Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Yellow-green light in the shape of a dagger left his hands; she tried to duck, but the sword wouldn't release her. So she braced herself instinctively, and cold fear froze her from head to toe.

  But nothing happened. The dagger of light vanished as it came within an arm's length of her.

  She blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He threw a magic thing at me. It never touched me. And he expected it to kill me—

  The mage stared in utter disbelief, and backed up a half-dozen steps. That was enough for the sword.

  Kero backed up a step under its direction, and it slashed down across the circle of light, as if it were carving a doorway. A portion of the crimson barrier blacked out immediately.

  The blade sent Kero leaping across that blacked-out section like a maiden leaping the Solstice fires.

  Her jump ended two paces in front of the flat rock, Dierna, and the thing fastened leechlike to Dierna's cheek. Dierna was no longer screaming; she was sprawled across the rock, moaning weakly, as if this creature was stealing all her strength. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed utterly unaware of Kero's presence.

  The sword slashed down again, but it was not aimed at the leech-thing. For one horrible moment, Kero thought it was trying to kill Dierna—but the hilt twisted in her hands and cut between the girl and the leech-cloud, shaving so close to Dierna's face that the blade flicked away a couple of drops of blood from her wounded cheek.

  The mage shouted, something incomprehensible, but angry. The cloud reared back as Dierna came to life and rolled weakly off the rock and out of its way, the strange thing looking more like a leech than ever. Before it could lunge at her and refasten itself to her cheek, Kero had leapt up onto the rock, positioning herself between it and the girl. She slashed at it, cutting nothing, but forcing it to retreat. It glowed an angry sanguine, and seethed at her, the roiling movements within it somehow conveying a cold and deadly rage.

  Behind it, the mage chanted furiously, in some language Kero didn't recognize. She somehow knew that the sword did, though; for the first time she felt something from it—a strange, slow anger, hot as a forge, and heavy as iron.

  Her left hand dropped from the hilt and reached for her dagger at her belt, and threw it.

  The mage held up his hand, and the dagger hit his palm—

  —and bounced, clattering harmlessly to the ground.

  Kero wanted to run, but the sword wouldn't let her. She could only stand there, an easy target. The mage sneered, and raised his hands. They glowed for a moment, a sickly red, then the glow brightened and a spark arced between them. He brought them together over his head, and pointed—and sent a bolt of red lightning, not at her, but into the leech-cloud.

  It writhed, but she somehow had the feeling it was not in pain. Then it solidified further—and doubled in size in a heartbeat, looming up over her.

  The blade's anger rose to consume her, and she shifted her grip from the hilt to the sword-blade itself. She balanced her sword for a moment that way, as if it was, impossibly, nothing more than a giant throwing knife. It didn't seem to weigh any more than her dagger had at that moment.

  Her arm came back, and she threw it, like a spear.

  It flashed across the space between herself and the mage, arrow-straight and point-first. And as the mage stared in surprise, it thudded home in his belly, penetrating halfway to the quillons.

  He gave a strangled cry, staggered forward two steps, and fell, driving it the rest of the way through his body.

  The leech-cloud screamed, somehow inside her mind as well as with a real voice; it seemed to split her skull as completely as any ax-blade.

  Kero dropped to her knees and covered her ears, the scream driving all thoughts except the pain of her head from her mind. But she couldn't look away from the thing, her eyes held by the mesmerizing, pulsating lights within it. The light flickered frantically, wildly; the cloud stretched and thinned, reaching upward, and rose to a height of three men—

  Then it exploded, vanishing, with a roar that dwarfed the explosions earlier.

  Kero blinked dazzled eyes, shaken and numbed, and slowly took her hands away from her ears. There was only silence, the crackling of the fire, and the far-off drum of hoof beats.

  She rose to her feet, shaking so hard she had trouble standing, her knees wobbly. Dear gods, what happened? I can't have killed that thing, can I? She waited for what seemed like half the night, but nothing more happened. Finally she pulled herself together, gathered what was left of her wits, and staggered over to Dierna.

