Oathbreaker

Four

Kethry was in trouble.

A glittering ball of blinding white hurtled straight for her eyes. Kethry ducked behind the ice-covered wall of the fortifications, then launched a missile of her own at the enemy, who was even now charging her fortress.

The leading Warrior took her return volley squarely on the chest, and went down with a blood-freezing shriek of anguish.

"Tarma!" squealed the second of the enemy war-riors, skidding to a stop in the snow beside the fallen Shm'a'in.

"No -- onward, my brave ones!" Tarma declaimed. "I am done for -- but you must regain our ancient homeland! You must fight on, and you must avenge me!" Then she writhed into a sitting position, clutched her snow-spattered tunic, pointed at the wall with an outflung arm, and pitched backward into the drift she'd used to break her fall.

The remaining fighters -- all four of them -- gathered their courage along with their snowballs and resumed their charge.

Kethry and her two fellow defenders drove them ruthlessly back with a steady, carefiilly coordinated barrage. "Stand fast, my friends," Kethry encouraged her forces, as the enemy gathered just outside their range for another charge. "Never shall we let the sacred palace of-of-Whatever-it-is fall into the hands of these barbarians!"

"Sacred, my horse's behind!" taunted Tarma, reclining at her ease in the snowbank, head propped up on one arm. "You soft city types have mush for brains; wouldn't know sacred if it walked up and bonked you with a blessing! That's our sacred ground you're cluttering up with your filthy city! My nomads are clear of eye and mind from all the healthy riding they do. They know sacred when they see it!"

"You're dead!" Kethry returned, laughing. "You can't talk if you're dead!"

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Tarma replied. grinning widely.

"Well, it's not fair -- " Kethry began, when one of Tarma's "nomads" launched into a speech of her own.

It was very impassioned, full of references to "our fallen leader, now with the stars," and "our duty to free our ancient homeland," and it was just a little confused, but it was a rather good speech for a twelve year old. It certainly got her fellow fighters' blood going. This time there was no stopping them; they stormed right over the walls of the snowfort and captured the flag, despite the best efforts of Kethry and her band of defenders. Kethry made a last stand on the heights next to the flag but to no avail; she was hit with three snowballs at once, and went down even more dramatically than Tarma.

The barbarians howled for joy, piled their other victims on top of Kethry, and did a victory dance around the bodies. When Tarma resurrected herself and came to join them, Kethry rose to her feet, protesting at the top of her lungs.

"No, you don't -- dead is dead, woman!" Kethry had come up with one of her unthrown missiles in her hands; now she launched it from point-blank range and got the surprised Tarma right in the face with it.

The never-broken rule decreed loose snowballs only. Tarma enforced that rule with a hand of iron, and Kethry would never even have thought of violating it. This was a game, and injuries had no part in it. So Tarma was unhurt, but now wore a white mask covering her from forehead to chin.

Only for a moment. "AAARRRG!" she howled, scraping the snow off her face, and springing at Kethry, fingers mimicking claws. "My disguise! You've ruined my disguise!"

"Run!" Kethry cried in mock fear, dodging.

"It's -- it's -- "

"The great and terrible Snow Demon!" Tarma supplied, making a grab at the children, who screamed in excitement and fled. "I tricked you fools into fighting for me! Now I have all of you at my mercy, and the city as well! AAAAARRRG!

It was only when a more implacable enemy -- the children's mothers -- came to fetch them away that the new game came to a halt.

"Thanks for minding them, Tarma," said one of the mothers, a former Hawk herself. She was collecting two little girls who looked -- and were -- the same age. Vamy and her shieldmate Sania had met in the Sunhawks, and when an unlucky swordstroke had taken out Varny's left eye, they'd decided that since Vamy was mustering-out anyway because of the injury, they might as well have the family they both wanted. Though how they'd managed to get pregnant almost simultaneously was a bit of a wonder. Somewhat to their disappointment, neither child was interested in following the sword. Varny's wanted to be a scrivener, and Sania's a Healer -- and the latter, at least, was already showing some evidence of that Gift.

