And that was what made this whole plan possible. Tarma and Warrl had already taken care of the sentries, but there was a camp full of men to be eliminated before the partners could effect a rescue. Jadrie had already played this ruse twice; this was the third time, and it continued to work.
At the first word, she looked back over her shoulder, and broke into a run. Reacting just like a hunting hound, the man remembered only that if the leader discovered the girl had slipped past him, he would be in horrible trouble, and sped after her.
She led him on a path she had already scouted, and to a destination of her own choosing, over the hill and into the valley on the other side. She looked back over her shoulder from time to time, but he wasn't putting on any unexpected bursts of speed.
Even if he does, she thought, panting, there's always Warrl. Warrl, who was running alongside him, invisible in the darkness. Warrl, who could make a single leap and tear out his throat before he could shout....
But that wasn't where she was leading him; Warrl was only her backup. When he was far enough from the camp that no sound he would make could alert the other kidnappers, he learned that it isn't wise to run into unknown territory after even the most tempting of targets.
It was a lesson he would never profit by, however, though perhaps his ghost would be comforted by the fact that his teacher was the famous Need.
While her mother cleaned Need's blade, Jadrie went back in search of another victim, glad that it had been too dark for her to really see the end-game of each stalk. She wasn't-quite-ready for that. Better not to think about it for now.
Better concentrate on narrowing their odds. At some point -- soon -- the odds would be with them. She went back into the scrub and headed for the welcome yellow eye that was the campfire.
As she slipped through the brush, Warrl appeared beside her. She didn't start, perhaps because she had attuned herself so closely to these scrubby woods and her erstwhile partner that she had anticipated him before he actually arrived.
:Another,: he said in her mind. :This way.:
She followed him, as she had done the last two rimes. She suspected that he might be fiddling with the minds of their enemies, too subtly for detection. They certainly were drinking an awful lot of water, with the attendant requirement to go rid themselves of it. And they weren't thinking, either -- or they would have noticed that three of their number had gone out and not come back yet.
But maybe Warrl wasn't doing anything. After being so sick, the men were surely very thirsty. Maybe it was just sheer luck.
Maybe she wasn't going to argue the point.
This time she lured her quarry to Tarma; that was her choice, when she had one. Tarma was only braining the men with a stout log; it was her mother, under the influence of Need, who was wreaking sheer havoc on the hapless enemy. Now Jadrie really understood some of the comments that Tarma had made in the past about the sword, and she was altogether glad that she wasn't going to inherit such a troublesome treasure. Granted, Need's abilities could come in handy, but the idea of an inanimate object that was so downright bloodthirsty made her feel more than a little sick herself.
The man looked up as she deliberately broke a twig, and sighed instead of cursed. "Little one -- don't run," he said with weary patience as she looked back at him. "There is nowhere to go, not even a shepherd hut for leagues and leagues. You are sick, you will die of cold. Come back to the wagon-"
She ran, glancing back. He shook his head and lumbered after her, still calling to her.
"I will catch you sooner or later," he promised. "Then I will have to carry you back and lock you in. Do you truly wish to be locked in?"
She was a little ashamed at leading this fellow to an ambush, even if he was an enemy. He seemed to be the only one who was treating her friends with any sort of kindness.
At least it'll be Tarma, and the worst he'll have is a horrible headache-
Her thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud and the sound of someone crumpling into the brush and hitting the ground.
"Hated to do that, but better me than Keth," Tarma whispered. "At least we know we saved the one decent one. Now go get me another, kitten, you're doing fine."
* * *
Kira swiftly drew her tiny knife from her boot, and stared at the leader, menacing him as best she could. He looked down at the slender blade in mild surprise.
"Stay away from us," she told him. "I don't want to hurt you."
"What a pity I need to kill you, child," he said. "You prove more entertaining by the moment." He regarded her as he would have examined a particularly interesting insect, and she felt very much like a poor little bug that was about to be squashed.
I can't kill him -- maybe if I hurt him, Meri can get away-- But she knew with a sudden sick feeling that she couldn't even manage that; maybe if she'd been older, bigger, maybe if she'd seen and done more, but not now. Not when she was too small to take him bare-handed, not when it wasn't a daydream, not when she knew what human blood looked like. Her hand started to shake.
I'll just keep him occupied long enough for Meri to run. That was all she could manage.
He stepped toward her a pace, with his hands spread wide. He wasn't holding his own knife; he wasn't even trying to grab her. What did he think he was doing?
His next words told her. "So -- let me see what you are made of. Let me see if a foreign child has half the courage of a Jkathan child." His sardonic smile told her that he really didn't expect her to show even an ounce of courage. "Come at me! Do what you will! I will not even stop you! A child of my people would be at my throat like a mad dog by now!" His eyes taunted her. "What? Have you no stomach to make good on your threats?"
