Oathblood

by Mercedes Lackey

  “There—” she said, rising and placing it beside the hearth. “When it wakes, all its nurturing instincts will be imprinted for Landric’s children; as bright as it is, he’ll be able to leave them even with a fire burning on the hearth without them being in danger.”

  She stood, and swayed with exhaustion.

  “That’s more than enough for one night!” Tarma exclaimed, steadying her and walking her over to the pallets Landric had supplied. “It’s definitely time you got a little rest! Greeneyes, I swear if I wasn’t around, you’d wear yourself into a wraith.”

  “Not a wraith—” Kethry yawned, but before she could finish her thought, she was asleep.

  They left the next morning with the entreaties of the four youngest children still in their ears. Despite the distraction of the new “pet” they still wanted the two women to stay. None of the six had wanted Tarma, in particular, to leave.

  “I‘d’ve liked to stay,” Tarma said, a bit wistfully, as she turned in her saddle to wave farewell.

  “So would I—at least for a bit,” Kethry sighed. “Need’s not giving me any choice though—she’s nagging me half to death. All last night I could feel her pulling on me; a few more days of that and I’ll start chewing furniture. Besides, I had the distinct impression that Landric was eying me with the faint notion of propositioning me this morning.”

  “You should have taken him up on it, Greeneyes,” Tarma chuckled. “You could do worse.”

  “Thank you, but no thank you. He’s a nice enough man—and I’d kill him inside of a week. He has very firm notions about what a wife’s place is, and I don’t fit any of them. And he wouldn’t be any too pleased about your bringing up his offspring as Shin‘a’in either! You just want me married off so you can start raising a new clan!”

  “Can’t blame me for trying,” Tarma shrugged, wearing a wry grin. The loss of her old clan was far enough in the past now that it was possible for Kethry to tease her about wanting to start a new one. “You did promise the council that that was what you’d do.”

  “And I will—but in my own good time, and with the man of my choice, one who’ll be a friend and partner, not hope to rule me. That’s all very well for some women, but not for me. Furthermore, any husband of mine would have to be pleased with the idea that my oathsister will be training our children as Shin‘a’in. I didn’t promise the Council, she‘enedra,” she rode close enough to catch Tarma’s near hand and squeeze it. “I promised you.”

  Tarma’s expression softened, as it had when she’d been with the children. “I know it, dearling,” she replied, eyes misting a trifle, “And you know that I never would have asked you for that—never. Ah, let’s get moving; I’m getting maudlin.”

  Kethry released her hand with a smile, and they picked up their pace.

  They entered the town, which huddled at the foot of the lord’s keep like a collection of stellat shoots at the foot of the mother tree. The ever-present dust covered the entire town, hanging in a brown cloud over it. Warrl they left outside, not wanting to chance the stir he’d cause if they brought him in with them. He would sneak in after dark, and take up residence with their horses in the stable, or with them, if they got a room on the ground floor with a window. Taking directions from the gate-guard, they found an inn. It was plain, but clean enough to satisfy both of them, and didn’t smell too strongly of bacon and stale beer.

  “When’s feeding time for the monster?” Tarma asked the innkeeper.

  “Today—if ye get yerselves t’ the main gate, ye’ll see the procession—”

  The procession had the feeling of a macabre carnival. It was headed by the daughter of Lord Havirn, mounted on a white pony, her hands shackled by a thin gold chain. Her face bore a mingling of petulance at having to undergo the ceremony, and peevish pride at being the center of attention. Her white garments and hair all braided with flowers and pearls showed the careful attentions of at least two servants. Those maidservants walked beside her, strewing herbs; behind them came a procession of priests with censors. The air was full of incense smoke battling with the ubiquitous dust.

  “What’s all that about?” Kethry asked a sunburned farmwoman, nodding at the pony and its sullen rider.

