"No!"
Tarma heard her own voice, crying the word in anguish, but it didn't seem to belong to her.
The whirlwind died to a stirring of dust on the ground; the dome thinned to red mist, and vanished.
Tarma's mind and heart were paralyzed, but her body was not. She reacted to the disaster as she had planned, charging the mage at a dead run, while Jadrek sprinted fearlessly for the thing.
The startled wizard saw her coming, and threw blasts of pure energy at her—spheres of blinding ball-lightning which traveled unerringly toward her, hit, and did nothing, leaving not even a tingle behind as they dissipated. The mage had just enough time to realize that she was protected before she reached him.
While part of her sobbed with anguish, another part of her coolly calculated, and brought Need about in a shining, swift arc, as she allowed her momentum to carry her past him. She saw his eyes, filled with fear, saw his hands come up in a futile attempt to deflect the sword—then felt the shock along the blade as she neatly beheaded him, a tiny trail of blood-droplets streaming behind the point of the sword as it finished its arc.
Before his body had hit the ground she whirled and made for Jadrek, cursing the fate that had placed mage and construct so many paces apart. The old man hadn't a chance.
As she ran, she could see that the Archivist had something in his hands. He ducked under the grasp of the horrid creature's upper two arms with an agility Tarma never dreamed to see in him. And with the courage she had known he possessed, came up in the thing's face, casting one handful of powder into its eyes and the second into its mouth.
The thing emitted a shriek that pierced Tarma's ears—
Then it crumbled into a heap of dry earth before she had made more than a dozen steps in its direction. As it disintegrated, it dropped Kethry into the brown dust like a broken, discarded toy.
Tarma flung herself down on her knees at Kethry's side, and tried to stop the blood running from the gashes the thing's talons had left. Uselessly—for Kethry was dying even as she and the Archivist knelt in the dust beside her.
Jadrek made a choking sound, and took Kethry into his arms, heedless of the blood and filth.
Tarma rumbled the hilt of Need into her hands, but it only slowed the inevitable. Need could not mend a shattered spine, nor could she Heal such ghastly wounds; all the blade could do was block the pain. It was only a matter of time—measured in moments—before the end.
"Well..." the mage whispered, as Jadrek supported her head and shoulders in his arms, silent tears pouring from his eyes, and sobs shaking his shoulders. "I... always figured... I'd never... die in bed."
Tarma clenched both of her hands around the limp ones on Need's hilt, fiercely willing the blade to do what she knew in her heart it could not. "Damn it, Keth—you can't just walk out on us this way! You can't just die on us! We—" she could not say more for the tears that choked her own throat.
"Keth—please don't; I'll do anything, take my life, only please don't die—" Jadrek choked out, frantically.
"Don't... have much choice..." Kethry breathed, her eyes glazing with shock, her life pumping out into the dust. "Be brave... she'enedra... finish the contract. Then go home... make Tale'sedrin live... without me."
"No!" Tarma cried, her eyes half-blind with tears. "No!" she wrenched her hands away, leaping to her feet. "It's not going to end this way! Not while I'm Kal'enedral! By the Warrior, I swear NO!"
Thrusting a blood-drenched fist at the sky, she summoned all the power that was hers as Kal'enedral, as priestess, as Swordsworn warrior—power she had never taken, never used. She flung back her head, and screamed a name into the uncaring, gray sky, a name that tore her throat even as her heart was torn.
The Warrior's Greater Name—
The harsh syllables of the Name echoed and reechoed, driving her several paces backward, then sending her to her knees in the dust. Then—silence. Silence as broodingly powerful as that in the eye of the hurricane. Tarma looked up, her heart cold within her. For a moment, nothing changed.
Then everything ceased; time stopped. The very tears on Jadrek's cheeks froze in their tracks. Sound died, the dust on the breeze hung suspended in little immobilized eddies.
Tarma alone could move; she got to her feet, and waited for Her—to learn what price she would be asked to pay for the gift of Kethry's life.
