Oathblood (21 page)

“I'm a bit more pragmatic than some of my fellows—nay lady, I've no objection to a bit of mag-icing. What did you have in mind?”

“Two things, really. I'd like to scry out this monster of yours and see what we're going to be up against—”

“Lady,” he interrupted, “I—would advise against going at that thing. Let the hired heroes deal with it.”

“While it takes more women and children?” She shook her head. “I can't do that, Landric—if it weren't against my conscience, I'm geas-bound. Anyway, the other thing I'd like to do is leave you a little help with the children—something like a cross between Warrl and a sheepdog, if you've no objection. It won't be as bright, or as large and strong, but it will be able to keep an eye on the little ones, herd them out of mischief, and go for help if need be.”

“How could I object? The gods know I need something like that. You shouldn't feel obligated, though—”

“Balance the Wheel your way, and I'll balance it in mine, all right?” The twinkle in Kethry's eyes took any sting there might have been out of her words.

He bowed his head a little. “Your will, then, mage-lady. If you've no need of me, I'm for bed.”

“No need, Landric, and thank you.”

When he'd left, Kethry went to the stack of clean dishes and selected a dark, nearly black pottery bowl.

“Water scrying?” Tarma asked, settling herself on one side of the table.

“Mh-hm,” Kethry replied absently, filling it very carefully with clear, cold water, then bringing it to the table and dusting a fine powder of salt and herbs from a pouch at her belt over the surface. “For both of us—you may see what I'd miss.”

She held her hands just above the water's surface and chanted softly, her eyes closed in concentration. After a few moments, a mistlike glow encircled her hands. It brightened and took on a faint bluish cast—then flowed down over her hands onto the water, hovering over it without quite touching it. When it had settled, Kethry took her hands away, and both of them peered into the bowl.

It was rather like looking at a reflection; they had to be careful about moving or breathing, for the picture was distorted or lost whenever the surface of the water was disturbed.

“Ugly rotter,” was Tarma's first comment, as the beast came clear. “Where and when?”

“I'm past-scrying; all the encounters with the would-be heroes thus far.”

“Hmm. Not having much luck, is he?”

That was an understatement, as the monster was making short work of a middle-aged man-at-arms.

“It looks like they feed it once a week,” Kethry said, though how she was able to keep track of time passage in the bowl was beyond Tarma. “Oh, this is a mage—let's see how he fares.”

“Huh—no better than a try with a sword.”

Magics just bounced off its hide; the mage ended up traveling the same road as the fighters.

“It's a good bet it's a magic creature,” Kethry concluded. “Any mage worth his robe would armor his own toys against magic.”

After watching all the trials—and failures—they both sat silently.

“Let's think on this a while—we've got enough information for now.”

“Agreed. Want to build Landric's little shepherd?”

“That I could do in my sleep. Let's see—first I need a vehicle—”

Warrl got to his feet, and padded over to Tarma.
:Let me hunt,:
he said in her mind.

“Warrl just volunteered to find your ‘vehicle.' ”

“Bless you, Furface! I take it there's something within range?”

“He says ‘maybe not as big as you were hoping, but smarter.' ”

“I prefer brains over brawn for this task—”

Warrl whisked out the door, and was back before a half hour was up, herding an odd little beast before him that looked like a combination of fox and cat, with humanlike hands.

“Bright Lady—that looks like a Pelagir Hills changeling!”

“Warrl says it came from the same place as the monster—when that got loose, apparently a lot of other creatures did, too.”

“All the better for my purposes—” Kethry coaxed the creature into her lap, and ran softly glowing hands over it while she frowned a little in concentration. “Wonderful!” she sighed in relief, “It's Bright-path intended; and nobody's purposed it yet. It's like a blank page waiting to be written on—I can't believe my luck!” The glow on her hands changed to a warm gold, settled over the creature's head and throat, and sank into it as if absorbed. It sighed and abruptly fell asleep.

