Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "Maybe not, but I'll bet most of them have a few hired fighters each, either as guards for themselves, or for their goods," Tarma pointed out. "If there were some way that we could promise that their property would stay safe, I'll bet they'd turn those fighters over to us for—say—two days. Assuming that they are professional enough to fight together as a force instead of a gaggle of individuals."

  "I'll work on that." Kethry replied.

  "I suspect we'll have most of the clergy, too, by Midsummer," Jadrek offered. "And for many of the same reasons. And I know of at least two militant orders within the city walls. Those warriors will fight as a single unit."

  "Good. What about the highborn? Don't they have retinues?"

  Jadrek shook his head with regret. "No, not inside the city walls. That was one of Destillion's edicts; no noble can have more than four armed retainers when at Court. And you know the size of Char's guard force."

  "He's got a small army, not even counting his personal guard," Tarma agreed ruefully. "Still—maybe I can come up with a notion. I might be able to work a bit of subversion in Char's forces, who knows? Let's stick with the local uprising plan. I think we're all agreed it's got the best chance of success."

  She swung her feet down off the table, and noticed with surprise that the light coming through the closed shutters was red. "Damn! Sunset already? I've got to be getting back. Char's got another drunken orgy he's holding tonight, and wants his back safe."

  Kethry mussed herself artistically, pulling one sleeve of her blouse so far down that a generous portion of breast was exposed. She stood up at the same moment as Tarma, followed her to the door, and let her out. For the benefit of anyone watching, they gave a well-acted imitation of a passionate farewell.

  When Kethry finished locking the door behind Tarma, she turned to see that Jadrek was still sitting at the table, looking broodingly at a stain in the wood. She was not at all unhappy about that, because she had just about decided that certain other things were going to have to come to a head—one way or another.

  "Still worried?" she asked, returning to her seat, and reaching out to touch her index finger to the wick of the candle standing in the middle of the table. It promptly ignited.

  Jadrek had looked up as she had taken her chair, and watched her light the candle with rapt fascination. "I never get tired of seeing you do things like that," he said. "It's just—so—magical."

  She laughed, and dispelled the illusion on herself. He relaxed visibly.

  She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

  "I like you better this way," he confessed shyly. "The other—seems harder, somehow."

  "Oh, she is; she's taking Arton for everything she can get," Kethry replied.

  "To answer your question—yes, I'm still worried. But I also know that all three of us are doing the best that we can, so worrying isn't going to make a great deal of difference, one way or the other." He stood up, with visible reluctance. "I probably should leave you...."

  "Why?" Kethry asked, frankly. "Are you expecting anyone tonight?"

  "Well, no, but—"

  "Neither am I." She glanced at Warrl, who took the hint, padding through the still-open door between their rooms, shutting it behind him with a casual kick. Kethry moved closer to Jadrek before he could move away, not touching him but standing so near that their faces were within inches of each other.

  "Jadrek, I want you to know that I find you very, very attractive."

  His eyes registered his complete surprise as she deliberately held his gaze.

  He licked his lips, nervously, and seemed utterly at a loss for anything to say.

  "I also want you to know that I am not a virgin, and I'm perfectly capable of dealing with attentions that I don't welcome. You," she finished, "do not come under that category."

  "I—you never stop surprising me. I hardly know what to say...."

  "Then don't say, do. Unless you don't find me attractive—"

  Slowly he lifted one hand, and cupped it against her face. "Kethry—" he breathed, "Kethry, I find you very attractive. Almost unbearably attractive. But I'm not a young man—"

  She echoed his gesture, his cheek warm beneath her hand. "If I wanted a young man, there's a tavern full downstairs. It's you I admire, Jadrek; the mind, the person. You're something special—something those pretty bodies downstairs aren't, and probably never will be."

  Very hesitantly, he leaned forward and kissed her. She returned the kiss as passionately as she dared, and suddenly he responded by embracing her and prolonging the kiss until she was breathless.

  When they broke apart, his gray eyes were dark with confusion. "Kethry—"

  "There are more comfortable places to be doing this," she said, very softly. "Over there, for one." She nodded at the curtained bed, half-hidden in the shadows.

  He blushed. He blushed even harder when she led him there by the hand, and all but pushed him down onto it. "I—" he stammered, looking past her, "Kethry, I'm not—very experienced at this sort of—"

  "You were doing just fine a moment ago," she interrupted him gently, then prevented further protests by embracing him and resuming the kiss where it had been left off.

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind all in an instant, and returned her embrace with a fervor that at least equaled her own. He pulled her down beside him; she did not resist in the least, that being exactly what she wanted from him.

  For a very long time, all they did was kiss and exchange halting, hesitant caresses, almost like a pair of naive youngsters. But when she returned every tenderness with more of the same, he grew braver, daring to undo the lacings of her dress, daring to touch her with fingers that slowly grew bolder.

  He frequently stopped what he was doing for long moments, just to look at her, his eyes full of wonder, as if this was something more magical for him than all the exercising of her powers as a sorceress. As if he couldn't believe that she was returning touch for touch and emotion for emotion. When he did that, she had to fight to keep back the tears of sympathy—the only way she could was to keep a little corner of her mind free to concentrate on the hatred she felt for the women who must have treated him with coldness or indifference, so that this experience was such an unexpected revelation for him.

