Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers Read online

  She was weeping now for the first time in years; mostly when she hurt, she just swallowed the tears and the pain, and forced herself to show an impassive face to the world. Not now. The tears scalded her cheeks like hot oil; she let them.

  *Do you, Kal‘enedral, feel so deeply, then?*

  Tarma could only nod.

  *It—is well,* came the surprising answer. *And what price your obedience?*

  “I put no price on obedience, I will serve You faithfully, Lady, as I always have. Only let Kethry live, and let her thrive and perhaps find love—and most of all, be free. That’s worth anything You could ask of me.”

  The Warrior regarded her thoughtfully for an eternity, measuring, weighing.

  Then—She laughed—

  And as Tarma stared in benumbed shock, She held out Her hands, palm outward, one palm facing Tarma, one Kethry. Bolts of blinding white light, like Kethry’s daggers of power, leaped from Her hands to Tarma, and to the mage still cradled in Jadrek’s arms.

  Or, possibly, to the ensorcelled blade still clasped in the mage’s hands.

  Tarma did not have much chance to see which, for the dagger of light hit her full in the chest, and suddenly she couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. She felt as if a giant hand had picked her up, and was squeezing the life out of her. She was blind, deaf, dumb, and made of nothing but excruciating pain—

  Only let Keth live—only let her live—and it’s worth any price, any pain—

  Then she was on her hands and knees, panting with an agony that had left her in the blink of an eye—half-sprawled in the cold dust of the valley.

  While beside her, a white-faced Jadrek cradled a dazed, shocked—and completely Healed—Kethry. Only the tattered wreckage of her traveling leathers and the blood pooled beneath her showed that it had not all been some kind of nightmare.

  As Tarma stared, still too numb to move, she could hear the jubilant voice of the Warrior singing in her mind.

  *It is well that you have opened your heart to the world again, My Sword. My Kal‘enedral were meant to be without desire, not without feeling. Remember this always: to have something, sometimes you must be willing to lose it. Love must live free, jel’enedra. Love must ever live free.*

  Ten

  Jadrek blinked, trying to force what he had just witnessed into some semblance of sense. He was mortally confused.

  One moment, Kethry is dying; there is no chance anyone other than a god could survive her injuries. Then Tarma stands up and shrieks something in Shin‘a’in—and—

  Kethry stirred groggily in his arms; he flushed, released her, and helped her to sit up, trying not to stare at the flesh showing through the rents in her leather riding clothing—flesh that had been lacerated a moment ago.

  “What ... happened?” she asked weakly, eyes dazed.

  “I don’t really know,” he confessed. And thinking: Tarma was here, and now she’s over there and I didn’t see her move, I know I didn‘t! Am I going mad?

  Tarma got slowly to her feet, wavering like a drunk, and staggered over to them; she looked drained to exhaustion, her face was lined with pain and there were purplish circles beneath her eyes. It looked to Jadrek as if she was about to collapse at any moment.

  For that matter, Keth looks the same, if not worse—what am I thinking? Anything is better than being a heartbeat away from death!

  Tarma fell heavily to her knees beside them, scrubbing away the tears still marking her cheeks with the back of a dirty hand, and leaving dirt smudges behind. She reached out gently with the same hand, and patted Kethry’s cheek. The hand she used was shaking, and with the other arm she was bracing herself upright. “It’s all right,” she sighed, her voice sounding raw and worn to a thread. “It’s all right. I did something—and it worked. Don’t ask what. Bright Star, I am tired to death!”

  She collapsed into something vaguely like a sitting position right there in the dust beside them, head hanging; she leaned on both arms, breathing as heavily as if she had just run an endurance race.

  Kethry tried to move, to get to her feet, and fell right back into Jadrek’s willing embrace again. She held out her hand, and watched with an expression of confused fascination as it shook so hard she wouldn’t have been able to hold a cup of water without losing half the contents.

