Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound

by The Oathbound [lit]

  crescent-shaped scars.

  "By the fact that She blessed it with Her own

  fire, it can be nothing but a true bond—" Tarma

  began, finding her tongue again.

  "Sheka!" the old man spat, interrupting her. "She

  says openly she is a sorceress. She could have pro-

  duced a seeming sign—could have tricked even you!"

  "For what purpose?"

  "To steal what outClan have always wanted; our

  battlesteeds!"

  Tarma pulled her hand away from Kethry's and

  drew her sword at that venomous accusation.

  "Kethry has saved my life; she has bled at my

  side to help me avenge Tale'sedrin," Tarma spat,

  holding her blade before her in both hands, taking a

  wide-legged, defensive stance. "How dare you doubt

  the word of Kal'enedral? She is my true she'enedra

  by a Goddess-blessed vow, and you will retract

  your damned lie or die on my blade!"

  Whatever tragedy might have happened next was

  forestalled by the battle scream of a hawk high in

  the sky above Kethry. For some reason—she never

  could afterward say why—she flung up her arm as

  Tarma had to receive the hawk in the forest.

  A second scream split the air, and a golden me-

  teor plummeted down from the sun to land on

  Kethry's wrist. The vorcel-hawk was even larger

  than Moonsong's had been, and its talons bit into

  Kethry's arm as it flailed the air with its wings,

  mantling angrily at the Council. Pain raced up her

  arm and blood sprang out where the talons pierced

  her, for she had no vambrace such as Tarma wore.

  Blood was dying the sleeve of her robe a deep

  crimson, but Kethry had endured worse in her train-

  ing as a sorceress. She bit her lip to keep from

  crying out and kept her wrist and arm steady.

  The members of the Council—with the exception

  of the Clan Chief, the Shaman and the Healer of

  Liha'irden—stepped back an involuntary pace or

  two, murmuring.

  Tarma held out her arm, still gripping her blade

  in her right hand; the hawk lifted itself to the

  proffered perch, allowing Kethry to lower her

  wounded arm and clutch it to her chest in a futile

  effort to ease the pain. Need would not heal wounds

  like these; they were painful, but hardly life-

  threatening. She would have to heal them herself

  when this confrontation was over; for now, she

  would have to endure the agony in silence, lest

  showing weakness spoil Tarma's bid for the atten-

  tion of the Council.

  "Is this omen enough for you?" Tarma asked, in

  mingled triumph and anger. "The emblem of Tale'se-

  drin has come, the spirit of Tale'sedrin shows itself—-

  and it comes to Kethry, whom you call outClan and

  deceiver! To me, she'enedra!"

  Again, without pausing for second or third thoughts,

  Kethry reached out her wounded right hand and

  caught Tarma's blade-hand; the hawk screamed once

  more, and mantled violently. It hopped along Tarma's

  arm until it came to their joined hands, hands that

  together held Tarma's blade outstretched, pointing

  at the members of the Council. There it settled for

  one moment, one foot on each wrist.

  Then it screamed a final time, the sound of its

  voice not of battle, but of triumph, and it launched

  itself upward to be lost in the sun.

  Kethry scarcely had time to notice that the pain

  of her arm was gone, before the young Healer of

  Liha'irden was at her side with a cry of triumph of

  his own.

  "You doubt—you dare to doubt still?" he cried,

  pulling back a sleeve that was so soaked with blood

  that beneath it the flesh was surely pierced to the

  bone. "Look here, all of you—look!"

  For beneath Kethry's sleeve her arm was smooth

  and unwounded, without so much as a scar.

  Five

  The gathering-tent was completely full; crowded

  with gaudily garbed Shin'a'in as it was, it would

  have been difficult to find space for even a small

  child. Tarma and Kethry had places of honor near

  the center and the firepit. Since the confrontation

  with the Council and their subsequent vindication,

  their credit had been very high with the Liha'irden.

  "Keth—" Tarma's elbow connected gently with

  Kethry's ribs.

  "Huh?" Kethry started; she'd been staring at the

  fire, more than half mesmerized by the hypnotic

  music three of her Liha'irden "cousins" had been

  playing. Except for her hair and eyes she looked as

  Shin'a'in as Tarma; weeks in the sun this summer

  had turned her skin almost the same golden color

  as her partner's, and she was dressed in the same

  costume of soft boots, breeches, vest and shirt, all

  brightly colored and heavily embroidered, that the

  Shin'a'in themselves wore. If anything, it was Tarma

  who stood out in her sober brown.

