Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Kethry applauded, beaming. "That's thirty whole days we won't have to put up with his singing under our window!"

  "And thirty whole days I can stroll into town for a drink without hiding my face!" Tarma looked very pleased with herself.

  Warrl heaved a gigantic sigh.

  "Look, Furface, if you like him so much, why don't you go keep him company?"

  :Tasteless barbarians.:

  Tarma's retort died unuttered, for at that moment there was a knock at their door.

  "Come—" Kethry called, and the door opened to show one of the principals of Tarma's story. Sewen.

  "Are you two busy?"

  "Not particularly," Tarma replied, as Kethry rose from her chair to usher him in. "I was just telling Keth about your part in gagging our songbird."

  "Can I have an hour or two?" Sewen was completely expressionless, which, to those that knew him, meant that something was worrying him, and badly.

  "Sewen, you can have all of our time you need," Kethry said immediately, closing the door behind him. "What's the problem? Not Tresti, I hope."

  "No, no—I—I have to talk to somebody, and I figured it had better be you two. I haven't heard anything from Idra in over a month."

  "Bloody hell—" Tarma sat bolt upright, looking no little alarmed herself. "Pull up the spare chair, man, and give us the details." She got up. and began lighting the oil lamps standing about the room, then returned to her seat. Kethry broke out a bottle of wine and poured three generous goblets full before resuming her perch. She left the bottle on the table within easy reach, for she judged that this talk had a possibility of going on for a while.

  Sewen pulled the spare chair over to the stove and collapsed into it, sitting slumped over, with his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped around the goblet. "It's been a lot more than a month, really, more like two. I was getting a message about every two weeks before then—most of 'em bitching about one thing or another. Well, that was fine, that sounded like Idra. But then they started getting shorter, and—you know, how the Captain sounds when she's got her teeth on a secret?"

  "Hai." Tarma nodded. "Like every word had to wiggle around that secret to get out."

  "Eyah, that's it. Hints was all I got, that things were more complicated than she thought. Then a message saying she'd made a vote, and would be coming home—then, right after, another saying she wouldn't, that she'd learned something important and had to do something—then nothing."

  "Sheka!" Tarma spat. Kethry seconded the curse; this sounded very bad.

  "It's been nothing, like I said, for about two months. Damnit, Idra knows I'd be worried after a message like that, and no matter what had happened, she'd find some way to let me know she was all right."

  "If she could," Kethry said.

  "So I'm figuring she can't. That she's either into something real deep, too deep to break cover for a message, or she's being prevented."

  Kethry felt a tug on her soul-self from across the room. Need was hung on her pegs over there—

  She let her inner self reach out to the blade. Sure enough, she was "calling," as she did when there were women in danger. It was very faint—but then, Idra was very far away.

  "I don't dare let the rest of the Hawks know," Sewen was saying.

  Tarma coughed. "You sure as hell don't. We've got enough hotheads among us that you'd likely get about a hundred charging over there, cutting right across Rethwellan and stirring up the gods only know what trouble. Then luck would probably have it that they'd break right in on whatever the Captain's up to and blow it all to hell."

  "Sewen, she is in some sort of trouble. Need stirred up the moment you mentioned this; I don't think it's coincidence." Kethry shook her head a little in resignation. "If Need calls—it's got to be more than just a little difficulty. Need's muted down since she nearly got us both killed; I hardly even feel her on a battlefield, with women fighting and dying all around. I don't talk about her, much, but I think she's been changing. I think she's managed to become a little more capable of distinguishing real troubles that only Tarma and I can take care of. So—I think Idra requires help, I agree with you. All right, what do you want us to do? Track her down and see what's wrong? just remember though, if we go—" She forced a smile. "—Tresti loses her baby-tender and you lose your Master-class mage."

  Sewen just looked relieved to the point of tears. "Look, I hate to roust you two out like this, and I know how Tarma feels about traveling in cold weather, but—you're the only two I'd feel safe about sending. Most of the kids are what you said, hotheads. The rest—'cept for Jodi, they're mostly like me, commonborn. Keth, you're highborn, you can deal with highborns, get stuff out of 'em I couldn't. And Tarma can give you two a reason for hauling up there."

