Oathbound

Three

Yellow lamplight made warm pools around the common room of the Broken Sword, illuminating a scene far more relaxed than that of the night before. The other residents of the inn were much more cheerful, and certainly less weary, for there had been no repetition of yesterday's riot.

The two women had taken a table to themselves at the back of the room, in the corner. It was quieter there, and easier for them to hear each other. A lamp just over the table gave plenty of light, and Kethry could see that Tarma was quite well pleased with herself.

"... so I've got a pair of pupils. Never thought I'd care for teaching, but I'm having a rare good time of it," Tarma concluded over fish stew and fried potatoes. "Of course it helps that Ikan and Justin are good-tempered about their mistakes, and they've got the proper attitude about learning swordwork."

"Which is?" Kethry asked, cheered to see a smile on Tarma's face for a change. A real smile, one of pleasure, not of irony.

"That inside that enclosure, I'm the only authority there is."

Kethry sniffed in derision; it was quiet enough in the back-wall corner they'd chosen that Tarma heard the sniff and grinned. "Modest, aren't you?" the mage teased.

She was feeling considerably better herself. No spies of Wethes or Kavin had leapt upon her during the day, and nothing that had occurred had brought back any bad memories. In point of fact she had frequently forgotten that she was in Mornedealth at all. All her apprehension now seemed rather pointless.

"No, seriously," Tarma replied to her japing. "That's the way it is; no matter what your relationship is outside the lessons, inside the lesson the master is The Master. The Master's word is law, and don't argue about the way you learned something before." Tarma wiped her plate clean with a last bit of bread, and settled back against the wall. "A lot of hire-swords don't understand that relationship -- especially if it's a woman standing in the Master's place -- but Ikan and Justin have had good teaching, and got it early enough to do some good. They're able, and they're serious, and they're going to come along fast."

"What if you wanted to learn something from one of them?" Kethry asked, idly turning a ring on her finger. "Wouldn't all this Master business cause problems?"

"No, because when I become the pupil, my teacher becomes the Master -- actually that's already happened. Just before we wrapped up for the day, I asked Justin to show me a desperation-counter he'd used on me earlier." Tarma sighed regretfully. "Wish you knew something of swordwork, Greeneyes -- that was a clever move he showed me. If you knew enough to appreciate it, I could go on about it for a candlemark. Could get you killed if you tried it without timing it exactly right, but if you did, it could save your getting spitted in a situation I couldn't see any way out of."

Kethry shook her head. "I don't see how you keep things straight. Back at the School, we only had one Master for each pupil, so we didn't get mixed up in trying to learn two different styles of magery."

"But half of your weaponry as a hire-sword is flexibility. You've got to be able to learn anything from anybody," Tarma replied. "If you can't be flexible enough mentally to accept any number of Masters, you've no business trying to make your living with a blade, and that's all there is to say. How did your day go?"

"Enlightening." Kethry wore a fairly wry smile. She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above the hum of conversation that filled the room. "I never quite realized the extent to which polite feuding among the Fifty goes before I took this little job."

"Ah?" Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and washed down the last bite of bread and butter with a long pull on her mug.

"Well, I thought that business the fellow at the Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration -- until I started using mage-sight on some of the animals my client had picked out as possibles. A good half of them had been beglamoured, and I recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that's generally used by House mages around here. Some of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a nasty-brat sort of way -- like the pair of matched grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow."

"What would that have accomplished? A horse is a horse, no matter the color."

"Well, just imagine the young man's chagrin to be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig; in a procession, perhaps -- and then the glamour is lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to flap."

Tarma chuckled. "He'd lose a bit of face over it, not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would drive a maroon rig."

"You're heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are his House colors, and he hasn't much choice but to display them. He'd lose more than a little face over it; he wouldn't dare show himself with his rig in public until he got something so spectacular to pull it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and for a trick like that, he'd practically have to have hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of pride. By the way, that's my client you're calling an idiot, and he's paying quite well."

"In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do you think you'll be at this?"

"About a week, maybe two."

"Good; that will give my pupils their money's worth and get us back on the road in good time."

