"All right then; I'll get back to the inn. Maybe
Hadell has a connection to something."
Hadell poured Tarma a mug of ale, sat down
beside her at the bench, and shook his head with
regret. "Not a thing, Swordlady. I'm—"
"Afraid this is the lean season, I know. Well look,
I'm half mad with boredom, is there at least some-
where I can practice?" Her trainers would not come
to her while she was within city boundaries, so it
was up to her to stay in shape. If she neglected
to—woe betide her the next time they did come to
her!
"There's a practice ground with pells set up be-
hind the stable, if you don't mind that it's outside
and a simple dirt ring."
"I think I'll survive," she laughed, and went to
fetch her blades.
The practice ground was easy enough to find;
Tarma was pleased to find it deserted as well.
There was a broom leaning against the fence to
clear off the light snow; she used it to sweep the
entire fenced enclosure clean. The air was crisp
and still, the sun weak but bright, and close enough
to the zenith that there would be no "bad" sides to
face. She stood silently for a moment or two, eyes
closed; shaking off the "now" and entering that
timeless state that was both complete concentra-
tion and complete detachment. She began with the
warmup exercises; a series of slow, deliberate move-
ment patterns that blurred, each into the next. When
she had finished with them, she did not stop, but
proceeded to the next stage, drawing the sword at
her back and executing another movement series,
this time a little faster. With each subsequent stage
her moves became more intricate, and a bit more
speed was added, until her blade was a shining
blur and an onlooker could almost see the invisible
opponent she dueled with.
She ended exactly where she had begun, slowing
her movements down again to end with the reshea-
thing of her blade, as smooth and graceful as a leaf
falling. As it went home in the scabbard with a
metallic click, the applause began.
Startled, Tarma glanced in the direction of the
noise; she'd been so absorbed in her exercises that
she hadn't noticed her watchers. There were three
of them—Hadell, and two fur-cloaked middle-aged
men who had not been part of the Guard contingent
last night.
She half-bowed (with a wry grin), and let them
approach her.
"I'd heard Shin'a'in were good—Swordlady, you've
just proved to me that sometimes rumor speaks
truth," said the larger of the two, a weathered-
looking blond with short hair and a gold clasp to his
cloak. "Lady, I'm Justin Twoblade, this is my
shieldbrother Ikan Dry vale."
"Tarma shena Tale'sedrin," she supplied, "And
my thanks. A compliment comes sweeter from a
brother in the trade."
"We'd like to offer you more than compliments,
if you're willing," said the second, amber-haired,
like Kethry, but with blue eyes; and homely, with a
plowboy's ingenuous expression.
"Well, since I doubt it's a bid for bed-services,
I'll at least hear you out."
"Lessons. We'll pay your reckoning and your part-
ner's in return for lessons."
Tarma leaned on the top bar of the practice-
enclosure and gave the notion serious thought. "Hmm,
I'll admit I like the proposition," she replied, squint-
ing into the sunlight. "Question is, why, and for
how long? I'd hate to miss a chance at the only
short-term job for months and then have you two
vanish on me."
Hadell interceded for them. "They'll not van-
ish, Swordlady," he assured her. "Justin and Ikan
are wintering here, waiting for the caravans to start
up again in spring. They're highly valued men to
the Jewel Merchant's Guild—valued enough that
the merchants pay for 'em to stay here idle during
the lean season."
"Aye, valued and bored!" Ikan exclaimed. "That's
one reason for you. Few enough are those willing to
spar with either of us—fewer still with the leisure
for it. And though I've seen your style before, I've
never had a chance to learn it—or how to counter
it. If you wouldn't mind our learning how to counter
it, that is,"
"Mind? Hardly. Honest guards like you won't see
Clan facing your blades, and anyone else who's
learned our style thinking he'll have an easy time
against hirelings deserves to meet someone with
the counters. Done, then; for however long it takes
Keth to earn us the coin to reprovision, I'll be your
teacher."