  The girl lay quietly beside the rock, eyes wide and staring, face as white as cream. She blinked, but that was the only movement she made; for a moment Kero was afraid that she might have gone mad; or worse—not that she would have blamed her.

  But when the older girl came into the failing light from the fire, there was sense in her eyes, and she took the hand that Kero offered in both her bound ones, and allowed Kero to pull her into a sitting position.

  "K-K-Kerowyn?" the girl stuttered weakly after a long moment of silence. "Is it r-r-r-really you?"

  "I think so," Kero replied unsteadily, putting one hand to her temple as she looked vaguely around for something to free the girl's wrists. Although the mage's dagger lay nearby, she somehow couldn't bear to touch it. Instead, she retrieved her own knife and used it to cut through the rawhide of Dierna's bonds.

  Once her hands were freed, Dierna clapped her sleeve to her still-bleeding cheek, and began to cry. Kero couldn't tell if she was weeping out of pain, fear, or for her marred cheek.

  Probably all three.

  She started to look for something to use for a bandage, but when she turned around—

  An old woman in a worn leather tunic and armor that fit her as well as the bandits' had fitted poorly appeared out of nowhere between her and the fire.

  Kero shrieked, and stumbled back, and turned to run—and shrieked again when she came face-to-face—literally—with the biggest wolf she'd ever seen in her life.

  Its eyes glowed at her with reflection from the fire, as she groped frantically after weapons she no longer held.

  "Stop that, you little idiot," the old woman said in a grating voice from directly behind her. "We're friends. Obviously."

  That voice—

  She spun around again, just in time to watch the old woman stalk past her toward the body of the mage, the wolf eyeing both of them with every evidence of intelligent interest. The woman surveyed the body for a moment, then leaned over and wrenched her grandmother's sword out of the mage's corpse with a single, efficient jerk. Before Kero could say or do anything, the woman handed it to her, hilt first.

  She took it, stunned, unable to do anything but take it.

  "Clean that," the old woman growled, a frown harsh enough to have frosted glass on her beaky face. "Dammit girl, you know better than that! Don't ever throw your only weapon away! Just because you were lucky once—ah, I'm wasting my time. Take that ninny of a sister-in-law of yours, and get back home."

  And with that, the woman turned on her heel and stalked off to the nearest body, wrenching an arrow out of its back. Kero stood staring dumbly as the wolf jumped down off the rock and joined her.

  It was only then that Kero noticed that they were the only creatures living or moving in the whole camp. And no few of those bodies were slashed across throat or belly. Her work, or that of the sword—in the end, it really didn't matter.

  She couldn't help herself; it was all too much. Her guts rebelled, and this time there was nothing to stop them from having their way. She stumbled toward the rock and leaned against it, heaving wretchedly.

  She expected Dierna to be having her own set of hysterics, but after the first few heaves, as she dropped her grandmother's sword from her nerveless fingers, the girl helped steady her while she lost dinner, lunch, and breakfast—and then even the memory of food. Finally, when her guts quieted down for lack of anything else to bring up, Dierna wiped her sweaty forehead with a d
ust-covered velvet sleeve, and helped her to sit down on the erstwhile altar.

  She looked around for the sword; it was just out of reach. Dierna followed her gaze, and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

  "I'll get it," she said, in a voice hoarse with screaming and crying. "You've done everything else tonight. Never mind that horrid old woman."

  Horrid old—now I remember where I heard that voice before. The old woman. That was the same voice I heard on the road, the old woman that stopped me on the way to the Tower—

  While Dierna picked the sword up with a clumsiness caused mainly by the fact that she was trying not to touch it, and was doing her best to keep it at arm's length away from her, Kero looked around for the old woman.

  She was gone. So was the wolf. And all the usable arrows.

  "Here," Dierna said, thrusting the sword hilt at Kero. She stared at the girl without taking it; that awful, bone-deep gash was healing right before her eyes, faster than Kero had ever seen anything heal before. By the time she had shaken off her surprise to take the blade out of Dierna's reluctant grasp, the wound had sealed shut and was already fading from a thin pink line to practically nothing, leaving not even a scar.