"I hope so," Kethry looked over her shoulder a little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness. "The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I'll be found out."

"I doubt it," Tarma took another long pull at her mug. "Who'd think to look for you here?"

* * * "She's where?" The incredulous voice echoed in the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.

"At one of the foreigner's inns; the Broken Sword. It's used mostly by mercenaries," Kavin replied, leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearlyempty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirming and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile furniture. "She isn't using her full name, and is claiming to be foreign herself."

"What's she doing there?" Wethes ran nervous fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then played with the gold letter opener from his desk set. "Has she any allies? I don't like the notion of going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There could be trouble, and more than money would cover."

"She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all I could tell, has earned the right to -- "

"That's trouble enough right there," Wethes interrupted.

Kavin's eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger at the banker's rudeness. "That is what you have a house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his equal, else she'd have a patron, and be spending the winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that, she's wandering about as an itinerant, doing nothing more taxing than checking horses for beglamouring. As to her allies, there's only one that matters. A Shin'a'in swordswoman."

"Shin'a'in? One of the sword-dancers? I don't like the sound of that."

"They seem," he continued, toying with a lock of his curly, pale gold hair, "to be lovers."

"I like that even less."

"Wethes, for all your bold maneuvering in the marketplace, you are a singularly cowardly man." Kavin put his imperiled glass safely on one of Wethes' highly-polished wooden tables, and smiled to himself when Wethes winced in anticipation of the ring its moist bottom would cause. He stood up and stretched lazily, consciously mirroring one of the banker's priceless marbles behind him; then smoothed his silk-velvet tunic back into its proper position. He smiled to himself again at the flash of greed in Wethes' eyes; the banker valued him as much for his decorative value as for his lineage. With Kavin as a guest, any party Wethes held was certain to attract a high number of Mornedealth's acknowledged beauties as well as the younger members of the Fifty. It was probably time again to grace one of the fat fool's parties with his presence, after all, he did owe him something. His forbearance in not negating their bargain when Kavin's brat-sister vanished deserved some reward.

Of course, their arrangement was not all onesided. Wethes would have lost all he'd gained by the marriage and more had it become known that his child-bride had fled him before the union was a day old. And now that she'd been gone more than three years -- by law, she was no longer his wife at all. That would have been infinitely worse. It had been Kavin who had suggested that they pretend that Kethry had gone to stay on Wethes' country estate. Kethry was unused to dealing with people in any numbers, and found her new position as Wethes' helpmeet somewhat overwhelming -- so they told the curious. She was happier away from the city and the confusion of society. Kavin was only too pleased to represent her interests with Wethes, and play substitute for her at formal occasions. They'd kept up the fiction for so long that even Kavin was starting to half-believe in Wethes' "shy" spouse.

"The Shin'a'in will be no problem," Kavin said soothingly, "She's a stranger in this city; she doesn't know it, she has no friends; All we need do is take your wayward wife when she's out from under the swordswoman's eye, and the Shin'a'in will be helpless to find her. She wouldn't even begin to know where to look. Although why you're bothering with this is beyond me. Kethry's hardly of an age to interest you anymore. And you have the connections you want without the burden of a real wife."

"She's mine," Wethes said, and the expression in his eyes was cold and acquisitive. "What's mine, I keep. No one robs me or tricks me with impunity. I'll keep her in chains for the insult she's done me -- chains of her own body. She'll do to breed a dozen heirs, and they tell me no pregnant mage can work her tricks while so burdened."

Kavin raised a sardonic eyebrow, but made no further comment except to say, "I wouldn't believe that particular peasant's tale if I were you -- I've had friends thought the same and didn't live to admit they were wrong. Now, I suspect your next question was going to be whether or not the Shin'a'in might be able to get a hearing with the Council. It might be possible -- but who would believe a foreigner's tale of abduction against the word of the wealthiest man in Mornedealth?"

"Put that way, I see no risk of any kind to us," Wethes put down the gold paper knife. "And certainly I wish above all to have this accomplished at no risk of exposure. There are enough stories about why I mew my wife up in the country as it is. I'd rather no one ever discovered she's never been in my possession at all. But how do we get her away from her lover?"

