A half-dozen spells later, her magic energies were becoming exhausted; the wood of the door was blackened and splintered, and the floor before it warped, but the door remained closed. It had been warded, and by a mage who was her equal at the very least. She used the last of her power to fuel a feeble mage-light; it hovered over her head, illuminating the barren cell in a soft blue radiance. She leaned her back against the far wall and allowed herself to slide down it, wearily. Wrapping her arms around her tucked-up knees, she regarded the warded door and planned her next move.
If Wethes could have seen the expression on her face, he'd have died of fright on the spot.
Tarma had been expecting Justin's "friend" to be a whore. Certainly she lived on a street where every other door housed one or more who practiced that trade—and the other doors led to shops that catered to their needs or those of their customers. They stopped midway down the block to tap lightly at one of those portals that plainly led to a small apartment, and Tarma expected it to be opened by another of the painted, bright-eyed trollops who bestowed themselves on doorways and windows all up and down this thoroughfare. She was shivering at the sight of most of them, not from dislike, but from sympathy. She was half-frozen (as usual), and could not imagine for a moment how they managed to stay warm in the scarves and shreds of silk they wore for bodices and skirts.
She didn't hold them in low esteem for selling themselves to earn their bread. After all, wasn't that exactly what she and Keth were doing? It was too bad that they had no other commodity to offer, but that was what fate had dealt them.
But the dark-eyed creature who opened her door at Justin's coded knock was no whore, and was unlikely to ever be mistaken for one, no matter how murky the night or intoxicated the customer.
In some ways she was almost a caricature of Tarma herself; practically sexless. Nothing other than Justin's word showed she was female—her sable hair cut so short it was hardly more than a smooth dark cap covering her skull; the thin, half-starved-looking body of an acrobat. She wore midnight blue; the only relief of that color came from the dozens of knives she wore, gleaming in the light that streamed from the room behind her, the torches of the street, and the lantern over the door, which Tarma noticed belatedly was of blue glass, not red. Two bandoliers were strapped across her slim chest, and both housed at least eight or nine matched throwing daggers. More were in sheaths strapped to her arms and legs; two longer knives, almost short swords, resided on each hip. Her face was as hard as marble, with deeply etched lines of pain.
"Justin, it's late," she said in a soft voice, frowning a little. "I take my shift soon."
"Cat-child, I know," Justin replied; Tarma realized in that instant that the hard lines of the girl's face had deceived her; she couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. "But we have a chance to get at Wethes Goldmarchant and—"
The girl's face blazed with an unholy light. "When? How? I'll have somebody else sub for me; Gesta owes me a favor—"
"Easy, girl," Ikan cautioned. "We're not sure what we're going to be doing yet, or how much we're going to be able to hurt him, if at all."
She gave Ikan a sidelong look, then fixed her attention again on Justin. "Him—who?" she asked, shortly, jerking her head at Ikan.
"My shieldbrother; you've heard me talk about him often enough," he replied, interpreting the brief query, "And this swordlady is Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Shin'a'in mercenary. Wethes has her oathsister, a sorceress—it's rather too long a tale to go into, but we know he took her, he's got his reasons for wanting her and we know he won't be taking her to his house in the District."
"And you want to know if I know where his latest pleasure-house is. Oh, aye; I do that. But unless you swear to let me in on this, I won't tell you."
"Cat, you don't know what you're asking—"
"Let her buy in,"" Tarma interrupted, and spoke to the girl directly. "I'm guessing you're one of Wethes' discards."
"You're not wrong. I hate his littlest nail-paring. I want a piece of him—somehow, some way—preferably the piece he prizes the most."
"That's a reasonable request, and one I'm inclined to give you a chance at. Just so long as you remember that our primary goal is the rescue of my oathsister, and you don't jeopardize getting Keth out in one piece."
"Let me roust out Gesta."
