Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "It did?" Tarma asked, eyebrows arching toward her hairline, as Jadrek and Roald approached with avid curiosity plain on their faces.

  "I'll prove it to you." Kethry cupped her hands together, concentrating on the space enclosed there. When the little wisp of roseate force she called into her hands had finished whirling and settled into a steady glow, she began whispering to it, telling it gently what she asked of it in the ancient language of the White Winds sorcerers.

  While she chanted, Stefansen and Mertis joined the little group, surrounding Kethry on all sides. She just smiled and nodded, and continued whispering to her sorcerous "captive."

  Then she let it go, with joy, as a child releases a butterfly, and no longer with the wrench of effort the illusion-spell used to cause her. She was an Adept now, and forces that she had been incapable of reaching were hers to command from this moment on. Not carelessly, no—and not casually—but never again, unless she chose to, would she need to exhaust her own strength to cast a spell. With such energies at her command, the illusion-spell was as easy as lighting a candle.

  The faintly glowing globe floated toward Tarma, who watched it with eyes gone round in surprise. The Shin'a'in's eyes followed it, although the rest of her remained absolutely motionless, as the powerglobe rose over her head.

  Then it thinned into a faint, rosy mist, and settled over the swordswoman like a veil.

  The veil clung to her for a moment, hiding everything but a vague shape within its glowing, cloudy interior. Then it was gone.

  And where Tarma had been, there stood a young man, of no recognizable racial type. He had a harsh, stubborn, unshaven face, marked with two scars, one running from his right cheek to his chin, the other across his left cheek. His nose had been broken in several places, and had not healed straight at any time. His hair was dirty brown, shoulderlength, and curled; his eyes were muddy green. He was at least a handsbreadth taller than Tarma had been, and correspondingly broader in the shoulders. And that was a new thing indeed, for before this Kethry had never been able to change size or general shape in her illusion spells. Even Tarma's clothing had changed, from her Shin'a'in Kal'enedral silks, to rough homespun and tattered leather. The only similarity between Tarma and this man was that both carried their swords slung across their backs.

  "Bright Havens," breathed Roald. "How did you do that?"

  Tarma studied her hands and arms, wonder in her un-Tarmalike eyes. Tiny scars made a lacework of white across the hands and as far up the arms as could be seen beneath the homespun sleeves. They were broad, strong hands, and as dissimilar to Tarma's fine-boned, long ones as could be imagined.

  Kethry smiled. "Magic," she said.

  "And how do you keep Char's mages from seeing that magic?" Stephansen asked.

  Kethry just smiled a little more. "What else? More magic. The spell only an Adept can control, the spell that makes magic undetectable and invisible even to the best mage-sight."

  Tarma was back to looking like herself again, and feeling a good deal happier as a result, as they rode out the next morning. Jadrek had his own horse now, a gentle palfrey that had belonged to Mertis, a sweet-tempered bay gelding with a gait as comfortable as any beast Tarma had ever encountered. He also had some better medicines; more effective and far less dangerous than his old, courtesy of a Valdemaren Healer Roald brought to the lodge himself after Jadrek had had a particularly bad night.

  Kethry had augmented the protection of his traveling cloak with another spell she had not been able to cast until she reached Adept level. Jadrek would ride warm now no matter what the weather.

  Tarma had turned down Kethry's offer to do the same for her; she wanted no spells on her that might betray her to a magic-sniffing mage if she needed to go scouting. But Roald had managed to round up enough cold-weather gear for all of them to keep them protected even without spellcasting. They were far better prepared this time for their journey as they rode away from the lodge on a clear, sparkling dawn just before Midwinter.

  They felt—and to some extent, acted—like adolescents on holiday. If the weather turned sour, they simply put up their little tent, Kethry cast a jesto-vath on it, and they whiled away the time talking. When the weather was fair, while they never completely dropped vigilance, they tended to rely mostly on Warrl's senses while they enjoyed the view and the company. Beneath their ease was the knowledge that this "holiday" would be coming to an end once they broke out of the Comb, and there was a definite edge of "cherish the moment while you have it" to their cheer.

