There were dark masses, like clouds come to earth,
running in lines along the bottoms of some of the
swells. After a long moment Kethry realized that
they must be trees, far-off trees, lining the water-
courses.
"How—" she turned to Tarma with wonder in
her eyes, "how could you ever bear to leave this?"
"It wasn't easy, she'enedra," Tarma sighed, deep
and abiding hunger stirring beneath the smooth
surface of the mask she habitually wore. "Ah, but
you're seeing it at its best. The Plains have their
hard moments, and more of them than the soft.
Winter—aye, that's the coldest face of all, with all
you see out there sere and brown, and so barren all
the life but the Clans and the herds sleeps beneath
the surface in safe burrows. High summer is nearly
as cruel, when the sun burns everything, when the
watercourses shrink to tiny trickles, when you long
for a handsbreadth of shade, and there is none to be
found. But spring—oh, the Plains are lovely then,
as lovely as She is when She is Maiden—and as
welcoming."
Tarma gazed out at the blowing grasslands with a
faint smile beginning to touch her thin lips.
"Ah, I swear I am as sentimental as an old granny
with a mouthful of tales of how golden the world
was when she was young," she laughed, finally,
"and none of this gets us down to the Plains. Fol-
low me, and keep Rodi exactly in Kessira's foot-
steps. It's a long way down from here if you slip."
They followed a narrow trail along the face of the
drop-off, a trail that switched back and forth con-
stantly as it dropped, so that there was never more
than a length or two from one level of the trail to
the next below it. This was no bad idea, since it
meant that if a mount and rider were to slide off
the trail, they would have a fighting chance of
saving themselves one or two levels down. But it
made for a long ride, and all of it in the full sun,
with nowhere to rest and no shade anywhere. Kethry
and her mule were tired and sweat-streaked by the
time they reached the bottom, and she could see
that Tarma and Kessira were in no better shape.
But there was immediate relief at the bottom of
the cliff, in the form of a grove of alders and wil-
lows with a cool spring leaping out of the base of
the escarpment right where the trail ended. They
watered the animals first, then plunged their own
heads and hands into the tinglingly cold water,
washing themselves clean of the itch of sweat and
dust.
Tarma looked at the lowering sun, slicking back
wet hair. "Well," she said finally, "We have a choice.
We can go on, or we can overnight here. Which
would you rather?"
"You want the truth? I'd rather overnight here.
I'm tired, and I ache; I'd like the chance to rinse all
of me off. But I know how anxious you are to get
back to your people."
"Some," Tarma admitted, "But . . . well, if we
quit now, then made an early start of it in the
morning, we wouldn't lose too much time."
"I won't beg you, but—"
"All right, I yield!" Tarma laughed, giving in to
Kethry's pleading eyes.
Camp was quickly made; Tarma went out with
bow and arrow and returned with a young hare and
a pair of grass-quail.
"This—this is strange country," Kethry com-
mented sleepily over the crackle of the fire. "These
grasslands shouldn't be here, and I could swear
that cliff wasn't cut by nature."
"The gods alone know," Tarma replied, stirring
the fire with a stick. It's possible, though. My peo-
ple determined long ago that the Plains are the
bowl of a huge valley that is almost perfectly circu-
lar, even though it takes weeks to ride across the
diameter of it. This is the only place where the rim
is that steep, though. Everywhere else it's been
eroded down, though you can still see the bound-
aries if you know what to look for."
"Perfectly circular—that hardly seems possible."
"You're a fine one to say 'hardly possible,' " Tarma
teased. "Especially since you've just crossed through
the lowest reaches of the Pelagir Hills."
"I what?" Kethry sat bolt upright, no longer sleepy.
"The forest we just passed through—didn't you
know it was called the Pelgiris Forest? Didn't the
name sound awfully familiar to you?"
"I looked at it on the map—I guess I just never
made the connection."
"Well, keep going north long enough and you're
in the Pelagirs. My people have a suspicion that
the Tale'edras are Shin'a'in originally, Shin'a'in who
went a bit too far north and got themselves changed.
They've never said anything, though, so we keep
our suspicions to ourselves."
"The Pelagirs ..." Kethry mused.
"And just what are you thinking of? You surely
don't want to go in there, do you?"
"Maybe."