  “I feel awful—but—” she said, looking down at the shreds of her tunic with astonishment and utter bewilderment. “How did you—”

  “I said don’t ask,” Tarma replied, interrupting her. “I can’t talk about it. Later, maybe—not now. It—put me through more than I expected. Jadrek, my friend—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m about as much use as a week-old kitten, and Keth’s worse off than I am. I’m afraid that for once you’re going to get to play man of muscle.”

  She looked aside at him, and managed to muster up a half grin. There wasn’t much of it, and it was so tired it touched his heart with pity, but it was real, and that comforted him.

  Whatever has happened, she knows exactly what she’s doing, and it will be all right.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” he said, trying to sound just as confident.

  :There’s still myself,: Warrl’s dry voice echoed in their thoughts. :I have no hands, but I can be of some help.:

  “Right you are, Furface. Oh gods,” Tarma groaned as she got back up to her knees, and took Kethry’s chin in her hand, tilting it up into the light. Jadrek could see that Kethry’s pupils were dilated, and that she wasn’t truly seeing anything. “What I thought—Keth, you’re shocky. Fight it, love. Jadrek and Warrl are going to find some place for us to hole up for a while.” Tarma transferred her hold to Kethry’s shoulder and shook her gently. “Answer me, Keth.”

  “Gods—” Kethry replied, distantly. “And sleep?”

  “As soon as we can. Fight, she‘enedra.”

  “I’ll ... try.”

  “Warrl, get the horses over here, would you? Jadrek, you’re going to have to help Keth mount. She’s got no more bones right now than a sponge.” He started to protest, but she cut him off with a weary wave of her hand. “Not to worry; our ladies are battlemares and they know the drill. I’ll get them to lie down, you watch what I do, then give Keth a hand, and steady her as they get up. No lifting, just balancing. Hai?”

  “As long as I’m not going to have to fling her into the saddle,” he replied, relieved, “I don’t see any problem.”

  “Good man,” she approved. “Next thing—Warrl will go looking for shelter; I want something more substantial than the tent around us tonight. You’ll have to stay with us, keep Keth in her seat. I’ll be all right, I’ve ridden semiconscious for miles when I’ve had to. When Warrl finds us a hole, you’ll have to help us off, and do all the usual camp duties.”

  “No problem there, either; I’m a lot more trail wise than I was before this trip started.” Aye, and sounder in wind and limb, too.

  Warrl appeared, the reins of Jadrek’s palfrey in his mouth, the two battlemares following without needing to be led. Jadrek watched as Tarma gave her Ironheart a command in Shin‘a’in, and was astounded to see the mare carefully fold her long legs beneath her and sink to the dusty ground, positioning herself so that she was lying within an arm’s length of the exhausted swordswoman. Tarma managed to clamber into the saddle, winding up kneeling with her legs straddling the mare’s back. She gave another command, and the mare slowly lurched to her feet, unbalanced by the weight of the rider, but managing to compensate for it. Tarma glanced over at Jadrek. “Think you can deal with that?”

  “I think so.”

  Tarma repeated her command to Hellsbane; the second mare did exactly as her herd-sister had. Jadrek helped Kethry into the same position Tarma had taken, feeling her shaking from head to toe every time she had to move. Tarma gave the second command, and the mare staggered erect, with Jadrek holding Kethry in the saddle the whole time.

  Warrl flicked his tail, and Jadrek felt a wave of approval from th
e kyree. :I go, packmates. You go on—it were best you removed yourselves from the scene of combat.:

  “Spies?” Jadrek asked aloud.

  :Possible. Also things that feed on magic, and more ordinary carrion eaters. Shall we take the enemy beast?:

  Tarma looked over her shoulder at the weary gelding, which was still where the mage had left it, off to one side of the trail. “I don’t think so,” she replied after a moment. “It’s just short of foundering. Jadrek, could you strip it? Leave the harness, bring anything useful you find in the packs, then let the poor thing run free.”

  He did as she asked; once free of saddle and bridle the beast seemed to take a little more interest in life and moved off at a very slow walk, heading deeper into the hills. Warrl trotted down the trail, and vanished from sight once past the place where it exited the valley. Jadrek mounted his own palfrey with a grunt of effort, and rode it in close beside Kethry, so that he could steady her from the side.