  "Which is what?"

  "You know your people hauled in the fall lot of horses just before we got back from the last campaign. Well, since we weren't here, Ersala went ahead and bought the whole string, figuring she couldn't know how many mounts we'd lost, and figuring it would be no big job to resell the ones we didn't want. We've still got a nice string of about thirty nobody's bespoken, and I was going to go ahead and keep them here till spring, then sell 'em. Rethwellan don't see Shin'a'in-breds, much; those they do are crossbred to culls. I doubt they've seen purebloods, much less good purebloods."

  "We play merchant princes, hmm?" Kethry asked, seeing the outlines of his plan. "It could work. With rare beasts like that, we'd be welcome in the palace itself."

  "That's it. Once you get in, Keth, you can puff up your lineage and move around in the court, or something. You talk highborn, and you're sneaky, you could learn a lot—"

  "While I see what the kitchen and stable talk is," Tarma interrupted him. "Hai. Good plan, 'specially if I make out like I don't know much of the lingo. I could pick up a lot that way."

  "You aren't just doing this to ease your conscience, are you?" Kethry asked, knowing there would be others who would ask the same question. Sewen had been Idra's Second for years now—playing Second to a woman had let him in for a certain amount of twitting from his peers in other companies. Notwithstanding the fact that one quarter to one third of all mercenary fighters were female, female Company Captains were few, and of all of them, only Idra led a mixed-sex Company. And Idra had been showing no signs of retiring, nor had Sewen made any moves indicating that he was contemplating starting his own Company.

  "I won't deny that I want the Hawks," he said, slowly. "But—not like this. I want the Company fair and square, either 'cause Idra goes down, or 'cause she hands 'em over to me. This—it's too damn iffy, that's what it is! It's eating at me. And what's worse, it's eating at me that Idra might be in something deep—"

  "—and you have to do something to get her out of it, if you can."

  "That's it, Keth. And it's for a lot of reasons. She's my friend, she's my Captain, she's the one who took me out of the ranks and taught me. I can't just sit here for a year. and then announce she's gone missing and I'm taking over. I owe her too damned much, even if she keeps tellin' me I don't owe her a thing! How can I act like nothin's wrong an' not try t' help her?"

  "Sewen, if every merc had your ethics—" Tarma began.

  He interrupted her with a nonlaugh. "If every merc had my ethics, there'd be a lot more work for freefighters. Face it, Swordsworn, I can afford to have ethics just because of what Idra built the Sunhawks into. So I'm not going to let those ethics—or her—down."

  "This is an almighty cold trail you're sending us on," Kethry muttered. "By the time we get to Petras, it'll be past Midsummer. What are you and the Hawks going to do in the meantime?"

  "We're on two-year retainer from Sursha; we do spring and summer patrol under old Leamount around the Borders to keep any of her neighbors from getting bright ideas. Easy work. Idra set it up before she left. I can handle it without making myself Captain."

  "All right, I've got some ideas. Our people can keep their lips laced over a secret, so you wait one week a
fter we've left, then you tell them all what's happened and that we've been sent out under the ivy bush."

  "Why?" Sewen asked bluntly.

  "Mostly so rumors don't start. Then you and Ersala concoct some story about Idra coming back, but fevered. Tresti can tell you what kind of fever would need a two-year rest cure. That gives you a straw-Idra to leave behind while you take the Hawks out to patrol. The Hawks will know the real story—and tell them it might cost the Captain her life if they let it slip."

  "You think it might," he said, soberly.

  "I don't know what to think, so I have to cover every possibility."

  "Huh." He thought about that for a long time, contemplating his wine. Finally he swallowed the last of it in a single gulp. "All right; I'll go with it. Now—should I replace you two?"

  'T think you'd better," Tarma said. "I suggest promoting either Garth or Jodi. Garth is my preference; I don't think Jodi would be comfortable in a command position; she's avoided being in command too many times."