She brandished her knife at him, backing up into the brush, which crackled beneath her feet. Meri backed up with her, crazily staying behind her, even as Kira screamed silently at her to run while she had the chance.
He advanced, another slow step, then another. He laughed. "Use that little blade, girl!" he taunted.
She tried -- she tried to force herself to stab at him, and she couldn't. She just couldn't.
Why is he doing this? To get me to come within reach so he can just break my neck? She continued to back up, as he loomed between her and the camp, dark and menacing against the glow of the distant fire.
Why is he playing with us like this?
It struck her that he was enjoying himself. He liked seeing the terror on her face, liked feeling so completely in control of the situation.
"You're nothing but a big bully!" she shouted angrily at him. "You just want people to be afraid of you so you can feel important!"
"Little girls should not taunt their elders," he admonished her. "And there are plenty of people who will fear me in the days to come. Think how privileged you are to be the first to taste that terror!"
In answer, she made an abortive rush at him, slashing her knife toward his face, but darted back when he reached out to seize her as she had expected he would.
At this point, she really wasn't thinking anymore. She was observing and reacting, at a level of analysis that was almost instinct, knowing that if she did this, he would respond with that. As long as she could keep this game going, they would live a little longer. As long as she could observe and react, she wouldn't crumble under the weight of her fear.
But it seemed that he was getting impatient, tired of the game, wanting to bring it to its conclusion.
"What? You dare not strike, even when you know I will kill you? Even when I swear not to defend myself?" A cruel chuckle emerged from his lips. "What a pity; I had even come to like you, a little. Oh, it would not have saved you, but I would see that you were properly buried and not left for scavengers. But since you haven't the courage of a jackal, it is fitting that you go to feed them. It is too bad that you have no stomach to use a weapon against another-"
He broke off his sentence to stare stupidly at the length of shining, pointed steel protruding through his chest.
"Fortunately," Kethry snarled, "We don't have that problem."
And as he fell, Meri and Kira ran to Tarma's outstretched arms.
"Come on, kittens," she said as she gathered them up. "Let's go home."
* * *
Children, kittens and puppies tumbled over one another in a shrieking, joyful mass in the middle of the nursery, a large room lined with shelves upon which resided the battered but beloved toys of a houseful of children. It was just as well that the toys had all been put away, for no doll or wooden horse could ever survive the melee of bodies in the middle of the room. At the moment, it was difficult to count how many there were of each species, but there was no doubt of how happy they all were. Warrl reclined at the sidelines, an indulgent and benevolent presence standing in for adult authority.
"Well, I don't think they're going to kill each other, and I do think your Midwinter present is a success, Tilden," Kethry laughed, as three of the mastiff pups together broke from the mass and attacked Warrl's tail. Warrl ignored them, and after a few futile attempts to make the tail do something, the pups galloped back to the larger pile. Even the Archduke's eldest girl, the quiet scholar who considered herself an adult at thirteen, had joined in the romp.
"I was afraid you might be annoyed when I descended on you with more livestock," their old friend replied, eyes twinkling. "But I could hardly have given the girls their pets and not have brought identical offerings for your brood."
Tarma laughed, and slapped him on the back. "You show a fine grasp of diplomacy in your old age," she told him. "And since the manners and morals of the nobility often resemble those of children, I predict you are going to go far in your political career. Let's go off to somewhere where we can talk without having to scream at each other. We can leave Warrl in charge of maintaining a pretense of order and let them sort out which animal belongs to who by themselves."
Tilden's chief Midwinter presents to all of the children consisted of one Brindle Mastiff puppy and one Arborn Hunting Cat kitten for each child old enough to appreciate and care for their pets. With sound judgement, he had left the animals in the nursery and brought in the children, but had not parceled out particular animals for each. Hunting Cats and Mastiffs were about the same size and strength, were often kenneled and trained together and would be perfectly happy paired up together.
"Good idea," seconded Jadrek, who winced as a particularly piercing shriek split the air.
The adults returned to Kethry's solar, which was just large enough to seat all of them without anyone feeling crowded rather than cozy. The furniture was of good quality, but with the touch of shabby comfort about it that furnishings often acquire in a house where there are many well-loved children. Tilden looked around and nodded -- with satisfaction, Tarma thought.
"You know," said the Archduke, when they were all settled -- and in some cases, sprawled -- comfortably in front of the fire, "this has been such a pleasant Midwinter, I'm tempted to ask you to invite us again next year."
