Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Kal'enedral warrior of the Shin'a'in Clan of the Hawk, urged her tall gray warsteed a little faster up the backtrail to Kethry's Tower. The mare snorted an objection as she moved from an amble into a running walk; she didn't like taking the back way at night, and she didn't like to be rushed at the end of a journey.
"You're going to like what's coming up even less, old girl," Tarma told the mare, patting her coarse-coated neck. "You only think you're getting a warm stable and a rest. I'm afraid we're going to be turning right back around as soon as we find out what my partner's planning."
:So you're going to follow the girl?: asked a rough voice as familiar to her as her own in the back of her mind, a voice carrying overtones of approval. :Good. I like her; I'd have followed her alone if you'd refused. She has courage.:
"Oh, that, certainly. Lots of guts, not too many brains, but that's the way of things when you're young," Tarma retorted to the shaggy, calf-sized beast trotting along with its head level with her stirrup.
The kyree turned its lupine head up so that his great glowing eyes met hers, and blinked. :Exactly. Reminds me very much of a certain barbarian Shin'a'in I knew many years ago.:
"Barbarian?" Tarma exclaimed, as her mare's ears swiveled back with surprise. "Who's calling who a barbarian? You're the one who eats his meat raw. And fish—blessed Goddess, that's a vile thought."
:Cooking ruins the flavor,: Warrl replied haughtily. :Some of the most civilized beings in the world eat their fish raw.:
"Dear Goddess. No wonder they die young. Yes, I'm going after her. I just want to find out what Keth has in mind for both of us." Tarma reminded her mare with a touch of her heels that she was supposed to be trotting. The mare grunted, and grudgingly increased her speed. "Have you picked up anything more from Keth's mage-alerts down on the Keep?"
:No.: Warrl, creature of the magic-riddled Pelagir Hills, had some mage-abilities of his own; how much, he'd never told Tarma or her partner. He'd been able to throw off magical attacks in the past that would have killed a man. He'd once managed to feign death, pull Tarma out of a demon-sent trance, and smell the presence of mage-energy. He was also able to speak mind-to-mind with Tarma—which meant, she assumed, that he could do so with anyone he chose.
She'd been quite grateful for those abilities in the past, and never more so than tonight. She'd actually been within a couple of leagues of the Tower, returning from her annual visit to Clan Tale'sedrin, when Warrl had sensed the alarms Kethry had placed on the Keep sounding a danger-signal. They'd pushed their pace, knowing Keth was going to need them—only to have Warrl sense the girl riding hell-for-leather straight for the Tower herself. He knew her, of course; he knew all of Kethry's children and grandchildren, whether or not they knew him. He'd played spy for Kethry often enough; Rathgar didn't know of the kyree's existence, and what he didn't know about, he couldn't forbid. Ward's excursions to the Keep were often the only things that kept Kethry from violating her sworn word.
They'd stopped Kerowyn easily enough; even a Shin'a'in-bred horse didn't readily pass something as large and carnivorous as a kyree. Tarma had played a part then; testing her while she and Warrl extracted information from the girl's words and mind. Tarma had sensed the despair in her voice, the fear she had been trying to cover with bravado.
Poor child, the Shin'a'in thought, wishing she was already guarding the "child's" back. Wishing she'd dared to be sympathetic. She wasn't ready for this.
:I'm glad you intercepted her,: the kyree said, evidently following her thoughts. :She still might have tried something like this if she'd been as feather-headed and stuffed full of tales as you accused her of being. If she'd been like her mother—:
"She isn't, Star-Eyed be thanked." Tarma had very little use for Lenore, living or dead. But then, while Lenore had been alive, the antipathy had been mutual. Contempt on Tarma's side, fear mingled with disdain on Lenore's. Warrl teased his mind-mate by calling her a barbarian; Lenore had meant it. "Lenore wouldn't have done anything other than faint, though. And have hysterics. Girl's well rid of that father, though the boy has promise. We'll get her through this one, then we'll see she finds out about her kin and Clan—then she can make up her mind about what she really wants to do with herself."