  “Show; nothing but show. M‘lord likes to pretend it’s his daughter up for sacrifice—but there is the real monster fodder,” she pointed toward a sturdy farm cart, that contained a heavily-bound, scurvy-looking man, whose eyes drooped in spite of his fate. “They’ve drugged ’im, poor sot, so’s the monster knows it’ll get an easy meal. They’ll take milady up the hill, with a lot of weepin’ and wailin‘, and they’ll give each of the heroes a little gold key that unlocks her chain. But it’s the thief they’ll be tying to the stake, not her. Reckon you that if some one of them heroes ever does slay the beast, that the tales will be sayin’ he saved her from the stake shackles, ’stead of that poor bastard?”

  “Probably.”

  “Pity they haven’t tried to feed her to the beast—it’d probably die of indigestion, she’s that spoiled.”

  They watched the procession pass with a jaundiced eye, then retired to their inn.

  “I think, all things considered,” Tarma said after some thought, as they sat together at a small table in the comfort and quiet of their room at the inn. “That the best time to get at the thing is at the weekly feeding. But afterit’s eaten, not before.”

  “Lady knows I’d hate being part of that disgusting parade, but you’re right. And while it’s in the open—well, magics may bounce off its hide, but there are still things I could do to the area around it. Open up a pit under it, maybe.”

  “We’d have to—” Tarma was interrupted by wild cheering. When peering out of their window brought no enlightenment, they descended to the street.

  The streets were full of wildly rejoicing people, who caught up the two strangers, pressing food and drink on them. There was too much noise for them to ask questions, much less hear the answers.

  An increase in the cheers signaled the arrival of the possible answer—and by craning their necks, the two saw the clue to the puzzle ride by, carried on the shoulders of six merchants. It was one of the would-be heroes they’d seen going out with the procession; he was blood-covered, battered, and bruised, but on the whole, in very good shape. Behind him came the cart that had held the thief—now it held the head of something that must have been remarkably ugly and exceedingly large in life. The head just barely fit into the cart.

  The crowd carried him to the same inn where the two women were staying, and deposited him inside. Tarma seized Kethry’s elbow and gestured toward the stableyard; she nodded, and they wriggled their way through the mob to the deserted court.

  “Well! Talk about a wasted trip!” Tarma wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

  “I hate to admit it—” Kethry was clearly chagrined.

  “So Need’s stopped nagging you?”

  Kethry nodded.

  “Figures. Look at it this way—what good would Lord Havirn’s daughter or his lands have done us?”

  “We could have used the lands, I guess—” Tarma’s snort cut Kethry’s words off. “Ah, I suppose it’s just as well. I’m not all that unhappy about not having to face that beast down. We’ve paid for the room, we might as well stay the night.”

  “The carnival they’re building up ought to be worth the stay. Good thing Warrl can take care of himself—I doubt he’ll be able to sneak past that mob.”

  The “carnival” was well worth staying for. Lord Havirn broached his own cellar and kitchens, and if wine wasn’t flowing in the fountains, it was because the general populace was too busy pouring it down their collective throats. Neither of the women were entirely sober when they made their way up to their beds.

  A few scant minutes after reaching their room, however, Kethry was sober again.

  The look of shock and surprise on her partner’s face quickly sobered Tarma as well. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Need�
��she’s pulling again.”

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Tarma groaned and pulled her leather tunic back over her head. “Good thing we hadn’t put the candle out. How far?”

  “Close. It’s not anywhere near as strong as the original pull either. I think it’s just one person this time—”

  Kethry opened the door to their room, and stared in amazement at the disheveled girl huddled in the hall just outside.

  The girl was shivering; had obviously been weeping. Her clothing was torn and seemed to have been thrown on. Both of them recognized her as the inn’s chambermaid. She looked up at them with entreaty and burst into a torrent of tears.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Tarma repeated.

  When they finally got the girl calmed down enough to speak, what she told them had them both incensed. The great “hero” was not to be denied anything, by Lord Havirn’s orders—except, of course, the lord’s daughter. That must wait until they were properly wedded. That he need not languish out of want, however, the innkeeper had been ordered to supply him with a woman, should he want one.