  It had been a good time, this past spring and

  summer; a peaceful time. And yet, Kethry was

  feeling a restlessness. Part of it had to be Need's

  fault; the sword wanted her about and doing. But

  part of it—part of it came from within her. And

  Tarma was often unhappy, too. She hadn't said any-

  thing, but Kethry could feel it.

  "It's your turn. What's it going to be; magic, or

  tale?"

  The children, who had been lulled by the music,

  woke completely at that. Their young voices rose

  above the murmuring of their elders, all of them

  trying to have some say in the choice of entertain-

  ment. Half of them were clamoring for magic, half

  for a story.

  These autumn gatherings were anticipated all

  year; in spring there were the young of the herds to

  guard at night, in summer night was the time of

  moving the herds, and in winter it was too cold and

  windy to put up the huge gathering-tent. Children

  were greatly prized among the Clans, but normally

  were not petted or indulged—except here. During

  the gatherings, they were allowed to be a little

  noisy; to beg shamelessly for a particular treat.

  This was the first time Tarma had included her

  she'enedra in the circle of entertainment, and the

  Liha'irden were as curious about her as young cats.

  "Does it have to be one or the other?" Kethry

  asked.

  "Well, no ..."

  "All right then," Kethry said, raising her voice to

  include all of them. "In that case, I'll tell you and

  show you a tale I learned when I was an apprentice

  with Melania of the White Winds Adepts." She

  settled herself carefully and spun out some of her

  own internal energy into an illusion-form. She held

  out her hands, which began to glow, then the thin

  thread of the illusion-form spun up away from them

  like a wisp of rising smoke. The tendril rose until it

  was just above the heads of the watching Shin'a'in,

  then the end thickened and began to rotate, draw-

&nb
sp; ing the rest of the glow up into itself until it was a

  fat globe dancing weightlessly up near the centerpole.

  "This is the tale as it was told me," Kethry be-

  gan, just as the Shin'a'in storytellers had begun,

  while the children oohed and whispered and the

  adults tried to pretend they weren't just as fasci-

  nated as the children. "Once in a hollow tree on

  the top of a hill, there lived a lizard."

  Within the globe the light faded and then bright-

  ened, and a scene came into focus; a stony, vetch-

  covered hill surmounted by a lightning-blasted tree

  of great girth, a tree that glowed ever so faintly. As

  the Clansfolk watched, a green and brown scaled

  lizard poked his head cautiously out of a crevice at

  the base of it; the lizard looked around, and appar-

  ently saw nothing, for the rest of him followed.

  Now even the adults gasped, for this lizard walked

  erect, like a man, and had a head more manlike

  than lizardlike.

  "The lizard's name was Gervase, and he was one

  of the hertasi folk that live still in the Pelagir Hills.

  Hertasi once were tree-lizards long, long ago, until

  magic changed them. Like humans, they can be of

  any nature; good or bad, kind or cruel, giving or

  selfish. But they all have one thing in common. All

  are just as intelligent as we are, and all were made

  that way long ago by magic wars. Now this Gervase

  knew a great deal about magic; it was the cause of

  him being the way he was, after all, and there was

  so much of it in the place where he lived that his

  very tree-home glowed at night with it. So it isn't

  too surprising that he should daydream about it,

  now, is it?"

  The scene changed; the children giggled, for the

  lizard Gervase was playing at being a wizard, just

  as they had often done, with a hat of rolled-up

  birch bark and a "wand" of a twisted branch.

  "He wanted very badly to be a wizard; he used to

  dream about how he would help those in trouble,

  how he would heal the sick and the wounded, how

  he would be so powerful he could stop wars with a

  single wave of his wand. You see, he had a very

  kind heart, and all he ever really wanted to do was

  to make the world a little better. But of course, he

  knew he couldn't; after all, he was nothing but a

  lizard."

  The lizard grew sad-looking (odd how body-

  language could convey dejection when the crea-

  ture's facial expressions were nil), put aside his

  hat and wand, and crawled up onto a branch to sit

  in the sun and sigh.

  "Then one day while he was sunning himself, he

  heard a noise of hound and horse in the distance."

  Now the lizard jumped to his feet, balancing

  himself on the branch with his tail while he craned

  his neck to see as far as he could.

  "While he was trying to see what all the fuss was

  about, a man stumbled into his clearing."

  A tattered and bloody human of early middle age

  fell through the bushes, catching himself barely in

  time to keep from cracking his head open on the

  rocks. There was a gasp from the assembled Clans-

  folk, for the man had plainly been tortured. Kethry

  had not toned the illusion-narrative down much

  from the one she'd been shown; firstly, the chil-

  dren of the Clans were used to bloodshed, sec-

  ondly, it brought the fact home to all of them that

  this was a true tale.

