And the bit of fiber shot across to the twine like
an arrow loosed from a bow.
"Now you will see the key to entering a locked
room, now that I have proved that this was the
mechanism by which the trick was accomplished."
She went over to the door to the seneschal's cham-
ber. She wedged the hook under the bar on the
door, and lowered the bar so that it was only held
in place by the hook; the hook was kept where it
was by the length of twine going over the door
itself. The other length of twine Kethry threaded
under the door. Then she closed the door.
The second piece of twine jerked; the hook came
free, and the bar thudded into place. And the whole
contrivance was pulled up over the door and through
the upper crack by the first piece.
All eyes turned toward the seneschal--whose
white face was confession enough.
* * *
"Lady Myria was certainly grateful enough."
"If we'd let her, she'd have stripped the treasury
bare," Kethry replied, waving at the distant figures
on the keep wall. "I'm glad you talked her out of
it."
"Greeneyes, they don't have it to spare, and we
both know it. As it is, she'll have to spend most of
the seneschal's hoard in making up for the short-
falls among the hirelings that his skimmings caused
in the first place."
"Will she be all right, do you think?"
"Now that her brother's here I don't think she
has a thing to worry about. She's gotten back all the
loyalty of her lord's people and more besides. All
she needed was a strong right arm to beat off un-
welcome suitors, and she's got that now! Warrior's
Oath, I'm glad that young monster wasn't one of the
challengers. I'd never have lasted past the first
round!"
"Tarma—"
The swordswoman raised an eyebrow at Kethry's
unwontedly serious tone.
"If you—did all that because you think you owe
me—"
"I 'did all that' because we're she'enedran," she
replied, a slight smile wanning her otherwise for-
bidding expression. "No other reason is needed."
"But—"
"No 'buts,' Greeneyes." Tarma looked back at
the waving motes on the wall. "Hell, we've just
accomplished something we really needed to do.
This little job is going to give us a real boost on our
reputation. Besides, you know I'd do whatever I
needed to do to keep you safe."
Kethry did not reply to that last; not that she
wasn't dead certain that it was true. That was the
problem.
Tarma had been stepping between Kethry and
possible danger on a regular basis, often when such
intercession wasn't needed. At all other times, she
treated Kethry as a strict equal, but when danger
threatened—
She tried to keep the sorceress wrapped in a
protective cocoon spun of herself and her blades.
She probably doesn't even realize she's doing it—but
she's keeping me so safe, she's putting herself in more
risk than she needs to. She knows I can take care of
myself-—
Then the answer occurred to her.
Without me, there will never be a Tale'sedrin. She's
protecting, not just me, but her hopes for a new Clan!
But she's stifling me—and she's going to get herself
killed!
She glanced over at Tarma, at the distant, brood-
ing expression she wore.
I can't tell her. She might not believe me. Or worse,
she might believe, and choke when she needs to act. 1
wonder if Warrl has figured out what she's doing? I
hope so—
She glanced again at her partner.
—or she's going to end up killing all three of us. Or
driving me mad.
Seven
The sorcerer was young, thin, and sweating
nervously, despite the cold of the musty cellar
chamber that served as his living area and work-
room. His secondhand robe was clammy with chill
and soaked through with his own perspiration.
He had every reason to be nervous. This was the
first time he and his apprentice (who was now
huddled out of the way in the corner) had ever
attempted to bind an imp to his service. The sum-
moning of a spirit from the Abyssal Planes is no
small task, even if the spirit one hopes to summon
is of the very least and lowliest of the demonic
varietals. Demons and their ilk are always watch-
ing for a chance misstep—and some are more eager
to take advantage of a mistake than others.
The torches on the walls wavered and smoked,
their odor of hot pitch nearly overwhelming the
acrid tang of the incense he was burning. Mice
squeaked and scuttled along the rafters overhead.
Perhaps they were the cause of his distraction, for
he was distracted for a crucial moment. And one of
those that watched and waited seized the unhoped-
for opportunity when the sorcerer thrice chanted,
not the name "Talhkarsh"—the true-name of the
imp he meant to bind—but "Thalhkarsh."