The girl darted between Tarma and Justin; ran up the staircase to the second floor to knock on another nondescript door. The ugliest man Tarma had ever seen in her life answered it; Cat whispered something inaudible. He grinned, pulled a savage-looking half-ax from somewhere just inside the door, and sauntered down the stairs with it, whistling tunefully. He gave all three of them a wink as he passed them, said shortly, "Good hunting," and passed out of sight around a corner. The girl returned with a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"Come on in. Let's sit and plan this over. Being too hasty to look before I acted got me into Wethes' hands."
"And you won't be making that mistake a second time, will you, my girl?" Justin finished for her.
They filed into the tiny room; it held a few cushions and a pallet, a small clothes chest, more knives mounted on the wall, and a lantern, nothing more.
"You say your friend's a sorceress? The old bastard probably has her under binding from his house mage," she mused as she dropped down cross-legged on the pallet, leaving them to choose cushions. "Think she could break herself free if we gave him something else to think about?"
"Probably; Keth's pretty good—"
"The mage isn't all we have to worry about. Kavinestral's crowd is bound to be hanging around," Ikan interrupted.
"Damn—there's only four of us, and that lot is nearly thirty strong." The girl swore under her breath. "Where in sheva are we going to get enough bodies to throw at them?"
Whatever had been in that drink Ikan had given her seemed to be making Tarma's mind work at high speed. "'Find your enemy's enemy.' That's what my people would say."
Ikan stared at her, then began to grin.
The last explosion from the sealed room below made the whole house rattle. Wethes turned to Kavin with stark panic in his face. "What have you gotten me into?" he choked hysterically, grabbing Kavin by the front of his tunic and shaking him. "What kind of monster has she become?"
Kavin struck the banker's hands away, a touch of panic in his own eyes. Kethry wasn't going to be any happier with him than she was with Wethes—and if she got loose—"How was I to know? Magecraft doesn't breed true in my family! Mages don't show up oftener than one in every ten births in my House! She never gave any indication she had that much power when I was watching her! Can't your mage contain her?"
"Barely—and then what do I do? She'll kill me if I try and let her go, and may the gods help us if Regyl has to contend with more than simply containing her."
He might have purposefully called the sounds of conflict from the yard beyond the house. Shouts and cries of pain, and the sound of steel on steel penetrated the door to the courtyard; mingled in those shouts was the rally cry of the Greens. That galvanized Kavin into action; he started for the door to the rear of the house and the only other exit, drawing his sword as he ran, obviously hoping to escape before the fracas penetrated into the building.
But he stopped dead in his tracks as the door burst inward, and narrowly missed being knocked off his feet by the force that blew it off its hinges. His blade dropped from numb fingers, clattering on the slate-paved floor. His eyes grew round, and he made a tiny sound as if he were choking. Behind him, Wethes was doing the same.
There were five people standing in the doorway; whether Wethes knew all of them, he didn't know, but Kavin recognized only two.
First in line stood Kethry. Her robes were slightly torn and scorched in one place; she was disheveled, smoke-stained, and dirty. But she was very clearly in control of the situation—and Kavin found himself completely cowed by her blazing eyes.
Behind her was the Shin'a'in Tarma; a sword in one hand, a dagger in the o
ther, and the look of an angry wolf about her. Should Kethry leave anything of him, he had no doubt that his chances of surviving a single candlemark with her were nil.
Next to Tarma stood a young girl in midnight blue festooned with throwing daggers and with a long knife in either hand. She was the only one of the lot not dividing her attention between himself and Wethes. Kavin looked sideways over his shoulder at the banker, and concluded that he would rather not be in Wethes' shoes if that girl were given her way with him; Wethes looked as if he were as frightened of her as of the rest combined.
Behind those three stood a pair of men, one of whom looked vaguely familiar, although Kavin couldn't place him. They took one look at the situation, grinned at each other, sheathed their own weapons, and left, closing what remained of the door behind the three women.
Kavin backed up, feet scuffling on the floor, until he ran into Wethes.
"Surprise, kinsmen," Kethry said. "I am so glad to find you both at home."