“There—” she said, rising and placing it beside the hearth. “When it wakes, all its nurturing instincts will be imprinted for Landric's children; as bright as it is, he'll be able to leave them even with a fire burning on the hearth without them being in danger.”

She stood, and swayed with exhaustion.

“That's more than enough for one night!” Tarma exclaimed, steadying her and walking her over to the pallets Landric had supplied. “It's definitely time
you
got a little rest! Greeneyes, I swear if I wasn't around, you'd wear yourself into a wraith.”

“Not a wraith—” Kethry yawned, but before she could finish her thought, she was asleep.

 

They left the next morning with the entreaties of the four youngest children still in their ears. Despite the distraction of the new “pet” they still wanted the two women to stay. None of the six had wanted Tarma, in particular, to leave.

“I‘d've liked to stay,” Tarma said, a bit wistfully, as she turned in her saddle to wave farewell.

“So would I—at least for a bit,” Kethry sighed. “Need's not giving me any choice though—she's nagging me half to death. All last night I could feel her pulling on me; a few more days of that and I'll start chewing furniture. Besides, I had the distinct impression that Landric was eying me with the faint notion of propositioning me this morning.”

“You should have taken him up on it, Greeneyes,” Tarma chuckled. “You could do worse.”

“Thank you, but no thank you. He's a nice enough man—and I'd kill him inside of a week. He has very firm notions about what a wife's place is, and I don't fit any of them. And he wouldn't be any too pleased about your bringing up his offspring as Shin‘a'in either! You just want me married off so you can start raising a new clan!”

“Can't blame me for trying,” Tarma shrugged, wearing a wry grin. The loss of her old clan was far enough in the past now that it was possible for Kethry to tease her about wanting to start a new one. “You
did
promise the council that that was what you'd do.”

“And I will—but in my own good time, and with the man of
my
choice, one who'll be a friend and partner, not hope to rule me. That's all very well for some women, but not for me. Furthermore, any husband of mine would have to be
pleased
with the idea that my oathsister will be training our children as Shin‘a'in. I didn't promise the Council,
she‘enedra
,” she rode close enough to catch Tarma's near hand and squeeze it. “I promised
you
.”

Tarma's expression softened, as it had when she'd been with the children. “I know it, dearling,” she replied, eyes misting a trifle, “And you know that I never would have asked you for that—never. Ah, let's get moving; I'm getting maudlin.”

Kethry released her hand with a smile, and they picked up their pace.

 

They entered the town, which huddled at the foot of the lord's keep like a collection of stellat shoots at the foot of the mother tree. The ever-present dust covered the entire town, hanging in a brown cloud over it. Warrl they left outside, not wanting to chance the stir he'd cause if they brought him in with them. He would sneak in after dark, and take up residence with their horses in the stable, or with them, if they got a room on the ground floor with a window. Taking directions from the gate-guard, they found an inn. It was plain, but clean enough to satisfy both of them, and didn't smell too strongly of bacon and stale beer.

“When's feeding time for the monster?” Tarma asked the innkeeper.

“Today—if ye get yerselves t' the main gate, ye'll see the procession—”

The procession had the feeling of a macabre carnival. It was headed by the daughter of Lord Havirn, mounted on a white pony, her hands shackled by a thin gold chain. Her face bore a mingling of petulance at having to undergo the ceremony, and peevish pride at being the center of attention. Her white garments and hair all braided with flowers and pearls showed the careful attentions of at least two servants. Those maidservants walked beside her, strewing herbs; behind them came a procession of priests with censors. The air was full of incense smoke battling with the ubiquitous dust.

“What's all
that
about?” Kethry asked a sunburned farmwoman, nodding at the pony and its sullen rider.