  Naturally, he wanted one. Unfortunately, the lady who usually catered to that sort of need was “incon venienced” with her moon-days. So rather than pay the fee of an outside professional, the innkeeper had sent up the chambermaid, Fallan—without bothering to tell her why she was being sent.

  “—’m a good girl, m‘lady. I didna understand ’im at first; thought ‘e wanted another bath or somesuch. But ’e grabbed me ‘fore I knew what ’e was about. An’ ‘e tore me clothes, them as took me a month’s wages. An ’e—‘e—” another spate of tears ensued. “ ’E was mortal cruel, m‘lady. ’E—when I didna please ‘im, ’e beat me. An’ when ‘e was done, ’e threw me clothes at me, an’ ‘e yelled for me master, an’ tol’ ’im I was no bloody good, an’ what did ‘e think ’e was about, anyway givin’ ‘im goods that was neither ripe nor green? Then me master, ’e—‘e—turned me off! Tol’ me t’ make meself vanish, or ’e’d beat me ‘imself!”

  “He did what?” Tarma was having trouble following the girl, what with her thick accent and Tarma’s own rising anger.

  “He discharged her. The bastard sent her up to be raped, then has the bloody almighty gall to throw her out afterward!” Kethry was holding onto her own temper by the thinnest of threads.

  “ ’ve got nowhere to go, no ref‘rences—what ’m I going to do?” the girl moaned, hugging her knees to her chest, still plainly dazed.

  She‘enedra, get the brandy. I’ll put her in my bed, you and I can sleep double,“ Kethry said in an undertone. ”Child, worry about it in the morning. Here—drink this.“

  “I can’t go back ‘ome—they ’aven’t got the means to feed the childer still too little to look for work,” she continued in a monotone. “I bain’t virgin for two years now, but I been as good as I could be. I bain’t no lightskirt. All I ever wanted was t’ put by enough for a dower—maybe find some carter, some manser vant willin’ t’ overlook things; have a few childer of me own.” She was obviously not used to hard liquor; the brandy took hold of her very quickly. She mumbled on for a bit longer, then collapsed in Kethry’s bed and fell asleep.

  “I’d like to skewer this damned innkeeper,” Tarma growled.

  Kethry, who’d been checking the girl for hurts, looked up with a glower matching Tarma’s. “That makes two of us. Just because the girl’s no virgin is no excuse for what he did—and then to turn her out afterward—” Tarma could see her hands were trembling with controlled rage. “Come look at this.”

  “Ungentle” was a distinct understatement for the way the girl had been mauled about. She was bruised from knee to neck, ugly, purple things. Kethry took Need from beneath the bed and placed it beside her, then covered her with the blankets again.

  “Well, that will take care of the physical problems—but what about the bruising of her spirit?”

  “I don’t have any answers for you,” Kethry sighed, rage slowly cooling. “But, you know, from the way she talked, it isn’t the rape that bothers her so much as the fact that she’s been turned out. What we really need to do is find her somewhere to go.”

  “Bloody hell. And us knowing not a soul here. Well—let’s worry about it in the morning.”

  In the morning, it seemed that their erstwhile charge was determined to take care of the problem by attaching herself to them.

  They woke to find her busily cleaning both their swords—though what she’d made of finding Need beside her when she woke was anyone’s guess. Tarma’s armor lay neatly stacked, having already been put in good order, and their clothes had been brushed and laid ready. The girl had both pairs of boots beside her, evidently prepared to clean them when she finished with the swords.

  “What’s all this about?” Tarma demanded, only half awake.

  The girl jumped—her lip quivered as she replied, looking ready to burst into tears again. “Please, m‘lady—I want to go with ye when y’ leave. Ye haven’t a servant, I know. See? I c’n take good care of ye both. An’ I can cook, too—an’ wash an’ mend. I don’ eat much, an’ I don’ need much. Please?”

