Oathblood v(vah-3 Read online

  "You can't keep them from it," Kethry had said philosophically. "Children just like to have secret social get-togethers, and it's no fun for them if they can't nibble on something. Lock up all the food, and they'll get bitten stealing squirrels' hordes, get scratched and punctured picking wild berries, get sick on sour fruit, and get stung stealing honey from forest hives."

  "Or worse," Tarma had pointed out. "Our brood at least is woods-wise and they know what's not safe to eat, but the same can't be said for our students. And the gods only know what sort of things they'd pick to try and eat. You're right; the rule about keeping food should take care of the problem."

  And it wasn't really breaking the rule if the food was eaten immediately, just bending it a little. After all, the rule specifically said keeping food in their rooms, not earing it there.

  :I wonder why the older boys aren't having a similar-: Warrl broke off his thought to cock an ear at the door. :Footsteps on the stair. One of the older boys. Belton, by the footsteps.:

  Since the hallway on which the adults had their rooms was dimly lit with a night-lantern, there was no need for a child to stumble through the dark to find any of his teachers. A moment or two later, the expected tap came at Tarma's door.

  She opened it; Belton stood there, with a guarded expression, still fully dressed although he should have been in his nightclothes by now.

  "Come to say good-bye privately?" she asked, giving him an easy excuse for his presence, so that he could broach the real reason he had sought her out when he felt a little more comfortable. "Please, come in and share my hearth."

  The boy blinked in the fire- and lantern-light, and came hesitantly inside. Tarma waved him to a chair, and took her own seat again. "Tea?" she invited, holding up a pot. He shook his head, and she put it back on the table beside her chair. "I'm glad all three of you boys will be coming back after the holidays," she said, relaxing into the embrace of her chair. "You are all intelligent and quick, and I think you'll be happy here. I'm happy to have you as students. More than that, well, I like you boys for yourselves." She smiled at him. "Even when you're all acting like brats, I still like you."

  Belton didn't relax. He stared at his hands, clenched rightly on one knee, then at the fire, then back at his hands, all without saying anything. Tarma waited with infinite patience; she had a fair idea that he was about to tell her the secret she'd sensed in him.

  In the meantime, she filled the silence with onesided conversation, about her own training, about things Belton could expect to learn when he returned, about how she had felt at his age when confronted by some of the things she had been expected to learn. Finally, he looked as if he was ready to say something, and she paused to give him a chance.

  "Is revenge wrong?" he finally blurted, looking up urgently into her eyes. "Not for something petty, not a stupid argument or something. Serious revenge, grown-up revenge."

  Interesting question. "Are you asking the teacher or the Shin'a'in?" she replied.

  "Both. Either." He shook his head, clearly confused. "I don't know what I want to hear-"

  "Well, the teacher would say -- 'yes, of course, revenge is wrong, doing something terrible to revenge yourself is creating a second wrong on top of the one that was done to you.' But the Shin'a'in has a different way of looking at things than the teacher who has to live in civilization." She smiled slowly. "The Shin'a'in would say that it depends on what you expect you're going to get out of the vengeance -- and it depends on what the vengeance is going to do to you."

  "What I'm going to get out of it? Don't you mean, what I'm going to accomplish?" Belton looked puzzled at her wording, and she wasn't surprised. She was about to introduce him to some complicated thinking, but she thought he could grasp it.

  "No, that's not what I mean. The Shin'a'in are not at all against vengeance, or against blood-feuds. In fact, I'm here now because of an oath of vengeance." She nodded at his look of surprise. "For us, the key difference is that in order to swear an oath of vengeance, or take on a blood-feud, you have to swear yourself to the Warrior-Goddess, and that means giving up everything. Family, Clan, love, marriage -- all of it."

  "Why?" Belton wanted to know.

  "In part, to make sure that revenge is the act of last resort-that it is kept for very specific purposes." She wound a strand of hair around one finger. "We don't allow people to declare blood-feuds just because they can't get along with another person in their Clan, and we don't let Clan declare blood-feud with Clan. Very far back in the past, our people separated into two groups, one of whom became the Shin'a'in, because of a difference of opinion. That separation came out all right, but it isn't something we want to happen again." How much to tell him? I can't give him the whole history of the Clans in one night! But the boy did look intent on her words, so she continued. "That's why someone who needs revenge that badly gives up everything, and becomes an instrument of the Shin'a'in as a whole. The Shin'a'in take revenge very seriously, and only someone who is acting for the People of the Plains rather than himself is permitted to take it. We believe that if you aren't serious enough about revenge to be willing to give up everything in order to have it, then you aren't going after revenge for the right reasons."

  Belton chewed on his lower lip for a long time before answering her. "What are the right reasons?"