  He stroked her with hands so gentle that she could hardly credit it. He was by no means the best lover she'd ever had; he was, perhaps, a little clumsy, and as he had confessed, not at all practiced—but his gentleness made up for that, and more.

  And besides, she rather figured that she had experience enough for both of them.

  When they finally joined together, it was like nothing she'd ever dreamed of, for her heart was as involved in the act as her body.

  "Kethry—" he whispered hoarsely as he started to sit up—whispering into the darkness, for the candle had long since burned out. She could hear the beginnings of an apology in his voice, and interrupted him.

  "Don't you dare," she replied, reaching up for him and pulling him toward her so that his head rested on her shoulder. "Don't you dare spoil this with any of your nonsense about being old!"

  "Then I—didn't make a fool of myself?" he asked shyly. "You don't want me to go?"

  "You weren't making a fool of yourself any more than I was," she told him. "If showing how you feel is so very foolish. I don't think it is. And no, please, don't go. I want you to stay. I've had my fill of nights spent alone."

  He sighed, and relaxed into her arms. "Kethry—I care for you, maybe more than I should."

  She reached into the darkness, and brushed strands of damp hair from his forehead. "Don't think you're alone in caring more than you should." She let him take that in for a moment, then laughed, softly. "Or did you think I was only after you for your book collection?"

  "Gods—Keth—" He who was usually so glib was once again at a loss for words, then he joined in her laughter. "No—I didn't; Tarma, on the other hand—"

  They held each other for anothe
r long moment, until he spoke again. "Kethry, what we've got ahead us—"

  "—makes promises foolish," she interrupted him. "We've already made all the promises either of us dare to for now. Let's just enjoy what times we have, and worry about staying alive, shall we?"

  "That's probably wise," he replied, with a reluctance that made her heart race.

  He raised himself on his elbow for a moment, and cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her—kissed her in a way that made his words about not making promises a lie.

  And eventually he fell asleep with his head cradled on her shoulder.

  Kethry held him, her heart full of song.

  Oh Windborn, this is the one, she thought, before she joined him in slumber. He's—he's like something I've always missed, and never known I missed it until now. But now—I could never be content with anyone but him.

  Not ever again.

  Eleven

  Kethry sighed, rose from her chair, and went once more to the window. She stood there restlessly, leaning on the sill, with her chin in her hand, watching the street below; a dark silhouette against the oranges and reds of a spectacular sunset.

  More than a hint of weariness in that sigh, Jadrek thought sympathetically, rubbing his tired eyes. Last night was yet another late night, with both of us too exhausted at the end of it to do anything other than sleep. Tonight looks to be the same. There's never a moment to spare for simple things like food and sleep, much less anything else. I want to tell her how I feel—that I—I love her. But there never seems to be any time, much less the right time.

  He studied the way she was holding herself, the sagging shoulders, the way she kept turning her head a little to ease the stiffness he knew was in her neck because he had loosened those muscles for her far too many times of late. His own neck felt as stiff, and he felt echoes of those same aches in his own shoulders. Gods. We're both tired, mentally and physically. She's spent more hours cajoling stubborn, suspicious merchants than I care to think about; I've spent almost the same number of hours dancing around the touchy sensibilities of priests and highborn. Not the way I would have chosen to spend our time, and both of us return from meetings so—completely drained. Conspiracy is for the young. Combining it with a love affair is insanity!

  Warrl gave an amused snort from where he lay curled on his chosen spot on the hearth. :You manage well enough, wise one,: the rough voice in Jadrek's mind said.

  That is solely, I suspect, because our opportunities have numbered far less than our wishes, Jadrek thought at him, feeding a little more revived just by the casual contact with the kyree's lively mind. I fear that even the supposed wisdom of accumulated years fails to keep my desire from outstripping my capabilities. The only difference between my youth and my age is that now I am not ashamed to admit the fact.

  The kyree snorted contemptuously again, but Jadrek ignored him and continued. Furthermore, I shudder to think what Tarma is likely to say about this liaison when she learns of it.

  :You know less about her than you think,: was the kyree's enigmatic reply. Suddenly the great beast raised his head, and stared in the direction or the palace. :A message—:

  "What?" Jadrek asked aloud, as Kethry turned to look sharply at the lupine creature.

  :Tarma sends her regrets, but Char requires her presence, and she seems to think that the tran-dust he intends to abuse this evening might make him talkative. Needless to say, she does not intend to miss her opportunity.: The kyree turned warm and glowing eyes on the Archivist. :She asks me to come to the stable at dark, so that she can return here afterward without worrying about spies on her backtrail. I would suggest, given your earlier plaint about not having any time to yourselves, that you might take advantage of the occasion that has been presented to you... unless you have other plans.:

  Jadrek nearly choked on a laugh at Kethry's indignant blush.

  "I think we can find some way of filling in the time," he said aloud, as she glared at both of them.

  * * *

  The hour grew late; the candle burned down to a stub, and Kethry replaced it—and still no sign of Tarma. Jadrek regretted—more than once—that his ability to communicate with Warrl was sharply limited by distance.

