Oathblood (20 page)

Strands of raven hair escaped from Tarma's braid and blew into her eyes, but didn't obscure her vision so much that she missed the sudden movement in the bushes at the side of the road, and the small, running figure that set off across the fields. “Looks like the scouts are out,” she grinned at her partner.

“We've been spotted.”

“What? Oh—” Kethry caught sight of the child as he (she?) vaulted over a hedge and vanished. “Wonder what he made of us?”

“We're about to find out.” From the other side of the hedge strode a heavy, muscular farmer, as brown as his fields; one who held his scythe with the air of someone who knew what an effective weapon it could be. Both women pulled their horses to a stop and waited for him to reach the road.

“Wayfarer's Peace, landsman,” Tarma said when he was near enough to hear her. She held both hands out empty. He eyed her carefully.

“On oath to the Warrior, Shin‘a'in?” he replied.

“Oath given.” She raised one eyebrow in surprise. “You know Shin‘a'in, landsman? We're a long way from the plains.”

“I've traveled.” He had relaxed visibly when Tarma had given her pledge. “Soldiered a bit. Aye, I know Shin‘a'in—and I know a Sworn One when I see one. ‘Tisn't often you see Shin'a‘in, and less often you see Swordsworn oathed to outlander.”

“So you recognize blood-oathed, too? You're full of surprises, landsman.” Tarma's level gaze held him; her blue eyes had turned cold. “So many I wonder if we are safe with you—”

He raised his left arm; burned onto the back of the wrist was a five-spoked wheel. Kethry relaxed with a sigh, and her partner glanced sidelong at her.

“And I know the Wheel-bound,” the sorceress replied. “ ‘May your future deeds balance all.' ”

“‘And your feet ever find the Way,' ” he finished, smiling at last. “I am called Landric.”

“I'm Tarma—my companion is Kethry. Just out of curiosity—how did you know we were she‘ene- dran?” Tarma asked as he moved up to walk beside their mounts. “Even among Shin'a‘in, oathsisters aren't that common.”

He was a big man, and muscular. He wore simple brown homespun, but the garments were well made. His hair and eyes were a few shades darker than his sun-darkened skin. He swung the scythe up gracefully out of the way, and though he eyed Tarma's beast-companion warily, he made no moves as though he were afraid of it. Tarma gave him points for that.

“Had a pair of oathbound mercenaries in my company,” he replied, “That was before I took the Wheel, of course. Brother and sister, and both Swordswom as well, as I recall. When you held up your hands, I recognized the crescent palm-scar, and I couldn't imagine a Shin‘a'in traveling with any but her oathsister. If you've a wish to guest with me, be welcome—even though—” his face clouded, “—I fear my hearth's cold comfort now.”

Kethry had a flash of intuition. “Grief, landsman—your Wheelmate?”

“She waits the next turning. I buried what the monster left of her at Spring planting, these six months agone.”

 

Their host walked beside their mounts, and told his tale with little embellishment.

“—And there was no time for me to get a weapon—and little enough I could have done even had there been time. So when the monster headed for the babe, she ran between it and him; and the creature took her instead of the child, just as she'd intended.” There was heavily veiled pain still lurking in his voice.

“Damn,” Tarma said, shaking her head in awe at the dead woman's bravery. “Not sure I‘d've had the guts to do that. What's this thing like anyway?”

“Like no creature I've ever heard tell of. Big; bigger than a dozen horses put together, covered with bristly brown hair—a head that's all teeth and jaws, six legs. Got talons as long as my hand, too. We think it's gotten away from some mage somewhere; it looks like something a nasty mind would put together for the fun of it—no offense meant, sorceress.”

“None taken.” Kethry met his brown eyes with candor. “Lady knows my kind has its share of evil-doers. Go on.”

“Well, the thing moves like lightning, too. Outruns even the lord's beasts with no problem. Its favorite prey is women and children; guess it doesn't much care for food that might be able to fight back a little.”