  "I can't give you all of them, but I can tell you mine -- and as to how I know they were right, well, the Goddess accepted my oath, so they must have been." She took a sip of her warm tea and let the taste of honey and flowers linger on her tongue for a moment. He continued to watch her face intently. "Bandits had slaughtered my entire Clan. I wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth -- but not because killing them would bring any of my people back. Yes, I wanted to kill them because they had killed everyone I cared about. But I also knew that if they got away with the murders, others would try to emulate them -- and the People could not have that happen."

  "What if you'd gotten killed yourself?" Belton asked.

  "If I had failed, there would have been other Shin'a'in who would have come after me who would have succeeded where I failed. I just had the right to try to do the job first." She nodded as his eyes widened. "I also knew that they had probably murdered plenty of other people in the past, and would do so again in the future -- and there is one sure thing you can say about destroying a murderer, and that's that he won't be around to kill again."

  Belton pondered her words silently; she waited for him to say something, but he remained silent.

  "However--" she held up a cautionary finger "--revenge for an insult, for a purely personal wrong -- that's no reason for revenge. And I'll tell you why; you don't teach a piece of scum a lesson by serving out to him what he served out to you, all you do is give him a reason to heap your plate with more of the same. Slime doesn't learn lessons; it just stays slime." She took a long, deep breath. "Don't fool yourself, don't try to tell yourself you intend to teach your enemy a lesson. You won't. Revenge on slime is not education, it's got to be eradication -- or at the very least it has to accomplish the task of making absolutely sure that the slime can't ever commit that particular act again."

  The boy blinked at her, as if he couldn't quite believe that she had said that. "But what about -- what if someone arranged -- hired someone else to do his dirty work for him?"

  "When someone is low enough scum to buy a bully-boy to hurt or kill someone you care about, just who do you intend to get your revenge on?" she asked bluntly. "The bully-boy? Granted, that piece of garbage won't be taking on any more jobs, at least for a while, but the perpetrator won't care, he'll just hire someone new."

  Belton chewed his lip a little more. "No, no -- it would have to be the one who did the hiring."

  "So, you want to take on the scum himself?" She saw a fire leap into Belton's eyes and again raised a cautionary finger. "Think it through. Can you prove that he bought the bully? Obviously you can't, or you or your family would have brought him up before the King's Justice
on charges."

  The boy's face tightened up. "You're right," he said harshly. "We can't prove anything."

  "I'm going to be saying this a great deal, Belton -- think this through, every aspect of it. What if he really didn't do anything? What if you're wrong?"

  "But-" Belton began.

  She shushed him. "Humor me. What if you're wrong? You try to hurt an innocent man. Well, maybe not innocent, but certainly one who isn't guilty of that particular crime. I don't know what your religion says about that, but I know that the King's Justice will certainly catch up with you, and their punishment here on earth is bad enough."

  His face looked like a mask, but at least he was still listening. "Yes, but-"

  "I know, I know, it's easier for me to say this, to think about it, because I wasn't the one who was wronged. Belton, your father is powerful, and powerful men have more than one enemy. It is possible that some other enemy did this -- even deliberately staged things to make it look as if the person you suspect did it, knowing that in seeking revenge on the so-called innocent, you'd get yourselves into even more trouble. Isn't it?"

  He paled a little, and nodded. "But-"

  "But assume you're right, and he did the dirty deed. Whether you fail or succeed in killing him, he wins."

  Belton's mouth fell open in shock. "How can you say that?" he cried, his voice cracking.

  She spread out her hands. "Simple, friend. Think it through. You can't prove that he did the thing, that's a given. So, if you succeed in killing him, since you are not going to take your revenge by hiring another assassin -- or if you are, you aren't going to be as practiced at it as he is -- you're going to get caught. Your family is disgraced, and you die as a murderer, executed, and your family is impoverished in paying the blood-debt to his. Or, if you fail, your family is disgraced, and you die at his hands, or the hands of his bodyguards, which amounts to the same thing. You're still dead, and he is still sitting fat and happy on his ill-gotten goods." She cocked her head to the side, and regarded his glazed eyes. "Doesn't seem like justice, does it? You've been wronged, and trying to make things right will only make them worse."

  Slowly, he shook his head, and despair crept into his expression. "So what do I do?" he asked bitterly. "Let him go on gloating because he killed my cousin and got away with it?" The pain in his voice tore at her, but she knew that giving him sympathy at this moment would only allow him to wallow in feeling and keep him from thinking.

  "Oh, absolutely not!" she replied. "But you have to have an eye to the long view. What's the goal?"

  "Get him!" Belton replied passionately. "Make him pay!"

  "Then plan," she said shortly. "Use your mind -- he's certainly using his against you, and that's the way you can catch him."

  "Plan?" he repeated, as if the concept had never occurred to him. It probably hadn't. After all, he was a very young man, and young men tended to act rather than think.