A single shaft of pure, white light lanced into the ground, practically at Tarma's feet, accompanied by an earsplitting shriek of tortured air. Tarma did not turn her eyes away, though the light nearly blinded her and left her able to see nothing but white mist for long moments. When the mist cleared from her vision, She was standing where the light had been, Her face utterly still and expressionless, Her eyes telling Tarma nothing.
They faced one another in silence for long moments, the Goddess and her votary. Then She spoke, Her voice still melodious; but this time, the music was a lament.
*That you call My Name can mean only that you seek a life, jel'enedra,* She said. *The giving of a life—not the taking.*
"As is my right as Kal'enedral," Tarma replied, quietly.
*As is your right,* She agreed. *As it is My right to ask a sacrifice of you for that life.*
Now Tarma bowed her head and closed her eyes upon her tears, for she could not bear to look upon that face, nor to see the shattered wreck that had been her dearest friend lying beyond. "Anything," she whispered around the anguish.
*Your own life? The future of Tale'sedrin? Would you release Kethry from her vow if I demanded it and have Tale'sedrin become a Dead Clan?*
"Anything." Tarma defiantly raised her head again, and spoke directly to those star-strewn eyes, pulling each of her words out of the pain that filled her heart. "Keth—she's worth more to me than anything. Ask anything of me; take my body, make me a cripple, take my Fife, even make Tale'sedrin a Dead Clan, it doesn't matter. Because without Kethry to share it, none of that has any meaning for me."
She was weeping now for the first time in years; mostly when she hurt, she just swallowed the tears and the pain, and forced herself to show an impassive face to the world. Not now. The tears scalded her cheeks like hot oil; she let them.
*Do you, Kal'enedral, feel so deeply, then?*
Tarma could only nod.
*It—is well,* came the surprising answer. *And what price your obedience?*
"I put no price on obedience, I will serve You faithfully, Lady, as I always have. Only let Kethry live, and let her thrive and perhaps find love—and most of all, be free. That's worth anything You could ask of me."
The Warrior regarded her thoughtfully for an eternity, measuring, weighing.
Then—She laughed—
And as Tarma stared in benumbed shock. She held out Her hands, palm outward, one palm facing Tarma, one Kethry. Bolts of blinding white light, like Kethry's daggers of power, leaped from Her hands to Tarma, and to the mage still cradled in Jadrek's arms.
Or, possibly, to the ensorcelled blade still clasped in the mage's hands.
Tarma did not have much chance to see which, for the dagger of light hit her full in the chest, and suddenly she couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't breathe. She felt as if a giant hand had picked her up, and was squeezing the life out other. She was blind, deaf, dumb, and made of nothing but excruciating pain—
Only let Keth live—only let her live—and it's worth any price, any pain—
Then she was on her hands and knees, panting with an agony that had left her in the blink of an eye—half-sprawled in the cold dust of the valley.
While beside her, a white-faced Jadrek cradled a dazed, shocked—and completely Healed—Kethry. Only the tattered wreckage of her traveling leathers and the blood pooled beneath her showed that it had not all been some kind of nightmare.
As Tarma stared, still too numb to move, she could hear the jubilant voice of the Warrior singing in her mind.
*It is well that you have opened your heart to the world again, My Sword. My Kal'enedr
al were meant to be without desire, not without feeling. Remember this always: to have something, sometimes you must be willing to lose it. Love must live free, jel'enedra. Love must ever live free.*
Ten
Jadrek blinked, trying to force what he had just witnessed into some semblance of sense. He was mortally confused.
One moment, Kethry is dying; there is no chance anyone other than a god could survive her injuries. Then Tarma stands up and shrieks something in Shin'a'in—and—
Kethry stirred groggily in his arms; he flushed, released her, and helped her to sit up, trying not to stare at the flesh showing through the rents in her leather riding clothing—flesh that had been lacerated a moment ago.
"What... happened?" she asked weakly, eyes dazed.
"I don't really know," he confessed. And thinking: Tarma was here, and now she's over there and I didn't see her move, I know I didn't! Am I going mad?
Tarma got slowly to her feet, wavering like a drunk, and staggered over to them; she looked drained to exhaustion, her face was lined with pain and there were purplish circles beneath her eyes. It looked to Jadrek as if she was about to collapse at any moment.
