Warrl, and Warrl responded with the lightning-fast
reactions of the kyree kind, born in magic and bred
of it.
He leapt upon the unsuspecting Kethry from the
rear, and with one crunch of his jaws, broke her
neck and collapsed her windpipe.
Both Kethry and the bandit collapsed—
Tarma scrambled after the discarded mage-blade,
conscious now only of a dim urge to keep Kethry's
treasured weapon out of profane hands, and to use
the thing against the creature that had forced her
to kill the only human she cared for. Need had hurt
the demon before—
But she had forgotten one thing.
She wasn't a mage, so Need's other gift came into
play; the gift that protected a woman warrior from
magic, no matter how powerful. No magic not cast
with the consent of the bearer could survive Need
entering its field.
The spell binding Tarma was broken, and she
found herself in a body that had regained its nor-
mal proportions.
This was just such a moment that the priest had
been praying for. The spell-energy binding Kethry
into Lastel's body was released explosively with
the death-blow. The priest took full control of that
energy, and snatched her spirit before death had
truly occurred. Using the potent energies released,
he sent Lastel's spirit and Kethry's back to their
proper containers.
There were still other energies being released;
those binding Lastel's form into a woman's shape,
and those altering Tarma. Quicker than thought
the priest gained hold of those as well. With half of
his attention he erected a shield over the swords-
woman and her partner; with the other he sent
those demon-born magics hurtling back to their
caster.
Kethry had been stunned by Warrl's apparent
treachery; had actually felt herself dying—
—and now suddenly found herself very much
alive, and back in her proper body. She sat up,
blinking in surprise.
Beside her on the marble floor was a dead man,
wearing the garments she herself had worn as Lastel.
Warrl stood over him, growling, every hair on end.
But her mage-sense for energy told her that the tale
had not yet seen its end. As if to confirm this, a
howl of anguish rose behind her
"Noooooooooooo...."
The voice began a brazen bass, and spiralled up to
a fragile soprano.
Kethry twisted around, staring in astonishment.
Behind her was Thalhkarsh—
A demon no longer. A male no longer. Instead,
from out of the amethystine eyes of the delicate
mortal creature he had mockingly called his toy
stared Thalhkarsh's hellspawn spirit—dumbfounded,
glassy-eyed with shock, hardly able to comprehend
what had happened to him. Powerless now—and as
female and fragile as either of the two he had thought
to take revenge upon—and a great deal more helpless.
"This—cannot—be—" she whispered, staring at
her thin hands. "I cannot have failed—"
"My poor friend."
The little priest, whom Kethry had overlooked in
the fight, having eyes only for the demon, his ser-
vants, and Lastel, reached for one of the demon's
hands with true and courageous sympathy.
"I fear you have worked to wreak only your own
downfall—as I warned you would happen."
"No—"
"And you have wrought far too well, I fear—for
if I read this spell correctly, it was meant to be
permanent unto death. And as a demon, except
that you be slain by a specific blade, you cannot
die. Am I not correct?"
The demon's only response was a whimper, as
she sank into a heap of loose limbs among the cush-
ions of what once had been her throne, her eyes
fogging as she retreated from the reality she herself
had unwittingly created.
Tarma let her long legs fold under her and sat
where she had stood, trembling from head to toe,
saying nothing at all, a look of glazed pain in her
eyes.
Kethry dragged herself to Tarma's side, and sat
down with a thump.
"Now what?" Tarma asked in a voice dulled by
emotional and physical exhaustion, rubbing her eyes
with one hand. "Now what are we going to do with
him?"
"I—I don't know."
"I shall take charge of her," the priest said, "She
is in no state to be a threat to us, and we can easily
keep her in a place from which she shall find es-
cape impossible until she has a true change of heart.
My child," he addressed himself to Tarma, concern
in his eyes, "what is amiss?"
"My bond—it's gone—" she looked up at the
priest's round, anxious face, and the look in her
eyes was of one completely lost.
"Would you fetch my fellows from the temple?"
he asked Kethry. "That one is locked within her-
self, but I may have need of them."
"Gladly," Kethry replied, "but can you help her?"
"I will know better when you return."