  An ice storm had descended on them, but you'd never have known it inside their little tent. Outside the wind howled—inside it was as warm as spring sunshine. This was a far cry from the misery of their earlier journey on this same path.

  Jadrek was still not capable of sitting cross-legged on the tent floor the way the two women were doing, but they'd given him more than enough room to stretch out, and the bedrolls and packs to use as cushioning and props, and he was reasonably comfortable.

  Better than I've been in ages, he thought wonderingly. Better than—than since I took that fever as a child, and started having trouble with my poor bones afterward. That's been twenty, almost thirty years....

  He watched his quest companions through slitted, sleepy eyes, marveling how close he had come to them in the space of a few short weeks. Tarma—the strong arm, so utterly without a conscience when it comes to certain choices. Brave, Lady bless, braver than anyone I could have imagined. As honor-bound as anyone I know. The outside, so cold—the inside, so warm, so caring. I'm not surprised, really, that once she and Roald got the measure of each other, they hit it off so well that they began calling each other "Darksib" and "Brightsib." There's a great deal about her that is like the Heralds I've known.

  The kyree at Tarma's back sighed, and flicked his tail.

  Warrl—if for no other reason than to have come to know something about his kind, I'd treasure this quest. If all kyree are like him, I don't wonder that they have little to do with humankind. There aren't many around like Tarma, and I can't imagine Warrl mind-mating to anyone that didn't have her sense of honor and her profound compassion.

  Kethry was unbraiding and combing out her amber hair; it caught the light of the jesto-vath on the tent walls and glowed with the warmth of a young sun. Jadrek felt his heart squeeze. Keth, Kethry, Kethryveris—lady, lady, how is it you make me feel like a stripling again? And I have no hope, no right to feel this way about you. When this mad scheme of ours is over, some stalwart young warrior will come, and your eyes and heart will kindle, and he'll carry you off. And I'll never see you again. Why should you find a mind attractive enough to put up with a crippled, aging body? I'm half again your age—why is it that when we're talking you make me feel no age at all? Or every age? How is it that you challenge my mind as well as my heart? How did you make me come alive again?

  He stifled a sigh. Enjoy it while it lasts, old man, he told himself, trying not to be too bitter about it. The end is coming all too soon.

  As it happened, the end came sooner than they had anticipated.

  Kethry frowned, and broke off her teasing in mid-sentence.

  "Keth?" Tarma asked, giving Ironheart the signal to slow.

  "There's—oh Windborn! I thought I'd thrown that bastard off!" Kethry looked angry—and frightened. A gust of wind pulled her hood off and she didn't even bother to replace it.

  "The mage," Tarma guessed, as Jadrek brought his horse up alongside theirs.

  "The mage. He's better than I thought. He's waiting for us, right where the path breaks out of the hills."

  "Ambush?"

  Kethry frowned again, and closed her eyes, searching the site with mage-senses. "No," she said finally. "No, I don't think so. He's just—waiting. In the open. And he's got all his defenses up. He's challenging me."

  Tarma swore. "And no way past him, as he probably damn well knows."

  Kethry looked at her soberly, reining in Hellsbane.

  "She'enedra, y
ou aren't going to like this—"

  "Probably not; what if we charge him? You mages seem to have a problem with physical opposition to magical defenses."

  "On that narrow path? He could take us all. And in no way are we going to be able to sneak past him, not with Jadrek. I'm going to have to challenge him to a duel arcane."

  "What?"

  "He's an Adept, I can tell that from here. If I issue Adept's challenge he'll have to answer it, or lose his status."

  "And you've been Adept how long? He'll eat you for lunch!"

  "Better he eats me alone than all of us. We can't just think of ourselves now, Stefan is depending on us. If—Tarma, he won't take me without a fight, and if I go down, it won't be alone. You can find another mage to disguise you. Once we get into Rethwellan, I become the superfluous member of the party."

  "You're not going down!" Tarma choked, as Jadrek tightened his mouth into a thin line.

  "I don't plan on it," Kethry said wryly. "I'm just telling you what to do if it happens. Contract, my love."