"No problem," Tarma replied, "You know I enjoy it. It's nice to be around children who don't take warfare seriously."

In point of fact, none of these children was being trained for fighting; all had indicated to their parents that they wished more peaceful occupations.

So their play-battles were play, and not more practice.

"Well, we still appreciate having an afternoon to ourselves, so I hope you don't ever get tired of them," one of the other mothers replied with a broad smile.

"Not a chance," Tarma told her. "I'll let you know next afternoon I've got free, and I'll kidnap them again."

"Bless you!" With that, and similar expressions of gratitude, the women and their weary offspring vanished into the streets of the snow-covered town.

"Whew." Tarma supported herself on the wall of the snowfort with both arms, and looked over at Kethry, panting. Her eyes were shining, and the grin she was still wearing reached and warmed them. "Gods, did we have that much energy at that age?"

"Damned if I remember. I'm just pleased I managed to keep up with them. Lady bless, I'd never have believed you could get this overheated in midwinter!"

"You had it easy. I was the one who had to keep leading the charges."

"So that's why you let me take you out so easily!" Kethry teased. "Shame on you, being in that poor a shape! You know, I rather liked that Snow Demon touch -- I was a little uneasy with Jininan's rhetoric."

"Can't teach a child too early that there are folks that will use him. I just about had a foal when I found out there weren't any granny-stories up here on those lines. We Shin'a'in must have at least a dozen about the youngling who takes things on face value and gets eaten for his stupidity. Come to think of it, the Snow Demon is one of them. He ate about half a Clan before he was through."

"Nasty story!" Kethry helped Tarma beat some of the snow out of her clothing, and the powdery stuff sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight as it drifted down. "Was there such a creature, really? And was that what it did?"

"There was. And it did. It showed up in an unusually cold winter one year -- oh, about four generations ago. A Kal'enedral finally took it out -- one of my teachers, to tell the truth. Mutual kill, very dramatic -- also, he tells me, damned painful. I'll croak you the song sometime. Tonight, if you like."

Kethry raised an eyebrow in surprise. That meant Tarma was in an extraordinarily good mood. While time had brought a certain amount of healing to the ruined voice that had once been the pride of her Clan, Tarma's singing was still not something she paraded in public. Her voice was still harsh, and the tonalities were peculiar. She sometimes sounded to Kethry like someone who had been breathing smoke for forty-odd years. She was very sensitive about it and didn't offer to sing very often.

"What brought this on?" Kethry asked, as they crunched through the half-trampled snow, heading back to their double room in the Hawks' barracks. "You're seeming more than usually pleased with yourself."

Tarma grinned. "Partly this afternoon."

Kethry nodded, understanding. Tarma adored children -- which often surprised the boots off their parents. More, she was very good with them. And children universally loved her and her never-ending patience with them. She would play with them, tell them stories, listen to their woes -- if she hadn't been Kal'enedral, she'd have made an excellent mother. As it was, she was the willing child tender for any woman in Hawksnest who had ties to the company.

When she had time. Which, between drill and teaching duties, wasn't nearly as often as she liked. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kethry was rather looking forward to the nebulous day when she and Tarma would retire to start their schools. Because then, Tarma would have younglings of her own -- by way of Kethry. More, she would have the children that would form the core of her resurrected Clan.

And bringing Tale'sedrin back to life would make Tarma happy enough that the smile she wore too seldom might become a permanent part of her expression.

"So -- what's the other part?" Kethry asked, shaking herself out of her woolgathering when she nearly tripped on a clump of snow.

Tarma snickered, eyes narrowed against the snow-glare and the westering sunlight. Her tone and her expression were both malicious. "Leslac's cooling his heels in the jail as of last night."

"Oh, really?" Kethry was delighted. "What happened?"