  “You ready, wise brother?” Tarma asked.

  “I think so. And not feeling particularly wise.”

  “Take lead then; my eyes keep fogging. Ironheart knows to follow her sister.”

  They headed out of the little valley, and the trail became much easier; the hills now rolling rather than craggy, and covered with winter-killed grass. But after a few hundred feet it became obvious that their original plan wasn’t going to work. Kethry kept drifting in and out of awareness, and sliding out of her saddle as she lost her hold on the world. Every time she started to fall, Jadrek had to rein in both Hellsbane and his palfrey to keep her from falling over. The gaits and sizes of the two horses just weren’t evenly matched enough that he could keep her steady while riding.

  He finally pulled up and dismounted, walking stiffly back toward the drooping Shin‘a’in. Tarma jerked awake at the sound of his footsteps.

  “What? Jadrek?” she said, shaking her head to clear it.

  He looked measuringly at her; she looked awake enough to think. “If I tethered Vega’s reins to the back of your saddle, would that bother ‘Heart?” he asked.

  “No, not ’t all” Tarma replied, slurring her words a little. “She’s led b‘fore. Why?”

  “Because this isn’t going to work; I’m going to put the packs on Vega and ride double with Keth, the way you carried me up here, only with me keeping her on.”

  Tarma managed a tired chuckle. “Dunno why I didn’ think of that. Too ... blamed ... tired....”

  She dozed off as Jadrek made the transfer of the packs, then put a long lead-rein on Vega’s halter and fastened it to the back of Tarma’s saddle. He approached Hellsbane with a certain amount of trepidation, but the mare gave him a long sniff, then allowed him to mount in front of Kethry with no interference—although with his stiff joints, swinging his leg over ‘Bane’s neck instead of her back wasn’t something he wanted to repeat if he had any choice. He would have tried to get up behind Kethry, but he wasn’t sure he could get her to shift forward enough, and he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stick on the battlemare’s back if she broke into anything other than a walk. So instead he brought both of Kethry’s arms around his waist, and loosely tied her wrists together. She sighed and settled against his shoulder as comfortably as if it were a pillow in her own bed.

  He rather enjoyed the feeling of her snuggled up against his back, truth be told.

  He nudged Hellsbane into motion again, and they continued on down the trail. The sky stayed gray but showed no signs of breaking into rain or sleet, and there was no hint of a change in the weather on the sterile, dusty air. The horses kept to a sedate walk, Tarma half-slept, and Kethry was so limp he was certain she was completely asleep. It was a little frightening, being the only one of the group still completely functional. He wasn’t used to having people rely on him. It was exciting, in an uneasy sort of way, but he wasn’t sure that he liked that kind of excitement.

  Warrl returned from time to time, always with the disappointing news that he hadn’t found anything. Jadrek began to resign himself to either riding all night—and hoping that there wasn’t going to be another storm—or trying to put up the tent by himself. But about an hour before sunset, the kyree came trotting back with word that he’d found a shepherd’s hut, currently unused. Jadrek set Hellsbane to following him off the track, and Ironheart followed her without Tarma ever waking.

  She did come to herself once they’d stopped, and she seemed a bit less groggy. She got herself dismounted without his help, got their bedrolls off Vega, and carried them inside with her. She actually managed to get their bedding set up while Jadrek slid the half-conscious mage off her horse, then assisted her to stagger inside, and laid her down on the bedding. With a bit of awkwardness at the unaccustomed tasks, he got the horses bedded down in a shed at the side of the little building.

  By the time he’d finished, Kethry was sound asleep in her bedroll, and Tarma was crawling into her own. “Can’t ... keep my eyes open ...” she apologized.

  “Then don’t try, I can do what’s left.” I think, he added mentally.

  But his trail skills had improved; he managed to get a fire going in the firepit, thought about making supper, and decided against it, opting for some dried beef and trail biscuit instead. With the fire dimly illuminating their shelter, he made a quick inspection of the place, thinking: It would be my luck to come upon a nest of hibernating snakes.

