She'd never found any man whose attractions outweighed the fascination of combining mage-craft with smithery. Of course, she thought humorously, the kind of man attracted to a woman with a face like a horse and biceps rivaling his own was generally not the sort she wanted to waste any time on.
She sighed and returned to her forge.
The scene changed again, this time to a roadway running through thick forest, from a horse-back vantage point. The trees were enormous, much larger than any Elspeth had ever seen before; so large that five or six men could scarcely have circled the trunks with their arms. Of course, she had never seen the Pelagiris Forest; stories picked up from mercs along the way, assuming those weren't exaggerated, had hinted of something like this.
The Fair was no longer exciting, merely tiring. She was glad to be going home.
But suddenly, amid the ever-present pine scent, a whiff of acrid smoke drifted to her nose—causing instant alarm.
There shouldn't have been any fires burning with enough smoke to be scented out here. Campfires were not permitted, and none of the fires of the Sisterhood produced much smoke.
A cold fear filled her. She spurred her old horse which shuffled into a startled canter, rolling its eyes when it scented the smoke. The closer she went, the thicker the smoke became.
She rode into the clearing holding the Sisterhood to face a scene of carnage.
Elspeth was all too familiar with scenes of carnage, but this was the equal of anything she'd seen during the conflicts with Hardorn. Bodies, systematically looted bodies, lay everywhere, not all of them female, none of them alive. The buildings were smoking ruins, burned to blackened skeletons.
Shock made her numb; disbelief froze her in her saddle. Under it all, the single question—why? The Sisterhood wasn't wealthy, everyone knew that—and while no one lives without making a few rivals or enemies, there were none that she knew of that would have wanted to destroy them so completely. They held no secrets, not even the making of the mage-blades was a secret. Anyone could do it who was both smith and mage, and willing to spend one month per spell on a single sword.
Why had this happened? And as importantly, who had done it?
That was when Vena came running, weeping, out of the forest; face smudged with ash and smoke, tear-streaked, clothing and hair full of pine needles and bark.
Again the scene changed, to the forge she had seen before, but this time there was little in the way of walls or ceiling left. And again, knowledge flooded her.
Vena had been out in the forest when the attack occurred. She had managed to scale one of the smaller trees and hide among the branches to observe. Now they both knew the answer to her questions.
"Who" was the Wizard Heshain, a mage-lord who had never before shown any notice of the Sisterhood. Vena had described the badges on shields and livery of the large, well-armed force that had invaded the peaceful enclave, and she had recognized Heshain's device.
"Why—"
His men had systematically sought out and killed every fighter, every craftswoman, every fighter apprentice. There had been mages with them who had eliminated every adult mage.
Then they had surrounded and captured every apprentice mage except Vena. They fired the buildings to drive anyone hiding into the open and had eliminated any that were not young and Mage-Talented.
The entire proceedings had taken place in an atmosphere of cold efficiency. There were no excesses, other than slaughter, not even rape—and that had struck Vena as eerily like the dispassionate extermination of vermin.
Afterward, though, the bodies of both sides had been stripped of everything useful and anything that might identify them. There had still been no raping, no physical abuse of the apprentices; they had been tied at the wrists and hobbled at the ankles, herded into carts, and taken away. Vena had stayed in the tree for a full night, waiting for the attackers to return, then she had climbed down to wander dazedly through the ruins.
Vena had no idea why the wizard had done this—but the kidnapping of the apprentices told her all she needed to know.
He had taken them to use, to augment his own powers. To seduce, subvert, or otherwise bend the girls to his will.
They had to be rescued. Not only for their own sakes and that of the Sisterhood, but because if he succeeded, his power would be magnified. Considerably. Quite enough to make him a major factor in the world.
A man who sought to increase his power in such a fashion must not be permitted to succeed in his attempt.
He had to be stopped.
Right. He had to be stopped.
By an old, crippled woman, and a half-trained girl.
