Oathbreaker

Twelve

"Tarma -- "

Tarma looked up from the maps spread before her to see Jadrek nudging his way into the knot of fighters she was tutoring. She'd had ample time to leam every twist and turn of the maze within the Palace, and she was endeavoring to make sure every person of the secret army knew every corridor and storeroom before the planned coup. She felt a twinge of excitement when she saw that Jadrek's expression was at once tense and anticipatory.

She excused herself and turned her pupils over to Jodi. "What is it?" she asked him quietly, not wanting to raise hopes that might be dashed in the next moment. "You look like you've swallowed a live fish, and you're not certain if you're enjoying the experience."

He raised an eyebrow. "You aren't far wrong;

that's about how my stomach is feeling. Stefan's in Petras."

"Warrior's Oath!" She bared her teeth in a feral grin as those nearby glanced at her in startlement. Although they had been planning for this very moment, suddenly she felt rather as though the fish was wriggling about in her stomach.

"When? How long ago did you make contact?

Where is he now?"

"About three candlemarks ago, and he's with Keth at the inn; it seemed the safest place for him."

"All right -- this is it. He's here, we're ready. Let me get Sewen and Ikan, and I'll meet you at Kethry's." She turned on her heel and began making her way across the crowded, dimly lit ballroom. She kept sight ofjadrek as he slipped back out the door, and she noticed that he was slump-shouldered and limping slightly.

Poor devil, he looks like warmed-over death. All this is giving me energy, but it's sapping his. Keth, too. Talk all day, plot all night, spellcast when you aren't plotting --

:Chase one another around the bedroom when you aren't spellcasting-: Warrl broke into her thoughts.

Still at it, are they? Tarma thought at him. Well, if the liaison has survived this much stress for this long, Keth's right about him being The One. Good. I'd welcome Jadrek as Clanbrother with no reservations. He's the closest thing I've seen since Keth to a Shin'a'in.

:And he has more sense than both of you put together. Yow know, he still thinks you don't know about the love affair,: Warrl chuckled. :Keth hasn't enlightened him. I can't read her as easily as I can him, what with all her mage-shields, so I don't know why she hasn't told him that you knew about it from the first. She might assume he knows you know -- or she might be waiting to see how he handles the situation.:

I suspect the latter, given Keth's devious mind. Hmm. If anyone would know about Jadrek's condition, you would; you're practically in his pocket most of the day. He was limping-how's he doing, physically?

:Extremely well; his bones only bother him when he's very tired, like tonight, or very chilled. Need knows how Kethry worries about him, so Need takes very good care of him.:

Good enough to make the Palace assault with us? We need his knowledge.

:I would judge so. He'll have every fighter of the Hawks watching out for him, after all.:

Hai. He'll probably come out better than the rest of us will. Well -- back to business.

She had reached Sewen and Ikan by the end of that mental conversation, which had all taken place in the space of a few heartbeats. They looked up at her approach, and knowing her as well as they did, she reckoned they would have no trouble reading the news in her eyes.

"Time, is it?" Sewen straightened, and rolled up the map they'd been working with.

She nodded. "He's here." No need to say who "he" was -- not when all they lacked for the past several days to put the plan into motion had been Stefansen's physical presence.

"Keth's room. Ready?"

Roth nodded; Ikan signaled Justin, who came to take his place, Sewen did the same with the scout Mala. Within moments the three of them, darkly cloaked and moving like shadows through the ill-lit streets, were on their way to Kethry's room.

Warrl, as always, told the others of their approach; Kethry was at the door before they set foot on the staircase, and held it open just enough that they could slip inside.

Jadrek was already there, seated at the table; beside him, looking somehow far more princely than Tarma had remembered, was Stefansen.

It was Stefansen the ruler who rose to greet them; to clasp the hands and shoulders of both Ikan and Sewen with that same ease and frank equality Idra had always shown, and thank them for their presence and help with a sincerity that none of them doubted. The meeting was, in some ways, rather unnerving for Sewen and Ikan; Tarma knew how much like his sister Stefansen looked, but the others hadn't been warned. And in the soft light from their candles the resemblance was even stronger. Tarma could almost hear their thoughts -- shock, a touch of chill at the back of the neck --

Then they shook themselves into sense.

Kethry gestured, bringing three more chairs into abrupt existence, as Jadrek unrolled the first of a series of maps on the table. All six of them seated themselves almost simultaneously; Stefansen cleared his throat, and the odd note in the sound caught Tarma's attention -- and by the way the other two looked up at him in startlement, Sewen's and Ikan's as well.

"Jadrek has kept me appraised of what's been going on" he said, with a kind of awkward hesitation that he had not displayed before. "So I know the reason all you Sunhawks are here. I don't -- I don't deal well with emotion, it's hard for me to say things that I feel. But I just want you to know that I -- understand. I have half a dozen reasons for wanting to roast Char over a slow fire, and that one is at the top of the list. But I think all of you have a prior claim on his hide. I was never as close to Idra as even the lowliest of her Hawks. So -- if it's possible -- when this is over, he's yours."

