She did come to herself once they'd stopped, and she seemed a bit less groggy. She got herself dismounted without his help, got their bedrolls off Vega, and carried them inside with her. She actually managed to get their bedding set up while Jadrek slid the half-conscious mage off her horse, then assisted her to stagger inside, and laid her down on the bedding. With a bit of awkwardness at the unaccustomed tasks, he got the horses bedded down in a shed at the side of the little building.
By the time he'd finished, Kethry was sound asleep in her bedroll, and Tarma was crawling into her own. "Can't... keep my eyes open..." she apologized.
"Then don't try, I can do what's left." I think, he added mentally.
But his trail skills had improved; he managed to get a fire going in the firepit, thought about making supper, and decided against it, opting for some dried beef and trail biscuit instead. With the fire dimly illuminating their shelter, he made a quick inspection of the place, thinking: It would be my luck to come upon a nest of hibernating snakes.
But he round nothing untoward; in fact, it was a very well built shelter, with stone walls, a clean dirt floor, and a thatched roof. It was a pity it didn't have a real fireplace—a good half of the smoke from the fire was not finding the smokehole in the center of the roof, and his eyes were watering a bit—but it was clean, and dry, and now growing warm from the fire.
He watched the moving shadows cast by the fire onto the wall, chewed the leathery strip of jerky, and tried to sort himself out.
Warrl came in once to tell him that he'd hunted and eaten, and was going to stand guard outside; after that, he was alone.
What kind of a fool have I shown myself to be? he thought, still confused by the events of the last few hours. Did anyone even notice?
He watched Kethry as she slept, feeling both pleasure and pain in the watching. How much did Tarma see? Gods above, I'm afraid. I've gone and fallen in love, like a greensick fool. At my age I should bloody well know better.
Still—given the state they'd all been in—
Tarma probably hadn't been in a condition to notice much of anything except her oathsister's plight.
And I would give a great deal to know how she managed to bring Kethry back from Death's own arms. Because she's as much as admitted it was all her doing. And I can only wonder what it cost her besides strength and energy—maybe that's why she didn't want to talk about it. Still and all, she really isn't acting as if it cost her nearly as much as if whatever had happened shook her down to her soul. I think perhaps she learned something she didn't expect to. Whatever it was—I think perhaps the outcome is going to be a good one. She almost seems warmer somehow. More open. Would she ever have put all her safety and Keth's in my hands before? I—I don't think so.
He stretched, taking pleasure in the feel of joints that weren't popping, and bones that didn't creak. He was sore from the unaccustomed work, but not unbearably so.
Although—Lady of Light, I've been working like a porter all afternoon, and not had so much as a twinge in the old bones! Now was that just because I was keyed up, or was it something else? Well, I'll know tomorrow. If I ache from head to toe, I'll know I was not privileged to be the recipient of a miracle!
And meanwhile—the fire needs feeding.
So he watched Kethry, huddled in his own blankets while he fed the fire, and waited for the morning.
Carter's Lane in the capital city of Petras was living up to its name, even this close to the time for the evening meal. The street was wide enough for four wagons moving two abreast in each direction, and all four lanes were occupied by various vehicles now. The steady rumbling of wheels on cobblestones did not drown out the equally steady hum of voices coming from all sides. Carter's Lane boasted several popular taverns and drinkshops, not the least popular of which was the Pig and Potion. This establishment not only had an excellent cook and an admirable brewmaster, but in addition offered various forms of accommodation—ranging from single cubbyholes (with bed) that rented by the hour, to rooms and suites of rooms available by the week or month.
It was from the window of one of the latter sorts of lodging that a most attractive young wench was leaning, her generous figure frequently taking the eyes of the cart drivers from their proper work. She was, in fact, the inadvertent cause of several tangles of traffic. She paid this no heed, no more than she did the equally persistent calls of admiration or inquiries as to her price. She was evidently watching for something—or someone.
And to the great disappointment of her admirers, she finally spotted what she watching for.
