Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound

by The Oathbound [lit]

  They stopped midway down the block to tap lightly

  at one of those portals that plainly led to a small

  apartment, and Tarma expected it to be opened by

  another of the painted, bright-eyed trollops who

  bestowed themselves on doorways and windows all

  up and down this thoroughfare. She was shivering

  at the sight of most of them, not from dislike, but

  from sympathy. She was half-frozen (as usual), and

  could not imagine for a moment how they managed

  to stay warm in the scarves and shreds of silk they

  wore for bodices and skirts.

  She didn't hold them in low esteem for selling

  themselves to earn their bread. After all, wasn't

  that exactly what she and Keth were doing? It was

  too bad that they had no other commodity to offer,

  but that was what fate had dealt them.

  But the dark-eyed creature who opened her door

  at Justin's coded knock was no whore, and was

  unlikely to ever be mistaken for one, no matter how

  murky the night or intoxicated the customer.

  In some ways she was almost a caricature of

  Tarma herself; practically sexless. Nothing other

  than Justin's word showed she was female—her

  sable hair cut so short it was hardly more than a

  smooth dark cap covering her skull; the thin, half-

  starved-looking body of an acrobat. She wore mid-

  night blue; the only relief of that color came from

  the dozens of knives she wore, gleaming in the light

  that streamed from the room behind her, the torches

  of the street, and the lantern over the door, which

  Tarma noticed belatedly was of blue glass, not red.

  Two bandoliers were strapped across her slim chest,

  and both housed at least eight or nine matched

  throwing daggers. More were in sheaths strapped

  to her arms and legs; two longer knives, almost

  short swords, resided on each hip. Her face was as

  hard as marble, with deeply etched lines of pain.

  "Justin, it's late," she said in a soft voice, frown-

  ing a little. "I take my shift soon."

  "Cat-child, I know," Justin replied; Tarma real-

  ized in that instant that the hard lines of the girl's

  face had deceived her; she couldn't have been more

  than fifteen or sixteen. "But we have a chance to

  get at Wethes Goldmarchant and—"

  The girl's face blazed with an unholy light.

  "When? How? I'll have somebody else sub for me;

  Gesta owes me a favor—"

  "Easy, girl," Ikan cautioned. "We're not sure what

  we're going to be doing yet, or how much we're

  going to be able to hurt him, if at all."

  She gave Ikan a sidelong look, then fixed her

  attention again on Justin. "Him—who?" she asked,

  shortly, jerking her head at Ikan.

  "My shieldbrother; you've heard me talk about him

  often enough," he replied, interpreting the brief

  query, "And this swordlady is Tarma shena Tale'sed-

  rin, Shin'a'in mercenary. Wethes has her oathsister,

  a sorceress—it's rather too long a tale to go into, but

  we know he took her, he's got his reasons for want-

  ing her and we know he won't be taking her to his

  house in the District."

  "And you want to know if I know where his

  latest pleasure-house is. Oh, aye; I do that. But

  unless you swear to let me in on this, I won't tell

  you."

  "Cat, you don't know what you're asking—"

  "Let her buy in,"" Tarma interrupted, and spoke

  to the girl directly. "I'm guessing you're one of

  Wethes' discards."

  "You're not wrong. I hate his littlest nail-paring.

  I want a piece of him—somehow, some way—prefer-

  ably the piece he prizes the most."

  "That's a reasonable request, and one I'm in-

  clined to give you a chance at. Just so long as you

  remember that our primary goal is the rescue of my

  oathsister, and you don't jeopardize getting Keth

  out in one piece."

  "Let me roust out Gesta."

  The girl darted between Tarma and Justin; ran

  up the staircase to the second floor to knock on

  another nondescript door. The ugliest man Tarma

  had ever seen in her life answered it; Cat whis-

  pered something inaudible. He grinned, pulled a

  savage-looking half-ax from somewhere just inside

  the door, and sauntered down the stairs with it,

  whistling tunefully. He gave all three of them a

  wink as he passed them, said shortly, "Good hunt-

  ing," and passed out of sight around a corner. The

  girl returned with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

  "Come on in. Let's sit and plan this over. Being

  too hasty to look before I acted got me into Wethes'

  hands."

  "And you won't be making that mistake a second

  time, will you, my girl?" Justin finished for her.

  They filed into the tiny room; it held a few

  cushions and a pallet, a small clothes chest, more

  knives mounted on the wall, and a lantern, nothing

  more.

  "You say your friend's a sorceress? The old bas-

  tard probably has her under binding from his house

  mage," she mused as she dropped down cross-legged

  on the pallet, leaving them to choose cushions.