  "Planning -- that's what will get you what you want," she said firmly. "Every action you take must have sound planning behind it. You don't think that generals just charge out onto the field without first choosing their ground and scouring the enemy do you?"

  "Well," he admitted. "No, I guess."

  "This is war; think of it that way -- not in terms of a single confrontation, but as a campaign. You've got to get on your choice of ground, and you have to know exactly what you're up against." She was satisfied with his initial reaction. His face lost that tight, tense look.

  "What do you mean?" he asked very slowly.

  "First, you make absolutely certain that he really did order the murder, on purpose, with malicious intent." This was going remarkably well, perhaps because the wound was no longer fresh. That was all to the good, since it meant he could think as well as feel.

  "How do I do that?" Belton asked, losing a little more of the despair.

  "Depends on a lot of things, but remember that this is a campaign. Remember the end result that you want. Wouldn't it be best if you could turn this enemy over to the authorities?"

  He sat and thought about that, and finally admitted, "Better, I guess. Not as -- as satisfying, but better."

  "Then the easiest is to find a powerful enough mage to scry out the answer for you, and an honest enough one that he'll tell you the truth and not what you want to hear. That's expensive, but it's the cleanest -- and any mage in Rethwellan who learns the identity of a murderer is required by law to report it to the Justices." She nodded as he brightened. "This, of course, assumes he hasn't hired mages to cover his tracks, which he might have. A sufficiently powerful and persistent mage can untangle all that, of course, but again, it's expensive and time-consuming. And I would be very much surprised if your family wasn't already doing that."

  Belton opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself as something occurred to him. His brow creased in thought, and he finally admitted, "You're probably right. Father said the family was doing something, but he didn't say what."

  "Then knowing your father, that's probably what's going on." Now she reached out to pat his hand. "Your father is a very intelligent man, and a very caring one. He's too intelligent not to take the most obvious route, and too caring to burden you with the knowledge of it until he knows whether or not it will work. Belton, you're supposed to be concentrating on your studies, not on family troubles!"

  "How could I not?" he asked, unable to understand that.

  She sighed. "Remember how earlier today I said that parents sometimes don't know what suits their child? Well, they often think that they can shelter their children from their own troubles. Parents can be incredibly short-sighted about their children -- and their children have to learn to forgive them for it."

  He looked a little bewildered now, but he did accept that, and waited for her to go on.

  "Now, there's another route you can take, which might not have occurred to him. Informants." She took another sip of her tea. "If this low-life has arranged for a murder, he had to go through intermediaries, and every intermediary is potentially someone who knows who ordered the killing. He probably has boasted of it to someone, or more than one, and those people know he ordered it. Nothing stays a secret forever, and money loosens even the most reluctant of tongues. So, if the mage doesn't work out, that's the next path to try. And your father has probably already planned that, as well. Ask him; I think he'll probably tell you."

  "But what does that leave for me to do?" Belton asked, despair once again creeping into his voice.

  "Ah, now that is a good question, and I have an answer for you, but it means being very patient, confiding in your father, and the two of you working together." Tarma was beginning to enjoy herself; it was a little like old times. "Your job will be to leam all you can from me, then return home and convince him that you have learned enough to become a partner in his plans."

  "And? What can I do then? What if he doesn't have any plans?" Belton asked.

  "Assuming he doesn't, I can tell you what I'd do. If I were doing this, I would then pretend to everyone else to have learned nothing," she told him, throwing out the idea that had come to her when he first revealed everything to her. "In fact, you should pretend to be a very typical young man of your set -- learn the silly sword-tricks and act the complete fop. Unless I miss my guess, you'll be such an obvious target that your enemy won't be able to resist going after you in order to harm your father even more."

  Now Belton's eyes were truly shining with excitement. "And when he does -- it'll probably be another assassin, right?"

  "Or an assassin in the guise of a street-robber or even someone who arranges for an insult one way or the other so that a duel can be set up between you," Tarma agreed. "And?"

  "And I -- don't kill him? I take him prisoner?" He looked at her like an eager puppy, and she had to restrain herself from patting him on the head and telling him he was a good boy.

  "Exactly. Then you have the link back to your enemy; I have no doubt that a skilled priest can elicit the truth out
of your captive. When you've got the truth and a warm body to confirm it, you let the law deal with him." She nodded affably. "Chances are at that point there will be plenty of people ready to link him with your cousin's death, and he'll be called to answer for that, too. But it's all going to depend on patience on your part. Three or four years' worth of learning and getting ready, knowing that at any time your parents may take care of the situation through other means."

  "I can do it," Belton said firmly. "I don't think Hesten could, but I can wait."

  "I think you can, or I wouldn't have told you how to set it all up," Tarma affirmed, and leaned forward. "Now, feeling better?"

  "Better than -- in a long time," the boy said, with a slow, shy smile. "I think I can sleep now."