Sewen's eyes lit at those words. "The Hawks thank you for that. Highness -- an' I'll tell you true, they'll fight all the better for the knowing of the promise."

"It only seemed fair...." He looked straight into Tarma's eyes, as if asking whether this had been the wise choice. She nodded slightly, and he looked easier.

"Very well, gentlemen, ladies -- " he said after a moment of silence. "All the pieces are on the game board. Shall we begin?"

* * *

It was Midsummer's Night, and folk in carnival garb thronged the streets. Among the mob of wildly costumed maskers, who would notice six hundred-odd more celebrants ?

Who would notice masks on a night of masking? Who would note six hundred-odd sets of phony weaponry among so many thousand tawdry pieces of junk like them? Who would take alarm from another merchant or peasant playing at Warrior?

Except that beneath the cheap gilding and pasted-on glass jewels, beneath the paper and the tinsel, the arms and armor of this lot was very real.

This was the night of all nights that the rebels had hoped to be able to use -- in part because of the ability to move freely, and in part because of one aspect in particular of the Midsummer's Night celebrations of Rethwellan. Though the folk of Petras were mostly long since severed from any direct ties to the farms that formed a good third of Rethwellan's wealth. Midsummer's Night was still the night which ensured the fertlity of the land. There would be reveling in the streets right up until the stroke of midnight -- but at midnight, the streets would be deserted. Every man and woman in Petras would be doing his or her level best to prove to the Goddess in Her aspect as Lover that the people of Rethwellan still worshiped Her in all the appropriate ways. This Midsummer's Night they would be trying especially hard, because over the past three months the priests of the city had been doing their best to encourage exactly that behavior tonight. Some of them had even unbent themselves enough to admit that -- on this one night -- perhaps it didn't altogether worry Her if your partner did not happen to be your lawfully wedded spouse. And that if one felt guilty after being infected with Her sacred desires and fulfilling same -- well, for a case of indulgence after Midsummer's Night, penances would be few and light, and forgiveness easily obtained.

For all but six hundred-odd, who would not be fulfilling Her desires as Lover, but as Avenger.

Tarma picked her way through the thinning crowds, still wearing her guise of Arton. It was that guise that was going to give the Hawks the entry to the Palace grounds. From all directions, she knew, the Hawks were converging on the Palace; she would be one of the last to arrive. Kethry was already in place, waiting to spring her trap-spells. If they didn't work, she would be in a position to guide Hawks to the mages to deal with them physically while she kept them occupied magically. If they did work, she would be a most welcome addition to their arsenal.

And just in case Char somehow slipped through their fingers -- Warrl?

:Here, mindmate.:

Got the horses in place?

Warrl's duty was to work with Horsemaster Tindel; the fastest of the Shin'a'in-bred mounts she'd sold Char the year before were to be saddled and kept at the ready, in a cul-de-sac just outside the Palace gate, with Warrl and Tindel guarding them. If Char got away rrom them, Tarma and the best riders among the Hawks would be hot on his heels --

:Saddled, bridled, and ready to ride.:

Good. Let's hope we don't have to use them.

:Devoutly.:

Tarma approached one of the side gates, that gave out onto a delivery area. Tonight the gate stood open for the convenience of servants, and the courtyard beyond was dark and deserted. And there was Kethry -- still in her own disguise, and looking angry enough to bite a board in two. Tarma altered her walk, swaying a little, as if drunk. She was carrying what looked like a jug loosely in her right hand. As it happened, it wasn't a jug; it was her sword, magicked with another illusion.

Kethry spotted her; Tarma put a little more of a stagger into her step.

"There you are, you beast! And drunk as a pig!" she shrilled, to the amusement of the two gate guards.

"J-janna?" Tarma slurred uncertainly, coming to a halt just before the gate.

"Of course it's Janna, you brute! You asked me to meet you here, you sot! I've been waiting for hours'"

"Don't you believe her, Arton," snickered the right-hand gate guard. "She ain't been here more'n half a candlemark -- an' she showed up with a big blond lad on one arm, too. Reckon she's been playin' more'n one game tonight, eh?"

"You-damned-slutt" Tarma snarled, feigning that she had suddenly gone fighting-drunk. She advanced on Kethry, brandishing the jug. Kethry backed up until she was just inside the gate itself, giving every evidence of genuine and absolute fear. "I'm gonna beat you bloody, you fornicating little bitch!"

Kethry whirled, and threw herself on the left-hand guard, begging his protection, distracting both guards for the crucial moment that it took Tarma to get within arm's length of the right-hand guard.

Then Tarma pivoted, and took her guard out with the pommel of her sword, just as Kethry executed a neat right cross to the point of her target's chin. Both went down without a sound. Within heartbeats the Hawks were swarming the gate -- as two of their number, already bespelled into looking like the two guards they were replacing, dragged the bodies into the gatehouse, trussed and gagged them, and took up their stations. The fighters filled the courtyard on the other side, hidden in the dark shadow of the Palace, waiting for Tarma and Kethry to make the next moves.