  "I'll do a sending; there are White Winds sorcerers everywhere. You should be getting one or more up here within a couple of months." Kethry bit her lip a bit, trying to do a rough calculation on how far her sending would reach. "I can't promise that you'll get anything higher than a Journeyman-class, but you never know. I won't tell them more than that there's a position open with you—you can let whoever you hire in on the whole thing after you take them on. Remember, White Winds school has no edicts against using magic for fighting, and I'll make it plain in the sending that this is a position with a merc company. That it means killing as well as healing. That should keep the squeamish away. Have Tresti look them over first, then Oreden and Jiles. Tresti will be able to sense whether they'll fit in."

  "I know; she checked you two out while Idra was waiting to interview you."

  Kethry nodded wryly. "Figures; I can't imagine Idra leaving anything to chance. All right, does that pretty much take care of things?"

  "I think so...."

  "Well, as cold as the trail is going to be, there is no sense in stirring up a lot of rumors by having us light out of here with our tails on fire," Tarma said bluntly. "We might just as well take our time about this, say our good-byes, get equipment put together—act like this was going to be an ordinary sort of errand we're running for you. Until we've been gone for about a week, you just make out like I'm running the string out to sell, and Keth's coming with me for company."

  Sewen nodded. "That sounds good to me. I'll raid the coffers for you two. You'll be needing stuff to make you look good in the court, I expect." He rose and started for the door—then turned back, and awkwardly held out his arms.

  "I—I don't know what I'd have done without you two," he said stiffly, his eyes bright with what Kethry suspected might be incipient tears. "You're more than shieldbrothers, you're friends—I—thanks—"

  They both embraced him, trying to give him a little comfort. Kethry knew that Idra had been in that "more than shieldbrother" category, too—and that Sewen must be thinking what she was thinking—that the Captain's odds weren't very good right now.

  "Te'sorthene du'dera, big man," Tarma murmured. "When we come across someone special, like you, like Tresti, like Idra—well, you help your friends, that's all I can say. That's what friends are there for, her'y?"

  "If anybody can help her out, it'll be you two."

  "We'll do our best. And you know, you can do us a favor—" Kethry almost smiled at the sudden inspiration.

  "What? Anything you want."

  "Leslac. I want you to teach him a lesson. I don't care what you do to him, just get him off Tarma's back."

  The weather-beaten countenance went quiet with thought "That's a pretty tall ord—wait a moment—" He began to smile, the first smile he'd worn since he walked in their door. "I think I've got it. 'Course, it all hinges on whether he's really as pig-ignorant about Shin'a'in as he seems to be."

  "Go on—I think after that damned song we can count on that being true."

  Sewen's arms tightened about both their shoulders as he looked down at them. "There's this sect of Spider-Priestesses down south; they sort of dress like Tarma—deal is, they didn't start out life as girls."

  Tarma nearly choked with laughter. "You mean, convince the little bastard that I'm really a eunuched boy? Sewen, that's priceless!"

  "I rather like that—" Kethry grinned. "—I rather like that."

  "I'll get on it," he promised, giving them a last hug and closing the door to their room behind him.

  Tarma went immediately to her armor-stand, surveying the brigandine for any sign of weakness or strain, Kethry put another log in the stove, then approached the wall where Need hung, reaching out to touch the blade with one finger.

  Yes—the call's still there. And I can't tell anything, it's so faint—but it is Idra. The call gets perceptibly stronger when I think about her.

  "Get anything?" Tarma asked quietly.

  "Nothing definite, other than that Idra's in trouble. How long do you think it will take us to get to Petras?"

  "With a string of thirty horses—about a month to cross the passes, then another two, maybe three. Like you said, it'll be Midsummer at the earliest."

  Kethry sighed. "If I were an Adept, I could get us both there in an hour."

  "But not the horses. And how would we explain ourselves? We'd make a lot more stir than we should if we did that."

  "And stir is not what we want."