"Just leave that -- " Kavin smiled, well aware that his slow smile was not particularly pleasant to look on, " -- to me."

* * * Kethry woke with an aching head and a vile taste in her mouth; lying on her side, tied hand and foot, in total darkness. It hurt even to think, but she forced herself to attempt to discipline her thoughts and martial them into coherency, despite their tendency to shred like spiderwebs in a high wind. What had happened to her -- where was she?

Think -- it was so hard to think -- it was like swimming through treacle to put one thought after another. Everything was fogged, and her only real desire was to relax and pass back into oblivion.

Which meant she'd been drugged.

That made her angry; anger burned some of the befuddlement away. And the resulting temporary surge in control gave her enough to remember a cleansing ritual.

Something like a candlemark later, she was still tied hand and foot and lying in total darkness. But the rest of the drug had been purged from her body and she was at last clearheaded and ready to think -- and act. Now, what had happened?

She thought back to her last clear memory -- parting with her client for the day. It had been a particularly fruitless session, but he had voiced hopes for the morrow. There were supposed to be two horse tamers from the North arriving in time for beast-market day. Her client had been optimistic, particularly over the rumored forest-hunters they were said to be bringing. They had parted, she with her day's wages safely in the hidden pocket of her robe, he accompanied by his grooms.

And she'd started back to the inn by the usual route.

But -- now she had it! -- there'd been a tangle of carts blocking the Street of the Chandlers. The carters had been swearing and brawling, laughingly goaded on by a velvet-clad youth on his high-bred palfrey who'd probably been the cause of the accident in the first place. She'd given up on seeing the street cleared before supper, and had ducked into an alley.

Then had come the sound of running behind her. Before she could turn to see who it was, she was shoved face-first against the rough wood of the wall, and a sack was flung over her head. A dozen hands pinned her against the alley wall while a sicklysweet smelling cloth was forced over her mouth and nose. She had no chance to glimpse the faces of her assailants, and oblivion had followed with the first breath of whatever-it-was that had saturated the cloth.

But for who had done this to her -- oh, that she knew without seeing their faces. It could only be Kavin and his gang of ennobled toughs -- and to pay for it all, Wethes.

As if her thought had conjured him, the door to her prison opened, and Wethes stood silhouetted against the glare of light from the torch on the wall of the hallway beyond him.

Terror overwhelmed her, terror so strong as to take the place of the drug in befuddling her. She could no longer think, only feel, and all she felt was fear. He seemed to be five hundred feet tall, and even more menacing than her nightmares painted him.

"So," he laughed, looking down at her as she tried to squirm farther away from him, "My little bride returns at last to her loving husband."

* * * "Damn, damn, damn!" Tarma cursed, and paced the icy street outside the door of the Broken Sword; exactly twenty paces east, then twenty west, then twenty east again. It was past sunset: Kethry wasn't back yet; she'd sent no word that she'd be late, and that wasn't like her. And --

She suddenly went cold, then hot, then her head spun dizzily. She clutched the lintel for support while the street spun before her eyes. The door of the inn opened, but she dared not try and move. Her ears told her of booted feet approaching, yet she was too giddy to even turn to see who it was.

"I'd ask if you had too much wine, except that I didn't see you drink more than a mouthful or two before you left the room," Justin spoke quietly, for her ears alone, as he added his support to that of the lintel. "Something's wrong?"

"Keth -- something's happened to Keth -- " Tarma gasped for air.

"I know she's late, but -- "

"The -- bond, the she'enedran-oath we swore to each other -- it was Goddess-blessed. So if anything happens to one of us -- "

"Ah -- the other knows. Ikan and I have something of the kind, but we're spell-bound and we had it done a-purpose; useful when scouting. Sit. Put your head between your knees. I'll get Ikan. He knows a bit more about leechcraft and magery than I."

Tarma let him ease her down to the ice-covered doorstep, and did as she was told. The frosted stone was very cold beneath her rump, but the cold seemed to shake some of the dizziness away, getting her head down did a bit more. Just as her head began to clear, there were returning footsteps, and two pairs of booted feet appeared beside her.