Kethry stood in frozen immobility for a single moment; sensitized to stirrings of energies by her own status as Kal'enedral, Tarma actually felt her spring her trap-spells.

"Well?"

Kethry's eyes met hers with incredulous shock.

"They're holding -- all of them!"

"Lady with us, then, and let's hope they keep holding. New body, Keth,"

"Right," the mage answered, and Tarma waited impatiently as the figure of "Janna" blurred, became a rosy mist, and the mist solidified into a new guise -- a very ordinary looking female fighter in the scarlet-and-gold livery of Char's personal guard."All right, Hawks," Tarma said, in a low, but carrying voice. "This is it -- form up on your leaders -- "

She marched up to the unlocked delivery door, Kethry beside her, and pushed it open. The half-drunk guard beyond blinked at her without alarm, and bemusedly; he was one of Char's own personal guards and Tarma (in her guise of Arton) had ordered him to stand duty tonight on this door for a reason. He was one of the men that had participated in the rape and torture of Idra.

She swung once, without a qualm, cutting him down before he had a chance to do more than blink at her. Her only regret was that she had not been able to grant him the lingering death she felt he deserved. She and Kethry hastily dragged his body out of the way; then she waved to the waiting shadows in the court behind her.

And the Sunhawks poured through the door, a flood of vengeance in human shape, a flood which split into many smaller streams -- and all of them were deadly.

"No luck," Tarma said flatly, as her group met (as planned) with Stefan's, just outside the corridor leading to the rooms assigned to the unattached ladies of the court. "He wasn't in his quarters, and he wasn't with the mages."

"Nor with any of his current mistresses," Stefansen reported. "That leaves the throne room."

Their combined group, which included Jadrek (who had accompanied Stefan) and both the other Sunhawk mages, now numbered some fifty strong.

The new force surged down the pristine white marble of the Great Hall to their goal of the throne room, all of them caught up in battle-fever. The Hawks had met with opposition from Char's fighters, some of it fierce. The bodies lying in pools of spreading scarlet on the snowy marble of the halls were not all wearing Char's livery. Sewen had been hurt, and Ikan. Garth was dead, and more than fifty others Tarma had known only vaguely. But the Hawks had triumphed, even in the pitched battle with the seasoned troupers of Char's army, and all but a handful of those who had murdered their Captain were now making their atonements to her in person.

But among that handful -- and the only one as yet uncaught -- was Raschar.

Those in the lead shouted as they reached their goal -- the great bronze double doors of the throne room -- first in triumph, and then in anger, as they attempted to force those doors open. The sculptured doors to the throne room were locked, from the inside.

Justin and Beaker and a half dozen more battered at them -- futilely -- as the rest came up. Their efforts did not even make the glittering doors tremble.

"Don't bother," Stefansen shouted over the noise, "Those damned doors are a handspan thick. We'll have to try to get in from the garden."

"No we won't," Kethry snarled, audible in her rage even over the frustrated efforts of those still trying to batter their way in. "Stand back!"

She raised her hands high over her head, her face a mask of fury, and Tarma felt the surge of power that could only mean she had summoned some of that terrible anger-energy she had channeled away but not used in the trap-spells. This was the best purpose for such energies, Tarma knew -- anything destructive would do --

Kethry called out three piercing words, and a bolt of something very like scarlet lightning lanced from her hands to the meeting point of the double doors. There was a smell of hot metal and scorched air, and a crash that shook every ornament in the hall to the floor. The fighters around her cringed and protected their ears from the thunder-shock; the doors rocked, but did not open.

"Fight it down, girl," Tarma cautioned her, and Kethry visibly wrestled her own temper into control; if she lost to it, she had warned Tarma, she would be prey to the stored anger.

Kethry closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, then faced the obstacle again. "Oh no," she told the doors and the spell that was on them, "you don't stop me that easily!"

Again she called the lightning, and a third time -- and on the fourth, the doors burst off their hinges, and fell inward with a crash that shook the floor, cracked the marble of the walls of the Great Hall, and rained debris down on all their heads from the ceiling. None of which they particularly noticed, as they stormed into the throne room --

To find it empty.

Jadrek cursed, with a command of invective that astounded Kethry, and pointed to where a scarlet and gold tapestry behind the throne flapped in a current of air. "The tunnel -- it was walled off years ago -- "

"Figures that the little bastard would have it opened up," Stefan spat. "Think, man -- where does it come out?"

Jadrek closed his eyes and clenched both hands at his temples, as Kethry tried to will confidence and calm into him. "If the records I studied are right -- and I remember them right," he said finally, "it exits in the old temple of Ursa, outside the city walls."

Tarma and her chosen riders had already spun around and were sprinting for the door, and Kethrywas right behind them. Because she had already laid most of the spell on them, it was child's play to invoke the guises she'd set for just this eventuality -- even while pelting down the hall as fast as her legs could carry her. They were exceedingly simple illusions, anyway -- not faces, but livery, the scarlet and gold livery of Char's personal guards, exactly as the guise she wore was garbed.