  Kethry suddenly dropped the candle end she was about to discard, and her whole body tensed.

  "What?" Jadrek asked, anxiously, wondering if she had sensed some sort of occult probing in their direction.

  "It's—anger," she replied, distantly. "Terrible, terrible anger. I've never felt anything like this in her before."

  "Her? Her who?" She didn't answer him, and he said, a little more sharply. "Who, Keth? Keth?"

  She shook her head as if to clear it, and resumed her seat at the table, but he could see that her hands were trembling before she clasped them in front of her on the table to conceal the fact.

  "Keth?" he repeated gently, but insistently.

  "It's—it's the she'enedran bond between us," she said at last. "We each can feel things the other does, sometimes. Jadrek, she's in a killing rage; she's just barely keeping herself under control! And I can't tell why."

  She looked up at him, and he could see fear, the mirror to his own, in her eyes. "I've never felt anything like this out of her; she's usually so controlled, even when I'm ready to spit nails. It has to be something Char said or did—but what could bring her to the brink like this? There's enough rage resonating down the bond that I'm half prepared to go kill something!"

  "I don't know," he said slowly. "And I'm almost afraid to find out."

  They stared at each other helplessly, until finally he reached out and laid his hand over her clenched ones, offering what little comfort he had to give.

  After that, it was just the deadly waiting.

  Finally, after both of them had fretted themselves into a state of nervous exhaustion, they heard Warrl's nails clicking on the wooden steps outside. Tarma's presence was revealed only by the creaking of the two trick boards, one in the fifth step, one in the eighth—otherwise she never made a sound. Kethry jumped to her feet, ran to the door and flung it open.

  Tarma/Arton stood in the light streaming from the door, so very still that for a moment Jadrek wasn't entirely certain she was breathing. She remained in the doorway for a long, long moment, her face utterly expressionless—except for the eyes, which burned with a rage so fierce Kethry stepped back an involuntary pace or two.

  Warrl came up from behind her and nudged Tarma's hand with his nose; only then did she seem to realize where she was, and walk slowly inside, stopping only when she came to the table.

  She did not take a seat as she usually did; she continued to stand, half-shrouded in shadows, and looked from Jadrek to Kethry and back again. Finally she spoke.

  "I've found out what happened to Idra."

  "...so once Char had downed a full bottle of brandy to enhance the tran, he'd gotten himself into a mood where he was talkative, but wasn't really thinking about what he was saying."

  Kethry tensed, feeling Tarma's anger burning within her, a half-mad fire at the pit of her stomach.

  Tarma spoke in a tonelessly deadly voice, still refusing to seat herself. "Alcohol and tran have that effect in combination—connecting the mind to the mouth without letting the intellect have any say in what comes out. And as I'd been hoping, his suspicious nature kept him from wanting to confide in any of his courtiers. And there was good old Arton, so sympathetic, so reliable, always dependable. So he threw his rump-kissers out, and began telling me how everybody abused him, everybody turned on him. Especially his sister."

  She shifted her weight a little; the floorboard creaked beneath her, and Kethry could feel the anger rising up her spine. Channel that—she told herself, locking her will into Adept's discipline. There's enough pure rage here to bum half the city down, if you channel it. Use the anger—don't let it use you!

  With that invocation of familiar discipline came a certain amount of relief; the fires were partially contained, harvested against future nee
d. It wasn't perfect; she was still trembling with emotion, but at least the energy wasn't being all wasted.

  And there will he future need—

  "Then he told me about how his sister had first supported him, then betrayed him. How he had known from the first that the hunt for the lost sword had been nothing more than a ruse to get her across the border and into contact with Stefan. He carried on about that for long enough to just about put me to sleep; what an ungrateful, cold bitch she was, how she deserved the worst fate anyone could imagine. He was pretty well convinced she was she'chorne, too, and you know how they feel about that here—I had just about figured that was all I was going to get out of him, when suddenly he stopped raving,"

  Kethry felt a prickle of fear when the bond of she'enedran between herself and Tarma transmitted sent another surge of the incredibly cold rage her oathsister was feeling. I've never known anyone who could sustain that kind of emotion for this long without berserking. Had Tarma been anything other than Kal'enedral—someone, or several someones, would be long dead by now, hacked into many small pieces....

  "'I fixed her,' he said. 'I fixed her properly. I planned it all so beautifully, too. I had Zaras bespell one of his apprentices to look like me, and sent the apprentice off with the rest of the Court on a threeday hunt. Then Zaras and I waited for the bitch in the stables; I distracted her, he hit her from behind with a spell, and when she woke up, her body belonged to Zaras. He had her saddle up and ride out just as if it were any other day, but this time her destination was my choice. We took her to the old tower on the edge of Hielmarsh; it's deserted, and the rumors I had spread about hauntings keep the clods away.'"

  From there, what Tarma told them horrified even Kethry, inured to the brutality of warfare as she was. And she, of the three of them, had been the least close to the Captain; Tarma's own internal torment was only too plain to her oathsister, who was continuing to share in it—and Jadrek's expression could not be described.