The Broken Sword was the scene of general celebration; Hadell had proclaimed that the ale was on the house, in honor of the victory the five had just won. It was a double victory, for not only had they rescued Kethry, but Ikan had that very day gotten them a hearing and a highly favorable verdict from the Council. Wethes was, insofar as his ambitions went, a ruined man. Worse, he was now a laughingstock to the entire city.
"Cat-child, I expected you at least to want him cut up into collops." Justin lounged back precariously in his chair on the hearth, balancing it on two legs. "I can't fathom why you went along with this."
"I wanted to hurt him," the girl replied, trimming her nails with one of her knives. "And I knew after all these years of watching him that there's only two ways to hurt that bastard; to hit his pride or his moneybags. Revenge, they say, is a dish best eaten cold, and I've had three years of cooling."
"And here's to Kethry, who figured how to get both at the same time," Ikan raised his mug in a toast.
Kethry reciprocated. "And to you, who convinced the Council I was worth heeding."
Ikan smiled. "Just calling in a few old debts, that's all. You're the one who did the talking."
"Oh, really? I was under the impression that you did at least half of it."
"Some, maybe. Force of habit, I'm afraid. Too many years of listening to my father. You may know him—Jonis Revelath—"
"Gods, yes, I remember him!" Kethry exclaimed. "He's the legal counsel for half the Fifty!"
"Slightly more than half."
"That must be why you're the one who remembered it's against the law to force any female of the Fifty into any marriage without her consent," Kethry said admiringly. "Ikan, listening to you in there—I was truly impressed. You're clever, you're persuasive, you're a good speaker. Why aren't you..."
"Following in my father's footsteps? Because he's unable to fathom why I am more interested in justice than seeing that every client who hires me gets off without more than a reprimand."
"Which is why the old stick wouldn't defend Wethes for all the gold that bastard threw at him," Justin chuckled, seeing if he could balance the chair on one leg. "Couldn't bear to face his son with Ikan on the side of Good, Truth, and Justice. Well, shieldbrother, going to give up the sword and Fight for Right?" The irony in his voice was so strong it could have been spread on bread and eaten.
"Idiot!" Ikan grinned. "What do you think I am, a dunderhead like you? Swords are safer and usually fairer than the law courts any day!"
"Well, I think you were wonderful," Kethry began.
"I couldn't have done it without you and Cat being so calm and clear. You had an answer for everything they could throw at you."
"Enough!" Tarma growled, throwing apples at all of them. "You were all brilliant. So now Wethes is poorer by a good sum; Cat has enough to set herself up as anything she chooses, we have enough to see us to the Plains, and the entire town knows Wethes isn't potent with anything over the age of twelve. He's been the butt of three dozen jokes that I've heard so far; there are gangs of little boys chanting rude things in front of his house at this moment."
"I've heard three songs about him out on the street, too," Cat interrupted with an evil grin.
"And last of all, Keth's so-called marriage has been declared null. What's left?"
"Kavin?" Justin hazarded. "Are we likely to see any more trouble from him?"
"Well, I saw to it that he's been declared disinherited by the Council for selling his sister. Keth didn't want the name or the old hulk of a house that goes with it, so it's gone to a cadet branch of her family."
"With my blessings; they're very religious, and I think they intend to set up a monastic school in it. As for my brother, when last seen, Kavin was fleeing for his life through the stews with the leader of the Greens in hot pursuit," Kethry replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "I saw him waiting for Kavin outside the Council door, and I was kind enough to pinpoint my brother for him with a ball of mage-light. I believe his intention was to paint Kavin a bright emerald when he caught him."
Justin burst into hearty guffaws—and his chair promptly capsized.
The rest of them collapsed into helpless laughter at the sight of him, looking surprised and indignant, amid the ruins of his chair.
"Well!" he said, crossing his arms and snorting. "There's gratitude for you! That's the last time I ever do any of you a fav—"
Whatever else he was going to say ended in a splutter as Ikan dumped his mug over his head.
"Still set on getting back to the Plains?" Kethry asked into the darkness.
