Oathblood v(vah-3

by Mercedes Lackey

  Lord Kemoc could only shake his head in wonder.

  She and Beaker and Jodi worked with Lord Kemoc's horses for a week before all of them were working properly in harness. By the end of the third day, Lord Kemoc had voiced delicate hints about their employment status, and by the end of the week, he and Jodi and Beaker had successfully concluded negotiations that gave them equal pay and status with Lord Kemoc's Weaponsmaster. Tarma was completely satisfied at that point; the worst of the horses had learned proper behavior, and with Jodi and Beaker in charge, from now on the foals would never have a chance to learn bad habits. The Ashkevron horses should be the most sought-after in the Kingdom.

  She and Hellsbane and Ironheart rode into the gates of their own home just as the spring rains began to break up. Jadrie rode up to meet her on her own sweetly-tempered little mare, full of spirit and impatient to be off to the Dhorisha Plains for summer holiday. Over dinner that night, Tarma had the whole family in stitches over the story of the poor, squashed gelding with his eyes bulging like a frog's.

  Kethry wiped away tears of laughter from her eyes with a napkin. "So Jodi and Beaker are safely ensconced, and Lord Kemoc's horses are all going to behave themselves from now on? I'd say that was a successful ending to your assignment! But you still haven't told us what you said to the Valdemarans to explain your training techniques-"

  "Well, they probably still think it was magic, Greeneyes," Tarma told her with a chuckle. "But what I told them was the truth."

  "And what was that truth?" Jadrek asked.

  Tarma grinned. "That it was just the proper application of peer pressure."

  OATHBLOOD

  Here is where I've gotten to put together a bit of what life is like at the schools, and why the partners aren't rolling in gold when their reputation should ensure that they get plenty of clients. Better quality than quantity, as Tarma would say. I'm assuming that the pupils all go home in the summer for a long vacation that corresponds with the growing and harvesting seasons, and take a briefer vacation over Midwinter Holidays, if they live near enough to make it feasible. Obviously, for this story, all of them did.

  Tarma watched her two favorite pupils enter the ring -- a simple circle of paint on the floor of the salle -- with a critical eye. The first, a blonde whose hair was confined in a tail and bound with a bright blue headband, stood about even with Tarma's chin, but the second, whose dark mane was plaited in two braids wound severely around her head, was even shorter. It wasn't often that Jadrie faced off against an opponent smaller and younger than she; at the age of twelve, Kethry's eldest daughter was more likely to find herself paired with Tarma's oldest pupils, two and three years her senior and correspondingly taller. Jadrie was by no means an extraordinary fighter by Shin'a'in standards, but she was quite good, and she had been tutored by Tarma from the time she first evidenced an aptitude and interest in warrior-training. That had been at the tender age of four -- though naturally she had not been given weapons, even practice weapons, until she was eight and had already demonstrated steadiness and responsibility by taming and training her first horse. Most of Tarma's pupils never had the benefit of such early training, so Jadrie was naturally far in advance of even some much older than she.

  Kira was the exception to that; her father, the now -- Archduke Tilden, King Stefan's former Horsemaster, gave his children access to some surprising teachers. At the age of three, on the sound principle that taking lessons with a former entertainer would be play rather than work, Kira and her twin sister had gotten a retired professional acrobat and contortionist as a tutor, and at six, along with the usual schooling, lessons given by a professional dancer had been added. At eight, on her own initiative, Kira had begun training with her father's Weaponsmaster, and now, at ten, she and her twin were here, with Tarma, Kethry, and Jadrek.

  But Kira and her twin Merili were both extraordinary children, each in her own fashion.

  They were not identical twins; in fact, if they had not been born at the same time, their father often joked that he would have suspected his wife of some infidelity. Ash-blonde Merili was as delicate and feminine as her mother, but with her father's eyes, although in Merili the expression was of sweetness and utter innocence -- Kira was tough, wiry, tall for her age, with straight brown hair and eyes of an incredible violet that had never appeared in either family to anyone's knowledge.

  But unusual things happened in their family; Tilden had seen more than enough not to worry about inconsistency in hair and eye color. Shortly after Kethry and Jadrek had wed, Tilden had married a former bodyguard, who, despite her frail appearance, had more than once broken the necks of assassins with her bare hands. Her early training had begun with acrobatics and dance; hence, she had seen to it that her daughters had at least that much in the way of physical schooling.

  But Kira had something more than mere training; she was a prodigy, the kind of student every teacher prays to have once in his or her life.

  Merili was a graceful dancer and loved the art, was already an accomplished needlewoman, was fascinated with languages and had a strong interest in herbalism. She couldn't have been more unlike Kira, but the bond between them was unbreakable; and where her twin went, there she was. So when the Archduke enrolled Kira in Tarma's school for would-be young warriors, Merili had come along. She worked out in physical exercises with her sister and the rest of Tarma's students, studied nonmagical courses with Kethry's students, and continued other studies with Jadrek, getting as fine an education here as she would with her private tutors. Tilden had already had several marriage offers for her, but Merili had already met the eldest son of the Queen of Jkatha, and the two had formed an early attachment so strong that many suspected it to be a lifebond. What with the Archduke's holdings already lying on the Rethwellan-Jkatha border, and the King of Rethwellan wanting very much to strengthen ties between the two countries, the match seemed an ideal one. So although a formal betrothal had not been announced, it was very, very likely that Prince Albayah would wed Merili as soon as both came of age.