  "Think she could break herself free if we gave him

  something else to think about?"

  "Probably; Keth's pretty good—"

  "The mage isn't all we have to worry about.

  Kavinestral's crowd is bound to be hanging around,"

  Ikan interrupted.

  "Damn—there's only four of us, and that lot is

  nearly thirty strong." The girl swore under her

  breath. "Where in sheva are we going to get enough

  bodies to throw at them?"

  Whatever had been in that drink Ikan had given

  her seemed to be making Tarma's mind work at

  high speed. " 'Find your enemy's enemy.' That's

  what my people would say."

  Ikan stared at her, then began to grin.

  The last explosion from the sealed room below

  made the whole house rattle. Wethes turned to

  Kavin with stark panic in his face. "What have you

  gotten me into?" he choked hysterically, grabbing

  Kavin by the front of his tunic and shaking him.

  "What kind of monster has she become?"

  Kavin struck the banker's hands away, a touch of

  panic in his own eyes. Kethry wasn't going to be

  any happier with him than she was with Wethes—

  and if she got loose— "How was I to know? Mage-

  craft doesn't breed true in my family! Mages don't

  show up oftener than one in every ten births in my

  House! She never gave any indication she had that

  much power when I was watching her! Can't your

  mage contain her?"

  "Barely—and then what do I do? She'll kill me if

  I try and let her go, and may the gods help us if

  Regyl has to contend with more than simply con-

  taining her."

  He might have purposefully called the sounds of

  conflict from the yard beyond the house. Shouts

  and cries of pain, and the sound of steel on steel

  penetrated
the door to the courtyard; mingled in

  those shouts was the rally cry of the Greens. That

  galvanized Kavin into action; he started for the

  door to the rear of the house and the only other

  exit, drawing his sword as he ran, obviously hoping

  to escape before the fracas penetrated into the

  building.

  But he stopped dead in his tracks as the door

  burst inward, and narrowly missed being knocked

  off his feet by the force that blew it off its hinges.

  His blade dropped from numb fingers, clattering on

  the slate-paved floor. His eyes grew round, and he

  made a tiny sound as if he were choking. Behind

  him, Wethes was doing the same.

  There were five people standing in the doorway;

  whether Wethes knew all of them, he didn't know,

  but Kavin recognized only two.

  First in line stood Kethry. Her robes were slightly

  torn and scorched in one place; she was disheveled,

  smoke-stained, and dirty. But she was very clearly

  in control of the situation—and Kavin found him-

  self completely cowed by her blazing eyes.

  Behind her was the Shin'a'in Tarma; a sword in

  one hand, a dagger in the other, and the look of an

  angry wolf about her. Should Kethry leave any-

  thing of him, he had no doubt that his chances of

  surviving a single candlemark with her were nil.

  Next to Tarma stood a young girl in midnight

  blue festooned with throwing daggers and with a

  long knife in either hand. She was the only one of

  the lot not dividing her attention between himself

  and Wethes. Kavin looked sideways over his shoul-

  der at the banker, and concluded that he would

  rather not be in Wethes' shoes if that girl were

  given her way with him; Wethes looked as if he

  were as frightened of her as of the rest combined.

  Behind those three stood a pair of men, one of

  whom looked vaguely familiar, although Kavin

  couldn't place him. They took one look at the situa-

  tion, grinned at each other, sheathed their own

  weapons, and left, closing what remained of the

  door behind the three women.

  Kavin backed up, feet scuffling on the floor, until

  he ran into Wethes.

  "Surprise, kinsmen," Kethry said. "I am so glad

  to find you both at home."

  The Broken Sword was the scene of general cele-

  bration; Hadell had proclaimed that the ale was on

  the house, in honor of the victory the five had just

  won. It was a double victory, for not only had they

  rescued Kethry, but Ikan had that very day gotten

  them a hearing and a highly favorable verdict from

  the Council. Wethes was, insofar as his ambitions

  went, a ruined man. Worse, he was now a laughing-

  stock to the entire city.

  "Cat-child, I expected you at least to want him

  cut up into collops." Justin lounged back precari-

  ously in his chair on the hearth, balancing it on two

  legs. "I can't fathom why you went along with

  this."

  "I wanted to hurt him," the girl replied, trim-

  ming her nails with one of her knives. "And I knew

  after all these years of watching him that there's

  only two ways to hurt that bastard; to hit his pride

  or his moneybags. Revenge, they say, is a dish best

  eaten cold, and I've had three years of cooling."