They didn't have far to run; and Hawks now held the main gate and had forced it open, so there was nothing to bar the path to their allies. As they pounded into the torch-lit court behind the main gate, a dozen Shin'a'in-bred horses, driven by Warrl, and led by Tindel, galloped past that portal. Their iron-shod hooves drew sparks from the stones of the paving, and they tossed their heads as they ran, plainly fresh and eager for an all-out run.

Which was exactly what they were going to get.

As the horses swirled past the Palace door, the Hawks ran to meet them, not bothering to give Tindel the time to bring them to a halt. Instead they mounted on the run, as Tarma had taught them. Even Kethry, the worst rider of all, managed somehow, grabbing pommel and cantle and getting herself in the saddle of the still-cantering gelding she'd singled out without really thinking about what she was doing.

"Where?" Tindel shouted, over the pounding of hooves as they thundered out the gates again, leaving a panting Warrl to collapse behind them. This was no race for him and he knew it.

"Temple of Ursa -- " Tarma yelled in reply, and Tindel cut anything else she was about to say off with a wave of his hand.

"I know a quicker way," he bellowed.

He urged his gray into the fore, and led them in a mad stampede down crazy, twisting alleys Kethry had never seen before, a good half of which were just packed dirt. Festival gewgaws and dying flowers were pounded to powder as they careened through; once a tiny hawker's cart -- thankfully unattended -- was knocked over and kicked aside; reduced to splinters as it hit a wall. Kethry's nose was filled with the stench of back-alley middens and trampled garbage; she was splashed with stale water and other liquids best left nameless. Her eyes were dazzled by sudden torchlight that alternated with the abyssal dark valleys between buildings. She got only vague impressions of walls flying past, half-seen openings as they dashed by cross streets; and the pounding of hooves surrounding her throbbed like the pounding of the power at her fingertips.

Then, a startled shout, a wall that loomed high against the stars, and an invisible wall of cooler air and absolute blackness that they plunged through -- still without a pause --

Then they were outside the city walls, continuing the insane gallop along the road that led to a handful of old, mostly deserted temples, and beyond that, to Hielmarsh.

The moon was full; it was nearly as bright as day, without a single cloud to obscure the light. The fields and trees before them were washed with silver, and the horses, able now to see where they were going, increased their pace.

Kethry urged her beast up to the front of the herd, until she rode just behind Tarma and Tindel. She gripped her horse with aching knees and tried to see up the road. The temple couldn't be far -- not if it was to be reached by a tunnel.

It wasn't. The white marble of a building that could only be the temple in question stood out clearly against the dark shadows of the trees behind it -- at this pace, hardly more than a breath or two away.

Just as they came within shouting distance of the temple, moonlight reflecting from a cloud of dust on the road ahead of them told them without words that Char had already started the next stage of his flight. This road led almost directly to Hielmarsh, Kethry knew. He was heading for his little stronghold, or perhaps the mazes of the marsh. There would be no pulling him out of there.

But Hielmarsh was hours away, and that dust cloud a few furlongs at most. And their horses were Shin'a'in, not much exhausted by the race they'd run so far, scarcely sweating, and still on their first wind.

The little party ahead of them knew they were coming, though, they had to; they had to hear the rolling thunder of two dozen pairs of hooves. They also had to know there was no escaping --

But the Hawks didn't want a pitched battle if they could help it.

The dust was settling, which meant the quarry had turned at bay. Kethry saw Tarma give the signal to pull up as they came within sight of Char and his men. The knot of fighters ahead of them huddled together on the moon-drenched road, swords glinting silver as they held them at ready. Kethry and the rest of the Hawks obeyed their leader, and slowed their horses to a walk.

The King's party numbered almost forty -- putting the Hawks at a two-to-one disadvantage if they fought. Tarma's contingency plan, as Kethry knew, called for no such fight. That was the reason for the magical disguises.

"Majesty!" Tarma called, knowing Char would see the Arton he trusted. "Your brother's stormed and taken the Palace; he's holding the city against you. I got what men I could and tried to guess which way you'd be heading."

Raschar dug his spurs into his gelding's sides and rode straight to his "faithful retainer." "Arton!" he cried, panic straining his voice, "Hellfire, I heard you'd gone down at the gates! I have never been so glad to see anybody in my life!"

As he pulled up beside Tarma, Kethry could see his skin was pale and he was sweating, and his eyes were hardly more than black holes in his head.

"Rein in, Majesty; I've got you some help. Here -- " she called up at the mixed group of guards and common soldiers still nulling about uncertainly up ahead, " -- you lot! Get back to the temple! Split yourselves up, I don't much care how. Half of you head back down to hold the road for as long as you can, the rest of you lay a false trail off to Lasleric. Come on, move it out, we haven't got all night!"

There hadn't been a single officer among them, and the mixed contingent was obviously only too happy to find someone willing to issue orders that made sense -- unlike the frantic babbling of their King.

They obeyed Tarma without a murmur, sending their nervous beasts around the clot of Hawks blocking the road. Within moments they were out of sight, returning back toward the temple and beyond.