"Drink this -- " Ikan hunched on his heels beside her as she cautiously raised her head; he was holding out a small wooden bottle, and his whole posture showed concern. "Just a swallow; it's only for emergencies."

She took a gingerly mouthful, and was glad she'd been cautious. The stuff burned all the way down her gullet, but left a clear head and renewed energy behind it.

"Goddess -- oh, Goddess, I have to -- " she started to rise, but Justin's hands on her shoulders prevented her.

"You have to stay right where you are. You want to get yourself killed?" Ikan asked soberly. "You're a professional, Shin'a'in -- act like one."

"All right;" Justin said calmly, as she sank back to the stone. "Something's happened to your oathsister. Any clue as to what -- "

" -- or who?" Ikan finished. "Or why? You're not rich enough to ransom, and too new in Mornedealth to have acquired enemies."

"Why and who -- I've got a damn good idea," Tarma replied grimly, and told them, in brief, Kethry's history.

"Gods, how am I to get her away from them? I don't know where to look, and even if I did, what's one sword against what Wethes can hire?" she finished in despair. "Why, oh why didn't I listen to her?"

"Kavin -- Kavinestral -- hmm," Justin mused. "Now that sounds familiar."

"It bloody well should," Ikan replied, stoppering his precious bottle tightly and tucking it inside his tunic. "He heads the Blue faction."

"The -- what?" Tarma blinked at him in bewilderment.

"There are five factions among the wilder offspring of the Fifty; Blue, Green, Red, Yellow, and Black. They started out as racing clubs, but it's gotten down to a nastier level than that within the last few years," Ikan told her. "Duels in plenty, one or two deaths. Right now only two factions are strong enough to matter; Blue and Green. Kavin heads the Blues; a fellow called Helansevrith heads Green. They've been eyeblinks away from each other's throats for years, and the only thing that has kept them from taking each other on, is that Kavin is essentially a coward. He'd rather get his followers to do his dirty work for him. He makes a big pose of being a tough, but he's never personally taken anyone out. Mostly that doesn't matter, since he's got his followers convinced."

He stood up, offering his hand to Tarma. "I can give you a quick guess who could find out where Kethry is, because I know where Wethes won't take her. He won't dare take her to his home, his servants would see and gossip. He won't risk that, because the tale he's given out all these years is that Kethry is very shy and has been staying in seclusion on his country estate. No, he'll take her to his private brothel; I know he has one, I just don't know where. But Justin's got a friend who could tell us."

"That she could -- and be happy to. Any harm she could bring that man would make her right glad." Even in the dim light from the torch over the door Tarma could see that Justin looked grim.

"How do you know all this about Wethes and Kavin?" Tarma looked from one to the other of them.

"Because, Swordlady," Ikan's mouth stretched in something that bore very little resemblance to a smile, "my name wasn't always Dryvale."

* * * Kethry had wedged herself back into a corner of her barren, stone-floored cell. Wethes stood over her, candle-lantern in one hand, gloating. It was the very worst of her nightmares come true.

"What's mine remains mine, dear wife," he crowed. "You won't be given a second chance to escape me. I bought you, and I intend to keep you." He was enjoying every moment, was taking pleasure in her fright, just as he had taken pleasure in her pain when he'd raped her.

Kethry was paralyzed with fear, her skin crawling at the bare presence of him in the same room with her. What would she do if he touched her? Her heart was pounding as if she'd been running for miles. And she thought wildly that if he did touch her, perhaps her heart would give out.

He bent and darted his hand forward suddenly, as if intending to catch one of her arms, and she gave a little mew of terror and involuntarily kicked out at him with her bound feet.

His startled reaction took her completely by surprise.

He jumped backward, eyes widening, hands shaking so that the candle flame wavered. Fear was a mask over his features -- absolute and utter fear of her. For one long moment he stared at her, and she at him, hardly able to believe what her own eyes were telling her.

He was afraid of her. For all his puffing and threatening, he was afraid of her!

And in that moment she saw him for what he was -- an aging, paunchy, greedy coward. Any sign of resistance in an adult woman obviously terrified him.

She kicked out again, experimentally, and he jumped back another pace.