  Tarma's face went cold and expressionless; her heart stopped. "This is professional, right?" They lived by the mercenary code and would die by it, probably—and by that code, you didn't argue with the terms or the contract once you'd agreed to it.

  Kethry nodded. "This is the job we've contracted for. We're not being paid in money—"

  "But we've got to do our jobs." Tarma nodded. "You win. I stopped trying to keep you wrapped in wool a long time ago; I'm not going to start up again. Let's do it." And she kicked Ironheart into a canter, with Kethry, Warrl and Jadrek following behind.

  I've got to do this, Kethry thought, countering her fear with determination. If I don't, he'll kill them. I might escape, but I could never shield all four of us, not even at Adept level. I haven't tapped into enough of the shielding spells to know how, yet. But he doesn't know I'm Adept, and there aren't that many White Winds mages around. I might well be able to surprise him with a trick or two.

  She kicked Hellsbane and sent her galloping past Tarma, up the slope of the barren hill before them, knowing that she would have to reach the waiting magician first and issue her challenge before he caught sight of the others. Otherwise he would blast first, and ask questions after.

  Her move took both Tarma and the mage by surprise, for she was able to top the rise and send up the challenge signal before either Tarma or her foe had a chance to react.

  The mage waiting below her was one of the ones she'd seen wandering about Raschar's court; a thin man, dark of hair and eye. He was clean-shaven, which made it all the easier to note his sardonic expression, and he wore his hair loose and shoulder length. Now he wore his mage-robes; whatever his school was, it was one Kethry didn't recognize. The robes were a dull red, and banded and embroidered in dark brown. Like hers, they were split front and back for ease in riding. The chestnut gelding he straddled appeared tired and drained, and stood quietly with head down as he sat with his reins loose.

  "A challenge?" he called incredulously. "You'd challenge me? Why in the Names of the Seven should I even bother with you, girl?"

  As answer, she called up her Adept Manifestation. From her body rose the misty golden form of a hawk, twenty feet tall, with fiery wings; a hawk that mantled at him and opened its beak in a silent screech of defiance. "I challenge you, Adept to Adept," she called coldly. "You will answer such a challenge; you have no choice."

  He called up his Manifestation; a winged snake, with scales and wing membranes that glistened in shades of green and blue. Calling it was his formal answer to her formal challenge; now they were both bound to the duel. "You're a fool, you know that," he said matter-of-factly, dismounting, and letting his Manifestation fade away. "You can't have been an Adept for very long; I've been one for ten years. You can't hope to beat me."

  By this time Tarma, Jadrek and Warrl had reached her on the crest of the hill. Kethry unbuckled Need, feeling strangely naked without the blade, and passed her to Tarma. "Hold her for me. Nothing's allowed in the circle but ourselves," she said, watching as the other mage took up a stand near the center of the tiny, barren, windswept valley and put up his half of the magical dome that would only be dispelled by the death or defeat of one of them. Then she allowed her Manifestation to dissipate, and leapt down from Hellsbane's saddle, striding purposefully to take her stand opposite him. "That remains to be seen," she answered him, locking all emotion down, and replying with absolute calm. "So—let it begin!"

  With those words, the dome of mage-power sealed, leaving the others helpless witnesses outside.

  For a long moment, the combatants stood, simply watching each other. Tarma took advantage of the lull to order Jadrek to station himself and Warrl on the dividing line between the two mages, and on the side of the dome opposite hers. "Warrl has some tricks—I expect you might, too," she said distantly, trying to think like a mage. "I don't trust this bastard not to cheat. Well, Keth won't either; I don't doubt she's expecting something. But if anything should happen—"

  "I'll do what I can," Jadrek promised anxiously, taking out his little bag of herbs and salt from his pocket, then replacing it. "It—it isn't likely to be much, but—"

  "Jadrek, I've seen a slung stone bring down a king." She frowned in thought. "We should split up; if something does go bad, you and Warrl go for Keth, I'll go for the mage. He can't know how Need works, he can't know that in my hands she protects from sorcery. I'll be safe from anything he can throw, and I'll keep him off your tail. Now, quick, before they start to do anything—"

  He limped to the opposite side of the dome; Tarma could see him dimly through the red energy-haze. Warrl crouched beside him, ready to spring in an instant.