"Let's wait till we get inside; it's a long story."

Since they were only a few steps from the entrance to their granite-walled barracks, Kethry was willing to wait. As officers, they could have taken more opulent quarters, but frankly, they didn't really want them. Tarma hardly had any need for privacy; Kethry had yet to find anyone in or out of the Hawks that she wanted to dally with on any regular basis. On the rare occasions where comradeship got physical, she was more than willing to rent a room in an inn overnight. So they shared the same kind of spartan quarters as the rest of the mercenaries; a plain double room on the first floor of the barracks. The walls were wood, paneled over the stone of the building, there were pegs for their weapons, and stands for their armor, a single wardrobe, two beds, one on each wall, and three chairs and a small table. That was about the extent of it. The only concession to their rank was a wood-fired stove: Tarma felt the winter cold too much otherwise. They had a few luxuries besides: thick fur coverlets and heavy wool blankets on the beds, some fine silver goblets, oil lamps and candles instead of rush-dips -- but no few of the fighters had those, paid for out of their earnings. Both of them felt that since they worked as closely as they did with their underlings, there was no sense in having quarters that made subordinates uncomfortable. And, truth to tell, neither of them would truly have felt at ease in more opulent surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All right -- here's what I was told -- " Tarma lounged back in her chair, and put her feet up on the black iron footrest near the stove to warm them.

"Evidently his Bardship was singing that song in the Falcon last night."

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

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

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

And he evidently thought he was the right man.

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"She didn't!"

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

Kethry applauded, beaming. "That's thirty whole days we won't have to put up with his singing under our window!"

"And thirty whole days I can stroll into town for a drink without hiding my face!" Tarma looked very pleased with herself.

Warrl heaved a gigantic sigh.

"Look, Furface, if you like him so much, why don't you go keep him company?"

:Tasteless barbarians.:

Tarma's retort died unuttered, for at that moment there was a knock at their door.

"Come -- " Kethry called, and the door opened to show one of the principals of Tarma's story. Sewen.

"Are you two busy?"

"Not particularly," Tarma replied, as Kethry rose from her chair to usher him in. "I was just telling Keth about your part in gagging our songbird."

"Can I have an hour or two?" Sewen was completely expressionless, which, to those that knew him, meant that something was worrying him, and badly.

"Sewen, you can have all of our time you need," Kethry said immediately, closing the door behind him. "What's the problem? Not Tresti, I hope."

"No, no -- I-I have to talk to somebody, and I figured it had better be you two. I haven't heard anything from Idra in over a month."

"Bloody hell -- " Tarma sat bolt upright, looking no little alarmed herself. "Pull up the spare chair, man, and give us the details." She got up. and began lighting the oil lamps standing about the room, then returned to her seat. Kethry broke out a bottle of wine and poured three generous goblets full before resuming her perch. She left the bottle on the table within easy reach, for she judged that this talk had a possibility of going on for a while. Sewen pulled the spare chair over to the stove and collapsed into it, sitting slumped over, with his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped around the goblet. "It's been a lot more than a month, really, more like two. I was getting a message about every two weeks before then -- most of 'em hitching about one thing or another. Well, that was fine, that sounded like Idra. But then they started getting shorter, and -- you know, how the Captain sounds when she's got her teeth on a secret?"

"Hai." Tarma nodded. "Like every word had to wiggle around that secret to get out."

"Eyah, that's it. Hints was all I got, that things were more complicated than she thought. Then a message saying she'd made a vote, and would be coming home -- then, right after, another saying she wouldn't, that she'd learned something important and had to do something -- then nothing."

"Sheka!" Tarma spat. Kethry seconded the curse; this sounded very bad.

"It's been nothing, like I said, for about two months. Damnit, Idra knows I'd be worried after a message like chat, and no matter what had happened, she'd find some way to let me know she was all right."

"If she could," Kethry said.

