Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers

by Mercedes Lackey

  They pulled off their snow-caked garments and changed quickly, hanging the old on pegs by the stove to dry. Kethry noted as she pulled on a soft, comfortable brown robe and breeches, that Tarma had donned black, and frowned. It was true that Kal‘enedral only wore dark, muted colors—but black was for ritual combat or bloodfeud.

  Tarma didn’t miss the frown, faint as it was. “Don’t get your hackles up; it’s all I’ve got left—everything else is at the launderers or wet. I’m not planning on calling anybody out—not even that damned off-key songster. Much as he deserves it—and much as I’d like to.”

  Warrl raised his head from the shadows of the corner he’d chosen for his own, with a contemptuous snort. The kyree liked the cold even less than Tarma, and spent much of his time in the warm corner by the stove curled up on a pad of old rugs.

  :You two have no taste. I happen to think Leslac is a fine musician, and a very talented one.:

  Tarma answered with a snort of her own. “All right then, you go warm his bed. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

  Warrl simply lowered his head back to his paws, and closed his glowing golden eyes with dignity.

  “Tell, tell, tell!” Kethry urged, having as little love for the feckless Leslac as did her partner. She threw herself down into her own leather-padded hearthside chair, and leaned forward in her eagerness to hear.

  “All right—here’s what I was told—” Tarma lounged back in her chair, and put her feet up on the black iron footrest near the stove to warm them. “Evidently his Bardship was singing that song in the Falcon last night.”

  That song was the cause for Tarma’s latest grievance with the Bard. It seemed that Leslac, apparently out of willfulness or true ignorance, had not the least notion of what being Kal‘enedral meant. He had decided that Tarma’s celibacy was the result of her own will, not of the hand of her Goddess—

  The fact was that, as Kal‘enedral, Tarma was celibate because she had become, effectively, neuter. Kal’enedral had no sexual desire, and little sexual identity. There was a perfectly logical reason for this. Kal‘enedral served first the Goddess of the South Wind, the Warrior, who was as sexless as the blade She bore—and they served next the Clans as a whole—and lastly they served their individual Clans. Being sexless allowed them to keep a certain cool perspective that kept them free of feuding and allowed them to act as interClan arbitrators and mediators. Every Shin’a‘in knew the cost of becoming Kal’enedral. Some in every generation felt the price was worth it. Tarma certainly had—since she had the deaths of her entire Clan to avenge, and only Kal‘enedral were permitted to swear to bloodfeud—and Kethry was mortally certain that having been gang-raped by the brigands that slaughtered her Clan had played no little part in the decision.

  Leslac didn’t believe this. He was certain—without bothering to check into Tarma’s background or the customs of the Shin‘a’in, so far as Kethry had been able to ascertain—that Tarma’s vows were as simple as those of most other celibate orders, and as easily broken. He was convinced that she had taken those vows for some girlishly romantic reason; he had just recently written a song, in fact, that hinted—very broadly—that the “right man” could thaw the icy Shin‘a’in. That was the gist of “that song. ”

  And he evidently thought he was the right man.

  He’d certainly plagued them enough before they’d joined up with Idra, following behind them like a puppy that couldn’t be discouraged.

  He’d lost track of them for two years after they’d joined the Sunhawks and that had been a profound relief. But much to their disappointment, he’d found them again and tracked them to Hawksnest. There he had remained, singing in taverns to earn his keep—and occasionally rendering Tarma’s nights sleepless by singing under her window.

  “That song” was new; the first time Tarma had heard it was when they’d gotten back from the Surshan campaign. Kethry had needed to practically tie her down to keep her from killing the musician.

  “That’s not a wise place to sing that particular ballad,” Kethry observed, “Seeing as that’s where your scouts tend to spend their pay.”

  “Hai—but it wasn’t my scouts that got him,” Tarma chuckled, “which is why I’m surprised you hadn’t heard. It was Tresti and Sewen.”

  “What?”

  “It was lovely—or so I’m told. Tresti and Sewen sailed in just as he began the damned thing. Nobody’s said—but it wouldn’t amaze me much to find out that Sewen set the whole thing up, though according to my spies, Tresti’s surprise looked real enough. She knows what Kal‘enedral means. Hellfire, we’re technically equals, if I wanted to claim the priestly aspects that go with the Goddess-bond. She also knows how you and I feel about the little warbling bastard. So she decided to have a very public and very priestly fit about blasphemy and sacrilegious mockery.”

  That was one of the few laws within Hawksnest; that every comrade’s gods deserved respect. And to blaspheme anyone’s gods, particularly those of a Sunhawk of notable standing, was an official offense, punishable by the town judge.

  “She didn‘t!”

  “She ruddy well did. That was all Sewen and my children had been waiting for. They called civil arrest on him and bundled him off to jail. And there he languishes for the next thirty days.”

  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—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 know
s 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 Masterclass 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 after 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?”

  “I 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 Journeymanclass, 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 yo
u. 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.