  Tarma unsheathed the bespelled sword called Need and took her own stance; blade point down in the earth, both of her hands resting on the pommel, feet slightly apart. She was ready.

  Just in time, for within the dome of hazy red, the battle was joined in earnest.

  From the body of the stranger came a man-sized version of his Manifestation, flying upward to the top of the dome; Kethry's met it halfway. Serpent struck at hawk and was deflected; hawk tried to seize serpent in its talons, but the serpent wriggled free, then the snake tried to wrap itself around the hawk's body and neck. The hawk struck with beak and talon; the serpent let go. Both buffeted each other with punishing wing-blows. The battle rained glowing scales, feathers, and droplets of fluid, all of which vanished before they touched the ground.

  Both Manifestations froze for an instant, then plummeted groundward; hawk with eyes glazing and fang marks in its chest, serpent with one wing ripped from its body.

  Both thinned to mist and were gone before either struck the ground. Round one: a draw, Tarma thought to herself, shifting her weight to relieve muscles that had tensed, and feeling a tiny pebble roll out from under her foot.

  Within the dome appeared two smaller domes, each covering a mage. Then all the fury of all the lightning storms Tarma had ever witnessed rolled into one broke loose within the greater dome. Lightning struck again and again on the two shields, seeking weak spots; it crawled over the surface of the little domes or rolled itself into balls that circled the perimeters without finding entrance. And all in complete silence; that was the truly frightening and eerie part. Tarma's eyes were dazzled to the point of having trouble seeing when the lightning finally died to nothing, and the lesser domes vanished. As Tarma blinked away the spots interfering with her vision, she tried to assess the condition of both Kethry and her erstwhile rival. They both seemed equally tired.

  Round two; another draw.

  Kethry might have looked tired, but she also looked slightly pleased. Maybe a draw is good—Warrior bless, I hope so—

  Even more encouraging, the other mage looked slightly worried.

  Kethry initiated the next round; throwing (literally) daggers of light at the red-robed sorcerer, daggers which he had to deflect, dodge, or absorb. He returned in kind, but he was not as good in this contest
as Kethry; his blades tended to go awry. Hers never failed to reach their mark, and frequently hit.

  Where they hit, they left real wounds, wounds that smoked and bled. The red mage managed to keep from being hit anywhere vital, but the daggers were taking a steady toll.

  After being hit one too many times, he suddenly threw up his hands, and a wall of flame sprang up in front of him, a wall that devoured the daggers when they reached it.

  The fire grew until it reached the top of the dome, cutting him off from Kethry. Arms of flame began to lick from the wall, reaching toward her.

  Fighting fire with fire might not work, here, Keth, Tarma thought, biting her lip a little. You could both end up scorched by your own powers—

  But Kethry chose not to fight with fire, but with air; a whirlwind, a man-high tornado of milky white sprang up in front of her, sucking in those reaching arms of flame. And every time it ate one of those arms, it grew a little larger. Finally, it reached nearly to the top of the dome—and it began to move on the red-robed mage and his fiery protective wall.

  Star-Eyed! If it got bigger just by eating a couple of licks of flame, what'll it do when it hits the fire-mother?

  Evidently the same thought occurred to the mage, for his eyes had gone white-rimmed with panic. He backed into the restraining wall of the protective dome, then began shouting and waving his hands wildly.

  And a twice-man-sized thing rose from the barren earth behind Kethry.

  No—oh no—that bastard, he had that thing hidden there; he's had this planned from the start! Tarma recognized the krakash, the mage-construct, from Jadrek's descriptions. She started to sprint for the edge of the dome, even knowing she wouldn't be able to pass it.

  Kethry turned to meet it, first making frantic motions with her hands, then groping for a blade she did not have. The thing reached for her with the two upper arms, missing, but raking her from neck to knee with its outsized talons. She collapsed, clutching herself with pain; it seized her as she fell with the lower two of its four arms. It lifted her as she fought to get free—and broke her back across its knee, as a man would break a dry branch.