But to protect Kero from magic, it simply needed to be in physical proximity to her. Which meant it probably didn't need to be bonded to her at all—
Except that it wants to know just who it's fighting for. And it probably needs to have some kind of bond to make sure it can protect the bearer at all levels. But it's got a light bond, so to protect me, now, it's got everything it has to have.
It probably wasn't going to like that, though. Given what Kethry told her about the way the sword had behaved in the past....
I'll bet it's going to fight me, trying to get what it wants. I'm not going to give in. Now, I wonder—should I give this thing up?
If I can....
Kethry had never said anything about the sword deciding to switch owners before the present owner was ready to lose it.
It could happen. All it would have to do would be to decide that it doesn't want to protect me right at the moment some sorcerer has me targeted. Well, that was true enough—except that would also be violating the blade's own purpose.
Given that it's refused to work against some fairly nasty characters simply because they were female, I don't think it's likely to drop me in the middle of danger.
That still didn't answer the question of whether or not she wanted to be rid of the thing.
I don't think so. It's too valuable. And—I don't mind paying for that value with a little altruistic work now and again. Truth to tell, it's something I'd probably do on my own anyway. The sword is just going to tell me when it needs to be done, and who needs help.
It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open, especially since there didn't seem to be a good reason to stay awake any longer.
But as she drifted away into sleep, she couldn't help but wonder just how much of a fight the sword was going to give her. And who was going to come out the victor.
The next four weeks were a constant reminder that a potent Shin'a'in curse was, "May your life be interesting."
The moment she fell asleep at night, she dreamed. Vivid, colorful dreams of women in peril, in which she rode up, and put their peril to rout. Dreams of a life on the move, in which all innkeepers were friendly, all companions amusing, all weather perfect—in short, a life right out of the ballads.
Finally, on Warrl's advice, she took the sword down off the wall, and unsheathed it. With it held in both her hands, she thought directly at it, unshielded.
I'm not thirteen, and you're not going to gull me with hero-tales, she told it firmly. Save them for minstrels and little children.
Was it her imagination, or did she hear a sigh of disappointment as she hung the blade back up on the wall?
In any event, the dreams ended, only to be replaced by darkly realistic ones. Night after night, she was witness to all the evil that could be inflicted on women by men. Abuse and misuse, emotional and physical; rape, murder, torture. Evil working in subtler fashion; marriages that proved to be no more than legalized slavery, and the careful manipulation of a bright and sensitive mind until its owner truly believed with all her heart in her own worthlessness. Betrayal, not once, but many times over. All the hurts that could be inflicted when one person loved someone who in turn loved no one but himself.
This was hardly restful.
And during the day, any time she was not completely shielded, the sword manipulated her emotional state, making her restless, inflaming her with the desire to be out and on the move.
But she wasn't ready, and she knew it. Even if the blade didn't.
Every day meant fighting the same battle—or rather, mental wrestling match—over and over; the sword saying "Go," and Kero replying "No."
And to add the proper final touch, Daren was all-too-obviously becoming more and more infatuated with her. And infatuation was all that it was, Kero was pretty certain of that. She had a long talk with her grandmother about the differences between love and lesser emotions, and to her mind, Daren did not evidence anything other than a blind groping after someone he thought was the answer to all his emotional needs.
Or as Tarma put it, much more bluntly, "He's barely weaned, and you're a mature doe. In you, he gets both mate and mama. I hate to put it that way, child, but emotionally you're years ahead of him.... Young Daren isn't in love with you, little hawk, he's in love with love."
Kero hadn't said anything, but she'd privately felt Tarma had wrapped the entire situation up in one neat package. Daren would make someone a very good husband—when he grew up. She was fairly certain that when he did so, it would happen all at once—but he'd have to be forced into the situation.
Meanwhile, he wasn't going to. Not with someone like her around.
He was making some hints that had her rather disturbed, hints she hadn't confided to anyone.