This was a task that would require a fighter of the highest skills, and a mage the equal of Heshain. A healthy mage, one who could ride and climb and run away, if she had to.
But there was a way. If Vena, a young and healthy girl, could be endowed with all her skills, she might well be able to pull off that rescue. One person could frequently achieve things that an army could not. One person, with all the abilities of both a mage of some strength—perhaps even the superior of Heshain—and a fighter trained by the very best, would have advantages no group could boast.
That was their only hope. So she had sent Vena out, ostensibly to hunt for herbs she needed. In actuality, it was to get her out of the way. She was about to attempt something she had only seen done once. And that had not been with one of her bespelled swords.
She took the hidden sword, the one with the spells of all four seasons sealed to it, out of its hiding place under the floor of the forge. She heated the forge, placed it in the fire while she wrought one last spell—half magic, and half a desperate prayer to the Twins.
Then, when the blade was white-hot, with fire and magic, she wedged it into a clamp on the side of the forge, point outward—
And ran her body onto it.
Pain seared her with a white-hot agony so great it quickly stopped being "pain" and became something else.
Then it stopped being even that, and what Elspeth felt in memory was worse than pain, though totally unfamiliar. It was not a sensation like anything Elspeth had ever experienced. It was a sense of wrenching dislocation, disorientation—
Then, nothing at all. Literally. No sight, sound, sense of any kind. If she hadn't had some feeling that this was all just a memory she was reexperiencing, she'd have panicked. And still, if she had any choice at all, she never, ever wanted to encounter anything like this again. It was the most truly, profoundly horrifying experience she had ever had.
A touch. Connection. Feelings, sensations flooded back, all of them so sharp-edged and clear they seemed half-raw. Grief. Someone was weeping. Vena. It was Vena's senses she was sharing. The spell had worked! She was now one with the sword, with all of her abilities as mage and as fighter, and everything she had ever learned, intact.
Experimentally, she exerted a bit of control, moving Vena's hand as if it had been her own. The girl plucked at her tunic, and it felt to her as if it was her own hand she was controlling. Good; not only was her knowledge intact, but her ability to use it. She need only have the girl release control of her body, and an untrained girl would be a master swordswoman.
Vena sobbed helplessly, uncontrollably. After the first rush of elation, it occurred to her that she had probably better tell the child she wasn't dead. Or not exactly, anyway.
The sword released its hold on them, and Elspeth sat and shook for a long time.
It was a small comfort that she recovered from the experience before Skif did. She had never been so intimately one with someone's thoughts before. Especially not someone who had shared an experience like Need's death and rebirth.
She had never encountered anyone whose thoughts and memories were quite so—unhuman. As intense as those memories were, they had felt old, sounded odd, as if she was listening to someone with a voice roughened by years of breathing forge smoke, and they contained a feeling of difference and distance, as if the emotions Need had felt we
re so distant—or so foreign—that Elspeth couldn't quite grasp them. Perhaps that made a certain amount of sense. There was no way of knowing quite how old Need was. She had gotten the distinct impression that Need herself did not know. She had spent many, many lifetimes in the heart of the sword, imprisoned, though it was by her own will. That was bound to leave its mark on someone.
To make her, in time, something other than human? It was possible.
Nevertheless, it was a long time before she was willing to open her mind to the blade again, and to do so required more courage than she had ever mustered up before.
:I wish you wouldn't do that,: the sword said, peevishly, the moment she reestablished contact.
"What?" she replied, startled.
:Close me out like that. I thought I made it clear; I can only see through your eyes, hear through your ears. When you close me out, I'm deaf and blind.:
"Oh." She shivered with the recollection of that shared moment of pain, disorientation—and then, nothing. What would it be like for Need, in those times when she was not in contact with her wielder?
Best not to think about it. "Can you always do that?" she asked instead. "As long as you aren't closed out, I mean."
Skif showed some signs of coming out of his stunned state. He shook his head, and looked at her, with a bit more sense in his expression, as if he had begun to follow the conversation.