She ran—or tried to—to fetch the little priest's
fellow devotees. She all but forced herself past a
skeptical novice left to guard the door by night; the
noise she made when she finally was driven to lose
her temper and shout at him brought the High
Prelate of Anathei to the door himself. He was
more than half asleep, wrapped in a blanket, but he
came awake soon enough when she'd begun to re-
late the night's adventures. He snapped out a series
of orders that were obeyed with such prompt alac-
rity that Kethry's suspicions as to their friend's
true rankings were confirmed long before three nov-
ices brought her his robes—those of an arch-priest—
and half the members of the order, new-roused
from their beds.
Though simple, hardly more ornate than what he
had worn to the inn, the robes radiated power that
Kethry could feel even without invoking mage-senses.
A half-dozen other members of his order scurried
away from the convocation at the cloister door and
came back wearing ceremonial garments and carry-
ing various arcane implements. Kethry led the pro-
cession of cowled, laden priest-mages through the
predawn streets at a fast trot. The night-watch took
one look at the parade and respectfully stepped
aside, not even bothering with hailing them.
When she got them as far as the open door of the
temple, her own strength gave out, and she stopped
to rest, half-collapsed against the smiling image of
the rain-god. By the time she reached the inner
sanctum, they had the situation well in hand. The
bodies had been carried off somewhere, the obscene
carvings shrouded, a good deal of the blood cleaned
up, and—most importantly—Thalhkarsh placed un-
der such tight arcane bindings that not even a demi-
god could have escaped.
"I believe I can restore what was lost to your
friend," the priest said when Kethry finally gath-
ered up enough courage to approach him. "But I
shall need the assistance of both yourself and the
kyree."
"Certainly, anything—but why? It will help if I
know what I'm supposed to be doing."
"You are familiar with her goddess, and as
Shin'a'in adopted, She shall hear you where she
might not hear me. You might think of yourself as
the arrow, and myself as the bow. I can lend your
wish the power to reach the Star-Eyed, but only
you of all of us know Her well enough to pick Her
aspect from all the other aspects of the Lady."
"Logical—what do I do? Warrl says—'whatever
you want he'll do'—"
"Just try to tell her Warrior that the bond has
been broken and needs to be restored—or Tarma
may well—"
"Die. Or go mad, which is the same thing for a
Shin'a'in."
Kethry knelt at the priest's feet on the cold mar-
ble of the desecrated temple floor, Warrl at her
side. Tarma remained where she was, sunk in mis-
ery and loss so deep that she was as lost to the
world around her as Thalhkarsh was.
Kethry concentrated with all her soul as the priest
murmured three words and placed his hand on her
head and Tarma's in blessing.
Please Lady—please hear me, she thought in de-
spair, watching Tarma's dead eyes. I've—I've been
less understanding than I could have been. I forgot—
because I wanted to—that I'm all the Clan she has left.
1 only thought of the freedom I thought I was losing. 1
don't know You, but maybe You know me—
There was no answer, and Kethry shut her eyes
in mental agony. Please, hear us! Even if You don't
give a damn about us, she pledged herself to You—
Foolish child.
The voice in her mind startled her; it was more
like music than a voice.
I am nothing but another face of your own Lady
Windborn—how could 1 not know you ? Both of you
have been wrong—but you have wrought your own
punishment. Now forgive yourselves as you forgive each
other—and truly be the two-made-one—
Kethry nearly fainted at the rush of pure power
that passed through her; when it ebbed, she stead-
ied herself and glanced up in surprise.
The little priest was just removing his hand from
Tarma's bowed head; his brow was damp with
sweat, but relief showed in the smiling line of his
mouth. As Tarma looked up, Kethry saw her ex-
pression change from one of pathetic bereavement
to the utter relief of one who has regained some-
thing thought gone forevermore.
A heavy burden of fear passed from Kethry's
heart at the change. She closed her eyes and breathed
her own prayer of thanks.
So profound was her relief that it was several
moments before she realized Tarma was speaking
to the priest.
"I don't know how to—"
"Then don't thank me," he interrupted. "I sim-
ply re-opened what the demon had closed; my plea-
sure and my duty. Just as tending to the demon as
she is now is my duty."