For that matter, Keth looks the same, if not worse—what am I thinking? Anything is better than being a heartbeat away from death!
Tarma fell heavily to her knees beside them, scrubbing away the tears still marking her cheeks with the back of a dirty hand, and leaving dirt smudges behind. She reached out gently with the same hand, and patted Kethry's cheek. The hand she used was shaking, and with the other arm she was bracing herself upright. "It's all right," she sighed, her voice sounding raw and worn to a thread. "It's all right. I did something—and it worked. Don't ask what. Bright Star, I am tired to death!"
She collapsed into something vaguely like a sitting position right there in the dust beside them, head hanging; she leaned on both arms, breathing as heavily as if she had just run an endurance race.
Kethry tried to move, to get to her feet, and fell right back into Jadrek's willing embrace again. She held out her hand, and watched with an expression of confused fascination as it shook so hard she wouldn't have been able to hold a cup of water without losing half the contents.
"I feel awful—but—" she said, looking down at the shreds of her tunic with astonishment and utter bewilderment. "How did you—"
"I said don't ask," Tarma replied, interrupting her. "I can't talk about it. Later, maybe—not now. It—put me through more than I expected. Jadrek, my friend—"
"Yes?"
"I'm about as much use as a week-old kitten, and Keth's worse off than I am. I'm afraid that for once you're going to get to play man of muscle."
She looked aside at him, and managed to muster up a half grin. There wasn't much of it, and it was so tired it touched his heart with pity, but it was real, and that comforted him.
Whatever has happened, she knows exactly what she's doing, and it will be all right.
"Tell me what you want me to do," he said, trying to sound just as confident.
:There's still myself,: Warrl's dry voice echoed in their thoughts. :I have no hands, but I can be of some help.:
"Right you are, Furface. Oh gods," Tarma groaned as she got back up to her knees, and took Kethry's chin in her hand, tilting it up into the light. Jadrek could see that Kethry's pupils were dilated, and that she wasn't truly seeing anything. "What I thought—Keth, you're shocky. Fight it, love. Jadrek and Warrl are going to find some place for us to hole up for a while." Tarma transferred her hold to Kethry's shoulder and shook her gently. "Answer me, Keth."
"Gods—" Kethry replied, distantly. "And sleep?"
"As soon as we can. Fight, she'enedra."
"I'll... try."
"Warrl, get the horses over here, would you? Jadrek, you're going to have to help Keth mount. She's got no more bones right now than a sponge." He started to protest, but she cut him off with a weary wave of her hand. "Not to worry, our ladies are battlemares and they know the drill. I'll get them to lie down, you watch what I do, then give Keth a hand, and steady her as they get up. No lifting, just balancing. Hai?"
"As long as I'm not going to have to fling her into the saddle," he replied, relieved, "I don't see any problem."
"Good man," she approved. "Next thing—Warrl will go looking for shelter; I want something more substantial than the tent around us tonight. You'll have to stay with us, keep Keth in her seat. I'll be all right, I've ridden semiconscious for miles when I've had to. When Warrl finds us a hole, you'll have to help us off, and do all the usual camp duties."
"No problem there, either; I'm a lot more trail wise than I was before this trip started." Aye, and sounder in wind and limb, too.
Warrl appeared, the reins of Jadrek's palfrey in his mouth, the two battlemares following without needing to be led. Jadrek watched as Tarma gave her Ironheart a command in Shin'a'in, and was astounded to see the mare carefully fold her long legs beneath her and sink to the dusty ground, positioning herself so that she was lying within an arm's length of the exhausted swordswoman. Tarma managed to clamber into the saddle, winding up kneeling with her legs straddling the mare's back. She gave another command, and the mare slowly lurched to her feet, unbalanced by the weight of the rider, but managing to compensate for it. Tarma glanced over at Jadrek, "Think you can deal with that?"
"I think so."