  "And I'll go as Merili's bodyguard," Kira always chimed in, whenever the subject came up.

  It seemed to Tarma that there could be no better solution to the Archduke's surfeit of girl-children. There was one older than the twins (already making a name for herself as a scholar) and three younger, one of whom was likely mage-talented, though at the tender age of three it was difficult to say how talented.

  And why not? Being a bodyguard certainly runs in the family, Tarma thought, as she watched Kira and Jadrie testing each other in the circle. Jadrie was having some difficulty adjusting herself to an opponent so much smaller than she, but Kira far outstripped anyone else her age, and Tarma didn't trust any of the older (exclusively male) pupils to keep their tempers when a child so very much younger scored a touch on them. They could accept Jadrie scoring points; they could always salve their pride by telling themselves that she'd had the benefit of Tarma's schooling since the cradle. But Kira (supposedly) had no more advantages than they, and that made losing to her triply painful. The current crop of students older than Jadrie were all noble-born -- it would be a lucrative season for the school -- and they found it hard to forget that pride has no place in the training-ring.

  :Or outside it,: Warrl added, echoing her thoughts. :But this is their first season with us; after the holidays and a thorough lecture or two from their fathers' Weaponsmasters, they'll come back in a properly humble frame of mind.:

  True, Furface, she thought back at him, chuckling to herself. She interviewed the parents of prospective students very carefully, and at holiday time sent home letters of evaluation and instruction timed to reach the parents at about the same time the students did. This year's lot wasn't bad, but the older boys all shared the regrettable certainty that their age and sex meant superiority in the ring over younger, smaller, or female opponents. Tarma's letters of instruction this year carried an admonition about that -- and the caution that underestimating a smaller or female opponent
could get them seriously dead if they were permitted to hold onto that delusion.

  These were all oldest sons, extremely precious to their families (or they wouldn't be here), and it was unlikely that the parents would ignore Tarma's admonition.

  And if they did -- or attempts at correction didn't "stick" -- there was always the second season to knock some sense into them. They would be here for at least two seasons, and maybe more, and none of Tarma's pupils ever cherished such ridiculous notions past the second season.

  She privately felt that it was doing Jadrie good to have a little competition from someone other than her siblings. It was also doing her good to have not one, but two girlfriends. She'd begun showing more interest in things besides fighting and riding, much to Kethry's relief. Tarma was looking forward to having the twins here for at least another three or four years, and so was Jadrie.

  She checked Jadrie, who was about to land a blow, with an admonition of "Jadrie-high." Jadrie flushed, and signaled for a rest. Kira grounded her point, and Jadrie turned to her teacher.

  "Ha'shin, I'm having a lot of trouble with that," she said, honestly, giving Tarma the Shin'a'in honorific that meant "teacher."

  "What do you do when your opponent is so much shorter than you are? She's scored five times on me, and I've only managed once!"

  "Four-" Kira corrected. "That rib cut wasn't more than a graze; if these had been real, I wouldn't even have marked your armor, so it hardly counts."

  Jadrie gave her friend a quick glance of gratitude, then turned her attention back to Tarma.

  Tarma looked both girls over, and decided that they'd had a good enough bout that she could legitimately give them a rest. Both of them were panting, and Jadrie's face was sweat-streaked. "Good question, and time for a demonstration," Tarma told them, then raised her voice. "Justin, as soon as you're ready to break, I can use you. Demonstration time."

  Justin Twoblade, who was sparring with one of the older boys, waved his free hand in acknowledgment. Three moves later, and the boy was disarmed; as he shook his stinging hand, Justin strolled over to Tarma's ring, waving his hand to summon all of his pupils to come watch the demonstration.

  "Jadrie wants to see how someone works against a much smaller opponent," Tarma told him. Justin nodded, and his craggy features showed none of the amusement Tarma knew he felt at the moment.

  "As long as we're going at quarter-speed, Sword-sworn," he replied, his face as sober as a priest's. "I remember the time three seasons ago when you used Ikan in the same demonstration. You may be Sworn to chastity, but I've barely begun my family."

  Tarma suppressed a grin. "All right, for Estrel's sake I'll spare you," she said, and went down on one knee, then on guard. This put her head just about at Justin's beltline, which should have been a handicap for her -- but as she then demonstrated, even at one-quarter speed, she still made Justin work to defend himself and score on her.

  But what she wanted her students to watch was what Justin did, not her -- for even Kira might one day have to defend against someone smaller than herself. When she grounded her point, signaling the end of the bout, she saw with satisfaction that both girls had their eyes still locked on Justin's hand and wrist.

  She wiped sweat from her forehead with her free hand, and Justin extended his to help her to her feet. "Jadrie and Kira, another bout, now that you've seen a demonstration," she directed. "Justin, if you'd supervise them, please, I'll take Larsh, Hesten, and Belton and work on those disarms and counters."

