Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound

by The Oathbound [lit]

"And She wants me as part of it."

  "She must, or She wouldn't have marked the

  oathtaking."

  Kethry stretched tired muscles, and put her hands

  under her head. "How much time do you have

  before you have to be back?"

  "Before Tale'sedrin is declared dead? Four years,

  maybe five. Kethry ..."

  "It's all right, I told you, I can feel some of what

  you're feeling now, I understand."

  "You're—you're better. I'm—I'm feeling some of

  what you're feeling, too."

  "This whole mess was worth it," Kethry replied

  slowly, only now beginning to articulate what she'd

  only sensed. "It really was. My ghosts have been

  laid to rest. And revenge—great Goddess, I couldn't

  have hoped for a better revenge! Kavin is terrified

  of me; he kept expecting me to turn him into a

  toad, or something. And Wethes is utterly ruined.

  He's still got his money, but it will never buy him

  back his reputation. Indirectly, you got me that,

  Tarma. I finally realized that I would never reach

  Adept without coming to terms with my past. You

  forced me into the confrontation I'd never have

  tried on my own. For that alone I would be in-

  debted to you."

  "She'enedran don't have debts."

  "I rather figured that. But—I want you to know,

  I'm going with you because I want to, not because I

  think that I owe you. I didn't understand what this

  oath meant at first, but I do now, and I would

  repeat it any time you asked."

  A long silence. Then, "Gestena, she'enedra."

  That meant "thank you," Kethry knew—thanks,

  and a great deal more than thanks.

  "Yai se corthu," she replied uncertainly. "Two

  are one." For she suddenly felt all Tarma's loneli-

  ness and her own as well, and in the darkness of

  the night it is sometimes possible to say things that

  are too intense and too true for daylight.

  "Yai se corthu." And a hand came from the dark-

  ness to take hers.

  It was enough.

  Four

  "Tarma, we've been riding for weeks, and I

  still haven't seen any sign that this country

  is going to turn into grass-plains," Kethry com-

  plained, shifting uncomfortably in Rodi's saddle.

  "Brush-hills, yes. Near-desert, certainly. Forest, ye

  gods! I've seen more trees than I ever want to see

  again!"

  "What's wrong with forest, other than that you

  can't do a straight-line gallop or get a clear shot at

  anything, that is?"

  Kethry gazed in all directions, and then glanced

  up to where branches cut off every scrap of sky

  overhead. Huge evergreens loomed wherever she

  looked; the only sunlight came from those few beams

  that managed to penetrate the canopy of needles. It

  seemed as if she'd been breathing resin forever, the

  smell clung to everything; clothing, hair—it even

  got into the food. It wasn't unpleasant; the oppo-

  site, in fact, especially after they'd first penetrated

  the edges of the forest after days of fighting a dusty

  wind. But after days of eating, drinking, and breath-

  ing the everlasting odor of pine, she was heartily

  tired of it.

  It was chilly and damp on the forest floor, and

  lonely. Kethry hadn't seen a bird in days, for they

  were all up where the sun was. She could hear

  them calling, but the echoes of their far-off singing

  only made the empty corridors between the tree

  trunks seem more desolate. This forest had to be

  incredibly ancient, the oldest living thing she'd ever

  seen, perhaps. Certainly the trees were larger than

  any she was familiar with. They towered for yards

  before branching out, and in the case of a few

  giants she had noticed, their trunks were so large

  that several adults could have circled the biggest of

  them with their arms without touching hand to

  hand. The road they followed now was hardly more

  than a goat track; the last person they had seen had

  been two weeks ago, and since that time they'd

  only had each other's voices to listen to.

  At first it had been pleasurable to ride beneath

  these branches, especially since they had spent

  weeks skirting that near-desert she had mentioned,

  riding through furlong after furlong of stony, brush-

  covered hills with never anything taller than a man

  growing on them. While the spring sun had no-

  where near the power it would boast in a mere

  month, it had been more than hot enough for Kethry

  during the height of the day. She couldn't imagine

  how Tarma, dressed in her dark Sword Sworn cos-

  tume, could bear it. When the hills began to grow

  into something a bit more impressive, and the brush

  gave way to real trees, it was a genuine relief to

  spend all day in their cool shade. But now ...

  "It's like they're—watching. I haven't sensed any-

  thing, either with mage-senses or without, so I know

  it must be my imagination, but..."

  "It's not your imagination; something is watch-

  ing," Tarma interrupted calmly. "Or rather, someone.

  I thought I'd not mention it unless you saw or felt

  something yourself, since they're harmless to MS.

  Hadn't you ever wondered why I haven't taken any

  shots at birds since we entered the trees?"