"Arton!" the brown-haired, laughing-eyed wench called from her second-floor window. "I've waited days for you, you ungrateful beast!"
"Now, Janna—" The scar-faced fighter who emerged from the crowd to stand on the narrow walkway beneath her looked to be fully capable of cutting his way out of any fracas—except, perhaps, this one.
"Don't you 'now, Janna,' me, you brute!" She vanished from the window only to emerge from a door beside it. The door let onto a balcony and the balcony gave onto a set of stairs that ran down the outside of the inn. Janna clattered down these stairs as fast as her feet could take her. "You leave me here all alone, and you never come to see me, and you never send me word, and—"
"Enough, enough!" the warrior begged, much to the amusement of the patrons of the inn. "Janna, I've been busy."
"Oh, busy! Indeed, I can guess how busy!" She confronted him with her eyes narrowed angrily, standing on the last two stairs so that her eyes were level with his. Her hands were on her hips, and she thrust her chin forward stubbornly, not at all ready to make peace.
"Give 'im a rest, lass," called another fighter lounging at an outside table, one wearing the same scarlet-and-gold livery as Arton. "King's nervy; keeps 'im on 'and most of th' time. 'E 'as been busy."
"Oh, well then," the girl said, seeming a bit more mollified. "But you could have sent word."
"I'm here now, aren't I?" he grinned, with just a touch of arrogance. "And we ought to be making up for lost time, not wrangling in the street."
"Oh—Oh!" She squealed in surprise as he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her up the stairs.
He pulled the door open; closed it behind him.
Silence.
One of the serving girls paused in her distribution of ale mugs, sighed, and made calf eyes at the closed door. "Such a man. Wisht I 'ad me one like 'im."
"Spring is aborning, and young love with it," intoned a street minstrel, hoping that the buxom server would take notice of him.
"Young lust, you mean, rhymester," laughed the second fighter. "Arton's no fool. That's a nice little piece he brought with him out of the country—and cheap at the price of a room, a bit of feeding, and a few gewgaws. One of these days I may go see if she's got a sister who wants to leave the cowflops for the city."
"If you can get any girl to look at your ugly face," sneered a third.
The mutter of good-natured wrangling carried as far as the second-floor room, where the young fighter had collapsed into a chair, groaning. The room's furnishings were simple; a bed, a table, a wardrobe and three chairs.
And an enormous wolflike creature on the hearth.
"Warrior's Oath, Keth—you might make yourself lighter next time!" the warrior groaned. "My poor back!"
"If I'd known you were going to play border-bridegroom, I'd have helped you out, you idiot!" the brown-haired girl retorted, closing the shutters of the room's single window, then snatching a second chair and plopping down into it. "Tarma, where the hell have you been these past few days? A note of three words does not suffice to keep me from having nervous prostrations."
:I told you she was all right,: the kyree sniffed. :But you wouldn't believe me.:
"Warrl's right, Keth. I figured that he'd tell you if anything was wrong, so I wasn't going to jeopardize my chances by doing something marginally out of character. And I've been busy, as I said," Tarma replied, rubbing her eyes. "Damn, can
't you do something about the way these spells of yours make my eyes itch?"
"Sorry; not even an Adept can manage that."
Tarma sighed. "Char has gotten the wind up about something—maybe he's even getting some rumors about our work, who knows? Anyway, he's been keeping me with him day and night until I could find somebody he trusts as much as me to spell me out. How is the conspiracy business going?"
Kethry smiled, and ran her hands through her hair. "Better than we'd hoped, in a lot of ways. Jadrek will be giving me the signal as soon as he's done with his latest client, so why don't we save our news until we're all together?"
"Fine by me; I don't suppose you've got anything to eat around here?"
"Why? Don't they feed you at the palace?"
"Having gotten leave to go, I wasn't about to stick around and maybe get called back just so I could feed my face," Tarma retorted.
Kethry raised one eyebrow. "Char's that nervy?"