  But he found nothing untoward; in fact, it was a very well built shelter, with stone walls, a clean dirt floor, and a thatched roof. It was a pity it didn’t have a real fireplace—a good half of the smoke from the fire was not finding the smokehole in the center of the roof, and his eyes were watering a bit—but it was clean, and dry, and now growing warm from the fire.

  He watched the moving shadows cast by the fire onto the wall, chewed the leathery strip of jerky, and tried to sort himself out.

  Warrl came in once to tell him that he’d hunted and eaten, and was going to stand guard outside; after that, he was alone.

  What kind of a fool have I shown myself to be? he thought, still confused by the events of the last few hours. Did anyone even notice?

  He watched Kethry as she slept, feeling both pleasure and pain in the watching. How much did Tarma see? Gods above, I’m afraid I’ve gone and fallen in love, like a greensick fool. At my age I should bloody well know better.

  Still—given the state they’d all been in—

  Tarma probably hadn’t been in a condition to notice much of anything except her oathsister’s plight.

  And I would give a great deal to know how she managed to bring Kethry back from Death’s own arms. Because she’s as much as admitted it was all her doing. And I can only wonder what it cost her besides strength and energy—maybe that’s why she didn’t want to talk about it. Still and all, she really isn’t acting as if it cost her nearly as much as if whatever had happened shook her down to her soul. I think perhaps she learned something she didn’t expect to. Whatever it was—I think perhaps the outcome is going to be a good one. She almost seems warmer somehow. More open. Would she ever have put all her safety and Keth’s in my hands before? I—I don’t think so.

  He stretched, taking pleasure in the feel of joints that weren’t popping, and bones that didn’t creak. He was sore from the unaccustomed work, but not unbearably so.

  Although—Lady of Light, I’ve been working like a porter all afternoon, and not had so much as a twinge in the old bones! Now was that just because I was keyed up, or was it something else? Well, I’ll know tomorrow. If I ache from head to toe, I’ll know I was not privileged to be the recipient of a miracle!

  And meanwhile—the fire needs feeding.

  So he watched Kethry, huddled in his own blankets while he fed the fire, and waited for the morning.

  Carter’s Lane in the capital city of Petras was living up to its name, even this close to the time for the evening meal. The street was wide enough for four wagons moving two abreast in each direction, and all four lanes
were occupied by various vehicles now. The steady rumbling of wheels on cobblestones did not drown out the equally steady hum of voices coming from all sides. Carter’s Lane boasted several popular taverns and drinkshops, not the least popular of which was the Pig and Potion. This establishment not only had an excellent cook and an admirable brewmaster, but in addition offered various forms of accommodation—ranging from single cubbyholes (with bed) that rented by the hour, to rooms and suites of rooms available by the week or month.

  It was from the window of one of the latter sorts of lodging that a most attractive young wench was leaning, her generous figure frequently taking the eyes of the cart drivers from their proper work. She was, in fact, the inadvertent cause of several tangles of traffic. She paid this no heed, no more than she did the equally persistent calls of admiration or inquiries as to her price. She was evidently watching for something—or someone.

  And to the great disappointment of her admirers, she finally spotted what she watching for.

  “Arton!” the brown-haired, laughing-eyed wench called from her second-floor window. “I’ve waited days for you, you ungrateful beast!”

  “Now, Janna—” The scar-faced fighter who emerged from the crowd to stand on the narrow walkway beneath her looked to be fully capable of cutting his way out of any fracas—except, perhaps, this one.

  “Don’t you ‘now, Janna,’ me, you brute!” She vanished from the window only to emerge from a door beside it. The door let onto a balcony and the balcony gave onto a set of stairs that ran down the outside of the inn. Janna clattered down these stairs as fast as her feet could take her. “You leave me here all alone, and you never come to see me, and you never send me word, and—”

  “Enough, enough!” the warrior begged, much to the amusement of the patrons of the inn. “Janna, I’ve been busy.”

  “Oh, busy! Indeed, I can guess how busy!” She confronted him with her eyes narrowed angrily, standing on the last two stairs so that her eyes were level with his. Her hands were on her hips, and she thrust her chin forward stubbornly, not at all ready to make peace.