:Get her through this one first,: the kyree interrupted. :She is brave, and resourceful, but—:
"But, my rump. I did more with less at her age." Tarma said, with more certainty than she felt. She's what, sixteen, seventeen? No real weapons' training? Dear gods, I was trained all my life, then retrained by the leshya'e Kal'enedral—
Uncomfortable thoughts. Best to get all the plans straight, then go see that the girl survived this quest of hers. She nudged the mare again, bringing her up to a canter. The mare knew every pebble of the way from this point, and Tarma didn't want to waste any time getting on Kerowyn's backtrail. Warrl barked once, then put on the wild burst of speed of which his kind was capable, and sprinted ahead of her toward the dark, craggy bulk of the cliff housing the Tower.
When Tarma pulled her mare up at cliff-side, Warrl was nowhere in sight, which meant he'd gone on ahead. :The lady is saddling up,: came his mental call, thinned by rock and distance. :We are in the stable.: Light from a full moon directly overhead showed that the path here curved around the side of what looked to be sheer rock face, heading toward the stair that led to the Tower itself. The rough granite gave lodging-room here only to occasional scrub trees and bushes, and a little moss. There was no sign whatsoever of a stable.
Which was, of course, exactly as Kethry intended.
The mare tossed her head, as Tarma dismounted stiffly, her right hip aching a little from the long ride. It would have been nice if this mess had managed to happen some time next week, she reflected wistfully, trying to flex some mobility back into her legs. Give me a chance to get a hot bath... my own bed for a few nights....
Ah, I'm getting soft in my old age.
As often as she pulled this trick, the mare still balked when it came to going through the hidden entrance. Tarma pulled off the scarf that had held her hair out of her eyes all day, and blindfolded the mare with it.
And walked into the side of the cliff, leading the docile horse.
This trick wouldn't work for just anyone, of course; only those Keth had keyed into the spell. For anyone else, that granite cliff-face wasn't illusion, it was real, and solid enough to climb. Tarma still hadn't made up her mind about it, and like the mare, she didn't much enjoy passing through it. She kept thinking that one day something was going to go wrong, and she'd get stuck halfway through.
Three steps through absolute darkness, then she and her mare emerged into the tunnel that led to the Tower's stables. The tunnel, the stable, and the "door" were the only extravagances Keth permitted herself in the way of magic. The tunnel and stable had been carved from the living rock by magic, and were illuminated by permanent witch-lights. The rock walls of the tunnel were planed and polished until the granite shone like marble, and the yellow globes of witch-lights brightened just ahead of her and dimmed after she had passed. "Austere, but attractive," was what Warrl had called it. It gave Tarma a case of claustrophobia.
Her footsteps and the mare's echoed up and down the tunnel, announcing their arrival. Oddly enough, the Tower—which everyone seemed to think Keth had magicked into place—had already been here when they'd first had their schools at what was now the Keep. Besides the obvious way in, there'd been an escape route down through the cellars. That was what Keth had enlarged into the stables and tunnel, and had concealed with her magic.
The end of the tunnel was considerably brighter than the tunnel itself; Tarma blinked a little when she led the mare out into the stable proper. As Warrl had advised, Kethry was already at work; she'd already saddled her mount and loaded it with packs of medicinal gear. Kethry was no fool; she'd changed into one of her old traveling outfits; knee-length hooded robe and breeches, both of soft, but sturdy beige wool. Now the sorceress had gotten he
r gray warsteed to kneel so that she could mount the mare's saddle. While Tarma might still be able to mount unaided, these days Keth couldn't, and made no pretenses about the fact.
Poor Keth. She moves so gracefully no one ever guesses how much her bones ache.
:We are not what we were, mind-mate,: Warrl acknowledged ruefully. He had flung himself down beside the cool stone wall where he lay panting after his run. Now that he was in the light, he was even more impressive; not even a wolfhound or the grasscats of the Dhorisha Plains could best him for size. He could—and had—snapped a man's leg in half with those formidable jaws.