"Warrior's Oath! Are you mad? Do you know the
kind of things that live up there? Griffins, fire-
birds, colddrakes—things without names 'cause no
one who's seen 'em has lived long enough to give
them any name besides 'AAAARG!' "
Kethry had to laugh at that. "Oh, I know," she
replied, "Better than you. But I also know how to
keep us relatively safe in there—"
"What do you mean, 'us'?"
"—because one of my order came from the heart
of the Pelagirs. The wizard Gervase."
"Gervase?" Tarma's jaw dropped. "The Lizard
Wizard? You mean that silly song about the Wizard
Lizard is true?"
"Truer than many that are taken for pure fact.
Gervase was a White Winds adept, because the
mage that gifted him was White Winds—and it was
a good day for the order when he made that gift.
Gervase, being a reptile, and being a Pelagir change-
ling as well, lived three times the span of a normal
sorcerer, and we are notoriously long-lived. He be-
came the High Adept of the order, and managed to
guide it into the place it holds today."
"Total obscurity," Tarma taunted.
"Oh, no—protective obscurity. Those who need
us know how to find us. Those we'd rather couldn't
find us can't believe anyone who holds the power a
White Winds Adept holds would ever be found ankle-
deep in mud and manure, tending his own onions.
Let other mages waste their time in politics and
sorcerer's duels for the sake of proving that one of
them is better—or at least more devious—than the
other. We save our resources for those who are in
need of them. There's this, too—we can sleep sound
of nights, knowing nobody is likely to conjure an
adder into one of our sleeping rolls."
"Always provided he could ever find the place
where you've laid that sleeping roll," Tarma laughed.
"All right, you've convinced me."
"When we find your people—"
"Hmm?"
"Well, then what?"
"I'll have to go before a Council of the Elders of
three Clans, and present myself. They'll give me
back the Clan banner, and—" Tarma stopped,
nonplussed.
"And—" Kethry prompted.
"I don't know; I hadn't thought about it. Liha'irden
has been taking care of the herds; they'll get first
choice of yearlings for their help. But—I don't know,
she'enedra; the herds of an entire Clan are an awful
lot for just two women to tend. My teacher told me
I should turn mercenary ... and I'm not sure now
that he meant it to be temporary."
"That is how we've been living."
"I suppose we could let Liha'irden continue as
caretakers, at least until we're ready to settle down,
but—I don't want to leave yet."
"I don't blame you," Kethry teased, "After all,
you just got here!"
"Well, look—if we're going to really try and be-
come mercenaries, and not just play at it to get
enough money to live on, we're both going to have
to get battlesteeds—and you are going to have to
learn how to manage one."
Kethry paled. "A battlesteed?" she faltered. "Me?
I've never ridden anything livelier than a pony!"
"I don't want you at my side in a fight on any-
thing less than a Shin'a'in-bred and trained battle-
steed," Tarma said in a tone that brooked no
argument.
Kethry swallowed, and bit her lip a little.
Tarma grinned suddenly. "Don't go lathering your-
self, she'enedra, we may decide to stay here, after
all, and you can confine yourself to ponies and
mules or your own two feet if that's what you
want."
"That prospect," Kethry replied, "sounds more
attractive every time you mention battlesteeds!"
Kethry had no idea how she did it, but Tarma led
them straight into the Liha'irden camp without a
single false turning.
"Practice," she shrugged, when Kethry finally
asked, "I know it looks all the same to you, but I
know every copse and spring and hill of this end of
the Plains. The Clans are nomadic, but we each have
territories; Liha'irden's was next to Tale'sedrin's. I
expected with two Clans' worth of herds they would
be camped by one of the springs that divided the
two, and pasturing in both territories. When the
Hawkbrother told me which spring, I knew I was
right."
Tarma in her costume of Kal'enedral created quite
a stir—but Kethry was a wonder, especially to the
children. When they first approached the camp,
Tarma signaled a sentry who had then ridden in ahead
of them. As they got nearer, more and more adoles-
cents and older children came out on their saddle-
beasts, forming a polite but intensely curious escort.
When they entered the camp itself, the youngest
came running out to see the visitors, voluble and
quite audible in their surprise at the sight of Kethry.
"She has grass-eyes!"
"And sunset-hair!"
"Mata, how come she's riding a mule? She doesn't
look old or sick!"
"Is she Sworn, too? Then why is she wearing
dust-colors?" That from a tiny girl in blazing scar-
let and bright blue.
"Is she staying?" "Is she outClan?" "Is she from
the magic place?"