  It Heals? Dearest Agnira, it Heals, too? After turning me into a berserk killer?

  And what was that old woman doing here, anyway?

  The sound of dancing hoof beats made her turn, to see one more surprise in a night full of near-miracles.

  The enormous wolf had returned. In its mouth were the reins of two horses; Kero's, and one she recognized as coming from the Keep stables. Kero's Verenna was sweating with fear, and trembling so hard that she was plainly too frightened to try and escape, but the other beast was so tired it was paying no attention to its unusual "groom."

  The wolf led the horses right up to her, and snorted, which made Verenna grunt and shy. Kero grabbed the ends of the reins dangling from its mouth, and the wolf let go immediately. Verenna jerked her head and tried to bolt, but Kero held her, dropping the sword into the dirt a second time, as the mare rolled her eyes with terror and danced. Finally Kero had to grab her nostrils and pinch them shut, cutting off her air, before she'd calm down.

  She glanced around guiltily as she retrieved the sword a second time, but the old woman was still nowhere in sight. She had the feeling that she'd get a real tongue-lashing if she didn't clean the blade off after all this. And somehow she didn't want that formidable old harridan to unleash the full force of her scorn.

  So how am I going to keep the horses from running off while I clean the damn thing? She looked around for something suitable, and finally wound up improvising hobbles for both horses before tethering them to a bush. She could only hope that would hold; if they bolted, she didn't think the wolf was likely to bring them back a second time.

  By now the sword was encrusted with dirt; Kero had to cut a piece from the bottom of her tunic and use what was left in a stray wineskin to get it clean enough to sheath. The fire was dying down by the time she finished, and she sheathed the blade at her belt and looked for Dierna, again expecting her to be collapsed somewhere, as helpless and incoherent as her two cousins.

  Instead, she saw the girl sorting through a pile of the loot that was part of one of the bandits' dice winnings, turning things over with a stick, and tossing selected items onto a tattered cloak she had spread out to one side.

  "Dierna!" she shouted, and winced when the girl jumped, overbalanced, and fell. She left the horses and walked wearily to give the girl a hand up. "Sorry. But what in the name of the six hells are you doing?"

  The girl's face took on a stubborn expression. "Looking for my wedding presents," she said.

  "You're what?" Kero wasn't sure whether to scream, laugh or cry. She'd been kidnapped, her friends and new relations had been slaughtered, she'd very nearly gone down the gullet of some kind of monster. She lives through all this, and she's looking for a few paltry cups?

  "I'm looking for my wedding presents," the girl repeated. "They're mine, they were given to me, and I—I'm n-n-not going to let these—b-b-beasts have them!"

  Her eyes grew moist, and threatened to spill over, and Kero sensed that she would have hysterics if she were prevented from completing her search. "I saw most of them," she sighed. "Some of these bastards were dicing for them. Here, let me help you—by the way, Lordan's all right, or at least he will be by the time we get back. My grandmother, the Sorceress Kethryveris, said so."

  "Did she?" the girl replied vaguely, fishing a silver plate out of a pile of trash. "That's good; I'm glad we're going to be able to have the wedding after all. Lordan's a very nice boy."

  Kero very nearly choked. That's good? She's happy about the wedding? When my father and brother—

  For one moment Kethry had to hold very still, counting slowly, to avoid losing her temper and killing the girl she'd come to rescue.

  Stop. Don't kill her. She doesn't realize how she sounds. And don't tell her what you think of her, it isn't going to do any good to shout at the girl. Lordan's the next thing to a stranger, she hasn't known him very long—what, a week or so? And if she didn't marry him, they'd have found another husband for her within a couple of months. Probably not as good-looking or personable, certainly not as young, but equally a stranger—Dear Goddess, that could have been me.

  No wonder she wants her wedding presents more; they're all she really has. The only things she really owns. She doesn't even own herself.

  Kero found the last of the set of silver wine cups they were looking for, dented, but still recognizable, and threw it onto the blanket. Dierna looked up then, and the threatened tears did start to fall, as she ran to Kero and threw her arms around her neck. Kerowyn held her awkwardly, as she sobbed into the older girl's shoulder.