Tarma spotted half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese on the table behind Kethry and reached forward to seize both. "He's that nervy," she agreed, slicing bits off the cheese with her belt-knife and alternating those tidbits with hearty bites of bread. She would have said more, but a gentle tapping came from the wall. Kethry jumped up out of her chair and faced the wall, holding both palms at shoulder height and facing it. The wall itself blurred for a little, then the door that had been hidden by Kethry's illusion swam into view. Jadrek pushed it open and stepped into the room.
There had not been a door there when they'd taken these two rooms; Jadrek's suite opened only into the inn, and Kethry's had two doors, the exterior and one like Jadrek's, opening on the inn corridor. But what could be done by hands could also be done by magic, and within one day of Kethry's taking possession of this room, she had made, then concealed, the door in their common wall. It was a real door and not a magic portal, just in case Jadrek ever needed to make use of it when Kethry was not present, for Kethry had set the spell of concealment so that he controlled it on his side of the wall.
"And how does the Master Astrologer?" asked Tarma, genially.
"Better than when he was Master Archivist," Jadrek chuckled. "I think I shall have Stefan find a successor. Astrology is a more lucrative profession!"
"Why am I not surprised?" Tarma asked sardonically. "Gentle lies always cost more than the truth. I take it none of your 'clients' have recognized you?"
"It wouldn't be likely," he replied mildly, taking the third, unoccupied seat around the little table. "Most of my 'clients' are merchants' wives. When would of them have seen the Court Archivist?"
"Or given your notable ability to fade into the background, noticed him if they'd seen him?" added Kethry. "All right—Tarma, love, you first."
"Right. Jadrek, I managed to deliver all but one of your messages; the one to Count Wulfres I left with Tindel. Wulfres wouldn't let me get near him; I can't much blame him, since I have been building quite a formidable reputation as Char's chief bullyboy."
"Is that why he trusts you?" Kethry asked.
"Partially. Don't worry, though. That reputation is actually doing me more good than harm. If anyone notices when I take somebody aside for a little chat, it doesn't do them any benefit to tell the King, because Char assumes I'm delivering threats!" She chuckled. "Keth, that Adept we took out was the only one Char had; the rest of his mages are Master and Journeyman class. So don't worry about this disguise continuing to hold."
Kethry heaved a sigh of profound relief. "Thank the gods for that. That did have me nervy. How are you getting on with Char? You said far better than we'd hoped—"
"That's a good summation; he doesn't trust any of his native Guards, and he doesn't trust his nobles. That leaves him with me, a couple of other landless mercs, and a handful of outland emissaries. Since I'm trying to give an imitation of a freefighter with a veneer of civilization and a range of interests slightly beyond 'food, fornication and fighting,' he seems to be gravitating more and more toward me."
"And needless to say, you're encouraging him."
:Idra taught you well,: Warrl commented. :You encourage familiarity with the King while never going over the line of being social inferior. That takes a delicate touch I did not suspect you had, mindmate.:
"Having you coaching me in my head hasn't hurt, Furball. Thanks to you, I've never once been even remotely disrespectful; been pounding heads when some of the Guards go over the line, in fact. And as a result Char's slowly taking me as cup-companion as well as bodyguard."
"That's certainly far better than we hoped!" Jadrek exclaimed.
"Tarma, what about Idra?" Kethry asked, both elbows on the table, chin in her hands. She looked unwontedly sober.
Tarma sighed, and rubbed one temple. "Keth, we both know by now she's got to be dead."
Kethry nodded, reluctantly, as Jadrek bit his lip. "I just didn't want to be the one to say it," she replied sadly. "Need's pull just hasn't been strong enough for her to have still been alive."
:I, too, have suspected the same.:
Tarma sighed. "I think I realized it—I mean, really believed it—a couple of days after—" She stopped for a moment, and looked squarely at Jadrek. He's an outClansman—she thought, weighing him in her mind.—but—why not? No reason why he shouldn't know; if Keth has her way, he won't be an outClansman for long. "—after I called one of the leshya'e and got the Star-Eyed Warrior instead, that night in Valdemar. You know, the evening when Roald and I came back as best of friends? He saw Her, too—and She made it clear to both of us that we were all on the same side. D'you remember how She turned the set of his Whites I was wearing black?"