Kethry caught her partner's eye. Told you, she signaled in hand-speech.
Need knows.

“The Lord Havim hasn't been able to do anything about it for the time being, so until he can get a hero to kill it, he's taken the ‘dragon solution' with it.”

“ ‘Dragon solution'?” Tarma looked askance.

“He's feeding it, in hopes it'll be satisfied enough to leave everyone else alone,” Kethry supplied.

“Livestock—I hope?” She looked down at the farmer where he walked alongside her horse. He kept up with the beast with no trouble; Kethry was impressed. It took a strong walker to keep up with Hellsbane.

He shook his head. “People. It won't touch animals. So far he's managed to use nothing but criminals, but the jails are emptying fast, and for some reason nobody seems much interested in breaking the law anymore. And being fed doesn't completely stop it from hunting, as I well know to my grief. He's posted the usual sort of reward; half his holdings and his daughter, you know the drill.”

“Fat lot of good either would do us,” Tarma muttered in Shin‘a'in. Kethry smothered a smile.

They could see his farmstead in the near distance; from here it looked well-built and prosperous; of baked brick and several rooms in size. The roof was thatch, and in excellent repair. There were at least five small figures gathered by the door of the house.

“These are my younglings,” he said with pride and a trace of worry. “Childer—” he called to the little group huddled just by the door, “—do duty to our guests.”

The huddle broke apart; two girls ran into the house and out again as the eldest, a boy, came to take the reins of the horses. The next one in height, a huge-eyed girl (one of the two who had gone into the house), brought bread and salt; she was followed by another child, a girl who barely came to the wolf's shoulder, carrying a guesting-cup with the solemnity due a major religious artifact. The three children halted on seeing the wolf, faces betraying doubt and a little fear; plainly, they wanted to obey their father. Equally plainly, they didn't want to get within a mile of the huge black beast.

Tarma signaled the wolf silently. He padded to her right side and sat, looking very calm and as harmless as it is possible for a wolf to look. “This is Warrl,” she said. “He's my soul-kin and friend, just like in the tales—a magic beast from the Pelagir Hills. He's wise, and very kind—” she raised one eyebrow with a comic expression “—and he's a
lot
smarter than I am!”

Warrl snorted, as if to agree, and the children giggled. Their fears evaporated, and they stepped forward to continue their tasks of greeting under their father's approving eye.

The guesting ritual complete, the eldest son—who looked to be no older than ten, but was a faithful copy of his father in miniature—led the horses to the stock-shed. It would probably not have been safe to have let him take ordinary battle-trained horses, but these were Shin‘a'in bred and trained warsteeds. They had sense and intelligence enough to be trusted unguided in the midst of a melee, yet would no more have harmed a child, even by accident, than they would have done injury to one of their own foals.

Just now they were quite well aware that they were about to be stabled and fed, and in their eagerness to get to the barn they nearly dragged the poor child off his feet.

“Hai!” Tarma said sharply; they stopped dead, and turned to look at her. “Go gently, warladies,” she said in her own tongue. “Mind your manners.”

Landric hid a smile as the now docile creatures let themselves be led away at the boy's pace. “I'd best help him, if you think they'll allow it,” he told the Shin‘a'in. “Else he'll be all night at it, trying to groom them on a ladder!”

“They'll allow anything short of violence, providing you leave our gear with them; but for your own sake, don't take the packs out of their sight. I'd hate to have to recompense you for broken bones and a new barn!”

“Told you I soldiered with Shin‘a'in, didn't I? No fear I'd try
that.
Take your ease inside; ‘tis poor enough, and I beg you forgive the state it's in, but—”

“Landric, no man can be two things at once. Better the house should suffer a little than your fields and stock. Clean plates won't feed your younglings,” Kethry told him, following the oldest girl inside.

There was a musty smell inside, as of a house left too long unaired. Piles of clean clothing were on the benches on either side of the table, the table itself was piled high with dirty crockery. There was dust everywhere, and toys strewn the length and breadth of the room. The fire had been allowed to go out— probably so that the two-year-old sitting on one corner of the hearth wouldn't fall into it in his father's absence. The fireplace hadn't been cleaned for some time. The kitchen smelled of burned porridge and onions.