Tarma waited until they were completely out of sight before giving Kethry a significant look.

Kethry nodded, and dropped the spell of illusion she'd been holding on their company.

Char stared, his jaw sagging, as what appeared to be his guard was revealed as something else entirely.

Then he paled, his face going whiter than the moonlight, as he recognized Tindel, Tarma and Kethry.

"What -- " He started to stutter, then drew himself up and took on a kind of nervous dignity. "Just what is this supposed to mean? Who are you? What do you want?"

"You probably haven't heard of us before, your Majesty," Tarma drawled, as two of the Hawks closed in on the King from the rear, coming up on either side. "We're just a common mercenary troop. We go by the name of Idra's Sunhawks.' "

When she spoke the name, he choked, and rowled his horse savagely. Too late; the Hawks were already within grabbing distance of his reins. He tried to throw himself to the ground, but other hands caught him, and held him in his saddle until he could be tied there.

"Should take us about three candlemarks to get him back -- " Tindel began.

A growl from the ranked fighters behind Tarma interrupted him, and he stopped, looking startled.

"Stefan promised him to us, my friend," Tarma said quietly. "He goes back only when we're finished with him."

"But -- "

"We called the Oathbreaking on him," Kethry pointed out. "He's ours by the code, no matter how you look at it."

Tindel looked from face to stubbornly set face, and shrugged. "Well, what do we do with him?"

"Huh. Hadn't thought that far -- " Tarma began.

"I had," Kethry said, firmly.

There was still a vast reservoir of anger-energy for her to draw on, and while the coercion of innocent spirits was strictly forbidden a White Winds sorceress, the opening of the gates of the other-world to a ghost that had a debt to collect was not.

And Idra most certainly had a long, bitter debt owed to her.

"We called Oathbreaking on him -- that's a spell, partner. I do believe we ought to see that spell completed."

Tarma looked at her askance; so did the rest of the Hawks. Char, gagged, made choking sounds. "How do you propose to do that? And just what does it mean to see it completed?"

Kethry shifted in her saddle, keeping Char under the tail of her eye. "It only takes the priestess and the mage to complete the spell, and I know how. Jadrek found the rest of it in some of the old histories. As for what it does -- it brings all the broken oaths home to roost."

"Does that mean what I think it does?"

Kethry nodded, and Tarma smiled, a bloodthirsty grin that sent a chill even up her partner's backbone.

"All right -- where?"

"The temple back there will do, I think; all we need is a bit of sanctified ground."

With Char's horse between them, they led the mystified mercenaries toward the white shape of the temple on their backtrail. It was, fortunately, deserted. Kethry did not especially want any witnesses to this besides the principals.

The temple was in a state of extreme disrepair; walls half fallen and crumbling, the pavement beneath their horse's hooves cracked and uneven. Tarma began to look dubious as they penetrated deeper into the complex.

"Are we far enough in, do you think? I don't want to chance one of the horses falling, and maybe breaking a leg if there's any help for it."

"This will do," Kethry judged, reining in her mount, and swinging a little stiffly out of the saddle.

The rest dismounted as well, with several of them swarming the King's mount to pull him roughly to the ground. The horses, eased of their burdens, sighed and stamped a little, pawing at the weathered stone.

"Now what?" Tarma asked.

"Tindel -- you and Beaker and Jodi stand here; you three hold Char." She indicated a spot on the pavement in the center of a roughly circular area that was relatively free from debris. "Tarma, you stand South, I'll stand North. The rest of you form a circle with us as the ends."

The Hawks obeyed, still mystified, but willing to trust the judgment of the mage they'd worked so closely with for three years.

"All right -- Tarma, just -- be Kal'enedral. That's all you need to do. And hold in mind what this bastard has done to our sister and Captain."

"That won't be hard," came the icy voice from across the circle.

Kethry took a deep breath and brought stillness within herself, for everything depended now on creating a channel from herself for the anger of the others. If she let it affect her -- it would consume her.

When she thought she was ready, she took a second deep breath, raised her arms, and began.

"Oathbreaker, he stands judged; Oathbreaker to priestess, Oathbreaker to mage, Oathbreaker to true man of his people. Oathbreaker, we found him; Oathbreaker in soul, Oathbreaker in power. Oathbreaker in duty. Oathbreaker, we brought him; Oathbreaker in thought, Oathbreaker in word, Oathbreaker in deed. Oathbreaker, he stands, judged, and condemned -- "

She called upon the power she had not yet exhausted, and the rising power within the circle.

"Let the wall of Strength stand between this place and the world -- "

As the barrier had been built between herself and the dark mage for the magic duel, so a similar barrier sprang up now; one pole beginning from where she stood, the other from where Tarma was poised. This wall was of a colorless, milky white; it glowed only faintly.

"Let the Pillars of Wisdom stand between this world and the next -- "

Mist swirled up out of the ground, just in front of Char and his captors. Kethry could see his eyes bulging in fear, for the mist held a light of its own that augmented the moonlight. The mist formed itself into a column, which then split slowly into two. The two columns moved slowly apart, then solidified into glowing pillars.