"In spite of the circumstances?" Tarma asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
"Absolutely." Tilden nodded his handsome head, and his wife gave silent agreement. "The twins have no real friends at home, and to be brutally frank, I dread Midwinter Court -- it's when every social-climber and bore in the Kingdom shows up to rub elbows with the great and the pretenders, then goes home to drop names to impress his provincial friends. I'd be just as happy to have an excuse to come here instead of bringing the twins home for the holidays every year. It wouldn't be any more difficult to get up a caravan for us to come here. Easier, in some ways -- my guards would only be making one round trip instead of two."
Unspoken was the clear and obvious fact that no one in his right mind, however bold and fanatic, would attack the Archduke and his retinue. Not with Tilden's reputation as a warrior.
"Tilden!" his wife laughed. "How can you say that about our worthy peers?"
"Our worthy peers are so preoccupied with sucking up to the King that he could set them on fire and they'd thank him for the honor," Tilden replied brutally. "And I'm glad to be among friends with whom I can speak my mind for a change, instead of mouthing polite idiocy and trying not to feel as if I ought to be scraping them off my boots." He turned to Tarma, and she shrugged.
"Don't look at me," she declared. "I'm just a barbarian nomad with no sense of rank or decorum, remember? You can keep your Courts; I don't want any part of them."
"You're well out of it, and I wish I'd had your sense and declined the damned title," Tilden grumbled, yet with a smile. "You have no idea what those of us who actually do some work have to put up with from the drones. Listen to this, will you-"
She sat back and enjoyed Tilden's witty, acerbic commentary on the current crop of Rethwellan nobility, as his wife added sweetly pointed asides and Jadrek commented on the lineage (or lack of it) where each was concerned. It was wonderful to have Tilden and his family here; she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed his sharp tongue and razor wit. And of course, Jadrie was thrilled, for she not only had her best friends here for the holiday, but she had a new friend in the shape of Tilden's eldest daughter Arboli. However scholarly Arboli might be, she was also the daughter of a bodyguard and a Horsemaster -- she rode like a Shin'a'in and could hold her own in rough games and contests. She couldn't match even Kira in swordwork, but she was wickedly accurate with a snowball and was endlessly inventive in coming up with new amusements to act out.
As for Kethry's twins, they were overjoyed at having a whole new set of playmates, even if those playmates were girls. Even the two youngest played happily together -- insofar as any two strange toddlers could play together. At least it was with a minimum of squabbles.
There was never any question of Kira and Meri going back to their father after their ordeal -- they were still sick from the effects of cold, fear, and the seeds they'd eaten, and the new Healer in the village insisted they remain in bed at the school so that she could make certain there would be no lasting effects from their experience. They ate as if they were hollow, and slept when they weren't eating, for three days straight.
Meanwhile Kethry had gotten messages to their father telling him what had happened. While the twins were recovering, Tilden had made his excuses to the King, packed up the entire family, and headed at top speed for the school, with the baggage train following at an easier pace. And when he and his retinue appeared on the doorstep, Tarma wasn't at all surprised to see them. She'd expected him to do exactly that -- and if he had been hesitant, his wife Diona would have overcome that hesitation.
The first day was spent with Tilden and Diona closeted with the twins, not even coming out for meals. The other children circled each other like wary dogs for half a day, then made up their minds to be friends and went out for snowfights. When Tilden and Diona emerged, they didn't say anything, but they spent part of the second day closeted with Kethry, then joined the rest of the company and acted as if they had come here only for the pure pleasure of the trip.
Today was Midwinter Day, and with it the start of three days of gift-giving and feasting, which thus far had managed to keep everyone off of serious subjects. The one surprise Tilden had managed to pull off was the magical production of the litter of kittens and puppies. Tarma still had no idea how he'd managed to keep their existence a secret.
Then again, in a baggage-train the size an Archduke has, I suppose you could probably keep just about anything secret for a few days.
Still, the one subject that had not been broached was the kidnapping, and Tarma was waiting. They were just about due for it now.
The same thing seemed to occur to everyone else in the room at about the same moment, for an awkward silence fell, and Tilden cleared his throat carefully.
"I want to thank you," he began, a bit stiffly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "Although thanks is inadequate-"
'Tilden-" Kethry began, but he hushed her rather fiercely.
"I made mistakes. I knew about the fanatics and I didn't take
them seriously. I certainly never thought they would dare to strike inside the borders of Rethwellan! I sent green untrained men instead of experienced men, and I gave them the impression that this would be more of an excursion than a serious duty." He shook his head. "Those were all my mistakes, and if it hadn't been for your quick thinking and quick action -- well, I don't know what would have happened, but I can't imagine anything good coming out of this disaster."
Oathblood v(vah-3 Page 33