  The man in the illusion was dark-haired and

  bearded; bruised and beaten-looking. And if one

  looked very carefully, it was possible to see that the

  rags he wore had once been a wizard's robe.

  "Gervase didn't stop to wonder about who the

  man was or why he was being chased; he only

  knew that no thinking creature should hunt an-

  other down like a rabbit with dogs and horses. He

  ran to the man—"

  The lizard slid down the tree trunk and scam-

  pered to the fallen wizard. Now it was possible to

  see, as he helped the man to his feet, that he was

  very close to being man-sized himself, certainly

  the size of a young adolescent. At first the man

  was plainly too dazed to realize what it was that

  was helping him, then he came to himself and did a

  double take. The shock and startlement on his face

  made the children giggle again—and not just the

  children.

  " 'Come, human,' Gervase said. 'You must hide

  in my tree, it's the only place where you can be

  safe. I will keep the dogs away from you.' The

  wizard—for that was what he was—did not waste

  any breath in arguing with him, for he could clearly

  hear the dogs baying on his track."

  The lizard half-carried the man to the crevice in

  the tree; the man crawled inside. Gervase then ran

  over to a rock in the sun and arranged himself on it,

  for all the world like an ordinary (if overly-large)

  lizard basking himself.

  "When the dogs came over the hill, with the

  hunters close behind them, Gervase was ready."

  As the dogs and the horses burst through the

  underbrush, Gervase jumped high in the air, as if

  startled out of his wits. He dashed back and forth

  on all fours for a moment, then shot into the crack

  in the tree. There he remained, with his head stick-

  ing out, obviously hissing at the dogs that came to

  bark and snap at him and the man he was protect-

  ing. When one or two got too close, Gervase bit

  their noses. The dogs yelped and scuttled to the

  rear of the pack, tails between their legs, while the

  entire tent roared with laughter.

  "Then the man who had been hunting the wizard

  arrived, and he was not pleased. He had wanted

  the wizard to serve him; he had waited until the

  wizard's magics were either exhausted or nullified

  by his own magicians, then he had taken him pris-

  oner and tortured him. But our wizard had pre-

  tended to be unconscious and had escaped into the

  Pelagirs. The lord was so angry he had escaped

  that he had taken every hunter and dog he had and

  pursued him—but thanks to Gervase, he thought

  now that he had lost the trail."

  The plump and oily man who rode up on a sweat-

  ing horse bore no small resemblance to Wethes.

  Tarma smiled at that, as the "lord" whipped off his

  hounds and laid the crop across the shoulders of

  his fearful huntsman, all the while turning purple

  with rage. At length he wrenched his horse's head

  around, spurring it savagely, and led the lot out of

  the clearing. Gervase came out of hiding; so did the

  wizard.

  "The wizard was very grateful. 'There is a great

  deal of magical energy stored in your home,' he

  said. 'I can grant you nearly anything you want,

  little friend, if you'll let me use it. What way can I

  reward you?' Gervase didn't even have to think

  about it. 'Make me a man like you!
' he said, 'I want

  to be a man like you!' Think carefully on what

  you're asking,' the mage said. 'Do you want to be

  human, or do you want to be a magician? You have

  the potential within you to be a great mage, but it

  will take all the magic of your tree to unlock it, and

  even then it will take years of study before you can

  make use of your abilities. Or would you rather

  have the form of a human? That, too, will take all

  the magic of your tree. So think carefully, and

  choose.' "

  The little lizard was plainly in a quandary; he

  twitched and paced, and looked up at the sky and

  down at the ground for help.

  "Gervase had a terrible decision, you see? If he

  became a human, people would listen to him, but

  he wouldn't have the magic to do what he wanted

  to do. But if he chose to have his Gifts unlocked,

  where would he find someone who would teach the

  use of them to a lizard? But finally, he chose. 'I

  will be a mage,' he said, 'and somewhere I will

  find someone willing to teach me, someone who

  believes that good inside is more important than

  the way I look on the outside.' "

  The wizard in the vision smiled and raised his

  hands over Gervase. The tree began to glow brightly;

  then the glow flowed off the tree and over the little

  lizard, enveloping him and sinking into him.

  " 'You need look no further, little friend,' said

  the mage, when he'd done. Tor I myself will teach

  you, if you wish to be my apprentice.' "

  Gervase plainly went half-mad with joy; he

  danced comically about for a good several minutes,

  then dashed into the now-dark tree and emerged

  again with a few belongings tied into a cloth. To-

  gether he and the mage trudged down the path and