Probably the only females he could dominate were helpless children; probably that was why he chose them for his pleasures. At this moment he was as terrified of her as she had been of him.

And the nightmare-monster of her childhood revealed itself to be a thing of old clothes stuffed with straw.

Her fear of him evaporated, like a thing spun of mist. Anger quickly replaced the fear; and while fear paralyzed her magecraft, anger fed her powers. That she had been held in thrall for seven long years by fear of this!

He saw the change from terror to rage on her face; she could see his realization that she was no longer cowed mirrored on his. He bit his lip and stepped backward another three or four paces.

With three barked words she burned through the ropes on her hands and feet. She rose swiftly to her feet, shaking the bits off her wrists as she did so, her eyes never once leaving his face.

"Kidnap me, will you?" she hissed at him, eyes narrowed. "Drug me and leave me tied up, and think you can use me as you did before -- well, I've grown up, even if you haven't. I've learned how to deal with slime like you."

Wethes gulped, and backed up again.

"I'll teach you to mend your ways, you fat, slobbering bastard! I'll show you what it feels like to be a victim!"

She pointed a finger at him, and miniature lightning leapt from it to his feet.

Wethes yelped, hopping from one foot to the other. Kethry aimed her finger a bit higher.

"Let's see how you like being hurt."

He screeched, turned, and fled, slamming the door behind him. Kethry was at it in an eyeblink, clawing at it in frustration, for there was no handle on this side. She screamed curses at him; in her own tongue, then in Shin'a'in when that failed her, pounding on the obdurate portal with both fists.

"Come back here, you half-breed son of a pig and an ape! I'll wither your manhood like a fifty-yearold sausage! Coward! Baby-raper! If I ever get my hands on your neck, I'll wrap a rope around it and spin you like a top! I'll peel your skull like a chestnut! Come back here!"

Finally her bruised fists recalled her to her senses. She stopped beating senselessly on the thick wood of the door, and rested for a moment, eyes closed as she reined in her temper. Anger did feed her power, but uncontrolled anger kept her from using it. She considered the door, considered her options, then acted.

A half-dozen spells later, her magic energies were becoming exhausted; the wood of the door was blackened and splintered, and the floor before it warped, but the door remained closed. It had been warded, and by a mage who was her equal at the very least. She used the last of her power to fuel a feeble mage-light; it hovered over her head, illuminating the barren cell in a soft blue radiance. She leaned her back against the far wall and allowed herself to slide down it, wearily. Wrapping her arms around her tucked-up knees, she regarded the warded door and planned her next move.

If Wethes could have seen the expression on her face, he'd have died of fright on the spot.

* * * Tarma had been expecting Justin's "friend" to be a whore. Certainly she lived on a street where every other door housed one or more who practiced that trade -- and the other doors led to shops that catered to their needs or those of their customers. They stopped midway down the block to tap lightly at one of those portals that plainly led to a small apartment, and Tarma expected it to be opened by another of the painted, bright-eyed trollops who bestowed themselves on doorways and windows all up and down this thoroughfare. She was shivering at the sight of most of them, not from dislike, but from sympathy. She was half-frozen (as usual), and could not imagine for a moment how they managed to stay warm in the scarves and shreds of silk they wore for bodices and skirts.

She didn't hold them in low esteem for selling themselves to earn their bread. After all, wasn't that exactly what she and Keth were doing? It was too bad that they had no other commodity to offer, but that was what fate had dealt them.

But the dark-eyed creature who opened her door at Justin's coded knock was no whore, and was unlikely to ever be mistaken for one, no matter how murky the night or intoxicated the customer.

In some ways she was almost a caricature of Tarma herself; practically sexless. Nothing other than Justin's word showed she was female -- her sable hair cut so short it was hardly more than a smooth dark cap covering her skull; the thin, halfstarved-looking body of an acrobat. She wore midnight blue; the only relief of that color came from the dozens of knives she wore, gleaming in the light that streamed from the room behind her, the torches of the street, and the lantern over the door, which Tarma noticed belatedly was of blue glass, not red. Two bandoliers were strapped across her slim chest, and both housed at least eight or nine matched throwing daggers. More were in sheaths strapped to her arms and legs; two longer knives, almost short swords, resided on each hip. Her face was as hard as marble, with deeply etched lines of pain.