Incandescent ruby smoke rose and filled the inte-
rior of the diagram the mage had so carefully chalked
upon the floor of his cluttered, dank, high-ceilinged
stone chamber. It completely hid whatever was form-
ing within the bespelled hexacle.
But there was something there; he could see shad-
ows moving within the veiling smoke. He waited, dry-
mouthed in anticipation, for the smoke to clear, so
that he could intone his second incantation, one that
would coerce the imp he'd summoned into the bottle
that waited within the exact center of the hexacle.
Then the smoke vanished as quickly as it had
been conjured—and the young mage nearly fainted,
as he looked up at what stood there. And looked
higher. And his sallow, bearded visage assumed the
same lack of color as his chalk when the occupant,
head just brushing the rafters, calmly stepped across
the spell-bound lines, bent slightly at the waist,
and seized him none-too-gently by the throat.
Thinking quickly, he summoned everything he
knew in the way of arcane protections, spending
magical energy with what in other circumstances
might have been reckless wastefulness. There was
a brief flare of light around him, and the demon
dropped him as a human would something that had
unexpectedly scorched his hand. The mage cringed
where he had fallen, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Oh, fool," the voice was like brazen gongs just
slightly out of tune with each other, and held no
trace of pity. "Look at me."
The mage opened one eye, well aware of the
duplicity of demons, yet unable to resist the com-
mand. His knowledge did him little good; his face
went slack-jawed with bemusement at the serpen-
tine beauty of the creature that stood over him. It
had shrunk to the size of a very tall human and
its—his—eyes glowed from within, a rich ruby
color reminiscent of wine catching sunlight. He was
—wonderful.
He was the very image of everything the mage
had ever dreamed of in a lover. The face was that
of a fallen angel, the nude body that of a god. The
ruby eyes promised and beckoned, and were filled
with an overwhelming and terribly masculine power.
The magician's shields did not include those meant
to ward off beglamoring. He threw every pitiful
protection he'd erected to the four winds in an
onslaught of delirious devotion.
The demon laughed, and took him into his arms.
When he was finished amusing himself, he tore
the whimpering creature that remained to shreds
.. . slowly.
It was only then, only after he'd destroyed the
mage past any hope of resurrection, and when he
was sated with the emanations of the mage's tor-
ment and death, that he paused to think—and, think-
ing, to regret his hasty action.
There had been opportunity there, opportunity
to be free forever of the Abyssal Planes, and more,
a potential for an unlimited supply of those de-
lights he'd just indulged in. If only he'd thought
before he'd acted!
But even as he was mentally cursing his own
impulsiveness, his attention was caught by a hint
of movement in the far corner.
He grew to his full size, and reached out lazily
with one bloodsmeared claw to pull the shivering,
wretched creature that cowered there into the torch-
light. It had soiled itself with fear, but by the torque
around its throat and the cabalistic signs on its
shabby robe, this pitiful thing must have been the
departed mage's apprentice.
Thalhkarsh chuckled, and the apprentice tried to
shrink into insignificance. All was not yet lost. In
fact, this terror-stricken youth was an even better
candidate for what he had in mind than his master
would have been.
Thalhkarsh bent his will upon the boy's mind; it
was easy to read. The defenses his master had
placed about him were few and weak, and fading
with the master's death. Satisfied by what he read
there, the demon assumed his most attractive as-
pect and spoke.
"Boy, would you live? More, would you prosper?"
The apprentice trembled and nodded slightly,
his eyes glazed with horror, a fear that was rapidly
being subsumed by the power the demon was
exerting on his mind.
"See you this?" the demon hefted the imp-bottle
that had been in the diagram with him. Plain, red-
dish glass before, it now glowed from within like
the demon's eyes. "Do you know what it is?"
"The—imp-bottle," the boy whispered, after two
attempts to get words out that failed. "The one
Leland meant to—to—"
"To confine me in—or rather, the imp he meant
to call. It is a worthless bottle no more; thanks to
having been within the magic confines of the dia-
gram when I was summoned instead of the imp, it
has become my focus. Did your master tell you
what a demonic focus is?"
"It—" the boy stared in petrified fascination at
the bottle in the demon's hand, "it lets you keep
yourself here of your own will. If you have enough
power."
The demon smiled. "But I want more than free-
dom, boy. I want more than power. I have greater
ambitions. And if you want to live, you'll help me
achieve them."