Hints that he would be willing be actually marry her, if that was the only way he could keep her. As if he thought she could be kept! That was keeping her awake at night as much as the dreams were.
Then, one night, he did more than hint. He told her that he would talk to his father about ennobling her if she'd just come with him to the Court. And there was only one reason for him to make that offer that she knew of. He was serious about her.
And she didn't love him. She liked him well enough, but her answer to the question "Could you live without him?" was most decidedly "yes." If he left tomorrow and she never saw him again, she would miss him, but she'd go right back to her sword-practice without a second thought, and her sleep would hardly be plagued by dreams and longing.
She got up early the next morning, after a particularly bad night, to pace the cold floor and try to get herself sorted out.
It was at least a candlemark till dawn, but she just couldn't lie there in bed anymore. She lit the candle and got dressed in the chill pre-morning air, and began walking the length of her room, pacing it out as carefully as if she was measuring it.
I like Daren, she thought, rubbing her arms to warm them. He's clever, he's intelligent, he's flexible—he's not bad in bed, either. He wouldn't ever hurt me deliberately.
But the sword had filled her few sleeping hours with some fairly horrific scenes. And if she married Daren, there was no way she could do anything about problems like the ones the sword was showing her.
The prince's wife just can't go riding off whenever the mood takes her. In fact, I doubt very much that the prince's wife would be able to enjoy half the freedom Kerowyn does.
That's really what it came down to: privilege, or freedom? The relief of being "like every other girl," or the excitement of being like no one else, of setting her own standards? Power and wealth, or the ability to, now and again, right a wrong?
If she married Daren, she would never again be able to totally be herself.
If she didn't, she'd spend the rest of her life keeping her head above water, and wondering if the next sword thrust, the next arrow, was Death's messenger.
Security, or liberty?
It was enough to give anyone a headache, and she had an incredible one, when, in the pearly-gray moment of pre-dawn, someone tapped lightly on her door.
She nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to answer it; she was expecting Tarma, but it was Daren.
He was white and shaking, and from the tear streaks on his face and his reddened eyes, he'd been crying. He tried to compose himself, his upper lip still quivering as he tried to breathe more calmly.
Kero stood, frozen, with her hand still on the door latch. She couldn't even begin to imagine why Daren would look this way; surely he hadn't been upsetting himself that much over her, had he? But his next words told her everything she needed to know.
"Kero—" he said, hoarsely, as tears began to trickle down his face once again. "Kero, it's—my father's dead."
Ten
For one long moment, she couldn't seem to do anything but stand there stupidly, staring at him. Then his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, and she reacted automatically, pulling him inside, taking him over to the bed and getting him to s
it down on the side of it.
"What happened?" she asked, bewildered. Last she'd heard, the King was in excellent health, and Prince Thanel had been safely married off to the Queen of Valdemar. Dear heavens, that was over a year ago. Closer to two. Daren expected to be called home then, but it didn't happen, and that was when he started making hints about getting me ennobled. Have we been here that long?
She tallied up the seasons in her mind, and realized with a bit of shock that she had been Tarma's pupil for over three years. She glanced reflexively at the mirror built into the wardrobe, and the Kerowyn that looked back at her, hard, lean, eyes wide with surprise, was nothing like the ill-trained girl that had arrived here.
Never mind that. Right now I have to get some sense out of Daren. She held Daren against her shoulder and let him cry himself out; that was the best thing she could do for him right now. As the pink light of dawn filled the room, he got a little better control over himself, and groped after a handkerchief. As usual, he'd forgotten one. She'd never been quite so conscious before of the fact that he was younger than she by at least a year. At this moment he felt more like her brother than her lover.
"Th-thanel," he stammered at last. "It was all Thanel. He's dead. A week or so ago. He tried to murder his wife."
He what? But his wife— "He tried to assassinate the Queen of Valdemar?" she exclaimed. "Dearest gods—but what does that have to do with your father?"