  Since Hesten was the young man that Justin had just disarmed, the other instructor let a brief grin flicker over his face when the aforementioned students couldn't see it. That was a common tactic among the three instructors; when one had administered a rebuke in the form of a painful defeat, one of the others would take over that student and work with him, so that the student didn't have the incentive to try and get back at the instructor. She'd seen this one coming for the last few days; Hesten was good on offensive work, but seemed to think that the best defense was a good offense. She judged that he'd need a couple more lessons to get over that particular fault, and she and Justin would have to take turns in administering those lessons.

  She'd hired both Justin Twoblade and his partner Ikan Dryvale the second year the school had been in operation. She and Kethry had known the pair for years, and had known that they were steady enough in temper to be trusted with young students. Ikan currently was out running the rest of the students around the obstacle course; he had all of the younger boys today, since he had a knack with the youngest pupils that was only matched by Tarma herself. To avoid creating the appearance of "favorites" and to keep their students on their toes, the three instructors switched pupils on a regular basis and an irregular schedule, just as young Shin'a'in children were taught.

  So Tarma resolutely kept her attention on the three oldest boys and paid no heed to what Justin was doing with Jadrie and Kira. Hesten was still smarting from his defeat, both physically and mentally, and she worked to get him and the other two back to the business at hand.

  But they were all distracted, and Hesten clearly resented the fact that "his" instructor had gone to help mere girls.

  "Look," she finally said with exasperation, "Hesten, just what do you think you're here for?"

  The boy looked at her with a touch of arrogance shaded with suspicion. "You're teaching me swordsmanship-" he began, but she cut him off.

  "Wrong," she said with finality. "I'm teaching you how to stay alive. So is Justin. There's a difference."

  "But-" the boy looked ready to start an argument, but once again Tarma cut him off.

  Time for the annual Lecture, I think.

  "No buts' about it," she said flatly. "I've spoken at length with your parents. I know what they want from me, and I know what I told them, the kind of training that I could give you." She moved in closer with every word. "As a boy, your father had the best training with highly-recommended instructors, and is a fine swordsman -- and a rotten fighter. And he knows it. He can perform every pretty move in the catalog, and can't defend himself against a common merc with a pike. That's why he limps now, and if he hadn't been lucky enough to get into the hands of a real Healer, he wouldn't have been around to sire you."

  Hesten's eyes went wide with shock; evidently his father had not discussed that particular moment in his life with his son.

  Tarma continued without pity. "I know what happened, because I was there and I saw it happen, when we all put King Stefanson on the throne. He wants you to have the advantage that he didn't -- training with real fighters, not sword-dancers -- so that if Rethwellan needs your sword, you stand a decent chance of coming home intact. Do you understand me?"

  That last sentence was spoken from a distance of mere thumb-lengths as she stared down into the boy's eyes, and saw the first flickers of respect -- and yes, fear. She backed off a little, and looked at all three of the boys. "Just what do you know about me?"

  Hesten looked at his two fellows, and took it upon himself to answer, putting on a bravado to cover his betrayal of fear. "You're a Shin'a'in barbarian, there's some songs and tales that might be about you, but you never said anything, and neither did my father, but if you really were with the rebellion-"

  Tarma smiled crookedly, a smile with no trace of humor. "I was learning swordwork as early as Jadrie, and I'd killed my first man when I was just about your age, Larsh. That, by the way, is not a boast, and it was not in a fair fight. And someday, if you deserve to hear it, I'll tell you the whole story. I was a freelance mere from the age of seventeen and a good one, and believe me, the stories you have heard about me and Keth aren't but a quarter of the truth. Justin and Ikan have similar histories." Her smile turned feral. "The reason you weren't told is because both your parents and I know you boys would have had one of two reactions -- you'd either have disbelieved it, figured it was boasting, and ignored what we tried to hammer into you, or you would have believed it and decided to prove you were better than us. Neit
her reaction is conducive to learning anything, which is why you are here -- not to prove that at your tender age you already know better than your teachers."

  The boys all had the grace to look ashamed. Larsh looked down at his feet.

  "As to why your parents chose me -- and J agreed to take you as students -- it's because they wanted something very specific for their firstborn sons. If you are called on by your King to go to war, if you are forced to lead your own people against brigands or bandits, or if you are forced into a position where you might fight to preserve your own life, you will have the best possible training to meet those situations." She dropped her smile and looked stern. "And do you know why?"

  Hesten shook his head.

  "A mercenary knows only one trade -- killing -- and one goal -- to stay alive to collect his pay. No matter what you've heard, most mercs don't like killing, so they make a point of being very, very good at it, and very efficient, so as to get it over quickly. Most mercs do like being alive, so they make a point of learning everything they can to stay that way. That includes a great many things that are not considered 'fair play' by the standards of people lucky enough to have been bom in your rank and class." Hesten's mouth firmed in a stubborn line; she knew he was the leader of this group, and she would have to convince him before the other two would see sense. He had unfortunately been infected with that noble nonsense known as chivalry; hopefully not for so long that he couldn't be cured of it.