“Warrior's Blade—what a mess!” Tarma exclaimed under her breath as they stepped into the chaotic kitchen-cum-common room.

“It's several months' accumulation,” her partner reminded her, “and several months of fairly inexpert attempts to keep up with the chores. Guests or no, I'm not going to let things stay in this state.” She began pinning up the sleeves of her buff-colored traveling robe and headed toward the nearest pile of clutter.

“My thoughts entirely,” the swordswoman replied, beginning to divest herself of her arms.

Landric and his son returned from stabling the mares to a welcome but completely unexpected scene. His guests had completely restored order to the house; there was a huge kettle of soup on the once-cold hearth, and the sorceress was making short work of what was left of the dirty dishes. Every pot and pan in the kitchen had already been washed and his oldest girl was carefully drying and stacking them. The next oldest was just in the last steps of sweeping the place out, using a broom that one of the two had cut down to a size she could manage. His four-year-old son was trotting solemnly back and forth, putting things away under the careful direction of—the
swordswoman?

Sure enough, it was the hawk-faced swordswoman who was directing the activities of all of the children. She was somehow managing to simultaneously change the baby's dirty napkin, tickling him so that he was too helpless with giggles to fight her as he usually did; directing the four-year-old in his task; and admonishing the six-year-old when she missed a spot in her sweeping. And looking very much as if she were enjoying the whole process to the hilt.

Landric stood in the door with his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“I hope you two washed after you finished with the horses,” Kethry called from her tub of soapsuds. “If not, wait until I'm through here, and you can use the wash water before you throw it out.” She rinsed the last of the dishes and stood pointedly beside the tub of water, waiting for Landric to use it or carry it out.

“This was—not necessary,” he managed to say as he hefted the tub to carry outside. “You are guests—”

“Oh, come now, did you
really
expect two women to leave things in the state they were?” Kethry giggled, holding the door open for him. “Besides, this isn't the sort of thing we normally have to do. It's rather a relief to be up to the elbows in hot water instead of trouble. And Tarma adores children; she can get them to do anything for her. You said you know Swordsworn; you know that they're celibate, then. She doesn't often get a chance to fuss over babes. But what I'd like to know is why you haven't hired a woman or gotten some neighbor to help you?”

“There are no women to hire, thanks to the monster,” he replied heavily. “Those that didn't provide meals for it ran off to the town, thinking they'd be safer there. I'm at the farthest edge of Lord Havirn's lands, and my nearest neighbors aren't willing to cross the distance between us when the monster is known to have taken my wife within sight of the house. I can't say that I blame them. I take the eldest with me, now, and I have the rest of the children barricade themselves in the house until we come home. The Gods of the Wheel know I'd be overjoyed to find some steady woman willing to watch them and keep the place tidy for bed, board, and a bit of silver, but there isn't anyone to be hired at any price.”

“Now it's my turn to beg your pardon,” Kethry said apologetically.

“No offense meant, none taken,” an almost-smile stretched his lips. “How could I take offense after this?”

 

 

That night Tarma regaled all the children with tales until they'd fallen asleep, while Kethry kept her hands busy with mending. Landric had kept glancing over at Tarma with bemusement; to see the harsh-visaged battle-scarred Shin‘a'in warrior smothered in children and enjoying every moment of it was plainly a sight he had never expected to witness. And Warrl put the cap on his amazement by letting the baby tumble over him, pull his fur, tail, and ears, and finally fall asleep using the beast as a mattress.

When the children were all safely in bed, Kethry cleared her throat in a way intended to suggest she had something touchy she wanted to ask their host.

He took the hint, and the sleepiness left his eyes. “Aye, mage-lady?”

“Would you object to my working a bit of magic here? I know it's not precisely in the tenets of the Path to use the arcane—but—”