one single band with the promise that they would
be able-bunder his leadership—to take even the
most heavily guarded packtrains. He made good on
his boast. Before a few months passed it wasn't
possible for a mouse to travel the Trade Road
unmolested."
"But surely they sent out decoy trains."
"Oh, they did; Longknife had an extra factor in
his favor," Kethry had managed to get herself back
into control again, and answered him. "He had a
talent for mind-magic, like they practice in Valdemar.
It wasn't terribly strong, but it was very specific.
Anyone who saw Longknife thought that he was
someone they had known for a long time but not
someone anywhere within riding distance. That way
he avoided the pitfall of having his 'double' show
up. He looked to be a different person to everyone,
but he always looked like someone they trusted, so
he managed to get himself included as a guard on
each and every genuine packtrain going out. When
the time was right, he'd signal his men and they'd
ambush the train. If it was too well guarded, he'd
wait until it was his turn on night-watch and drive
away the horses and packbeasts; there's no water
in the waste, and the guards and traders would
have to abandon their goods and make for home
afoot."
"That's almost diabolically clever."
"You do well to use that word; he was diabolic,
all right. One of the first trains he and his men took
was also conveying a half-dozen or so young girls to
fosterage—daughters of the traders in town—the
idea being that they were more likely to find young
men to their liking in a bigger city. Longknife and
his men could have ransomed them unharmed; could
even have sold them. He didn't. He took his plea-
sure of each of them in turn until he tired of them,
then turned them over to his men to be gang-raped
to death without a second thought."
The priest thought that if the minstrel Leslac
could have seen the expression in Tarma's eyes at
this moment, he'd have used stronger words in his
song than he had.
"The uncle of one of the girls found out we were
in a town nearby and sent for us," Kethry picked
up when Tarma seemed lost in her own grim
thoughts. "We agreed to take the job, and disguised
ourselves to go out with the next train. That's where
the song is worst wrong—I was the lady, Tarma
was the maidservant. When the bandits attacked, I
broke the illusions; surprise gave us enough of an
advantage that we managed to rout them."
"We didn't kill them all, really didn't even get
most of them, just the important ones, the leaders."
Tarma came back to herself and resumed the tale.
"And we got Longknife; the key to the whole
business."
"What—what was the 'thorough vengeance'?" the
priest asked. "I have been eaten up with curiosity
ever since I heard the song, but I hardly know if I
dare ask—"
Tarma's harsh laugh rang as she tossed back her
head. "We managed to keep one thing from that
songster, anyway! All right, I'll let you in on the
secret. Kethry put an all-senses illusion on him and
bound it to his own mind-magic so that he couldn't
be rid of it. She made him look like a very attrac-
tive, helpless woman. We made sure he was uncon-
scious, then we tied him to his horse and sent him
into the waste following the track of what was left
of his band. I've no doubt he knew exactly what his
victims had felt like before he finally died."
"Remind me never to anger you, Sworn One."
The priest shook his head ruefully. "I'm not sure I
care for your idea of justice."
"Turnabout is fair play—and it's no worse that
what he'd have gotten at the hands of the relatives
of the girls he murdered," Kethry pointed out.
"Tarma's Lady does not teach that evildoers should
remain unpunished; nor does mine. And Longknife
is another bit of scum who had ample opportunity
to do good—or at least no harm—and chose instead
to deliberately inflict the most harm he could. I
think he got his just desserts, personally."
"If you, too, are going to enter the affray, I fear I
am outnumbered." The priest smiled. "But I shall
retire with dignity, allowing the justice of your
assertions, but not conceding you the victory.
Though it is rather strange that you should men-
tion the demon Thalhkarsh just now."
Both Tarma and Kethry came instantly alert;
they changed their positions not so much as a hair
(Tarma leaning on both arms that rested on the
table, Kethry lounging a little against the wall) but
now they both had dropped the veneer of careless
ease they had worn, and beneath that thin skin the
wary vigilance of the predator and hunter showed
plain.
"Why?" Tarma asked carefully.
"Because I have heard rumors in the beggar's
quarter that some ill-directed soul is trying to re-
establish the worship of Thalhkarsh in the old Tem-
ple of Duross there. More than that, we have had
reports of the same from, a young woman who ap-
parently dwells there."