"When they told Father, he—I don't know, something happened. Maybe his heart g-g-gave out on him. There's a branch of Kethry's mage-school not far from the capital; they sent word there and one of the mages sent word to Kethry and she w-w-woke me." He choked up again, and couldn't get anything more past his tears. She patted his back absently, one part of her intent on comforting him as best she could, but the rest of her mind putting together all the possible ramifications.
Valdemar isn't particularly warlike, and they just finished that mess with the Tedrel Companies. Tedrel "Companies," indeed. Trust Karse to find an entire nation of low-life scum, and hire them on as free-lancers... then complain when Valdemar routs them and they turn back on Karse to loot their way home. Serves them right—
She gave herself a mental shake and got back on the right trail. But that was just before Daren came. Valdemar took some pretty severe losses, and they can't possibly have recovered enough to declare war.
Right. So—Thanel tries to take out his wife, I assume so that he can take the throne. He must have failed. I need to know who caught him and what they did with him. The King gets the news, and promptly collapses, then dies, which puts Thanel's brother on the throne... no love lost there, which means he could possibly placate Valdemar.
Damn. I need to know how Thanel tried, and whether or not he had any help, either from here, or from inside Valdemar itself.
She tried to calm Daren down a little, but he was incoherent; she hadn't realized he cared that much for his father. So she just held him close, rocking him back and forth a little; it felt like the right thing to do, and it seemed to soothe him as well. He didn't utter a sound after she stopped asking him questions, and that made her heart ache all the more for him. Those silent sobs bespoke more emotional pain than she had ever felt in her life....
Finally he stopped trembling; the storm of voiceless weeping that shook him went the way of all storms. She continued to hold him until she felt a little resistance, as if he wanted to pull away from her. Then she let him go, and he slowly raised his head from her shoulder.
Sun streamed in Kero's window; ironically, it was going to be a beautiful day, but all prospect of enjoying it had just flown with the migrating birds. Daren winced away from the light, his eyes dark-circled, swollen and red, his face still white as the snow outside. "I think you should get some rest," Kero said quietly. "I know you don't think you'll be able to sleep, but you should at least go lie down for a while."
He bristled a little, which she took as a good sign. At least he wasn't going to fall over helplessly and let her take charge of his life.
"Really, if you don't at least go put a cold cloth on your eyes, you aren't going to be able to see out of them," she insisted. Finally, he nodded, and stood up.
"You'll come get me if you hear anything, won't you?" He seemed to be taking it for granted that she would be with her grandmother and Tarma.
That was as good an idea as any. "I will," she promised, and got up to lead him out the door.
They parted company at his door, and she raced down the hall to the stairs, then took the stairway down as fast as she could without killing herself.
The common room was empty, but there was light coming from under the door leading to Kethry's "working rooms." Kero hesitated a moment, torn by the need to find out more information, and her reluctance to pass that doorway. Finally curiosity won out, and she tried the latch.
The door swung open at a touch, and Kero pushed it aside. At the far end of the room, Kethry was seated at a small, marble-topped table, bent over a large black bowl, and Tarma sat beside her, face utterly impassive. There was a light source inside the bowl itself; Kethry's face was illuminated softly from below, her unbound silver hair forming a soft cloud about her head. Kero coughed delicately; Kethry ignored her, but Tarma looked up and motioned to her to join them.
She picked her way gingerly across the cluttered room. She was never entirely sure how much of the clutter was of magical use, and how much was simply junk, relegated here to be stored. That huge, draped mirror, for instance—or the suit of armor that couldn't possibly have fit anything human, or even alive, since the helm was welded to the shoulders and the face-plate welded shut besides.
Mostly she tried not to look at much of anything. There were some stuffed animals—she thought they were animals—on shelves along the walls; shapes that didn't bear too close an inspection if one wanted pleasant dreams.
