Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound
Page 32
her side, her hand chopping at the pillow for em-
phasis. Warrl winced away and looked at her re-
proachfully. "He caught that poor witch back in
Delton that way, remember? That much even I
know. If you scry, he'll have you on his ground. I
promise I won't cosset you any more, but I will not
allow you to put yourself in jeopardy when there
are any other alternatives!"
"Well, how then?"
"Me." Tarma stabbed at her own chest with an
emphatic thumb. "Granted, I'm not a thief—but I
am a skilled scout. I can slip into and out of that
temple without anyone knowing I've been there,
and if it's being used for anything, I'll be able to
tell."
"No."
"Yes. No choice, she'enedra."
"All right, then—but you won't be going without
me. If he and any followers he may have gathered
are there and they're using magic to mask their
presence, you won't see anything, but I can invoke
mage-sight and see through any illusions."
Tarma began to protest, but this time Kethry cut
her short. "You haven't a choice either; you need
my skill and I won't let you go in there without me.
Dammit Tarma, I am your partner—your full part-
ner. If I have to, I'll follow you on my own."
"You would, wouldn't you?"
"You can bet on it." Kethry scowled, then smiled
as Tarma's resigned expression told her she'd won
the argument. Warrl nudged Tarma's hand again,
and she began scratching absentmindedly behind
his ears. A scowl creased her forehead, but her
mouth, too, was quirked in an almost-smile.
"Warrior's Oath! I would tie myself to a head-
strong, stubborn, foolish, reckless, crazed mage—"
"Who loves her bond-sister and won't allow her
to throw her life away."
"—who is dearer to me than my own life."
Kethry reached out at almost the same moment
as Tarma did. They touched hands briefly, crescent-
scarred palm to crescent-scarred palm, and ex-
changed rueful smiles.
"Argument over?"
"It's over."
"All right then," Tarma said after poignant si-
lence, "Let's get to it now, while we've still got the
guts for it."
Ten
Tarma led the way, as soft- and sure-footed in
these dark city streets as she would have been
scouting a forest or creeping through grass on an
open plain.
The kyree Warrl served as their scout and their
eyes in the darkness. The uninformed would have
thought it impossible to hide a lupine creature the
size of Warrl in an open street—a creature whose
shoulder nearly came as high as Tarma's waist; but
Warrl, although somewhere close at hand, was pres-
ently invisible. Tarma could sense him, though—
now behind them, now in front. From time to time
he would speak a single word (or perhaps as many
as three) in her mind, to tell her of the results of
his scouting.
There was little moonlight; the moon was in her
last quarter. This was one of the poorest streets in
the city, and there we're no cressets and no torches
to spare to light the way by night—and if anyone
put one up, it would be stolen within the hour. The
buildings to either side were shut up tight; not
with shutters, for they were in far too poor a state
of repair to have working shutters, but with what-
ever bits of wood and cloth or rubbish came to
hand. What little light there was leaked through
the cracks in these makeshift curtainings. The street
itself was rutted mud; no wasting of paving bricks
on this side of the river. Both the mercenaries wore
thin-soled boots, the better to feel their way in the
darkness. Kethry had abandoned her usual buff-
colored, calf-length robe; she wore a dark, sleeved
tunic over her breeches. Kethry's ensorcelled blade
Need was slung at her side; Tarma's nonmagical
weapon carried in its usual spot on her back. They
had left cloaks behind; cloaks had a tendency to get
tangled at the most inopportune moments. Better
to bear with the chill.
They had slipped out the window of their room
at the inn, wanting no one to guess where they
were going—or even that they were going out at all.
They had made their way down back alleys with
occasional detours through fenced yards or even
across roofs. Although Kethry was no match for
Tarma in strength and agility, she was quite capa-
ble of keeping up with her on a trek like this one.
Finally the fences had begun to boast more holes
than entire boards; the houses leaned to one side or
the other, almost as though they huddled together
to support their sagging bones. The streets, when
they had ventured out onto them, were either de-
serted or populated by one or two furtively scurry-
ing shadows. This dubious quarter where the aban-
doned temple that their priestly friend had told
them of stood—this was hardly a place either of
them would have chosen to roam in daylight, much
less darkness. Tarma was already beginning to re-
gret the impulse that had led her here—the stub-
bornness that had forced her to prove that she was
not trying to shelter her partner unduly. Except
that ... maybe Kethry was right. Maybe she was
putting a stranglehold on the mage. But Keth was
all the Clan she had....