"So I'm figuring she can't. That she's either into something real deep, too deep to break cover for a message, or she's being prevented."

Kethry felt a tug on her soul-self from across the room. Need was hung on her pegs over there --

She let her inner self reach out to the blade. Sure enough, she was "calling," as she did when there were women in danger. It was very faint -- but then, Idra was very far away.

"I don't dare let the rest of the Hawks know," Sewen was saying.

Tarma coughed. "You sure as hell don't. We've got enough hotheads among us that you'd likely getabout a hundred charging over there, cutting right across Rethwellan and stirring up the gods only know what trouble. Then luck would probably have it that they'd break right in on whatever the Captain's up to and blow it all to hell."

"Sewen, she is in some sort of trouble. Need stirred up the moment you mentioned this; I don't think it's coincidence." Kethry shook her head a little in resignation. "If Need calls -- it's got to be more than just a little difficulty. Need's muted down since she nearly got us both killed; I hardly even feel her on a battlefield, with women fighting and dying all around. I don't talk about her, much, but I think she's been changing. I think she's managed to become a little more capable of distinguishing real troubles that only Tarma and I can take care of. So -- I think Idra requires help, I agree with you. All right, what do you want us to do? Track her down and see what's wrong? just remember though, if we go -- " She forced a smile. "-Tresti loses her baby-tender and you lose your Masterclass mage."

Sewen just looked relieved to the point of tears. "Look, I hate to roust you two out like this, and I know how Tarma feels about traveling in cold weather, but -- you're the only two I'd feel safe about sending. Most of the kids are what you said, hot-heads. The rest -- 'cept for Jodi, they're mostly like me, commonborn. Keth, you're highborn, you can deal with highborns, get stuff out of 'em I couldn't. And Tarma can give you two a reason for hauling up there."

"Which is what?"

"You know your people hauled in the fall lot of horses just before we got back from the last campaign. Well, since we weren't here, Ersala went ahead and bought the whole string, figuring she couldn't know how many mounts we'd lost, and figuring it would be no big job to resell the ones we didn't want. We've still got a nice string of about thirty nobody's bespoken, and I was going to go ahead and keep them here till spring, then sell 'em. Rethwellan don't see Shin'a'in-breds, much; those they do are crossbred to culls. I doubt they've seen purebloods, much less good purebloods."

"We play merchant princes, hmm?" Kethry asked, seeing the outlines of his plan. "It could work. With rare beasts like that, we'd be welcome in the palace itself."

"That's it. Once you get in, Keth, you can puff up your lineage and move around in the court, or something. You talk highborn, and you're sneaky, you could learn a lot -- "

"While I see what the kitchen and stable talk is," Tarma interrupted him. "Hai. Good plan, 'specially if I make out like I don't know much of the lingo. I could pick up a lot that way."

"You aren't just doing this to ease your conscience, are you?" Kethry asked, knowing there would be others who would ask the same question. Sewen had been Idra's Second for years now -- playing Second to a woman had let him in for a certain amount of twitting from his peers in other companies. Not-withstanding the fact that one quarter to one third of all mercenary fighters were female, female Company Captains were few, and of all of them, only Idra led a mixed-sex Company. And Idra had been showing no signs of retiring, nor had Sewen made any moves indicating that he was contemplating starting his own Company.

"I won't deny that I want the Hawks," he said, slowly. "But -- not like this. I want the Company fair and square, either 'cause Idra goes down, or 'cause she hands 'em over to me. This -- it's too damn iffy, that's what it is! It's eating at me. And what's worse, it's eating at me that Idra might be in something deep -- "

" -- and you have to do something to get her out of it, if you can."

"That's it, Keth. And it's for a lot of reasons. She's my friend, she's my Captain, she's the one who took me out of the ranks and taught me. I can't just sit here for a year. and then announce she's gone missing and I'm taking over. I owe her too damned much, even if she keeps tellin' me I don't owe her a thing! How can I act like nothin's wrong an' not try t' help her?"