  "Right." Tarma stood with a sigh, and stretched, then came back to her chair and flung herself down into it. "I seem to recall one contact we might well want to make. The Captain didn't talk about her past much, but she did mention somebody a time or two. The Court Archivist—" Her brows knitted in thought. "Javreck? Jervase? No—Jadrek, that's it. Jadrek. Seems like his rather used to keep Idra and her older brother in tales; paid attention to them when nobody else had time for them. Jadrek was evidently a little copy of him. She'd mention him when something happened to bring one of those tales to her mind. And more important—" Tarma pointed a long finger at Kethry. "—she also never failed to preface those recollections by calling him 'the only completely honest man in the Court, just as his father was.'"

  "That sounds promising."

  "If he's still there. Seems to me she said something about him being at odds with her father and her younger brother when he took over the Archivist position. He did that pretty young, since he was younger than Idra or her brother, and she left the Court before she was twenty. She also said something about his being crippled, which could cut down on the amount he sees."

  "Yes and no," Kethry replied, more than grateful for Tarma's remarkable memory. "People who are overlooked often see more that way. Need I tell you that I'm glad you have a mind like a trap?"

  "What, shut?" Tarma jibed. "Now you know I've got a Singer's memory; if I'd forgotten one verse of any of the most obscure ballads, I'd have been laughed out of camp. Keth, you're worrying yourself, I can tell. You're wasting energy."

  "I know, I know—"

  "Take it one week at a time. Worry about getting us through the passes safely. I'll get you the avalanche map tomorrow; see what you can scry out with it. And speaking of snow, do you still want to hear that business about the Snow Demon?"

  "Well... yes!" she replied, surprised. "But I hardly thought you'd be in the mood for it now."

  "I'm just taking some of my own prescribed medicine." Tarma grinned crookedly, and went to fetch the battered little hand-drum she used on those rare occasions when she chanted—you couldn't call it singing anymore—one of the Shin'a'in history-songs. "Trying to remember all fifty-two verses will keep me from fretting into a sweat. And hoping," she looked down at her black sleeve, the black of vengeance-taking, "that this outfit doesn't turn out to be an omen."

  Five

  "Hai'vetha! Kele, kele, kele!"

  Tarma wheeled Ironheart about on the mare's heels in a piece of horsemanship that drew a spattering of impromptu applaus
e from those watching, and chivied the last of the tired horses into the corral assigned to them by the master of the Petras stock market. She controlled them with voice only—not hand, nor whip. She didn't even call for any encouraging nips at their heels from Warrl, another fact which impressed the spectators no end.

  They were already impressed by the horses. They were not the kind of beasts that the inhabitants of Petras were used to seeing. These were Shin'a'in purebreds, and the only reason any of them had been passed over by the Sunhawks was that they were mostly saddlebreds, not trailbreds. The Shin'a'in horses bred for trail work were a little rougher looking, and a bit hardier than the saddlebreds. in the main. There were always exceptions, like Tarma's beloved Kessira, but the Shin'a'in kept the exceptions for their own use and further breeding—as Kessira was being bred, pampered queen mare of the Tale'sedrin herds.

  No, these horses were not what the inhabitants of Petras were used to seeing in their beast-market. Their heads, broad in the forehead, small in the muzzle, and with large, doe-soft eyes were carried high and proudly on their long, elegant necks; pride showed in every line of them, despite their weariness. Their bodies were compact and muscular, the hindquarters being a trifle higher than these people were accustomed to. Their legs were well-muscled and slim; they were no longer shaggy with winter growth as they had been when the trek started. Now their coats were silky despite the dust—and their manes and tails, the pride of a Shin'a'in mount, were flowing in the wind like many-colored waterfalls. And they moved like dancers, like birds on the wind, like music made visible. In short, they were beautiful.

  "Good enough to suit a king, eh, she'enedra?" Tarma asked in her own tongue, feeling rather proud of her charges.

  "I should think—" Kethry began, when one of the onlookers, a man possessed of more than a little wealth, by the cut of his gray and green clothing, interrupted her.

  "What are these beauties?" he asked, in tones that bordered on veneration. "Where on earth did they spring from? Valdemar? I'd heard Companions were magnificent, but I'd never heard of anyone other than Heralds owning them, and I'd never heard that Companions were anything but white."