Tarma's nose told her where they were; down-
wind of the stockyards, the slaughterhouse, and the
tannery. The reek of tannic acid, offal, half-tanned
hides and manure was a little short of unbreathable.
From far off there came the intermittent lowing
and bleating of the miserable animals awaiting the
doom that would come in the morning.
"Something just occurred to me," Kethry whis-
pered as they waited, hidden in shadows, for a
single passerby to clear the street.
"What?"
"This close to the stockyard and slaughterhouse,
Thalhkarsh wouldn't necessarily need sacrifices to
build a power base."
"You mean—he could use the deaths of the
beasts?"
"Death-energy is the same for man and beast.
Man just has more of it, and of higher quality."
"Like you can get just as drunk on cheap beer as
on distilled spirits?"
"Something of the sort."
"Lady's Blade! And he feeds on fear and pain as
well—"
"There's plenty of that at the slaughterhouse."
"Great. That's just what I needed to hear." Tarma
brooded for a moment. "Tell me something; why's
he taking on human shape if he wants to terrify?
His own would be better for that purpose."
"Well—this is just a guess—you have to remem-
ber he wants worship and devotion as well, and he
won't get that in his real shape. That might be one
re
ason. A second would be because what seems to
be familiar and proves to be otherwise is a lot more
fear-inducing than the openly alien. Lastly is Thalh-
karsh himself—most demons like the Abyssal Planes,
and their anger at being summoned is because
they've been taken from home. They look on us as a
lower form of life, a species of animal. But Thalh-
karsh is perverse; he wants to stay here, he wants
to rule over people, and I suspect he enjoys physi-
cally coupling with humans. The Lady only knows
why."
"I... don't suppose he can breed, can he?"
"Windborn! Thank your Lady, no. Thank all the
gods that demons even in human form are sterile
with humans, or we might have more than Thalh-
karsh to worry about—he might be willing to pro-
duce a malleable infant. But the only way he can
reproduce is to bud—and he's too jealous of his
powers here to bud and create another on this Plane
with like powers and a mind of its own. He won't
go creating a rival, that much I'm sure of."
"Forgive me if I don't break out into carols of
relief."
They peered down the dark, shadow-lined street
in glum silence. The effluvium of the stockyards
and tannery washed over them, causing Tarma to
stifle a cough as an acrid breath seared the back of
her throat a little.
The street is clear, a voice rang in Tarma's head.
"Warrl says it's safe to go," Tarma passed the
word on, then, crouching low, crossed the street
like one of the scudding shadows cast on the street
by high clouds against the moon.
She moved so surely and so silently from the
shadows of their own building to the shadows be-
low the one across the street that even Kethry, who
knew she was there, hardly saw her. Kethry was an
instant behind her, not quite so sure or silent, but
furtive enough. Warrl was already waiting for them,
and snorted a greeting before slipping farther ahead
of them in the direction of the temple.
Hugging the rough wood and stone of the walls,
they inched their way down the street, trying not
to wince when their feet encountered unidentifi-
able piles of something soft and mushy. The reek of
tannery and stockyard overwhelmed any other taint.
From within the buildings occasionally came sounds
of revelry or conflict; hoarse, drunken singing, shout-
ing, weeping, the splintering of wood, the crash of
crockery. None of this was carried into the streets;
only fools and the mad walked the streets of the
beggar's quarter at night.
Fools, the mad, or the desperate. Right now Kethry
had both of them figured for being all three.
Finally the walls of buildings gave way to a sin-
gle stone wall, half again as tall as Tarma. This, by
the descriptions she'd gotten, would be the wall of
the temple. Beyond it, bulking black against the
stars, Kethry could see the temple itself.
* * *
Tarma surveyed the wall, deciding it would be
no great feat to scale it.
You go over first, Fur-face, she thought.