"Your timing couldn't have been better, she'enedra," the sorceress said, as her mare heaved herself to her feet. "I saw you were almost home when I checked this morning, then when I sensed the trouble in the valley, I checked on you first, and caught your little conversation with Kerowyn." She checked all the fastenings on the packs as she spoke, making sure nothing was going to come loose. "I'm going to the Keep to see what I can do—"
"Don't worry, I just came down here to tell you I'll be playing guardian to the girl," Tarma interrupted. "You didn't have to ask."
"She isn't as helpless as you might think," Kethry said, knotting her long silver hair up on the back of her head and pinning it there securely. She turned her emerald eyes on her partner, and Tarma for once could not read them.
"So?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I—Need woke for her."
Silence. Four daughters, a host of granddaughters and fosterlings—not to mention all the students—not one of which woke even a spark from that piece of tin. Dear and most precious gods. For once the damned thing picked a good time to poke its nose in!
If a sword has a nose.
Tarma took a deep breath, quite well aware that her oathbound sister was waiting for some kind of reaction. "She's neither fighter nor mage. So what's it going to do for her?"
Kethry wheeled her mare and got her head pointed toward the tunnel. "Whatever it has to. Protect her from magic, make her fight like a hellcat. Probably more than that, things I didn't know it could do. All I do know for certain is that with the lives of not one, but two young women depending on it, Need is going to stretch to its limits."
Tarma considered that for a moment. "In that case, I'd better get on my way. And young Lordan isn't getting any better for you standing there."
When Kethry didn't move, Tarma frowned. "There's something you're not telling me."
The sorceress grimaced. "I think Rathgar was betrayed. I told Kero that whoever hired the mage and the bandits to pull this raid was probably one of Rathgar's enemies, but I lied to her. I think it was Dierna's uncle. That Reichert bastard."
Tarma blinked—and swore an oath strong enough to make the witch-lights dim for a moment. "It all makes sense, doesn't it—the fact that the raiders knew about the feast tonight and that almost everyone would be unarmed. That they knew where everything was. And that bastard has wanted the Keep since I can't remember when. I didn't like Rathgar, but he deserved better than that."
"'That bastard' probably wouldn't be too upset if Dierna's father happened to die and the collateral lands came to him either," Kethry pointed out grimly. "Basically, I think you'd better stay alert for other surprises—and if you can find anything linking him to this massacre, bring it back."
Tarma nodded. "I'll keep my nose to the ground."
Kethry's troubled eyes cleared, and she urged her horse down the tunnel. "That takes a lot of worry off my mind. I'll go do what I can for Lordan."
"And I'll keep our young swordbearer in one piece." Tarma mounted up, much to the displeasure of her horse, and followed her out into the night. "And may the gods ride with all of us."
Four
The moon was down, but Tarma had no problem following Warrl. Any time she lost him, he'd be sure to set her right with acidic delight. She was far more concerned with her mare's footing in the uncertain light. One false step and the rescue could be ended with a broken foreleg. Shin'a'in-bred horses were damned canny, but accidents could still happen to anyone.
She was glad now she'd left her old mare back with the Clan two years ago, and had taken a younger beast. This was the fourth warsteed to carry the name "Hellsbane," but she was the best so far. Though lazier by nature than the other three, she had keener senses, a superior level of good sense, and an uncanny knack for path-finding.
Warrl was up to his usual high standards; despite a confused trail, he had picked up Kero's track with very little problem. He might be as old as Tarma, but there was nothing wrong with his nose.
I can't imagine how that girl is finding the bandits' trail, though. That had her sorely puzzled. She's a good enough hunter, but not that good, and not by night—
:The sword?: Warrl suggested absently. :Kethry said that we don't know all it can do. We've never seen it in the hands of someone entirely untrained.:
Tarma snarled a little at the thought of the blade that had caused her and her she'enedra so much trouble, and agreed. I'll tell you, Furface, I've never been entirely happy about that blade. It has too much of a mind of its own. Damn thing came awfully close to getting Keth killed a time or two.
:The Hawkbrothers call it a "spirit-sword,": Warrl reminded her, as he stopped at a crossroads to cast around for the scent. :I have often thought it to be more than a geas-blade. But your Star-Eyed bound you two, despite Kethry's previous link to it, so I presume it isn't inimical, only—hmm—stubborn?:
Tarma grimaced at the kyree's choice of words. Maybe. Whatever, I'm glad now that the damn thing does have a mind of its own. The only two females in peril for leagues around are Kero and her brother's bride. There're no women in that bandit group, right?