As she neared the two women, she saw that there was movement down in the bottom of that bowl; the light eddied and changed, casting odd little shadows across Kethry's face. When she finally reached them, she saw with a start of astonishment that there was a tiny man looking up at Kethry from the bowl, gesturing from time to time, and making the light change. Behind the man was a kind of glowing rose-colored mist, and the light appeared to be coming from that soft and lambent haze.
"It's only an image," Tarma said softly, as Kero found a stool and placed it beside her. "It's Keth's son, your uncle Jendar."
"—so, according to the Herald, the prince had been part of this conspiracy for some time. One of the other Heralds, their Weaponsmaster, somehow got wind of the assassination attempt, and when Selenay rode out for her exercise, he took a group of young warriors with him and followed her at a discreet distance. So when the conspirators ambushed her, they got something of a surprise—first of all, none of them expected Selenay to be much of a fighter, second, they didn't expect the rescue party. Thanel was fatally injured during the fight. He died a couple of candlemarks later."
"That's just as well," Kethry replied, her posture relaxing just a bit. "Is there any sign that Thanel might have gotten any help from Rethwellan?"
"None that anyone there has come up with, and no one at Court seems very inclined to look for it here." The bearded figure cocked his head to one side, a gesture that made him look very like his mother. "Mother, do you want me to look into it?"
"No, not really," she replied. "I'd just as soon leave that to Valdemar. At this point it isn't a threat to Rethwellan or the royal family, and I hope you'll forgive me for being insular, but that's really all I care about."
Jendar shook his head. "If you insist. I will have to admit that I'd just as soon not deal too closely with the Heralds. They're well-intentioned, and really good people on the whole, but they're too intense for my taste. Too much like you when that sword wanted you to do something."
"And the one time I was in Valdemar was enough for me," she replied. "I'm glad I was just barely across the border. Have you ever been t
here?"
He shivered. "Once, like you, just barely across the border. I kept feeling eyes on the back of my neck, but when I'd try to find out what was watching me, I could never find anything. I got the feeling that whatever it was, it was very unfriendly, and I had no intention of staying around to find out what it was and why it felt that way."
"It gets worse if you work any magic," she replied soberly. "Quite a bit worse. By the way, this is your niece, Kero."
The tiny man peered up at Kero out of the depths of the bowl. "Looks like she takes after the Shin'a'in side," he said, with what Kero assumed was a smile of approval. "Kero, if you are ever in Great Harsey, look us up. The school is just above the town, on the only hill within miles. We're not hard to find, there're only about forty of us here, but the town itself doesn't number above two hundred."
She swallowed, with some difficulty. "Uh—thank you. I—uh—I'll be sure to do that."
The man laughed merrily, and Kero saw then that he had his mother's emerald-green eyes. "Just like every other fighter I've ever met—show her magic, and she curls up and wilts."
"Yes, and what do you do when someone has a sword point at your throat?" Kethry retorted with a hint of tired good humor.
"I do my best to make sure I'm never in that particular situation, Mother dear," he replied. "So far that strategy has worked quite well. Kero, child, if magic bothers you, I suggest you try Valdemar. They seem to have some kind of prohibition against it up there. In fact," he continued thoughtfully, "I seem to have one demon of a time even mentioning magic to them. Don't know why. It might be interesting to see what happens to Mother's nag of a sword north of the border."
"That's an experiment I'd rather not see tried," Kethry told him. "Is that all you have for us?"
"That's all for now," Jendar said, dropping back into a serious mode. "I'll contact you the usual way if anything more comes up. I know they'll want the young man here as soon as possible; get him on the road tomorrow, if you can. You might tell him, if he seems interested, that his brother is definitely assigning him to the retinue of the Lord Martial with a view to making him Lord Martial in a few years. I'd guess three years at the most; the poor old warhorse is on his last legs, and losing Jad has done something to him. He was looking particularly tottery this morning. Tarma, I hope the young man is up to the challenge."
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