:Once I soul-bond, the way I did with Vena, and most of my other wielders, yes. Unless you deliberately close me out, the way you just did. I had forgotten that there were disadvantages to bonding to someone with Mindspeech.: Need seemed a little disgruntled. :You know how to shield yourselves, and unless you choose to keep me within those shields with you, that closes me out.:
Given some of what Kero had told her about her own struggles with the sword, Elspeth was a little less inclined to be sympathetic than she might ordinarily have been. Need had tried, not once, but repeatedly, to get the upper hand and command the Captain's movements when she was young. And she had taken over Kero's grandmother's life from time to time, forcing her into situations that had often threatened not only her life, but the lives of those around her. Granted, it had always been in a good cause, but—
But Kero—and Kethry—had occasionally found themselves fighting against women, women or things in a woman's shape. Creatures who were frequently the equal in evil of any man. And when that happened, Need had not only not aided her wielder—she had often fought her wielder.
More than once, both women had found themselves in acute danger, with Need actually helping the enemy.
Given that, well... it was harder to be in complete sympathy with the sword.
Poor Kero, Elspeth thought. I'm beginning to understand what it was she found herself up against, here....
And that made something occur to her. "Wait a minute—Kero had Mindspeech! Why didn't you talk to her before this?"
:I was asleep.: the sword admitted sheepishly. :There was a time when all I could bond to were fighters, with no special abilities whatsoever. During that rather dry spell, there was a long period between partners. I am not certain what happened; I didn't get a chance to bond properly, because she didn't use me for long. Perhaps my wielder put me away, perhaps she sold me—or she might even have lost me. I don't know. But my bond faded and weakened, and I slept, and my wielders came to me only as dreams.:
"What woke you?" Skif asked. He sounded back to his old curious self.
:I think, perhaps, it was the one before you. Kerowyn, you said? She began to speak to me, if crudely. But because I had been asleep for so very long, I was long in waking. Then, as I gradually began to realize what was going on and came to full wakefulness, she brought me to your home.:
Need fell silent, and all of them—Elspeth Felt Gwena back with her again—waited for her to speak. Gwena finally got tired of waiting.
:Well?: she snapped. :What then?:
Elspeth clearly felt the sword react with surprise.
:What then? I stayed quiet, of course! The protections about your land are formidable, horse. Someone has changed the nature of the vrondi there. They—:
"The what?" Elspeth asked, puzzled by the strange reference.
:The vrondi, child,: Need responded, impatiently. :You know what they are! Even though you have no mages within your border, you use the vrondi constantly, to detect the truth!:
Unbidden, the memories of first learning the Truth-Spell sprang into her mind.
"Think of a cloud with eyes," said Herald Teren. "Think of the spell and concentrate on a cloud with eyes."
She must have spoken it aloud, for the sword responded. :Exactly,: Need replied with impatience. :Clouds with eyes. Those are vrondi. Did you think they were only creatures of imagination?:
Since that was precisely what she had thought, she prudently kept that answer to herself.
:Someone, somehow, has changed the nature of the vrondi, and they are not the same in your land,: the blade said peevishly. :They look now, they look for mage-energies. When they see them, they gather about the mage, and watch, and watch, and they do not stop watching unless they see that the mage is also a Herald, and has one of your talking horses with him.: If a sword could have produced a snort, this one would have. :So I kept silent. What else was I to do? I did not wish to call attention to myself. That was when I drifted back to sleep again.:
:Not as deeply, I trust,: Gwena responded, dryly.
:Well, no. And I waited, not only to be able to leave your land, but to be passed to the one I had sensed—you. Not only a fighter, but one with Mage-Talent as well, and Mindspeech.:
"Then I took you out—"
:And I woke. Just as well, I think. If you will forgive me, child—you need me.:
Elspeth groaned inwardly, though not at the pun. The last thing she had any use for was yet another creature with an idea of what she "should" be doing.