Tarma repeated her command to Hellsbane; the second mare did exactly as her herd-sister had. Jadrek helped Kethry into the same position Tarma had taken, feeling her shaking from head to toe every time she had to move. Tarma gave the second command, and the mare staggered erect, with Jadrek holding Kethry in the saddle the whole time.
Warrl flicked his tail, and Jadrek felt a wave of approval from the kyree. :I go. packmates. You go on—it were best you removed yourselves from the scene of combat.:
"Spies?" Jadrek asked aloud.
:Possible. Also things that feed on magic, and more ordinary carrion eaters. Shall we take the enemy beast?:
Tarma looked over her shoulder at the weary gelding, which was still where the mage had left it, off to one side of the trail. "I don't think so," she replied after a moment. "It's just short of foundering. Jadrek, could you strip it? Leave the harness, bring anything useful you find in the packs, then let the poor thing run free."
He did as she asked; once free of saddle and bridle the beast seemed to take a little more interest in life and moved off at a very slow walk, heading deeper into the hills. Warrl trotted down the trail, and vanished from sight once past the place where it exited the valley. Jadrek mounted his own palfrey with a grunt of effort, and rode it in close beside Kethry, so that he could steady her from the side.
"You ready, wise brother?" Tarma asked.
"I think so. And not feeling particularly wise."
"Take lead then; my eyes keep fogging. Ironheart knows to follow her sister."
They headed out of the little valley, and the trail became much easier; the hills now rolling rather than craggy, and covered with winter-killed grass. But after a few hundred feet it became obvious that their original plan wasn't going to work. Kethry kept drifting in and out of awareness, and sliding out of her saddle as she lost her hold on the world. Every time she started to fall, Jadrek had to rein in both Hellsbane and his palfrey to keep her from falling over. The gaits and sizes of the two horses just weren't evenly matched enough that he could keep her steady while riding.
He finally pulled up and dismounted, walking stiffly back toward the drooping Shin'a'in. Tarma jerked awake at the sound of his footsteps.
"What? Jadrek?" she said, shaking her head to clear it.
He looked measuringly at her; she looked awake enough to think. "If I tethered Vega's reins to the back of your saddle, would that bother 'Heart?" he asked.
"No, not 't all" Tarma replied, slurring her words a little. "She's led b'fore. Why?"
"Because this isn't going to work; I'm going to put the packs on Vega and ride double with Keth,
the way you carried me up here, only with me keeping her on."
Tarma managed a tired chuckle. "Dunno why I didn' think of that. Too... blamed... tired...."
She dozed off as Jadrek made the transfer of the packs, then put a long lead-rein on Vega's halter and fastened it to the back of Tarma's saddle. He approached Hellsbane with a certain amount of trepidation, but the mare gave him a long sniff, then allowed him to mount in front of Kethry with no interference—although with his stiff joints, swinging his leg over 'Bane's neck instead of her back wasn't something he wanted to repeat if he had any choice. He would have tried to get up behind Kethry, but he wasn't sure he could get her to shift forward enough, and he wasn't certain he'd be able to stick on the battlemare's back if she broke into anything other than a walk. So instead he brought both of Kethry's arms around his waist, and loosely tied her wrists together. She sighed and settled against his shoulder as comfortably as if it were a pillow in her own bed.
He rather enjoyed the feeling of her snuggled up against his back, truth be told.
He nudged Hellsbane into motion again, and they continued on down the trail. The sky stayed gray but showed no signs of breaking into rain or sleet, and there was no hint of a change in the weather on the sterile, dusty air. The horses kept to a sedate walk, Tarma half-slept, and Kethry was so limp he was certain she was completely asleep. It was a little frightening, being the only one of the group still completely functional. He wasn't used to having people rely on him. It was exciting, in an uneasy sort of way, but he wasn't sure that he liked that kind of excitement.
Warrl returned from time to time, always with the disappointing news that he hadn't found anything. Jadrek began to resign himself to either riding all night—and hoping that there wasn't going to be another storm—or trying to put up the tent by himself. But about an hour before sunset, the kyree came trotting back with word that he'd found a shepherd's hut, currently unused. Jadrek set Hellsbane to following him off the track, and Ironheart followed her without Tarma ever waking.
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