from her own inside. There was the usual
sleeping pad of sheepskins and closely-woven woolen
blankets, the mule-boxes containing personal be-
longings and clothing, two oil-lamps, and bright
rugs and hangings in profusion. It was only when
Tarma took a closer look at the hangings that she
realized that they were something out of the ordinary.
They seemed to be figured in random patterns,
yet there was a sense of rhythm in the pattern—
like writing.
The Shaman seemed uncannily aware of what
Tarma was thinking. "Hai, they are a written his-
tory of our people; written in a language all their
own. It is a language so concise that one hundred
years of history can be contained in a single hanging."
Tarma looked around the tent, and realized that
there must be close to fifty of these hangings, lay-
ered one upon the other. But—that meant five thou-
sand years!
Again the Shaman seemed to sense Tarma's
thoughts. "Not so many years as you may think.
Some of these deal with the history of peoples other
than our own, peoples whose lives impinge upon
ours. But we are not here to speak of that," the
Shaman seated herself on her pallet, allowing Kethry
and Tarma to find places for themselves on her
floor. "I think the Plains grow too small for both of
you, he shala?"
"There's just no real need for me here," Kethry
replied. "My order—well, we just can't stay where
there's nothing for us to do. If some of the Clansfolk
had magic gifts, or wanted to learn the magics that
don't require a Gift, it would be different; I'd gladly
teach them here. But no one seems interested, and
frankly, I'm bored. Actually, it's a bit worse than
being bored. I'm not learning anything. I'll never
reach Adept status if I stay here."
"I ... don't fit here," Tarma sighed, "And I
never thought I'd say that. Like Keth, I'd be happy
to teach the children swordwork, but that would be
usurping Shelana's position. I thought I could keep
busy working with her, but—"
"I venture to guess you found her scarcely more
challenging than her pupils? Don't look so sur-
prised, my child; I of all people should know what
your Oath entails. Liha'irden has not had Kal'enedral
in its midst for a generation, but I know what your
skill is likely to be—and how it was acquired."
There was silence for a moment, then Tarma
said wryly, "Well, I wish you'd told me! The first
time one of Them showed up, it was enough to stop
my heart!"
"We were a trifle short of time to be telling you
anything, even had you been in condition to hear it.
So—tell me more of your troubles."
"I love my people, I love the Plains, but I have no
purpose here. I am totally useless. I'd be of more use
raising income for Tale'sedrin than I am now."
"Ah—you have seen the problem with raising the
banner?"
"We're only two; we can't tend the herds our-
selves. We could bring in orphans and third and
fourth children from Clans with far too many to
feed, but we have no income yet to feed them our-
selves. And frankly, we have no Name. We aren't
likely to attract the kind of young men and women
that would be my first choice without a Name."
"Would you mind telling me what you two are
talking about?" Kethry demanded, bewilderment
written plainly on her face.
"Goddess—I'm sorry, Keth. You've fallen in with
us so well, I forget you aren't one of us."
"Allow me," the Shaman interrupted gently.
"]el'enedra, when you pledged yourself to providing
children for Tale'sedrin, you actually pledged only
to provide the Clan core—unless you know some
magic to cause you to litter like a grass-runner!"
The Shaman's smile was warm, and invited Tarma
as well as Kethry to share the joke. "So; what will
be, is that when you do find a mate and raise up
your children, they must spend six months of the
year here, shifting by one season each year so that
they see our life in harsh times as well as easy.
When they come of age, they will choose—to be
Shin'a'in always, or to take up a life off of the
Plains. Meanwhile, we will be sending out the call,
and unmated jel'asadra of both sexes are free to
come to your banner to make it their own. Orphans,
also. Until you and
your she'enedra declare the Clan
closed. Do you see?"
"I think so. Now what was the business about a
Name?"
"The caliber of youngling you will attract will
depend on the reputation you and Tarma have among
the Clans. And right now—to be frank, you will
only attract those with little to lose. Not the kind of
youngling I would hope to rebuild a Clan with, if I
were rebuilding Tale'sedrin."
"The part about income was clear enough," Kethry
said after a long moment of brooding. "We—we'd
either have to sell some of the herd at a loss, or
starve."
"Are you in condition to hear advice, the pair of
you?"
"I think so," said Tarma.
"Leave the Clans; leave the Plains. There is noth-
ing for you here, you are wasting your abilities and
you are wasting away of boredom. I think there is
something that both of you wish to do—and I also
think that neither of you has broached the subject
for fear of hurting the other's feelings."
"I..." Kethry faltered. "Well, there's two things,
really. Since I've vowed myself to rebuilding Tale's-
edrin—that needs a man, I'm afraid. I'll grant you
that I could just go about taking lovers but ... I
want something more than that, I want to care for
the father of any children I might have. And frankly,
most of the men here are terribly alien to me."
"Understandable," the Shaman nodded. "Laud-
able, in fact. The Clan law holds that you, your
she'enedra, and your children would comprise a true
Clan-seed, but I think everyone would be happier if
you chose a man as a long-term partner-mate, and
one with whom you have more in common than one
of us. And the other?"
"If I ever manage to get myself to the stage of
Adept, it's more-or-less expected of a White Winds
sorceress that she start a branch of the school. But
to do that, to attract pupils, I'd need two things. A
reputation, and money."
"So again, we come to those two things, as impor-
tant to you as to the Clan."