"Let the Gate of Judgment open -- "

More mist, this time of a strange, bluish cast, billowed in the space between the two Pillars. Kethry felt the energy coursing through her; it was a very strange, almost unnerving feeling. She could see why even an Adept rarely performed this spell more than once in a lifetime -- it wasn't just the amount of power needed, it was that the mage became only the vessel for the power. It, in a very real sense, was controlling her. She spoke aloud the final Word of Opening, then called with thought alone to the mist-shape within the Pillars, and fed it all the last of the Hawks' united anger in a great burst of unleashed power.

The mist swirled, billowed -- grew dark, then bright, then dark again. It glowed from within, the color a strange silver-blue, Then the mist condensed around the glow, forming a suggestion of a long road, a road under sunlight -- and out of the center of the glowing cloud rode Idra.

Char gave a strangled cry, and fell to his knees before the rider. But for the moment she was not looking at him.

She was colorless as moonlight, and as solidly real as any of Tarma's leskya'e-Kal'enedrcd, When Kethry had decided to open the Gate, she had faced this moment of seeing Idra's face with a tinge of fear, wondering what she would see there. She feared no longer. The long, lingering gazes Idra bestowed upon each other "children" were warm, and full of peace. This was no spirit suffering torment --

But the face she turned upon her brother was full of something colder than hate, and more implacable than anger.

"Hello, Char," she said, her voice echoing as from across a vast canyon. "You have a very great deal to answer for."

* * *

Tarma led two dozen bone-weary Hawks back into Petras that morning; they made no attempt to conceal themselves, and word that they were coming -- and word of what they carried -- preceded them. The streets of Petras cleared before their horses ever set hoof upon them, and they rode through a town that might well have been emptied

by some mysterious plague. But eyes were watching them behind closed curtains and sealed shutters; eyes that they could feel on the backs of their necks. There was fear echoing along with the sounds of hoofbeats along those streets. Fear of what the Hawks had done; fear of what else they might do --

By the time they rode in through the gates of the Palace, a nervous crowd had assembled in the court, and Stefansen was waiting on the stairs.

The Hawks pulled up in a semicircle before the new King, still silent but for the sound of their horses' hooves. As the last of the horses moved into place, the last whisper coming from the crowd died, leaving only frightened, ponderous silence, a silence that could almost be weighed and measured.

There was a bloodstained bundle lashed on the back of Raschar's horse, a bundle that Tindel and Tarma removed, carried to the new King's feet, and dropped there without ceremony.

The folds of what had been Char's cloak fell open, revealing what the cloak contained. Stefan. though he had visibly steeled himself, turned pale. There was just about enough left of Raschar to be recognizable.

"This man was sworn Oathbreaker and Outcast," Tarma said harshly, tonelessly. "And he was so sworn by the full rites, by a priest, a mage, and an upright man of his own people, all of whom he had wronged, all of whom had suffered irreparable loss at his hands. We claim Mercenary's Justice on him, by the rights of that swearing; we executed that Justice upon him. Who would deny us that right?"

There was only appalled silence from the crowd.

"I confirm it," Stefansen said into the silence, his voice firm, and filling the courtyard. "For not only have I heard from a trusted witness the words of his own mouth, confessing that he dishonored, tortured and slew his own sister, the Lady Idra, Captain of the Sunhawks and Princess of the blood, but I have had the same tale from the servants of his household that we questioned last night. Hear then the tale of Raschar the Oathbreaker."

Tarma stood wearily through the recitation, not really hearing it, although the murmurs and gasps from the crowd behind her told her that Stefan was giving the whole story in all its grimmest details. The mood of the people was shifting to their side, moment by moment.

And now that the whole thing was over, all she wanted to do was rest. The energy that had sus-tained her all this time was gone.

"Are there any" she heard Stefansen cry at last, his voice breaking a little, "who would deny that true justice has been dispensed this day?"

The thunderous NO that followed his question satisfied even Tarma.

* * *

Quite a little family party, Tarma thought wryly, surveying the motley individuals draped in various postures of relaxation around the shabby-comfortable library of Stefansen's private suite.

:Enjoy it while you can,: Warrl laughed in her mind, :lt won't be too often that you can throw cherry-stones at both a King and a Crown Prince when they tease you.:

It was only Roald, and he was asking for it --

Stefansen had been officially crowned two days ago, and Roald had arrived as Valdemar's official representative, complete with silver coronet on his blond head -- and with a full entourage, as well. The time between the night of the rebellion and the day of the coronation had been so hectic that no one had had a chance to hear the full story of the rebellion from either Tarma, Kethry or Jadrek. So Stefansen had decreed today that he was having a secret Council session, had all but kidnapped his chosen party and locked all of them away. Included in the party were himself and Mertis; and he had taken care that there was a great deal of food and drink and comfortable seats for all. And once everyone was settled in, he had demanded all the tales in their proper order.