"And we'll take care of the reckoning," Justin
said, with a sly grin. "We'll just add it to our
charges on the Guild. Odds are they'll think we've
just taken to drinking and wenching away the win-
ter nights!"
"Justin, I think I'm going to like you two," Tarma
laughed. "You think a lot like me!"
Three
Yellow lamplight made warm pools around the
common room of the Broken Sword, illuminat-
ing a scene far more relaxed than that of the night
before. The other residents of the inn were much
more cheerful, and certainly less weary, for there
had been no repetition of yesterday's riot.
The two women had taken a table to themselves
at the back of the room, in the corner. It was
quieter there, and easier for them to hear each
other. A lamp just over the table gave plenty of
light, and Kethry could see that Tarma was quite
well pleased with herself.
". . . so I've got a pair of pupils. Never thought
I'd care for teaching, but I'm having a rare good
time of it," Tarma concluded over fish stew and
fried potatoes. "Of course it helps that Ikan and
Justin are good-tempered about their mistakes, and
they've got the proper attitude about learning
swordwork."
"Which is?" Kethry asked, cheered to see a smile
on Tarma's face for a change. A real smile, one of
pleasure, not of irony.
"That inside that enclosure, I'm the only author-
ity there is."
Kethry sniffed in derision; it was quiet enough
in the back-wall corner they'd chosen that Tarma
heard the sniff and grinned. "Modest, aren't you?"
the mage teased.
She was feeling considerably better herself. No
spies of Wethes or Kavin had leapt upon her during
the day, and nothing that had occurred had brought
back any bad memories. In point of fact she had
frequently forgotten that she was in Mornedealth
at all. All her apprehension now seemed rather
pointless.
"No, seriously," Tarma replied to her japing.
"That's the way it is; no matter what your relation-
ship is outside the lessons, inside the lesson the
master is
The Master. The Master's word is law,
and don't argue about the way you learned some-
thing before." Tarma wiped her plate clean with a
last bit of bread, and settled back against the wall.
"A lot of hire-swords don't understand that rela-
tionship—especially if it's a woman standing in the
Master's place—but Ikan and Justin have had good
teaching, and got it early enough to do some good.
They're able, and they're serious, and they're going
to come along fast."
"What if you wanted to learn something from one
of them?" Kethry asked, idly turning a ring on her
finger. "Wouldn't all this Master business cause
problems?"
"No, because when I become the pupil, my teacher
becomes the Master—actually that's already hap-
pened. Just before we wrapped up for the day, I
asked Justin to show me a desperation-counter he'd
used on me earlier." Tarma sighed regretfully. "Wish
you knew something of swordwork, Greeneyes—that
was a clever move he showed me. If you knew
enough to appreciate it, I could go on about it for a
candlemark. Could get you killed if you tried it
without timing it exactly right, but if you did, it
could save your getting spitted in a situation I
couldn't see any way out of."
Kethry shook her head. "I don't see how you keep
things straight. Back at the School, we only had one
Master for each pupil, so we didn't get mixed up in
trying to learn two different styles of magery."
"But half of your weaponry as a hire-sword is
flexibility. You've got to be able to learn anything
from anybody," Tarma replied. "If you can't be
flexible enough mentally to accept any number of
Masters, you've no business trying to make your
living with a blade, and that's all there is to say.
How did your day go?"
"Enlightening." Kethry wore a fairly wry smile.
She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above
the hum of conversation that filled the room. "I
never quite realized the extent to which polite feud-
ing among the Fifty goes before I took this little
job."
"Ah?" Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and
washed down the last bite of bread and butter with
a long pull on her mug.
"Well, I thought that business the fellow at the
Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration—
until I started using mage-sight on some of the
animals my client had picked out as possibles. A
good half of them had been beglamoured, and I
recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that's
generally used by House mages around here. Some
of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a
nasty-brat sort of way—like the pair of matched
grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a
particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow."
"What would that have accomplished? A horse is
a horse, no matter the color."