"Well that's odd, that you've been thinking of
starting a school, because I've been playing with
the same notion," Tarma said in surprise. "I've
been thinking I enjoyed teaching Justin and Ikan so
much that it would be no bad thing to have a school
of my own, one that teaches something besides
swordwork."
"Teach the heart as well as the mind and body?"
the Shaman smiled. "Those are praiseworthy goals,
children, and not incompatible with rebuilding
Tale'sedrin. Let me make you this proposition; for
a fee, Liha'irden will continue to raise and tend
your herds—I think a tithe of the yearlings would
be sufficient. Do you go out before the snows close
us in and see if you cannot raise both the reputa-
tion and the gold to build your schools and your
Clan. If you do not succeed, you may always return
here, and we will rebuild the harder way, but if
you dp, well, the Clan is where the people are;
there is no reason why Tale'sedrin should not first
ride in outClan lands until the children are old
enough to come raise the banner themselves. Will
that satisfy your hungers?"
"Aye, and then some!" Tarma spoke for both of
them, while Kethry nodded, more excitement in
her eyes than had been there for weeks.
* * *
Kessira and Rodi remained behind with the herds
when they left two weeks later. Now that they
were to pursue their avocation of mercenary in
earnest, they rode a matched pair of the famed
Shin'a'in battlesteeds; horses they had picked out
and had been training with since spring.
Battlesteeds were the result of a breeding pro-
gram that had been going on for as long as the
Shin'a'in had existed as nomadic horsebreeders. Un-
like most horsebreeding programs, the Shin'a'in had
not been interested in looks, speed, or conforma-
tion. They had bred for intelligence, above all else—
and after intelligence, agility, strength, and en-
durance. The battlesteeds were the highly success-
ful result.
Both horses they now rode were mottled gray;
they had thick necks and huge, ugly heads with
broad foreheads. They looked like unpolished stat-
ues of rough granite, and were nearly as tough.
They could live very handily on forage even a mule
would reject; they could travel sunrise to sunset at
a ground-devouring lope that was something like a
wolfs tireless tracking-pace. They could be trusted
with an infant, but would kill on signal or on a
perceived threat. They were more intelligent than
any horse Kethry had ever seen—more intelligent
than a mule, even. In their ability to obey and to
reason they more resembled a highly trained dog
than a horse, for they could actually work out a
simple problem on their own.
This was why Shin'a'in battlesteeds were so
famed—and why the Clansfolk guarded them with
their very lives. Between their intelligence and the
training they received, battlesteeds were nearly the
equal partners of those who rode them in a fight. It
was in no small part due to the battlesteeds that
the Shin'a'in had remained free and the Dhorisha
Plains unconquered.
But they were rare; a mare would drop no more
than four or five foals in a lifetime. So no matter
how tempting the price offered, no battlesteed would
ever be found in the hands of anyone but a Shin'a'in
—or one who was pledged blood-sib to a Shin'a'in.
These horses had been undergoing a strenuous
course of training for the past four years, and had
just been ready this spring to accept permanent
riders. They were trained to fight either on their
own or with a rider—something Kethry was grate-
ful for, since she was nothing like the kind of rider
Tarma was. Tarma could stick to Hellsbane's back
like a burr on a sheep; Kethry usually lost her seat
within the first few minutes of a fight. But no
matter; Ironheart would defend her quite as read-
ily on the ground—and on the ground Kethry could
work her magics without distraction.
Both battlesteeds were mares; mares could be
depended on to keep their heads no matter what
the provocation, and besides, it was a peculiarity of
battlesteeds that they tended to throw ten or fif-
teen fillies to every colt. That meant colts were
never gelded—and never left the Plains.
This time when Tarma left the Liha'irden en-
campment, it was with every living soul in it out-
side to bid her farewell. The weather was perfect;
crisp and cool without being too cold. The sky was
cloudless, and there was a light frost on the ground.
"No regrets?" Kethry said in an undertone as she
tightened Ir
onheart's girth.
"Not many," Tarma replied, squinting into the
thin sunlight, then mounting with an absentminded
ease Kethry envied. "Certainly not enough to worry
about."
Kethry scrambled into her own saddle—Ironheart
was nearly sixteen hands high, the tallest beast
she'd ever ridden—and settled her robes about
herself.
"You have some, though?" she persisted.
"I just wish I knew this was the right course
we're taking ... I guess," Tarma laughed at her-
self, "I guess I'm looking for another omen."
"Lady Bright, haven't you had enough—" Kethry
was interrupted by a scream from overhead.
The Shin'a'in about them murmured in excite-
ment and pointed—for there, overhead, was a vorcel-
hawk. It might have been the same one that had
landed on Kethry's arm when Tarma had been chal-
lenged; it was certainly big enough. This time, how-
ever, it showed no inclination to land. Instead, it
circled the encampment overhead, three times. Then
it sailed majestically away northward, the very di-
rection they had been intending to take.
As it vanished into the ice-blue sky, Kethry tugged
her partner's sleeve to get her attention.
"Do me a favor, hmm?" she said in a voice that
shook a trifle. "Stop asking for bloody omens!"
"Why I ever let you talk me into this—" Tarma
stared about them uneasily. "This place is even
weirder than they claim!"
They were deep into the Pelagir Hills—the true
Pelagirs. There was a track they were following;
dry-paved, it rang under their mares' hooves, and it
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 14