  "And here's to Kethry, who figured how to get

  both at the same time," Ikan raised his mug in a

  toast.

  Kethry reciprocated. "And to you, who convinced

  the Council I was worth heeding."

  Ikan smiled. "Just calling in a few old debts,

  that's all. You're the one who did the talking."

  "Oh, really? I was under the impression that you

  did at least half of it."

  "Some, maybe. Force of habit, I'm afraid. Too

  many years of listening to my father. You may

  know him—Jonis Revelath—"

  "Gods, yes, I remember him!" Kethry exclaimed.

  "He's the legal counsel for half the Fifty!"

  "Slightly more than half."

  "That must be why you're the one who remem-

  bered it's against the law to force any female of the

  Fifty into any marriage without her consent," Kethry

  said admiringly. "Ikan, listening to you in there—I

  was truly impressed. You're clever, you're persua-

  sive, you're a good speaker. Why aren't you . . ."

  "Following in my father's footsteps? Because he's

  unable to fathom why I am more interested in jus-

  tice than seeing that every client who hires me gets

  off without more than a reprimand."

  "Which is why the old stick wouldn't defend

  Wethes for all the gold that bastard threw at him,"

  Justin chuckled, seeing if he could balance the chair

  on one leg. "Couldn't bear to face his son with Ikan

  on the side of Good, Truth, and Justice. Well,

  shieldbrother, going to give up the sword and Fight

  for Right?" The irony in his voice was so strong it

  could have been spread on bread and eaten.

  "Idiot!" Ikan grinned. "What do you think I am,

  a dunderhead like you? Swords are safer and usu-

  ally fairer than the law courts any day!"

  "Well, I think you were wonderful," Kethry began.

  "I couldn't have done it without you and Cat

  being so calm and clear. You had an answer for

  everything they could throw at you."

  "Enough!" Tarma growled, throwing apples at

  all of them. "You were all brilliant. So now Wethes

  is poorer by a good sum; Cat has enough to set

  herself up as anything she chooses, we have enough

  to see us to the Plains, and the entire town knows

  Wethes isn't potent with anything over the age of

  twelve. He's been the butt of three dozen jokes that

  I've heard so far; there are gangs of little boys

  chanting rude things in front of his house at this

  moment."

  "I've heard three songs about him out on the

  street, too," Cat interrupted with an evil grin.

  "And last of all, Keth's so-called marriage has

  been declared null. What's left?"

  "Kavin?" Justin hazarded. "Are we likely to see

  any more trouble from him?"

  "Well, I saw to it that he's been declared disin-

  herited by the Council for selling his sister. Keth

  didn't want the name or the old hulk of a house

  that goes with it, so it's gone to a cadet branch of

  her family."

  "With my blessings; they're very religious, and I

  think they intend to set up a monastic school in it.

  As for my brother, when last seen, Kavin was fleeing

  for his life through the stews with the leader of the

  Greens in hot pursuit," Kethry replied with a cer-

  tain amount of satisfaction. "I saw him waiting for

  Kavin outside the Council door, and I was kind

  enough to pinpoint my brother for him with a ball

  of mage-light. I believe his intention was to paint

  Kavin a bright emerald when he caught him."

  Justin burst into hearty guffaws—and his chair

  promptly capsized.

  The
rest of them collapsed into helpless laughter

  at the sight of him, looking surprised and indig-

  nant, amid the ruins of his chair.

  "Well!" he said, crossing his arms and snorting.

  "There's gratitude for you! That's the last time I

  ever do any of you a fav—"

  Whatever else he was going to say ended in a

  splutter as Ikan dumped his mug over his head.

  "Still set on getting back to the Plains?" Kethry

  asked into the darkness.

  A sigh to her right told her that Tarma wasn't

  asleep yet. "I have to," came the reluctant answer.

  "I can't help it. I have to. If you want to stay ..."

  Kethry heard the unspoken plea behind the words

  and answered it. "I'm your she'enedra, am I not?"

  "But do you really understand what that means?"

  "Understand—no. Beginning to understand, yes.

  You forget, I'm a mage; I'm used to taking internal

  inventory on a regular basis. I've never had a Tal-

  ent for Empathy, but now I find myself knowing

  what you're feeling, even when you're trying to

  hide it. And you knew the instant I'd been taken,

  didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And now you're being driven home by some-

  thing you really don't understand."

  "Yes."

  "Does it have anything to do with that Goddess

  of yours, do you think?"

  "It might; I don't know. We Sworn Ones move

  mostly to Her will, and it may be She has some

  reason to want me home. I know She wants Tale'-

  sedrin back as a living Clan."