"Have you?" Kethry pushed back the hood of her
buff-colored robe. "Worshiping Thalhkarsh—that's
a bit injudicious, considering what happened at
Delton, isn't it?"
"Injudicious to say the least," the priest replied,
"Since they must know what will happen to them
if they are discovered. The Prince is not minded to
have light women slaughtered on altars instead of
paying his venery taxes. I heard that after Thalh-
karsh's depredations, his income from Delton was
halved for the better part of three years. He took
care to alter or tighten the laws concerning reli-
gious practice after that. Human sacrifice in any
form is punishable by enslavement; if the perpetra-
tor has murdered taxpayers, he goes to the Prince's
mages for their experiments."
Kethry lifted an eyebrow; Tarma took a largish
mouthful of wine. They'd both heard about how
Prince Lothar's mages produced his monstrous mind-
less bodyguards. They'd also heard that the process
from normal man to twelve-foot-tall brute was far
from pleasant—or painless. Lothar was sometimes
called "the Looney"—but never to his face.
The little priest met blue and green eyes in turn,
and nodded. "Besides that," he continued, "There
are several sects, mine included, who would wish
to deal with the demon on other levels. We all want
him bound, at the least. But so far it's all rumor.
The temple has been empty every time anyone's
checked."
"So you did check?"
"In all conscience, yes—although the woman didn't
seem terribly trustworthy or terrib
ly bright. Pretty,
yes—rather remarkably pretty under the dirt, but
she seemed to be in a half-daze all the time. Brother
Thoser was the one who questioned her, not I, or I
could tell you more. My guess would be that she
was of breeding, but had taken to the street to
supply an addiction of some sort."
Tarma nodded thoughtfully.
"Where is this temple?"" Kethry's husky alto
almost made the little priest regret his vow of chas-
tity; and when she had moved into the light, and
he saw that the sweet face beneath the hood matched
the voice, he sighed a little for days long lost.
"Do you know the beggar's quarter? Well then,
it's on the river, just downwind of the slaughter-
house and the tannery. It's been deserted since the
last acolyte died of old age—oh, nearly fifteen years
ago. It's beginning to fall apart a bit; the last time I
looked at it, there didn't seem to be any signs that
anyone had entered it in all that time."
"Is it kept locked up?"
"Oh, yes; not that there's anything to steal—
mostly it's to keep children from playing where
they might be hurt by falling masonry. The beggars
used it for a bit as one of their meeting halls, before
the acolyte died, but," he chuckled, "One-Eye Tham
told me it was 'too perishin' cold and damp' and
they moved to more comfortable surroundings."
Tarma exchanged a look with her partner; We
need to talk, she hand-signed.
Kethry nodded, ever so slightly. We could be in
trouble, she signed back.
Tarma's grimace evidenced agreement.
"Well, if you will allow me," the little priest
finished the last of his wine, and shoved the bench
back with a scrape, "I fear I have morning devo-
tions to attend to. As always, Sworn One, the con-
versation and company have been delightful, if
argumentative—''
Tarma managed a smile; it transformed her face,
even if it didn't quite reach her eyes. "My friend,
we have a saying—it translates something like 'there
is room in the universe for every Way.' You travel
yours; should you need it, my sword will protect
you as I travel mine."
"That is all anyone could reasonably ask of one
who does not share his faith," he replied, "And so,
good night."
The two mercenary women finished their own
wine and headed for their room shortly after his
departure. With Warrl padding after, Kethry took
one of the candles from the little table standing by
the entrance to the hall, lit it at the lantern above
the table, and led the way down the corridor. The
wooden walls were polished enough that their light
was reflected; they'd been tended to recently and
Tarma could still smell the ferris-oil that had been
used. The sounds of snoring behind closed doors,
the homelike scents of hot wax and ferris-oil, the
buzz of conversation from the inn behind them—all
contrasted vividly with the horror that had been
resurrected in both their minds at the mention of
Thalhkarsh.
Their room held two narrow beds, a rag rug, and a
table; all worn, but scrupulously clean. They had
specified a room with a window, so Warrl could
come and go as he pleased; no one in his right mind
would break into the room with any of the three of
them in it, and their valuables were in the stable,
well-guarded by their well-named warsteeds, Hells-
bane and Ironheart.