  “I was afraid this would happen,” Kethry murmured. “Look, Fallan, we really can’t take you with us—we don’t need a servant—” She stopped as the girl burst into tears again, and sighed with resignation. “—oh, Bright Lady. ”All right, we’ll take you with us. But it won’t be forever, just until we can find you a new place.“

  “ ‘Just until we can find you a new place.’ She‘enedra, I am beginning to think that this time that sword of yours has driven us too far. Three days on the road, and it’s already beginning to seem like three years.”

  Fallan had not adjusted well to the transition from chambermaid to wanderer. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried—but to her, citybred as she was, the wilderness was a place beset by unknown perils at every turn. Every snake, every insect was poisonous; she stayed up, kept awake by terror, for half of every night, listening to the sounds beyond their fire. Warrl and the mares terrified her.

  They’d had to rescue her twice—once from the river she’d fallen into, once from the bramble thicket she’d run into, thinking she heard a bear behind her. For Fallan, every strange crackle of brush meant a bear; one with Fallan-cutlets on his mind.

  At the same time, she was stubbornly refusing to give up. Not once did she ask the two women to release her from her self-imposed servitude. No matter how frightened she became, she never confessed her fear, nor did she rush to one or the other of them for protection. It was as if she was determined to somehow prove—to herself, to them, perhaps to both—that she was capable of facing whatever they could.

  “What that girl needs is a husband,” Kethry replied wearily. “Give her things to do inside four walls, things she knows, and she’s fine, but take her out here, and she’s hopeless. If it weren’t for the fact that the nearest town is days away, I’d even consider trying to get her another job at an inn.”

  “And leave her open to the same thing that happened before? Face it, that’s exactly what would happen. Poor Fallan is just not the type to sell her favors by choice, and not ugly enough to be left alone. Bless her heart, she’s too obedient and honest for her own good—and, unfortunately, not very bright. No solution, Greeneyes. Too bad most farmers around here don’t need or can’t afford woman servants, or—” she stopped with an idea suddenly occurring to her. Kethry had the same idea.

  “Landric?”

  “The very same. He seems kind enough—”

  “No fear of that. He’s Wheel-bound. When he took that tattoo, he took with it a vow to balance the evil he’d done previously with good. That’s why he became a farmer, I suspect, to balance the death he’d sown as a soldier with life. Did his children look ill-treated?”

  “Contrarywise. Healthiest, happiest bunch I’ve seen outside of a Clan gathering. The only trouble—”

  “—is, does she know how to deal with younglings? Let’s head for Landric’s place. You can talk to h
er on the way, and we’ll see how she handles them when we get there.”

  Two days of backtracking saw them on the road within a few furlongs of Landric’s farm. Landric’s eldest spotted them as he had before and ran to tell his father. Landric met them on the road just where it turned up the path to his farmstead, his face wreathed in smiles.

  “I had not thought to see you again, when the news came that the monster had been slain,” he told Tarma warmly.

  “Then you also know that we arrived just a bit too late to do the slaying ourselves.”

  “If I were to tell the truth, I’m just as grateful for your sake. The hero had a cadre of six hirelings, and all six of them died giving him the chance he needed. I would have been saddened had their fate been yours. Oh—that little pet you left for the children has been beyond price.”

  “If we’d gone down that thing’s gullet, you wouldn’t have been half as saddened as I!” Tarma chuckled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kethry, Fallan, and the children entering the house.

  “Listen, you’re in the position to do us a favor, Landric. I hate to impose upon you, but—well, we’ve got another ‘pet’ to find a home for.” Quickly and concisely she laid out Fallan’s pathetic story. “—so we were hoping you’d know someone willing to take her in. She’s a good worker, I can tell you that; it’s just that she’s just not suited for the trail. And to tell you the truth, she’s not very flexible. I think we shock her.”

  He smiled slowly. “I am not quite that stupid, Sworn One. You hope that I will take her in, don’t you?”

  “Oh, well, I’ll admit the thought did cross my mind,” Tarma smiled crookedly.