Tarma swung down off Kessira and took in the
mob of children with a mock-stern expression. "What
is this clamor? Is this the behavior of Shin'a'in?"
The babble cut off abruptly, the children keeping
complete silence.
"Better. Who will take my mare and my she'-
enedra's mule?"
One of the adolescents handed his reins to a
friend and presented himself. "I will, Sworn One."
"My thanks," she said, giving him a slight bow.
He returned a deeper bow, and took both animals
as soon as Kethry had dismounted.
"Now, will someone bring us to the Elders?"
"No need," said a strong, vigorous voice from the
rear of the crowd. "The Elders are here."
The gathering parted immediately to allow a col-
lection of four Shin'a'in through. One was a woman
of middle years, with a square (for a Shin'a'in)
face, gray-threaded hair, and a look of determina-
tion about her. She wore bright harvest-gold breeches,
soft, knee-high, fringed leather boots, a cream-colored
shirt with embroidered sleeves, and a scarlet-and-
black embroidered vest that laced closed in the
front. By the headdress of two tiny antelope horns
she wore, Kethry knew she was the Shaman of
Liha'irden.
The second was a very old man, his face wrin-
kled so that his eyes twinkled from out of the depths
of deep seams, his hair pure white. He wore blue
felt boots, embroidered in green; dark blue breeches,
a lighter blue shirt, and a bright green vest embroi-
dered with a pattern to match the boots, but in
blue. The purely ornamental riding crop he wore at
his belt meant he was the Clan Chief. He was far
from being feeble; he walked fully erect with never
a hint of a limp or a stoop, and though his steps
were slow, they were firm.
Third was a woman whose age lay somewhere
between the Clan Chief and the Shaman. She wore
scarlet; nothing but shades of red. That alone told
Kethry that this was the woman in whose charge
lay both the duties of warleader and of instructing
the young in the use of arms.
Last was a young man in muted greens, who
smiled widely on seeing Tarma. Kethry knew this
one from Tarma's descriptions; he was Liha'irden's
Healer and the fourth Elder.
"Either news travels on the wings of the birds, or
you've had scouts out I didn't see," Tarma said,
giving them the greeting of respect.
"In part, it did travel with birds. The Hawk-
brothers told us of your return," the Healer said.
"They gave us time enough to bring together a
Council."
The crowd parted a second time to let five more
people through, all elderly. Tarma raised one eye-
brow in surprise.
"I had not expected to be met by a full Council,"
she said, cautiously. "And I find myself wondering
if this is honor, or something else."
"Kal'enedra, I wish you to know that this was
nothing of my doing," the Clan Chief of Liha'irden
replied, his voice heavy with disapproval. "Nor
will my vote be cast against you."
"Cast against me? Me? For why?" Tarma flushed,
then blanched.
"Tale'sedrin is a dead Clan," one of the other
five answered her, an old woman with a stubborn
set to her mouth. "It only lacks a Council's pro-
nouncement to make history what is already fact."
"I still live! And while I live, Tale'sedrin lives!"
"A Clan is
more than a single individual, it is a
living, growing thing," she replied, "You are Kal'ene-
dral; you are barren seed by vow and by the War-
rior's touch. How can Tale'sedrin be alive in you,
when you cannot give it life?"
"Kal'enedra, Tarma, we have no wish to take
from you what is yours by right of inheritance," the
Warleader of Liha'irden said placatingly. "The herds,
the goods, they are still yours. But the Children of
the Hawk are no more; you are vowed to the
Shin'a'in, not to any single Clan. Let the banner be
buried with the rest of the dead."
"No!" Tarma's left hand closed convulsively on
the hilt of her dagger, and her face was as white as
marble. "Sooner than that I would die with them!
Tale'sedrin lives!"
"It lives in me." Kethry laid one restraining hand
on Tarma's left and then stepped between her and
the Council. "I am she'enedra to the Sworn One—
does this not make me Shin'a'in also? I have taken
no vows of celibacy; more, I am a White Winds
sorceress, and by my arts I can prolong the period
of my own fertility. Through me Tale'sedrin is a
living, growing thing!"
"How do we know the bond is a true one?" One
of the group of five, a wizened old man, asked
querulously.
Kethry held up her right hand, palm out, and
reached behind her to take Tarma's right by the
wrist and display it as well. Both bore silvered,
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 12