When the door was closed and bolted behind
them, Kethry put the candle in its wall sconce and
turned to face her partner with a swish of robes.
"If he's there, if it's really Thalhkarsh, he'll be
after us."
Tarma paced the narrow confines of the room.
"Seems obvious. If I were a demon, I'd want re-
venge. Well, we knew this might happen someday.
I take it that your sword hasn't given you any
indication that there's anything wrong?"
"No. At least, nothing more than what you'd ex-
pect in a city this size. I wish Need would be a
little more discriminating." Kethry sighed, and one
hand caressed the hilt of the blade she wore at her
side over her sorceress' robes in an unconscious
gesture of habit. "I absolutely refuse to go sticking
my nose into every lover's-quarrel in this town!
And—"
"Warrior's Oath—remember the first time you
tried?" Tarma's grim face lightened into a grin
with the recollection.
"Oh, laugh, go ahead! You were no help!"
"Here you thought the shrew was in danger of
her life—you went flying in the door and knocked
her man out cold—and you expected her to throw
herself at your feet in gratitude—" Tarma was tak-
ing full revenge for Kethry's earlier hilarity at her
expense. "And what did she do? Began hurling
crockery at you, shrieking you'd killed her beloved!
Lady's Eyes, I thought I was going to die!"
"I wanted to take her over my knee and beat her
with the flat of my blade."
"And to add insult to injury, Need wouldn't let
you lay so much as a finger on her! I had to go in
with a serving dish for a shield and rescue you
before she tore you to shreds!"
"She could have done that with her tongue alone,"
Kethry grimaced. "Well, that's not solving our prob-
lem here. ..."
"True," Tarma conceded, sobering. She threw
herself down on her bed, Warrl jumping up next to
her and pushing his head under her hand. "Back to
the subject. Let's assume that the rumor is true; we
can't afford not to. If somebody has brought that
particular demon back, we know he's going to want
our hides."
"Or worse."
"Or worse. Now he can't have gotten too power-
ful, or everybody in town would know about him.
Remember Del ton."
Kethry shifted restlessly from foot to foot, finally
going over to the window to open the shutters with
a creak of hinges and stare out into the night. "I
remember. And I remember that we'd better do
something about him while he's in that state."
"This isn't a job for us, she'enedra. It's a job for
priests. Powerful priests. I remember what he al-
most did to me. He came perilously close to break-
ing my bond with the Star-Eyed. And he boasted he
could snap your tie to Need just as easily. I think
we ought to ride up to the capital as fast as Hellsbane
and Ironheart can carry us, and fetch us some
priests."
"And come back to an empty town and a demon
transformed to a godling?" Kethry turned away
from the window to shake her head at her partner,
her amber hair like a sunset cloud around her face,
and a shadow of anger in her eyes. "What if we're
wrong? We'll have some very powerful people very
angry at us for wasting their time
. And if we're
right—we have to act fast. We have to take him
while he's still weak or we'll never send him back
to the Abyssal Planes at all. He is no stupid imp—
he's learned from what we did to him, you can bet
on it. If he's not taken down now, we'll never be
able to take him at all."
"That's not our job!"
"Whose is it then?" Kethry dug her fingers into
the wood of the windowframe behind her, as tense
and worried as she'd ever been. "We'd better make
it our job if we're going to survive! And I told you
earlier—I don't want you cosseting me! I know what
I'm doing, and I can protect myself!"
Tarma sighed, and there was a shadow of guilt on
her face as she rolled over to lie flat on her back,
staring at the ceiling; her hands clasped under her
head, one leg crossed over the other. "All right,
then. I don't know a damn thing about magic, and
all I care to know about demons outside of a book is
that they scare me witless. I still would rather go
for help, but if you don't think we'd have the time—
and if you are sure you're not getting into more
than you can handle—"
"I know we wouldn't have the time; he's not
going to waste time building up a power base,"
Kethry replied, sitting down on the edge of Tarma's
bed, making the frame creak.
"And he may not be there at all; it might just be
a wild rumor."
"It might; I don't think I'd care to bet my life on
waiting to see, though."
"So we need information; reliable information."
"The question is how to get it. Should I try
scrying?"
"Absolutely not!" Tarma flipped back over onto
Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound Page 31