"Well, just imagine the young man's chagrin to
be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig;
in a procession, perhaps—and then the glamour is
lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to
flap."
Tarma chuckled. "He'd lose a bit of face over it,
not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would
drive a maroon rig."
"You're heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are
his House colors, and he hasn't much choice but to
display them. He'd lose more than a little face over
it; he wouldn't dare show himself with his rig in
public until he got something so spectacular to pull
it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and
for a trick like that, he'd practically have to have
hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of
pride. By the way, that's my client you're calling an
idiot, and he's paying quite well."
"In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do
you think you'll be at this?"
"About a week, maybe two."
"Good; that will give my pupils their money's
worth and get us back on the road in good time."
"I hope so," Kethry looked over her shoulder a
little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness.
"The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I'll be
found out."
"I doubt it," Tarma took another long pull at her
mug. "Who'd think to look for you here?"
"She's where?" The incredulous voice echoed in
the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of
the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.
"At one of the foreigner's inns; the Broken Sword.
It's used mostly by mercenaries," Kavin replied,
leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearly-
empty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed
his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirm-
ing and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile
furniture. "She isn't using her full name, and is
claiming to be foreign herself."
"What's she doing there?" Wethes ran nervous
fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then
played with the gold letter opener from his desk
set. "Has she any allies? I don't like the notion of
going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There
could be trouble, and more than money would cover."
"She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all
I could tell, has earned the right to—"
"That's trouble enough right there," Wethes
interrupted.
Kavin's eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger
at the banker's rudeness. "That is what you have a
house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use
him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his
equal, else she'd have a patron, and be spending the
winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that,
she's wandering about as an itinerant, doing noth-
ing more taxing than checking horses for beglamour-
ing. As to her allies, there's only one that matters.
A Shin'a'in swordswoman."
"Shin'a'in? One of the sword-dancers? I don't
like the sound of that."
"They seem," he continued, toying with a lock of
his curly, pale gold hair, "to be lovers."
"I like that even less."
"Wethes, for all your bold maneuvering in the
marketplace, you are a singularly cowardly man."
Kavin put his imperiled glass safely on one of
Wethes' highly-polished wooden tables, and smiled
to himself when Wethes winced in anticipation of
the ring its moist bottom would cause. He stood up
and stretched lazily, consciously mirroring one of
the banker's priceless marbles behind him; then
smoothed his silk-velvet tunic back into its proper
position. He smiled to himself again at the flash of
greed in Wethes' eyes; the banker valued him as
much for his decorative value as for his lineage.
With Kavin as a guest, any party Wethes held was
certain to attract a high number of Mornedealth's
; acknowledged beauties as well as the younger mem-
bers of the Fifty. It was probably time again to
grace one of the fat fool's parties with his presence,
after all, he did owe him something. His forbear-
ance in not negating their bargain when Kavin's
brat-sister vanished deserved some reward.
Of course, their arrangement was not all one-
sided. Wethes would have lost all he'd gained by
the marriage and more had it become known that
his child-bride had fled him before the union was a
day old. And now that she'd been gone more than
three years—by law, she was no longer his wife at
all. That would have been infinitely worse. It had
been Kavin who had suggested that they pretend
that Kethry had gone to stay on Wethes' country
estate. Kethry was unused to dealing with people
in any numbers, and found her new position as
Wethes' helpmeet somewhat overwhelming—so they
told the curious. She was happier away from the
city and the confusion of society. Kavin was only
too pleased to represent her interests with Wethes,
and play substitute for her at formal occasions.
They'd kept up the fiction for so long that even
Kavin was starting to half-believe in Wethes' "shy"
spouse.
"The Shin'a'in will be no problem," Kavin said
soothingly, "She's a stranger in this city; she doesn't
know it, she has no friends; All we need do is take
your wayward wife when she's out from under the
swordswoman's eye, and the Shin'a'in will be help-
less to find her. She wouldn't even begin to know
where to look. Although why you're bothering with
this is beyond me. Kethry's hardly of an age to
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 7