Kethry nodded slowly, then real enlightenment dawned. "Black... is for vengeance and blood feud...."
"Right," Tarma nodded. "She could have left my clothing alone; She could have changed it to brown, if She was truly offended at me being out of Kal'enedral colors, which I think is rather unlikely. She doesn't get that petty. But She didn't leave the Whites white—and She'd already convinced me that Roald and Stefansen were on the side of the righteous. She can be very subtle when She chooses, and She was trying to give me a subtle message, that I was back on blood-trail. So who would be the logical one for me to avenge—and who would be the logical target for vengeance?"
"Idra—and Char."
"Right and right again. My only questions now are—was it accident or premeditated, and how he did it." She tightened her jaw, and felt very nearly murderous at that moment. "And the closer I get to him, the likelier I am to find the answers to both."
She let the sentence hang for a long moment, then coughed slightly. "Jadrek? Your turn."
"I've been approached by three of those nobles you contacted for me, via their wives," he said, visibly shaken by Tarma's assertions—and yet, unsurprised by them, as if her words had only confirmed something he had known, but had not wished to acknowledge that he knew. "They were already planning some sort of action on their own, which, given their temperaments, was something I had thought fairly likely. In addition, I have been approached by those I did not expect—prelates of no less than five separate orders. It seems they had already spoken quietly with my chosen highborn—"
"And went on to you. Logical." Tarma nodded thoughtfully. "And what prompted their dissatisfaction?"
"Oh, a variety of causes—from the altruistic to the realistic." He wrinkled his brow in thought. "Mind you, I don't personally know as much about the clergy as I do the Court, but they seem to be appropriate responses given the personalities of those I spoke with and the philosophies of their orders."
"Huh. When we start to get clergy on our side...." Tarma propped her feet up on the table, ignoring Kethry's frown of disapproval, and sat in thoughtful silence for a long time. "All right," she said, when the silence had begun to seem unbreakable, "It's time for some hard choices, friends. We're getting the support, and not only are we moving a bit ahead of schedule, but we're getting some unexpected help. So which of the plans are we going t
o follow?"
She tilted her head at Jadrek, who pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'd rather not run a full-scale uprising, frankly," he said. "It's too unwieldy for this situation, I think; your commanders really have to be in the field for it to succeed. Tarma, you are the most militant of us, and we need you here—so that would leave me or Kethry."
"Not me," Kethry objected. "Fighters don't like following a mage, and I don't blame them. I'm no strategist, either."
"And I am neither fighter nor strategist," Jadrek replied.
"Stalemate," Tarma observed, flexing her shoulders to try and relax the tense muscles there. "Not that I don't agree with you both. Warrl?"
:I, also. It is too easy to lose a civil war.:
"All right, we're agreed that rousing the countryside is out, then?"
The other two nodded, slowly.
"Assassination."
:That, I favor,: Warrl replied, raising his head from his paws. :It would be an easy thing for me. Wait until he is in the garden with a wench—over the wall—: He snapped his jaws together suggestively. :It would give me great pleasure, and I could easily be gone before alarm could be effective.:
"Not clear-cut enough," Jadrek asserted. "There will always be those wanting to make a martyr out of Char. It's amazing how saintly a tyrant becomes after he's dead. We want Stefan firmly on the throne, or this country will be having as many problems as it already has, just different ones."
Warrl sighed, and put his head back down.
"Sorry, mindmate—I sympathize. That leaves the small-scale uprising; here, in the city. Can we pull that off?"
"Maybe. By Midsummer we'll have the working people solidly behind us; those that aren't losing half their incomes to Char's taxes are losing half their incomes because the others have less to spend," Kethry said, nibbling at her thumbnail. "What I've been working with are the merchants, and they are vastly discontent with the way things are going. If there's an uprising, they will be on our side of the riot. The problem is that these are not people used to fighting."
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