  "K-Kerowyn, I thought they were going to k-kill me!" Dierna cried. "I thought no one was going to come in time! Y-you were w-w-wonderful—"

  She went on in that vein for quite a while. Poor baby. Poor baby. Kerowyn just patted her gingerly on the back until the flood subsided, then coaxed her to the side of the spare horse and secured the blanket full of loot to the back of the saddle. The horse was so tired it didn't even object to the noisy bundle.

  "Where's the knee-rest?" Dierna asked, trying to find the kind of accoutrements she was used to on a saddle.

  "There isn't one," Kero replied, hauling herself up onto Verenna's back. "You're going to have to ride like me."

  "Like—but—" Dierna paled, then her lower lip started to quiver. "But—but—I can't! It isn't—my dress—it's not womanly!"

  Kero closed her eyes, and begged Agnira for patience. "Your dress is ruined," she pointed out. "Besides, no one expects to see you alive, Dierna. Nobody is going to notice that you're riding astride. Now just slit your dress and let's get out of here before one of those bastards comes back."

  And when Dierna hesitated, with the little knife Kero had handed her dangling loosely from her fingers, Kero added, "That leech-thing might not be dead, you know."

  The girl squeaked; slit the skirt of her dress so that she could swing her leg over the saddle and get her foot into the stirrup, and mounted with all the haste Kero could have wanted.

  Blessed Agnira, spare me from "womanly," if this is what it is, she thought, making the words an unconscious prayer as she took the reins of Dierna's horse to lead it behind her own. Just—spare me.

  Five

  :So what do you think of the girl now?: Warrl asked conversationally, as Tarma sorted through the scattered piles of the bandits' belongings.

  "I'm pretty impressed," the Shin'a'in admitted, as she squatted on her heels, emptying out a belt-pouch, and separating copper from silver. Not that there was much of the former, and of the latter there was even less, but Tarma was a thrifty soul, and young Lordan was going to need all the help he could get. He was going to have to pay for enough mercenaries to keep his neighbors from getting ideas about annexing his property to theirs. That took ready cash, and silver and copper
spent as readily as gold.

  "I think I have a fair notion how much of what went on was the damn sword's doing, and how much was the girl's," she continued, pouring the coppers into a large leather pouch that had been a wineskin a few moments ago. "She's got a few brains besides the guts."

  :Unlike a certain barbarian nomad I once knew.: Warrl chortled; Tarma simply ignored him, and moved on to a pile of looted wedding gifts the girls had overlooked. Of course, it had been under one of the men Tarma had shot, which might be why they'd overlooked it....

  She shook her head over a blood-soaked silk cloak. Too bad; that's one wedding present ruined past anyone using it. She tossed it onto the fire. "I never claimed to have much in the way of brains when I was younger. Now—well, I'd rather do things with a minimum of effort, and that takes planning. That was good work with the horses, Furface."

  :Thank you. And you displayed your customary efficiency with the sentries.: Warrl nosed something out of the dirt, and batted a shiny little gold pendant toward his mind-mate with his paw. She snatched it up adroitly and dropped it into the appropriate pouch.

  "You must be planning something rude; you're complimenting me," she teased him, stripping the body at her feet of everything useful, and tossing various items on the appropriate piles. "I'll tell you though, I had a bad moment back there, when the mage started that blood-rite. I thought that stupid sword would take the girl over and turn her into a nice juicy target before we had a chance to start distracting them."

  :You didn't think it knew what we were doing?: Warrl dragged a set of saddlebags over to the fire so that Tarma could rummage through them, then stood beside her, head cocked to one side, watching her work with absent curiosity.

  "I've never known what that sword noticed or didn't notice," the Shin'a'in admitted. "I know the damn thing's amazing when it wants to be—but I don't think even Keth has ever figured it out, and she's Adept-class. All we know for sure is that it Heals, it gives a mage fighting mastery, and a fighter immunity from magic. And it won't work against a woman."