The entire "Council" was mostly Sunhawks or ex-Hawks; Sewen and Tresti; Justin and Ikan; Kyra, Beaker and Jodi. Tarma herself, and Kethry, of course. Then the "outsiders" -- Tindel, Jadrek, and Roald.

It had taken a long time to get through the whole story -- and when Kyra had finished the last of the tales, telling in her matter-of-fact way how Idra had ridden out of the cloud of mist and moonlight, you could have heard a mouse sneeze.

"What I don't understand is how you Hawks took that so calmly," Tindel was saying. "I was as petrified as Char, I swear -- but you -- it was like she was -- real."

"Lad," Beaker said in a kindly tone (to a man at least a decade or two his senior'), "We've ridden with Idra through things you can't imagine; she's stood by us through fear and flood and Hellfire itself. How could we have been afraid of her? She was only dead. It's the living we fear."

"And rightly," Justin rumbled into the somber silence that followed Beaker's words. "And speaking of the living, you will never guess who sauntered in two days ago, Shin'a'in."

Tarma shook her head, baffled. She'd been spending most of her free time sleeping.

"Your dear friend Leslac."

"Oh no!" she choked. "Justin, if I've ever done you any favors, keep him away from me!"

"Leslac?" Roald said curiously. "Minstrel, isn't he? Dark hair, swarthy, thin? Popular with women?"

"That's him," groaned Tarma, hiding her face in her hands.

"What's it worth to you," he asked, leaning forward, and wearing a slyly humorous expression, "to get him packed off to Valdemar? Permanently?"

"Choice of Tale'sedrin's herds," she said quickly, "Three mares and a stallion, and anything but battlesteeds."

"Four mares, and one of them sworn to be in-foal."

"Done, done, done!" she replied, waving her hands frantically.

"Stefan, old friend," Roald said, turning to the King, "Is it worth an in-foal Shin'a'in mare to force a swordpoint marriage by royal decree on one motheaten Bard?" Roald's face was sober, but his eyes danced with laughter.

"For that, I'd force a swordpoint marriage on Tindel!" Stefansen chuckled. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Countess Reine. She's actually a rather sweet old biddy, unlike her harridan sister, who is -- thank the gods! -- no longer with us. I'm rather fond of her, for all that she hasn't the sense of a new-hatched chick." Roald shook his head, and sighed. "A few years back, her sister went mad during a storm and killed herself. Or so it's said, and nobody wants to find out otherwise. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on her, to keep her out of trouble."

"How delightful."

"Oh, it isn't too bad; she just has this ability to attract men who want to prey on her sensibilities. They are, of course, all of honorable intent."

"Of course," said Stefan, solemnly.

"Well, Leslac seems to be another of the same sort. It's common knowledge in my entourage that the poor dear is absolutely head over heels with him. And his music. He, naturally, has been languishing at her feet, accepting her presents, and swearing undying love when no one else is around, I don't doubt. I can see it coming now; he figures that when I find out, I'll confront him -- he'll vow he isn't worthy of her, being lowborn and all, I'll agree, and he'll get paid off. But I actually have no objection to lowborn-highborn marriages; I expect Reine's family will be only too happy to see the end of the stream of vultures that's been preying on her, and I can see a way of doing two friends a favor here. I'm certain that the threat of royal displeasure if he makes Reine unhappy will keep the wandering fancy in line once I get him back with me."

"I," Tarma said fervently, "will be your devoted slave for the rest of your life. Both of you."

Stefan shook his head at her. "I owe you too much, Tarma, and if this will really make you happy -- "

"It will! Trust me, it will!"

"Consider it ordered, Roald. Now I have a question for you two fellow-conspirators over there. What can I do for you?"

"If you're serious -- " Kethry began.

"Totally. Anything short of being crowned; unless the Sword sings for you, even I can't manage that. Titles? Lands? Wealth -- I can't quite supply; Char made too many inroads in the Treasury, but -- "

"For years we have wanted to found a joint school," Kethry said, slowly. "'Want' is actually too mild a word. By the edicts of my own mage school, now that I'm an Adept I just about have to start a branch of the White Winds school. What we need, really, is a place with a big enough building to house our students and teachers, and enough lands to support it. But that kind of property isn't easily come by."

"Because it's usually in the hands of nobles or clergy. I'm disappointed," Stefan said with a grin, "I thought you'd want something hard. One of Char's hereditary holdings was a fine estate down in the south, near the border -- a large manorhouse, a village of its own, and an able staff to maintain it. It is, by the by, where I was supposed to end my days in debauchery. It has an indoor riding arena attached to the stable because Char hated to ride when it rained, it has a truly amazing library; why it even has a professional salle, because the original builder was a notable fighter. Is that just about what you're looking for?"

Tarma had felt her jaw dropping with every word, until, when Stefan glanced over at her with a sly smile and a broad wink, she was unable to get her voice to work.

Kethry answered for her. "Windborn -- gods, yes I -- Stefan, would you really give it to us?"

"Well, since the property of traitors becomes property of the crown, and since I have some very unpleasant memories of the place -- Lady Bright, Im only too pleased that you want it! Just pay your taxes promptly, that's all I ask!"