  "But—"

  "Oh, the watchers themselves aren't within sens-

  ing distance, and not within the scope of your mage-

  senses either—just their feathered friends. Hawks,

  falcons, ravens and crows by day, owls and night-

  hawks by dark. Tale'edras, my people call them—

  the Hawkbrothers. We really don't know what they

  call themselves. We don't see them much, though

  they've been known to trade with us."

  "Will we see any of them?"

  "Why, do you want to?" Tarma asked, with a

  half-grin at Kethry's nod. "You mages must be curi-

  osity incarnate, I swear! Well, I might be able to do

  something about that. As I said, we're in no danger

  from them, but if you really want to meet one—

  let's see if I still have my knack for identifying

  myself."

  She reined in Kessira, threw back her head, and

  gave an ear-piercing cry—not like the battle shriek

  of a hawk, but a bit like the mating cry, or the cry

  that identifies mate to mate. Rodi started, and

  backed a few steps, fighting his bit, until Kethry

  got him back into control. A second cry echoed

  hers, and at first Kethry thought it was an echo, but

  it was followed by a winged streak of gold lightning

  that swooped down out of the highest branches to

  land on Tarma's outstretched arm.

  It braked its descent with a thunder of wings,

  wings that seemed to Kethry to belong to something

  at least the size of an eagle. Talons like ivory knives

  bit into the leather of Tarma's vambrace; the wings

  fanned the air for a heartbeat more, then the bird

  settled
on Tarma's forearm, regal and gilded.

  "Well if I'd wanted a good omen, I couldn't have

  asked for a better," Tarma said in astonishment.

  "This is a vorcel-hawk; you see them more on the

  plains than in the forests—it's my Clan's standard."

  The bird was half-again larger than any hawk

  Kethry had ever seen; its feathers glistened with

  an almost metallic gold sheen, no more than a shade

  darker than the bird's golden eyes. It cocked its

  head to one side and regarded Kethry with an intel-

  ligent air she found rather disturbing. Rodi snorted

  at the alien creature, but Kessira stood calmly when

  one wing flipped a hair's-breadth from her ear,

  apparently used to having huge birds swoop down

  at her rider from out of nowhere.

  "Now, who speaks for you, winged one?" Tarma

  turned her attention fully to the bird on her arm,

  stroking his breast feathers soothingly until he set-

  tled, then running her hand down to his right leg

  and examining it. Kethry edged closer, cautiously;

  wary of the power in that beak and those sharp

  talons. She saw that what Tarma was examining

  was a wide band on its leg, a band of some shiny

  stuff that wasn't metal and wasn't leather.

  "Moonsong k'Vala, hmm? Don't know the name.

  Well, let's send the invitation to talk. I really should

  at least pay my respects before leaving the trees, if

  anyone wants to take them, so ..."

  Tarma lowered her arm a little, and the hawk

  responded by moving up it until he perched on her

  shoulder. His beak was in what Kethry considered

  to be uncomfortably close proximity to Tarma's face,

  but Tarma didn't seem at all concerned. Thinking

  about the uncertain temperament of all the raptors

  she'd ever had anything do to with, Kethry shivered

  at Tarma's casualness.

  When the bird was safely on her shoulder, Tarma

  leaned over a little and rummaged in her saddle-

  bag, finally coming up with a cluster of three small

  medallions. Kethry could see that they were light

  copper disks, beautifully enameled with the image

  of the bird that sat her shoulder.

  She selected one, dropped the other two back in

  her bag; then with great care, took a thong from a

  collection of them looped to a ring on her belt,

  passed the thong through the hole in the top of the

  medallion and knotted it securely. She offered the

  result to the bird, who looked at it with a surpris-

  ing amount of intelligence before opening his beak

  slowly and accepting the thong. He bobbed his head

  twice, the medallion bouncing below his head, and

  Tarma raised her arm again. He sidled along it

  until he reached her wrist, and she launched him

  into the air. His huge wings beat five or six times,

  raising a wind that fanned their hair, then he was

  lost to sight among the branches.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Politeness, more than anything. The Hawk-

  brothers have known we were here from the mo-

  ment we entered the forest, and they knew I was

  Shin'a'in Kal'enedral when they came to look at us

  in person—that would have been the first night we

  camped. Since then they've just been making sure

  we didn't wander off the track, or get ambushed by

  something we couldn't handle. We'll be leaving the

  forest soon."

  "Soon? When?"

  "Keep your breeches on, girl! Tomorrow after-

  noon at the latest. Anyway, you wanted to see one

  of the Hawkbrothers, and it's only polite for me to

  acknowledge the fact that they've been guarding

  us."