"Justin, it's late," she said in a soft voice, frowning a little. "I take my shift soon."

"Cat-child, I know," Justin replied; Tarma realized in that instant that the hard lines of the girl's face had deceived her; she couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. "But we have a chance to get at Wethes Goldmarchant and -- "

The girl's face blazed with an unholy light. "When? How? I'll have somebody else sub for me; Gesta owes me a favor -- "

"Easy, girl," Ikan cautioned. "We're not sure what we're going to be doing yet, or how much we're going to be able to hurt him, if at all."

She gave Ikan a sidelong look, then fixed her attention again on Justin. "Him -- who?" she asked, shortly, jerking her head at Ikan.

"My shieldbrother; you've heard me talk about him often enough," he replied, interpreting the brief query, "And this swordlady is Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Shin'a'in mercenary. Wethes has her oathsister, a sorceress -- it's rather too long a tale to go into, but we know he took her, he's got his reasons for wanting her and we know he won't be taking her to his house in the District."

"And you want to know if I know where his latest pleasure-house is. Oh, aye; I do that. But unless you swear to let me in on this, I won't tell you."

"Cat, you don't know what you're asking -- "

"Let her buy in,"" Tarma interrupted, and spoke to the girl directly. "I'm guessing you're one of Wethes' discards."

"You're not wrong. I hate his littlest nail-paring. I want a piece of him -- somehow, some way -- preferably the piece he prizes the most."

"That's a reasonable request, and one I'm inclined to give you a chance at. Just so long as you remember that our primary goal is the rescue of my oathsister, and you don't jeopardize getting Keth out in one piece."

"Let me roust out Gesta."

The girl darted between Tarma and Justin; ran up the staircase to the second floor to knock on another nondescript door. The ugliest man Tarma had ever seen in her life answered it; Cat whispered something inaudible. He grinned, pulled a savage-looking half-ax from somewhere just inside the door, and sauntered down the stairs with it, whistling tunefully. He gave all three of them a wink as he passed them, said shortly, "Good hunting," and passed out of sight around a corner. The girl returned with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"Come on in. Let's sit and plan this over. Being too hasty to look before I acted got me into Wethes' hands."

"And you won't be making that mistake a second time, will you, my girl?" Justin finished for her.

They filed into the tiny room; it held a few cushions and a pallet, a small clothes chest, more knives mounted on the wall, and a lantern, nothing more.

"You say your friend's a sorceress? The old bastard probably has her under binding from his house mage," she mused as she dropped down cross-legged on the pallet, leaving them to choose cushions. "Think she could break herself free if we gave him something else to think about?"

"Probably; Keth's pretty good -- "

"The mage isn't all we have to worry about. Kavinestral's crowd is bound to be hanging around," Ikan interrupted.

"Damn -- there's only four of us, and that lot is nearly thirty strong." The girl swore under her breath. "Where in sheva are we going to get enough bodies to throw at them?"

Whatever had been in that drink Ikan had given her seemed to be making Tarma's mind work at high speed. " 'Find your enemy's enemy.' That's what my people would say."

Ikan stared at her, then began to grin.

* * * The last explosion from the sealed room below made the whole house rattle. Wethes turned to Kavin with stark panic in his face. "What have you gotten me into?" he choked hysterically, grabbing Kavin by the front of his tunic and shaking him. "What kind of monster has she become?"

Kavin struck the banker's hands away, a touch of panic in his own eyes. Kethry wasn't going to be any happier with him than she was with Wethes -- and if she got loose -- - "How was I to know? Magecraft doesn't breed true in my family! Mages don't show up oftener than one in every ten births in my House! She never gave any indication she had that much power when I was watching her! Can't your mage contain her?"

"Barely -- and then what do I do? She'll kill me if I try and let her go, and may the gods help us if Regyl has to contend with more than simply containing her."