Tarma tried to thank him, but her voice still wouldn't work. Kethry made up for her -- leaping out of her chair and giving the King a most disrespectful hug and kiss, both of which he seemed to enjoy immensely.

"Furthermore, I'll be sending my offspring of both sexes to you for training," he continued. "If nothing else, I want them to have the discipline of a good swordmaster, something I didn't have. Maybe that will keep them from being the kind of brat I was. This will probably scandalize my nobles -- "

"Oh, it will, lover," Mertis laughed, "But I agree with the notion. It will do the children good."

"Then my nobles will have to live with being scandalized. Now, I want the rest of you to decide what you'd like," he said when Kethry had resumed her seat, but not her calm. "Because I'm going to do my best by all of you. But right now I fear I do have a Council session, and there are a lot of unpleasant messes Char left behind him that need attending to."

Stefan rose, and gave his hand to Mertis, and the two exited gracefully from the library. The rest clustered around Tarma and her partner, congratulating them --

All but Jadrek, who had inexplicably vanished.

* * *

The partners made their weary way to their rooms. It had been a long day, but for Tarma, a very happy one.

But Kethry was preoccupied -- and a little disturbed, Tarma could sense it without any special effort.

"Keth?" she asked, finally, "What's stuck in your craw?"

"It's Jadrek. He hasn't said anything or come near me since the night of the rebellion." She turned troubled and unhappy eyes on her partner. "I don't know why; I thought he loved me -- I know I love him. And this afternoon -- just disappearing like that -- "

"Well, we're official now. He's reverting to courtly manners. You don't go sneaking around to a lady's room; you treat her with respect."

"Courtly manners be hanged!" Kethry snapped. "Dammit Tarma, we'll be gone soon! Doesn't he care? If he doesn't say something -- "

"Then you'll hit him over the head and carry him off, like the uncivilized barbarian mercenary I know you are. And I'll help."

Kethry started laughing at that. "I hate to tell you this, but that's exactly what I've been contemplating."

"Go make wish-lists of things you think you'll be needing for this new school of ours," Tarma advised her. "That should keep your mind occupied. I have the feeling this is going to sort itself out before long."

She parted company with her she'enedra at Kethry's door. They had rooms inside the royal complex now, not in the visitors area. Stefansen was treating them as very honored guests.

She knew she wasn't alone the moment she closed the door behind her. She also knew who it was -- without Warrl's helpful hint of :It's Jadrek. I let him in. He wants to talk,:

"Tarma -- "

"Hello, Jadrek," she said calmly, lighting a candle beside the door before turning around to face him. "We haven't been seeing a lot of you; we've missed you."

"I've been thinking," he said awkwardly. "I -- "

She crossed her arms, and waited for him to continue. He straightened his back and hfted his chin. "Tarma shena Tale'sedrin," he said, with all the earnest solemnity of a high priest, "Have I your permission to pay my court to your oathsister?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Can you give me a good reason why I should?"

Her question wilted him. He sat down abruptly, obviously struggling for words. "I --- Tarma, I love her, I really do. I love her too much to just play with her, I want something formal binding us, something -- in keeping with her honor. She's lovely, you know that as well as I do, but it isn't just her exterior I care for, it's her mind. She challenges me,

like nobody I've ever known before. We're equals -- I want to be her partner, not -- not a -- I don't know, I want to have something like Mertis and Stefan have, and I know we'll give each other that! I want to help you with your schools, too. I think it's a wonderful dream and I want to make it real, and work alongside of both of you to make it more than a dream."

"We're something more than partners, she and I," Tarma reminded him. "There's certain things between us that will affect any children Kethry may have."

"I took the liberty of asking Warrl about that," he said, blushing. "I don't have any problem with -- children. With them being raised Tale'sedrin. Everything I know about the Shin'a'in, everything I've learned in working with you -- I would be very, very proud if you considered my blood good enough to flow into the Clans. Tarma, this is probably going to sound stupid, but I've come to -- love -- you. You've done so much for me, more than you guess. What I really want is that what we've built with the three of us in the last few months should endure -- the friendship, the love, the partnership. I never had that before -- and I'd do anything right now to prevent losing either of you."

Tarma looked into his pleading eyes -- and much to his evident shock and delight, she took both his hands, pulled him up out of his chair into her arms, hugged him just short of breaking his ribs, and planted a kiss squarely in the middle of his forehead before letting him go again.

"Well, outClan brother," she laughed, "while I can't speak for the lady, I would suggest you trot next door and ask her for her hand yourself -- because I do know that if you don't, you're going to find yourself trussed hand and foot and lying over Hellsbane's rump like so much baggage. You see, we happen to be barbarians, and we will do anything to prevent losing you. He shala?"

His mouth worked for a moment, as he stared at her, his eyes brightening with what Tarma suspected were tears of joy. Then he took her face in both his hands, kissed her, and ran out her door as if joy had put wings on his back.

"Better get Stefan to pick your successor," she called after him. "Because we're going to keep you much too busy to putter about in his Archives."

And so they did.