It was plain from the boy's eyes that he was more
than willing to do just about anything to ensure his
continued survival. "How—what do you want?"
Thalhkarsh laughed, and his eyes narrowed.
"Never mind, child. I have plans—and if you suc-
ceed in what I set out for you, you will have a life
privileged beyond anything you can now imagine.
You will become great—and I, I will become—greater
than your poor mind can dream. For now, child,
this is how you can serve me. . .."
"Here?" Tarma asked her mage-partner. "You're
sure?"
The sunset bathed her in a blood-red glow as
they approached the trade-gate of the city of Delton,
and a warm spring breeze stirred a lock of coarse
black hair that had escaped the confines of her
short braids; her hair had grown almost magically
the past few months, as if it had resented being
shorn. The last light dyed her brown leather tunic
and breeches a red that was nearly black.
Kethry's softly attractive face wore lines of strain,
and there was worry in her emerald eyes. "I'm
sure. It's here—and it's bad, whatever it is. This is
the worst Need's ever pulled on me that I can
remember. It's worse than that business with Lady
Myria, even." She pushed the hood of her traveling
robe back from an aching forehead and rubbed her
temples a little.
"Huh. Well, I hope that damn blade of yours
hasn't managed to get us knee-deep into more than
we can handle. Only one way to find out, though."
The swordswoman kneed her horse into the lead,
and the pair rode in through the gates after passing
the cursory inspection of a somewhat nervous
Gate Guard. He seemed oddly disinclined to climb
down from his gatehouse post, being content to
pass them through after a scant few moment's
scrutiny.
Tarma's ice-blue eyes scanned the area just in-
side the gate for signs of trouble, and found none.
Her brow puckered in puzzlement. "She'enedra, I
find it hard to believe you're wrong, but this is the
quietest town I've ever seen. I was expecting blood
and rapine in the streets."
"I'm not mistaken," Kethry replied in a low, tense
voice. "And there's something very wrong here—the
very quiet is wrong. It's too quiet. There's no one at
all on the streets—no beggars, no whores, no nothing."
Tarma looked about her with increased alertness.
Now that Keth had mentioned it, this looked like
an empty town. There were no loiterers to be seen
in the vicinity of the trade gate or the inns that
clustered about the square just inside it, and that
was very odd indeed. No beggars, no thieves, no
whores, no strollers, no street musicians—just the
few stablehands and inn servants that had to be
outside, leading in the beasts of fellow travelers,
lighting lanterns and torches. And those few betook
themselves back inside as quickly as was possible.
The square of the trade inns was ominously deserted.
"Warrior's Oath! This is blamed spooky! I don't
like the look of this, not one bit."
"Neither do I. Pick us an inn, she'enedra; pick
one fast. If the locals don't want to be out-of-doors
after sunset, they must have a reason, and I'd rather
not be out here eith
er."
Tarma chose an inn with the sign of a black
sheep hanging above the door, and the words (for
the benefit of those that could read) "The Blacke
Ewe" painted on the wall beside the door. It looked
to be about the right sort for the state of their
purses, which were getting a bit on the lean side.
They'd been riding the Trade Road north to Valde-
mar, once again looking for work, when Kethry's
geas-forged blade Need had drawn them eastward
until they ended up here. The sword had left them
pretty much alone except for a twinge or two—and
the incident with the feckless priestess, that had
wound up being far more complicated than it had
needed to be thanks to the Imp of the Perverse and
Tarma's own big mouth. Tarma was beginning to
hope that it had settled down.
And then this afternoon, Kethry had nearly fainted
when it "called" with all of its old urgency. They'd
obeyed its summons, until it led them at last to
Delton.
Tarma saw to the stabling of their beasts; Kethry
to bargaining for a room. The innkeeper looked
askance at a mage wearing a sword, for those who
trafficked in magic seldom carried physical weap-
onry, but he was openly alarmed by the sight of
what trotted at Tarma's heels—a huge, black,
wolflike creature whose shoulders came nearly as
high as the swordswoman's waist.
Kethry saw the alarm in his eyes, realized that
he had never seen a kyree before, and decided to use
his fear as a factor in her bargaining. "My famil-
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 20