:I have not scented any,: the kyree confirmed, loping off on the fork to the west.
Tarma urged her horse to follow. Then the goal and the target are clear. There's nothing to confuse the issue. And Kero is going to need all the help she can get.
:We two are not precisely useless.: The path was leading off into the hills, and presently vanished. Warrl continued to follow with his nose along the bare ground, swiftly and silently.
It was as dark as the inside of a cat with the moon down. Tarma relaxed, rested, trusting to the senses of her mount and Warrl.
:Halt.:
Tarma reacted instantly, and so did her mare. She peered into the darkness ahead of her, and could barely make out a moving blot against the lighter expanse of scrub grass and dirt ahead.
What's up? she thought at him. She could not speak mind-to-mind, but he could and did read her thoughts. They'd used that little talent of his on more than one scouting foray.
:Interesting. She dismounted here.: Tarma eased herself down out of her saddle, and winced a little when she put weight on her bad leg. She led the mare up to Warrl as quietly as she could to keep from distracting him. He raised his head and sniffed the breeze just as she got there.
:Fascinating. We are somewhere near the bandits' camp. I can scent smoke and many humans, and weary horses. And old blood, and I think, Dierna. Which means the girl Kerowyn somehow knew they were nearby....:
He put nose to ground again. :The sword, I presume, alerted her. Or possibly is guiding her.:
Or controlling her, Tarma thought sardonically, thinking of times past.
:Perhaps. I think she led her horse off—there—:
Tarma dropped Hellsbane's reins, ground-tethering her, and carefully moved off in the direction Ward's nose pointed. Within a few feet of the trail, behind a low rise, she found a creekbed with a trickle of water running through it, trees on both sides of it. Where the trees were thickest, she found Kero's mare tethered with enough rein that she could eat and drink.
Satisfied—and pleased that the girl had thought to provide for her horse—she tethered Hellsbane there beside the girl's riding mare, and returned to Warrl.
If it's controlling her, she's at least holding her own. Now what? she asked him.
He moved
forward a few feet at a time. :Ah. Here she dropped to hands and knees. A crawling stalk.: He raised his head to look at her. :I would advise the same, based on the strength of the scents.:
Tarma shook her head in admiration. Brightest Goddess—the damned blade is finally doing something right. All right, Furface, let's see what you and I can do about cutting around to the other side of the camp.
Kerowyn halted her horse; she could just barely make out the dirt road ahead, and the fact that this was a crossroads. She stared at the trail and tried to remember what the stories she'd heard had said about her grandmother's geas-blade. There was something about Kethry fighting as if she were a master swordswoman even though she was entirely untrained—which might mean the thing gave her unusual abilities. Could it make one a master tracker, perhaps?
She touched her hand to the hilt, and felt a kind of tingle, as if her hand had a mild case of "pins and needles." There was something there, all right, even if she didn't know what it was.
On the other hand, she wasn't too certain she wanted to find out while she had other options available.
She settled herself carefully in her saddle and opened the protections on her mind. Slowly, this time. The last thing she wanted was to let that slimy thing know she was behind them. She caught a lot of stray thoughts, full of violence and not very clear or coherent; and when she opened her eyes, she found she was facing westward. Very well, then, west it would be.
Each time she lost the trail, she found it again by cautiously lowering her protections, and "listening." But then the road she followed turned into a path, and the path itself dwindled away to nothing, and it was too dark to try and track the bandits by ordinary means.
Now she had no choice. Reluctantly, she eased the blade halfway out of its sheath, and relaxed.
The darkness about her began to lighten, and soon she could see as well as if it was near dawn. For a moment, as she looked around herself in astonishment, she thought she might be having some kind of fit—there were little sparkles of sullen light leading off over the hills. Then she pulled her hand away from the hilt of the sword, and she realized that the little sparkles vanished, as did her ability to see so clearly, the moment her hand left the sword.
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