He might have purposefully called the sounds of conflict from the yard beyond the house. Shouts and cries of pain, and the sound of steel on steel penetrated the door to the courtyard; mingled in those shouts was the rally cry of the Greens. That galvanized Kavin into action; he started for the door to the rear of the house and the only other exit, drawing his sword as he ran, obviously hoping to escape before the fracas penetrated into the building.

But he stopped dead in his tracks as the door burst inward, and narrowly missed being knocked off his feet by the force that blew it off its hinges. His blade dropped from numb fingers, clattering on the slate-paved floor. His eyes grew round, and he made a tiny sound as if he were choking. Behind him, Wethes was doing the same.

There were five people standing in the doorway; whether Wethes knew all of them, he didn't know, but Kavin recognized only two.

First in line stood Kethry. Her robes were slightly torn and scorched in one place; she was disheveled, smoke-stained, and dirty. But she was very clearly in control of the situation -- and Kavin found himself completely cowed by her blazing eyes.

Behind her was the Shin'a'in Tarma; a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, and the look of an angry wolf about her. Should Kethry leave anything of him, he had no doubt that his chances of surviving a single candlemark with her were nil.

Next to Tarma stood a young girl in midnight blue festooned with throwing daggers and with a long knife in either hand. She was the only one of the lot not dividing her attention between himself and Wethes. Kavin looked sideways over his shoulder at the banker, and concluded that he would rather not be in Wethes' shoes if that girl were given her way with him; Wethes looked as if he were as frightened of her as of the rest combined.

Behind those three stood a pair of men, one of whom looked vaguely familiar, although Kavin couldn't place him. They took one look at the situation, grinned at each other, sheathed their own weapons, and left, closing what remained of the door behind the three women.

Kavin backed up, feet scuffling on the floor, until he ran into Wethes.

"Surprise, kinsmen," Kethry said. "I am so glad to find you both at home."

* * * The Broken Sword was the scene of general celebration; Hadell had proclaimed that the ale was on the house, in honor of the victory the five had just won. It was a double victory, for not only had they rescued Kethry, but Ikan had that very day gotten them a hearing and a highly favorable verdict from the Council. Wethes was, insofar as his ambitions went, a ruined man. Worse, he was now a laughingstock to the entire city.

"Cat-child, I expected you at least to want him cut up into collops." Justin lounged back precariously in his chair on the hearth, balancing it on two legs. "I can't fathom why you went along with this."

"I wanted to hurt him," the girl replied, trimming her nails with one of her knives. "And I knew after all these years of watching him that there's only two ways to hurt that bastard; to hit his pride or his moneybags. Revenge, they say, is a dish best eaten cold, and I've had three years of cooling."

"And here's to Kethry, who figured how to get both at the same time," Ikan raised his mug in a toast.

Kethry reciprocated. "And to you, who convinced the Council I was worth heeding."

Ikan smiled. "Just calling in a few old debts, that's all. You're the one who did the talking."

"Oh, really? I was under the impression that you did at least half of it."

"Some, maybe. Force of habit, I'm afraid. Too many years of listening to my father. You may know him -- Jonis Revelath -- "

"Gods, yes, I remember him!" Kethry exclaimed. "He's the legal counsel for half the Fifty!"

"Slightly more than half."

"That must be why you're the one who remembered it's against the law to force any female of the Fifty into any marriage without her consent," Kethry said admiringly. "Ikan, listening to you in there -- I was truly impressed. You're clever, you're persuasive, you're a good speaker. Why aren't you..."

"Following in my father's footsteps? Because he's unable to fathom why I am more interested in justice than seeing that every client who hires me gets off without more than a reprimand."

"Which is why the old stick wouldn't defend Wethes for all the gold that bastard threw at him," Justin chuckled, seeing if he could balance the chair on one leg. "Couldn't bear to face his son with Ikan on the side of Good, Truth, and Justice. Well, shieldbrother, going to give up the sword and Fight for Right?" The irony in his voice was so strong it could have been spread on bread and eaten.

"Idiot!" Ikan grinned. "What do you think I am, a dunderhead like you? Swords are safer and usually fairer than the law courts any day!"

"Well, I think you were wonderful," Kethry began. "I couldn't have done it without you and Cat being so calm and clear. You had an answer for everything they could throw at you."