My pleasure, Warrl sent back to her, overtones of
irony so strong Tarma could almost taste the metal-
lic emotional flavoring. He backed up six or seven
paces, then flung himself at the wall. His forepaws
caught the top of it; caught, and held, and with a
scrambling of hindclaws that sounded hideously
loud to Tarma's nervous ears, he was over and
leaping down on the other side.
Now it was her turn.
She backed up a little, then ran at the wall,
leaping and catching the top effortlessly, pulling
herself up onto the stones that were set into the top
with ease. She crouched there for a moment, peer-
ing through the darkness into the courtyard beyond,
identifying the odd-shaped shadows by what she'd
been told to expect there.
In the middle there stood a dried-out fountain,
its basin broken, its statuary mostly missing limbs
and heads. To the right were three stone boxes
containing earth and dead trees. To the left had
been a shrine, now a heap of rubble, that had been
meant for those faithful who felt unworthy to enter
the temple proper. All was as it should be; nothing
moved.
I'd tell you if anything was here, wouldn't 1? Warrl
grumbled at her lack of trust.
She felt one corner of her mouth twitch at his
reply. I can take it that all's well?
Nothing out of the ordinary outside.
It's inside I'm worried about.
She saluted Kethry briefly, seeing the strained,
anxious face peering whitely up at her in the moon-
shadows, then slipped over the top to land on cat-
quiet feet in the temple courtyard.
She slid carefully along the wall, left foot testing
the ground at the base of it for loose pebbles that
might slip underfoot or be kicked away by accident.
The moon was behind her; so her side of the wall
was entirely in shadow so long as she stayed close
to it. Five steps—twenty—fifty—her outstretched
hand encountered a hinge, and wood. She'd come to
the gate.
She felt for the bar and eased it along its sockets
until one half of the gate was freed. That gave
Kethry her way in; now she would scout ahead.
She waited for another of those scudding cloud-
shadows; joining it as it raced across the courtyard.
Cobblestones were hard and a trifle slippery be-
neath her thin-soled boots; she was glad that the
first sole was of tough, abrasive sharkskin. Dew
was already beginning to collect on the cold stones,
making them slick, but the sharkskin leather gave
her traction.
She reached the shelter of the temple entrance
without incident; Warrl was waiting for her there,
a slightly darker shadow in the shadows of the
doorway.
Ready? she asked him. She felt his assent.
She reached for the door, prepared to find it
locked, and was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't.
She nudged it open a crack; when nothing hap-
pened, she opened it enough to peer carefully inside.
She saw nothing but a barren antechamber. Warrl
stuck his nose inside, and sniffed cautiously.
Nothing here—but something on the other side of the
door beyond; people for sure—and, I think, blood and
incense. And magic, lots of magic.
Tarma sighed; it would have been nice if this
had been a false alarm. Sounds like we've come to the
right place.
Shouldn't we wait for Kethry?
You go after her; I want to make sure there isn't
anyone on guard in there.
Not yet. 1 want to know you aren't biting off more
than you can swallow. Warrl waited for her to move
on, one shadow among many.
She slipped in through the crack in the door,
Warrl a hairsbreadt
h behind her. Moonlight shone
down through a skylight above. The door on the
other side of the antechamber stood open; between
it and the door she had entered through was noth-
ing but untracked dust.
She hugged the wall, easing carefully around the
doorpost. Once inside the sanctuary she could barely
see her own hands; she continued to hug the wall,
making her way by feel alone. She came to a corner,
paused for a moment, and tried to see, but could
only make out dim shapes in the small amount of
light that came from various holes in the ceiling of
the sanctuary. It was impossible to tell if those
sources of light were more skylights, or the evi-
dence of neglect. Dust filled the air, making her
nose itch; other than that, lacking Ward's senses,
she could only smell damp and mildew. The stones
beneath her hands were cold and slightly moist.
Beneath the film of moisture they were smooth and
felt a little like polished granite.
She went on, coming at last around behind the
statue of the rain-god that stood at the far end of
the room. The shadows were even deeper here; she
slowed her pace to inch along the stuccoed wall,
one hand feeling before her.
Then her hand encountered emptiness.
A door.
I can tell that! A door to where?
To where the blood-smell is.
Then we take it. I'm going on ahead; you go back
and fetch Kethry.