"You're certain you people can keep him—or
should I say her?—from any more trouble?" she
asked doubtfully of her erstwhile debating partner
as Kethry shook off her weariness and looked up at
them. To the sorceress' profound gratitude, Tarma
looked to be most of the way back to normal—a
rapid recovery, but Kethry was used to rapid recov-
cries from the Shin'a'in. The face she turned to
Kethry was calm and sane once again, with a hint
of her old sense of humor. She reached out a hand,
and Tarma caught it and squeezed it once, without
taking her attention from the priest.
"Sworn One, we are placing every safeguard
known to mortal man upon her and the place where
we shall keep her," the little priest said soberly.
"The being Thalhkarsh shall have no opportunity
for escape. Her only chance will be to truly change,
for the spells we shall use will not hold against an
angelic spirit, only one of evil intent. Truly you
have given us the opportunity we have long dreamed
of."
"Well," Tarma actually grinned, though it was
weakly. "After all, it isn't every day someone can
present you with a captive demon to preach to. Not
to put too fine a point on it, we're giving you folk a
chance to prove yourselves." She managed a ghost
of a chuckle. "Though I'll admit I had no notion
you were capable of restraining demons so handily."
"As you yourself pointed out, Sworn One, when
one goes to preach to demons, the preacher had
best be either agile or a very fine magician." The
balding priest's brown eyes vanished in smile wrin-
kles. "And as your partner has rightly told me,
while Thalhkarsh seems helpless now, there is no
guarantee that she will remain so. We prefer to
take no chance. As you say, this is our unlooked-for
opportunity to prove the truth of our way to the
entire world, and as such, we are grateful to you
beyond telling."
With that, the little priest bowed to both of them,
and his train of underlings brought the once-demon
to her feet, bound by spells that at the moment
were scarcely needed. She was numbly submissive,
and they guided her out the way they had come,
bound for their own temple.
Kethry got to her feet and silently held out her
hand to Tarma, who took it once again with no sign
of resentment, and pulled herself to her feet by it.
They left the scene of slaughter without a back-
ward glance, moving as quickly as their aching bod-
ies would allow, eager to get out into the clean air.
"Warrior's Oath—how long have we been in
there?" Tar ma exclaimed on seeing the thin sliver
of moon and the positions of the stars.
"About twenty-four candlemarks. It's tomorrow
morning. Is—that's not your sword, is it?" Kethry,
lagging a little behind, saw that the shape strapped
to Tarma's back was all wrong.
" 'No disaster without some benefit,' she'enedra,"
Tarma lifted a hand to caress the unfamiliar hilt.
"I've never in my life had a weapon like this one.
There's no magic to it beyond exquisite balance,
fantastic design, and the finest steel I've ever seen,
but it is without a doubt the best blade I've ever
used. It acted like part of my arm—and you're
going to have to cut off that arm to get it away from
me!"
Briefly alarmed by her vehemence, Kethry stretch-
ed weary mage-senses one more time, fearing to
find that the blade was some kind of ensorcelled
trap, or bore a curse.
She found nothing, and sighed with relief. Tarma
wa
s right, there was no hint of magic about the
blade, and her partner's reaction was nothing more
than that of any warrior who has just discovered
her ideal dreamed-of weapon.
They limped painfully back to their inn with
Warrl trailing behind as guard against night-thugs,
stopping now and then to rest against a handy wall
or building. The night-watch recognized Kethry and
waved them on. The cool, clean air was heavenly
after the incense and perfume-laden choke of the
temple. When they finally reached their inn, they
used the latchstring on their window to let them-
selves back inside and felt their way into their
room with only the banked embers of the hearth-
fire for light. Kethry expended a last bit of mage-
power and lit a candle, while Tarma dropped her
weapons wearily. Beds had never looked so inviting
before.
And yet, neither was quite ready to sleep.
"This time we've really done it, haven't we?"
Tarma ventured, easing her "borrowed" boots off
her feet and pitching them out the open window
for whoever should find them in the morning to
carry away. She stripped as quickly as her cuts and
bruises would permit, and the clothing followed
the boots as the Shin'a'in grimaced in distaste;
Kethry handed her clean breeches and an undertunic
from her pack and Tarma eased herself into them
with a sigh and numerous winces.
"You mean, we've locked him up for good? I
think so; at least insofar as I can ever be sure of
anything. And we aren't going to make the mistake
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 37