"Sewen, if every merc had your ethics -- " Tarma began.

He interrupted her with a nonlaugh. "If every merc had my ethics, there'd be a lot more work for freefighters. Face it, Swordsworn, I can afford to have ethics just because of what Idra built the Sunhawks into. So I'm not going to let those ethics -- or her -- down."

"This is an almighty cold trail you're sending us on," Kethry muttered. "By the rime we get to Petras, it'll be past Midsummer. What are you and the Hawks going to do in the meantime?"

"We're on two-year retainer from Sursha; we do spring and summer patrol under old Leamount around the Borders to keep any of her neighbors from getting bright ideas. Easy work. Idra set it up before she left. I can handle it without making myself Captain."

"All right, I've got some ideas. Our people can keep their lips laced over a secret, so you wait one week after we've left, then you tell them all what's happened and that we've been sent out under the ivy bush."

"Why?" Sewen asked bluntly.

"Mostly so rumors don't start. Then you and Ersala concoct some story about Idra coming back, but fevered. Tresti can tell you what kind of fever would need a two-year rest cure. That gives you a straw-Idra to leave behind while you take the Hawks out to patrol. The Hawks will know the real story -- and tell them it might cost the Captain her life if they let it slip."

"You think it might," he said, soberly.

"I don't know what to think, so I have to cover every possibility."

"Huh." He thought about that for a long time, contemplating his wine. Finally he swallowed the last of it in a single gulp. "All right; I'll go with it. Now -- should I replace you two?"

'I think you'd better," Tarma said. "I suggest promoting either Garth or Jodi. Garth is my preference; I don't think Jodi would be comfortable in a command position; she's avoided being in command too many times."

"I'll do a sending; there are White Winds sorcerers everywhere. You should be getting one or more up here within a couple of months." Kethry bit her lip a bit, trying to do a rough calculation on how far her sending would reach. "I can't promise that you'll get anything higher than a Joumeymanclass, but you never know. I won't tell them more than that there's a position open with you -- you can let whoever you hire in on the whole thing after you take them on. Remember, White Winds school has no edicts against using magic for fighting, and I'll make it plain in the sending that this is a position with a merc company. That it means killing as well as healing. That should keep the squeamish away. Have Tresti look them over first, then Oreden and Jiles. Tresti will be able to sense whether they'll fit in."

"I know; she checked you two out while Idra was waiting to interview you."

Kethry nodded wryly. "Figures; I can't imagine Idra leaving anything to chance. All right, does that pretty much take care of things?"

"I think so...."

"Well, as cold as the trail is going to be, there is no sense in stirring up a lot of rumors by having us light out of here with our tails on fire," Tarma said bluntly. "We might just as well take our time about this, say our goodbyes, get equipment put together -- act like this was going to be an ordinary sort of errand we're running for you. Until we've been gone for about a week, you just make out like I'm running the string out to sell, and Keth's coming with me for company."

Sewen nodded. "That sounds good to me. I'll raid the coffers for you two. You'll be needing stuff to make you look good in the court, I expect." He rose and started for the door-then turned back, and awkwardly held out his arms.

"I-I don't know what I'd have done without you two," he said stiffly, his eyes bright with what Kethry suspected might be incipient tears. "You're more than shieldbrothers, you're friends -- I -- thanks -- "

They both embraced him, trying to give him a little comfort. Kethry knew that Idra had been in that "more than shieldbrother" category, too -- and that Sewen must be thinking what she was thinking -- that the Captain's odds weren't very good right now.

"Te'sorthene da'dera, big man," Tarma murmured. "When we come across someone special, like you, like Tresti, like Idra -- well, you help your friends, that's all I can say. That's what friends are there for, her'yr"

"If anybody can help her out, it'll be you two."

"We'll do our best. And you know, you can do us a favor -- " Kethry almost smiled at the sudden inspiration.