“Show; nothing but show. M‘lord likes to pretend it's his daughter up for sacrifice—but
there
is the real monster fodder,” she pointed toward a sturdy farm cart, that contained a heavily-bound, scurvy-looking man, whose eyes drooped in spite of his fate. “They've drugged 'im, poor sot, so's the monster knows it'll get an easy meal. They'll take milady up the hill, with a lot of weepin' and wailin‘, and they'll give each of the heroes a little gold key that unlocks her chain. But it's the thief they'll be tying to the stake, not her. Reckon you that if some one of them heroes ever does slay the beast, that the tales will be sayin' he saved her from the stake shackles, 'stead of that poor bastard?”

“Probably.”

“Pity they
haven't
tried to feed her to the beast—it'd probably die of indigestion, she's that spoiled.”

They watched the procession pass with a jaundiced eye, then retired to their inn.

“I think, all things considered,” Tarma said after some thought, as they sat together at a small table in the comfort and quiet of their room at the inn. “That the best time to get at the thing is at the weekly feeding. But
after
it's eaten, not before.”

“Lady knows I'd hate being part of that disgusting parade, but you're right. And while it's in the open—well, magics may bounce off its hide, but there are still things I could do to the area around it. Open up a pit under it, maybe.”

“We'd have to—” Tarma was interrupted by wild cheering. When peering out of their window brought no enlightenment, they descended to the street.

The streets were full of wildly rejoicing people, who caught up the two strangers, pressing food and drink on them. There was too much noise for them to ask questions, much less hear the answers.

An increase in the cheers signaled the arrival of the possible answer—and by craning their necks, the two saw the clue to the puzzle ride by, carried on the shoulders of six merchants. It was one of the would-be heroes they'd seen going out with the procession; he was blood-covered, battered, and bruised, but on the whole, in very good shape. Behind him came the cart that had held the thief—now it held the head of something that must have been remarkably ugly and exceedingly large in life. The head just barely fit into the cart.

The crowd carried him to the same inn where the two women were staying, and deposited him inside. Tarma seized Kethry's elbow and gestured toward the stableyard; she nodded, and they wriggled their way through the mob to the deserted court.

“Well! Talk about a wasted trip!” Tarma wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

“I hate to admit it—” Kethry was clearly chagrined.

“So Need's stopped nagging you?”

Kethry nodded.

“Figures. Look at it this way—what good would Lord Havirn's daughter or his lands have done us?”

“We could have used the lands, I guess—” Tarma's snort cut Kethry's words off. “Ah, I suppose it's just as well. I'm not all that unhappy about not having to face that beast down. We've paid for the room, we might as well stay the night.”

“The carnival they're building up ought to be worth the stay. Good thing Warrl can take care of himself—I doubt he'll be able to sneak past that mob.”

 

 

The “carnival” was well worth staying for. Lord Havirn broached his own cellar and kitchens, and if wine wasn't flowing in the fountains, it was because the general populace was too busy pouring it down their collective throats. Neither of the women were entirely sober when they made their way up to their beds.

A few scant minutes after reaching their room, however, Kethry
was
sober again.

The look of shock and surprise on her partner's face quickly sobered Tarma as well. “What's wrong?”

“It's Need—she's pulling again.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Tarma groaned and pulled her leather tunic back over her head. “Good thing we hadn't put the candle out. How far?”

“Close. It's not anywhere near as strong as the original pull either. I think it's just one person this time—”

Kethry opened the door to their room, and stared in amazement at the disheveled girl huddled in the hall just outside.

The girl was shivering; had obviously been weeping. Her clothing was torn and seemed to have been thrown on. Both of them recognized her as the inn's chambermaid. She looked up at them with entreaty and burst into a torrent of tears.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Tarma repeated.

 

When they finally got the girl calmed down enough to speak, what she told them had them both incensed. The great “hero” was not to be denied anything, by Lord Havirn's orders—except, of course, the lord's daughter. That must wait until they were properly wedded. That he need not languish out of want, however, the innkeeper had been ordered to supply him with a woman, should he want one.