"Enough!" Tarma growled, throwing apples at all of them. "You were all brilliant. So now Wethes is poorer by a good sum; Cat has enough to set herself up as anything she chooses, we have enough to see us to the Plains, and the entire town knows Wethes isn't potent with anything over the age of twelve. He's been the butt of three dozen jokes that I've heard so far; there are gangs of little boys chanting rude things in front of his house at this moment."

"I've heard three songs about him out on the street, too," Cat interrupted with an evil grin.

"And last of all, Keth's so-called marriage has been declared null. What's left?"

"Kavin?" Justin hazarded. "Are we likely to see any more trouble from him?"

"Well, I saw to it that he's been declared disinherited by the Council for selling his sister. Keth didn't want the name or the old hulk of a house that goes with it, so it's gone to a cadet branch of her family."

"With my blessings; they're very religious, and I think they intend to set up a monastic school in it. As for my brother, when last seen, Kavin was fleeing for his life through the stews with the leader of the Greens in hot pursuit," Kethry replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "I saw him waiting for Kavin outside the Council door, and I was kind enough to pinpoint my brother for him with a ball of mage-light. I believe his intention was to paint Kavin a bright emerald when he caught him."

Justin burst into hearty guffaws -- and his chair promptly capsized.

The rest of them collapsed into helpless laughter at the sight of him, looking surprised and indignant, amid the ruins of his chair.

"Well!" he said, crossing his arms and snorting. "There's gratitude for you! That's the last time I ever do any of you a fav -- "

Whatever else he was going to say ended in a splutter as Ikan dumped his mug over his head.

* * * "Still set on getting back to the Plains?" Kethry asked into the darkness.

A sigh to her right told her that Tarma wasn't asleep yet. "I have to," came the reluctant answer. "I can't help it. I have to. If you want to stay..."

Kethry heard the unspoken plea behind the words and answered it. "I'm your she'enedra, am I not?"

"But do you really understand what that means?"

"Understand -- no. Beginning to understand, yes. You forget, I'm a mage; I'm used to taking internal inventory on a regular basis. I've never had a Talent for Empathy, but now I find myself knowing what you're feeling, even when you're trying to hide it. And you knew the instant I'd been taken, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And now you're being driven home by something you really don't understand."

"Yes."

"Does it have anything to do with that Goddess of yours, do you think?"

"It might; I don't know. We Sworn Ones move mostly to Her will, and it may be She has some reason to want me home. I know She wants Tale'sedrin back as a living Clan."

"And She wants me as part of it."

"She must, or She wouldn't have marked the oathtaking."

Kethry stretched tired muscles, and put her hands under her head. "How much time do you have before you have to be back?"

"Before Tale'sedrin is declared dead? Four years, maybe five. Kethry..."

"It's all right, I told you, I can feel some of what you're feeling now, I understand."

"You're -- you're better. I'm -- I'm feeling some of what you're feeling, too."

"This whole mess was worth it," Kethry replied slowly, only now beginning to articulate what she'd only sensed. "It really was. My ghosts have been laid to rest. And revenge -- great Goddess, I couldn't have hoped for a better revenge! Kavin is terrified of me; he kept expecting me to turn him into a toad, or something. And Wethes is utterly ruined. He's still got his money, but it will never buy him back his reputation. Indirectly, you got me that, Tarma. I finally realized that I would never reach Adept without coming to terms with my past. You forced me into the confrontation I'd never have tried on my own. For that alone I would be indebted to you."

"She'enedran don't have debts."

"I rather figured that. But -- I want you to know, I'm going with you because I want to, not because I think that I owe you. I didn't understand what this oath meant at first, but I do now, and I would repeat it any time you asked."

A long silence. Then, "Gestena, she'enedra."

That meant "thank you," Kethry knew -- thanks, and a great deal more than thanks.

"Yai se corthu," she replied uncertainly. "Two are one." For she suddenly felt all Tarma's loneliness and her own as well, and in the darkness of the night it is sometimes possible to say things that are too intense and too true for daylight.

"Yai se corthu." And a hand came from the darkness to take hers.

It was enough.