Oh, gods, she thought. Just what I wanted. Another guardian. Someone else with a Quest.
That was not the end of her troubles, as she soon learned.
Both she and Skif were exhausted, but Skif seemed a little more dazed than she. Possibly it was simply a matter of sex; Need had shown herself to be a little less than friendly to males, and Elspeth had no doubt that the sword had not made mental contact easy on him.
Skif lay down on the bed, his face a little dazed. Elspeth, though she was tired, also felt as if she needed to get on with her plans quickly, before Need could complicate matters.
It was possible, of course, that Need could prove to be the magic-teacher she so eagerly sought. Possible—but a last resort, to be considered only when she had exhausted all others. Including seeking the Adept in Lythecare. She wasn't certain of Need's powers, and she wasn't certain if the blade was entirely to be trusted. If she would run roughshod over Skif, what would she do to handicap other Valdemaran males? Would she actually sabotage their training? Elspeth couldn't be sure, so she wasn't going to take the chance.
When the sword had been put in her sheath, with a promise that Elspeth would not again block Need out of her mind without ample warning and cause, she went out for a breath of air, and to begin to explore the tent city. As she had been expecting, there was a logical pattern to the "streets" of Kata'shin'a'in. The farthest tents, those all the way downwind, belonged to the beast sellers. Near to them were those who sold the things one would need for a beast, everything from simple leads and halters for sheep and collars for dogs, to the elaborate tack for parade horses.
Then came leather workers in general, then the makers of glass, metal and stonework.
Then textile merchants, and finally, nearest the core city, sellers of food and other consumables.
The core city itself contained a very few shops. It consisted mostly of the dwellings of those few who remained here all year and the inns.
There were dozens of those inns, ranging in quality from a mud-walled, dirt-floored, one-room ale house, to a marble palace of three stories, whose
supposed amenities ranged from silk sheets through mage-crafted delicacies to the very personal and intimate attendance of the servant of one's choice.
The innkeeper had not gotten any more explicit than that, but Elspeth reckoned wryly that a whore by any other name still plied his or her trade—presumably, with expertise.
It might be nice to experience service like that, one day—though without, she thought with a little embarrassment, anything more personal than a good massage.
But for now, she had a great deal more on her mind than that. For one thing, she had to find Shin'a'in. This was Kata'shin'a'in, "City of the Shin'a'in," after all. Once she found Shin'a'in, she had to get them to talk to her. Then she had to find someone willing and able to put her in touch with Tale'sedrin, Kero's Clan.
And she reckoned that the best place to find the Shin'a'in would be in the beast market. They not only bred horses, after all, they also had herds of sheep and goats; presumably they bought and sold both.
Failing that, she would try the textile merchants. The Shin'a'in were great weavers and among those who treasured such pieces of art, their carpets, blankets, and other textiles and embroideries were famed all the way up into Valdemar.
So she went out to scout the beast market first.
She had hoped to slip away without disturbing Skif, who had fallen asleep on the bed, exhausted by the strain of the strange day.
But no matter what Need claimed about her own powers, evidently "attracting Luck" was no longer one of them. She had no sooner gotten outside the door of the inn when Skif came panting up behind her.
She sighed and kept from snapping at him. It was fairly obvious that he was not going to let her go out alone. And it wasn't simply more of his mother-henning. The peculiar look in his eyes told her all she needed to know.
He was infatuated with her.
And I ought to recognize infatuation when I see it, since I've suffered under it myself.
He undoubtedly had convinced himself that he was in love with her.
Wonderful, she thought to herself, as she headed determinedly toward her goal, despite having him trailing along behind her. Just wonderful. My partner thinks he's in love with me, my Companion wants me to become some kind of Foretold Hero, my sword has a mind of its own, and I'm going to have to find someone from an elusive tribe of an elusive people all on my own, in a city where I don't even speak the language.
Valdemar Books Page 612