A sigh to her right told her that Tarma wasn't asleep yet. "I have to," came the reluctant answer. "I can't help it. I have to. If you want to stay..."
Kethry heard the unspoken plea behind the words and answered it. "I'm your she'enedra, am I not?"
"But do you really understand what that means?"
"Understand—no. Beginning to understand, yes. You forget, I'm a mage; I'm used to taking internal inventory on a regular basis. I've never had a Talent for Empathy, but now I find myself knowing what you're feeling, even when you're trying to hide it. And you knew the instant I'd been taken, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And now you're being driven home by something you really don't understand."
"Yes."
"Does it have anything to do with that Goddess of yours, do you think?"
"It might; I don't know. We Sworn Ones move mostly to Her will, and it may be She has some reason to want me home. I know She wants Tale'sedrin back as a living Clan."
"And She wants me as part of it."
"She must, or She wouldn't have marked the oathtaking."
Kethry stretched tired muscles, and put her hands under her head. "How much time do you have before you have to be back?"
"Before Tale'sedrin is declared dead? Four years, maybe five. Kethry..."
"It's all right, I told you, I can feel some of what you're feeling now, I understand."
"You're—you're better. I'm—I'm feeling some of what you're feeling, too."
"This whole mess was worth it," Kethry replied slowly, only now beginning to articulate what she'd only sensed. "It really was. My ghosts have been laid to rest. And revenge—great Goddess, I couldn't have hoped for a better revenge! Kavin is terrified of me; he kept expecting me to turn him into a toad, or something. And Wethes is utterly ruined. He's still got his money, but it will never buy him back his reputation. Indirectly, you got me that, Tarma. I finally realized that I would never reach Adept without coming to terms with my past. You forced me into the confrontation I'd never have tried on my own. For that alone I would be indebted to you."
"She'enedran don't have debts."
"I rather figured that. But—I want you to know, I'm going with you because I want to, not because I think that I owe you. I didn't understand what this oath meant at first, but I do now, and I would repeat it any time you asked."
A long silence. Then, "Gestena, she'enedra."
&nbs
p; That meant "thank you," Kethry knew—thanks, and a great deal more than thanks.
"Yai se corthu," she replied uncertainly. "Two are one." For she suddenly felt all Tarma's loneliness and her own as well, and in the darkness of the night it is sometimes possible to say things that are too intense and too true for daylight.
"Yai se corthu." And a hand came from the darkness to take hers.
It was enough.
Four
"Tarma, we've been riding for weeks, and I still haven't seen any sign that this country is going to turn into grass-plains," Kethry complained, shifting uncomfortably in Rodi's saddle. "Brush-hills, yes. Near-desert, certainly. Forest, ye gods! I've seen more trees than I ever want to see again!"
"What's wrong with forest, other than that you can't do a straight-line gallop or get a clear shot at anything, that is?"
Kethry gazed in all directions, and then glanced up to where branches cut off every scrap of sky overhead. Huge evergreens loomed wherever she looked; the only sunlight came from those few beams that managed to penetrate the canopy of needles. It seemed as if she'd been breathing resin forever, the smell clung to everything; clothing, hair—it even got into the food. It wasn't unpleasant; the opposite, in fact, especially after they'd first penetrated the edges of the forest after days of fighting a dusty wind. But after days of eating, drinking, and breathing the everlasting odor of pine, she was heartily tired of it.
It was chilly and damp on the forest floor, and lonely. Kethry hadn't seen a bird in days, for they were all up where the sun was. She could hear them calling, but the echoes of their far-off singing only made the empty corridors between the tree trunks seem more desolate. This forest had to be incredibly ancient, the oldest living thing she'd ever seen, perhaps. Certainly the trees were larger than any she was familiar with. They towered for yards before branching out, and in the case of a few giants she had noticed, their trunks were so large that several adults could have circled the biggest of them with their arms without touching hand to hand. The road they followed now was hardly more than a goat track; the last person they had seen had been two weeks ago, and since that time they'd only had each other's voices to listen to.
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