  "I thought you said they were watching us."

  "Since I'm Shin'a'in and we're allies, it amounts

  to the same thing. Sa-hai; I just sent my Clan token

  off to our current guardian, whoever it is. If he or

  she chooses, we'll get a response before we leave."

  "Moonsong sounds like a female name to me,"

  Kethry replied.

  "Maybeso, maybeno. The Hawkbrothers are v-e-r-y

  different—well, you'll see if we get a visitor. Keep

  your eyes busy looking for a good campsite; stick to

  the road. As Shin'a'in I have certain privileges here,

  and I'm tired of dried beef. I'm going hunting."

  She swung Kessira off under the trees, following

  the path the hawk had taken, leaving Kethry alone

  on the track. With a shrug, Kethry urged Rodi back

  into a walk and did as she'd been told.

  Still homing in on the Plains; she's been easier than

  she was before Mornedealth, but still—home is draw-

  ing her with a power even I can feel. 1 wonder if it's

  because she hasn't a real purpose anymore, not since

  she accomplished her revenge.

  Kethry kept Rodi to a walk, listening with half

  her attention for the sound of water. Running sur-

  face water was somewhat scarce in the forest; find-

  ing it meant they made a campsite then and there.

  I don't really have a purpose either, except to learn

  and grow stronger in magic—but I expected that. I

  knew that's the way my life would be once 1 left the

  school until I could found my own. But Tarma—she

  needs a purpose, and this home-seeking is only a sub-

  stitute for one. I wonder if she realizes that.

  When Tarma caught up with her, it was a candle-

  mark or so before sunset, but it was already dark

  under the trees. Kethry had found a site that looked

  perfect, with a tiny, clear stream nearby and a

  cleared area where one of the giant trees had fallen

  and taken out a wide swath of seedlings with it.

  That had left a hole in the green canopy above

  where sunlight could penetrate, and there were

  enough grasses and plants growing that there was

  browse for their animals. The tree had been down

  for at least a season, so the wood was dry and

  gathering enough firewood for the evening had been

  the task of less than a candlemark.

  Kethry discovered when she was sweeping out

  the area for stones to line a firepit that others had

  found the site just as perfect, for many of the stones

  bore scorch marks. Now their camp was set up, and

  the tiny fire burning brightly in the stone-lined pit.

  When they had entered this forest, Tarma had em-

  phasized the importance of keeping their fires small

  and under strict control. Now that Kethry knew

  about the Hawkbrothers, she could guess why. This

  tree-filled land was theirs, and they doubtless had

  laws that a visitor to it had better keep, especially

  with winged watchers all about.

  She heard Tarma approaching long before she

  saw her; a dark shape looming back along the trail,

  visible only because it was moving.

  "Ho, the camp!" Tarma's hoarse voice called

  cheerfully.

  "Ho, yourself—what was your luck?"

  "Good enough. From this place you take no more

  than you need, ally or not. Got browse?"

  Tarma appeare
d in the firelight, leading Kessira,

  something dangling from her hand.

  "Behind me about forty paces; Rodi's already

  tethered there, along a downed tree. If you'll give

  me what you've got, I'll clean it."

  "Skinning is all you need to do, I field-gutted

  'em." Tarma tossed two odd creatures at Kethry's

  feet, the size and shape of plump rabbits, but with

  short, tufted ears, long claws, and bushy, flexible

  tails.

  "I'll go take care of Rodi and my baby, and I'll be

  right back." Tarma disappeared into the darkness

  again, and sounds from behind her told Kethry that

  she was unsaddling her mare and grooming both

  the animals. She had unsaddled Rodi but had left

  the rest to Tarma, knowing the Shin'a'in could tend

  a saddlebeast in the dark and half asleep. Rodi,

  while well-mannered for a mule, was too ticklish

  about being groomed for Kethry to do it in uncer-

  tain light.

  When Tarma returned, she brought with her their

  little copper traveling-kettle filled with water. "We'll

  have to stew those devils; they're tough as old boots

  after the winter," she said; then, so softly Kethry

  could hardly hear her, "I got a reply to my invita-

  tion. We'll have a visitor in a bit. Chances are he'll

  pop in out of nowhere; try not to look startled, or

  we'll lose face. I can guarantee he'll look very

  strange; in this case, the stranger the better—if he

  really looks odd it will mean he's giving us full

  honors."

  Just at the moment the stewed meat seemed ready,

  their visitor appeared.

  Even though she'd been forewarned, Kethry still

  nearly jumped out of her skin. One moment the

  opposite side of the fire was empty—the next, it