"What? Anything you want."

"Leslac. I want you to teach him a lesson. I don't care what you do to him, just get him off Tarma's back."

The weather-beaten countenance went quiet with thought "That's a pretty tall ord -- wait a moment -- " He began to smile, the first smile he'd worn since he walked in their door. "I think I've got it. 'Course, it all hinges on whether he's really as pig-ignorant about Shin'a'in as he seems to be."

"Go on -- I think after that damned song we can count on that being true."

Sewen's arms tightened about both their shoulders as he looked down at them. "There's this sect of Spider-Priestesses down south; they sort of dress like Tarma -- deal is, they didn't start out life as girls."

Tarma nearly choked with laughter. "You mean, convince the little bastard that I'm really a eunuched boy? Sewen, that's priceless!"

"I rather like that -- " Kethry grinned. "-I rather like that."

"I'll get on it," he promised, giving them a last hug and closing the door to their room behind him.

Tarma went immediately to her armor-stand, surveying the brigandine for any sign of weakness or strain, Kethry put another log in the stove, then approached the wall where Need hung, reaching out to touch the blade with one finger.

Yes -- the call's still there. And I can't tell anything, it's so faint -- but it is Idra. The call gets perceptibly stronger when I think about her.

"Get anything?" Tarma asked quietly.

"Nothing definite, other than that Idra's in trouble. How long do you think it will take us to get to Petras?"

"With a string of thirty horses -- about a month to cross the passes, then another two, maybe three. Like you said, it'll be Midsummer at the earliest."

Kethry sighed. "If I were an Adept, I could get us both there in an hour."

"But not the horses. And how would we explain ourselves? We'd make a lot more stir than we should if we did that."

"And stir is not what we want."

"Right." Tarma stood with a sigh, and stretched, then came back to her chair and flung herself down into it. "I seem to recall one contact we might well want to make. The Captain didn't talk about her past much, but she did mention somebody a time or two. The Court Archivist -- " Her brows knitted in thought. "Javreck? Jervase? No -- Jadrek, that's it. Jadrek. Seems like his father used to keep Idra and her older brother in tales; paid attention to them when nobody else had time for them. Jadrek was evidently a little copy of him. She'd mention him when something happened to bring one of those tales to her mind. And more important -- " Tarma pointed a long finger at Kethry. " -- she also never failed to preface those recollections by calling him 'the only completely honest man in the Court, just as his father was.' "

"That sounds promising."

"If he's still there. Seems to me she said something about him being at odds with her father and her younger brother when he took over the Archivist position. He did that pretty young, since he was younger than Idra or her brother, and she left the Court before she was twenty. She also said something about his being crippled, which could cut down on the amount he sees."

"Yes and no," Kethry replied, more than grateful for Tarma's remarkable memory. "People who are overlooked often see more that way. Need I tell you that I'm glad you have a mind like a trap?"

"What, shut?" Tarma jibed. "Now you know I've got a Singer's memory; if I'd forgotten one verse of any of the most obscure ballads, I'd have been laughed out of camp. Keth, you're worrying yourself, I can tell. You're wasting energy."

"I know, I know -- "

"Take it one week at a time. Worry about getting us through the passes safely. I'll get you the ava-lanche map tomorrow; see what you can scry out with it. And speaking of snow, do you still want to hear that business about the Snow Demon?"

"Well ... yes!" she replied, surprised. "But I hardly thought you'd be in the mood for it now."

"I'm just taking some of my own prescribed medicine." Tarma grinned crookedly, and went to fetch the battered little hand-drum she used on those rare occasions when she chanted -- you couldn't call it singing anymore -- one of the Shin'a'in history-songs. "Trying to remember all fifty-two verses will keep me from fretting into a sweat. And hoping," she looked down at her black sleeve, the black of vengeance-taking, "that this outfit doesn't turn out to be an omen."