By the Sword (30 page)

“I—you—” he sputtered a while, then shook his head, as his gelding champed at the bit, impatient to be off. “I—I guess you're right,” he said, crestfallen. “I can't think of any reason why you should be wrong, anyway.” He looked down at his saddle pommel for a moment, then defiantly met her eyes. “But dammit, I don't have to like it!”

“No, you don‘t,” she agreed. “But that doesn't change anything.”

She stared right back into his eyes, and in the end, he was the one who had to drop his gaze.

“Daren,” she said, after a moment of heavy silence, broken by the stamping of horses, creak of leather, and jingle of harness, “Wait a couple of years. Wait until I've found my place. Then I can be your eccentric friend, that crazy female fighter. Princes are expected to have one or two really odd friends.” She chuckled then, and he looked up and reluctantly smiled.

“I suppose,” he ventured. “You might even do my reputation some good.”

“Oh, definitely.” The smile she wore turned into a wicked grin. “Just think how people will react when they know I'm your lover. ‘Prince Daren, tamer of wild merc women!' I can see it now, they'll stand in awe of your manhood!”

He blushed—all the more because he knew damned well it was true. “Kero—” he protested.

“Are we friends again?” she said abruptly.

He blinked, his eyes once more filling with tears, and this time he did not try to pretend they weren't there. “Yes,” he said. “Although why you'd want a fool like me for a friend—”

“Oh, I have to have someone I can borrow money from,” she said lightly—then reached across the intervening space between them and hugged him, hard.

And when she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes as well.

“Just you take care of yourself, you unmannered lout,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want you around to lend me that money.”

“Mercenary,” he replied, just as hoarsely.

She nodded, and backed her horse away slowly.

“Exactly so, my friend. Exactly so.” She halted the mare just out of reach, and waved at him. “And you have places to go, and people waiting for you, Prince Daren.”

He turned his horse and urged it into a brisk walk, looking back over his shoulder as he did so. He halfway expected to see her making her way toward the Tower, but she was still sitting on her horse beside the path. When she saw him looking, she waved once—more a salute than a wave.

The departing salute he gave her was exactly that. Then he set his eyes on the trail ahead. And never once looked back.

 

Kero waited until Daren was out of sight, then turned her horse's head toward the Tower.

I'm not sure what was more surprising
—
him developing good sense, or me developing a silver tongue.
She hadn't quite known what she was going to say, only the general shape of it. She certainly had not expected the kind of eloquent speech she'd managed to make.

One thing that was not at all surprising; she was already missing Daren—but she wasn't as miserable as her worst fears had suggested. Which meant, to her way of thinking, that she was not in love with the man. Deep in the lonely hours of the night she'd had quasi-nightmares about successfully sending him away, then discovering she really
couldn't
live without him.

She sighed, and Verenna's ears flicked back at the sound. “Well,” she told the mare, “I guess now it's my turn to figure out exactly what I'm going to do with my life.”

And Need chose that moment to strike.

Kero had a half-heartbeat of warning, a flash of
something stirring,
like some old woman grumbling in her sleep, just before the blade began exerting its full potential for pressure. She managed to keep it from taking her over entirely, but she could not keep it from disabling her.

It did its best to overwhelm her with a desire to run away from all this, to be out running free; a desire so urgent that had she not already fought one set of pitched battles with the sword, she'd have probably spurred Verenna after Daren, overtaken, and passed him. Now she knew these spurious impulses for what they were, and she met them with a will tempered like steel, and a stubborn pride that refused to give in to a piece of metal, however enchanted. She had just enough time to toss Verenna's reins over her neck, ground-tying her, before the sword took over enough of her body that making Verenna bolt for the road was a possibility.

Then she sat, rigid and trembling, every muscle in her body warring with her will. It wasn't even going to be possible to get back to the Tower and get help from Kethry-assuming Kethry, having spent years under the blade's peculiar bondage, even
could
help.
Damn you,
she thought at the blade, as her body chilled; and Verenna shuddered, unable to understand what was wrong with her rider, but sensing something she didn't at all like.
Damn you, I know who and what I am, and what I want and even why I want it—and if a man I like isn't going to be able to pressure me into changing that, no chunk of metal is going to be able to either!

Muscle by muscle, she won control of her body back. She closed her eyes, the better to be able to concentrate, and fought the thing, oblivious to everything around her.

Finally, candlemarks later, or so it seemed—though the sun hadn't moved enough for one candlemark, much less the eight or nine it
should
have taken for the fight—she sat stiffly in her saddle, the master of her own body again. She waited warily for the sword to try again, as her breath and Verenna's steamed in the cold—and she sensed that the sword
would
try again, unless she could devise some way of ending the struggle here and now.

She stripped off one glove and placed her half-frozen hand on the hilt.
Listen to me, you,
she thought at the blade, and sensed a kind of stillness, as if it was listening, however reluctantly. Listen
to me, and believe me. If you don't stop this nonsense and leave me alone, and let me make my own decisions, I'll drop you down the nearest well. I mean it. Having a blade that will protect me from magickers may be convenient, but damn if I'm going to lose control of my life in return!

She sensed a dull, sudden heat, like far-off anger.

Look, you know what I've been thinking! I
agree
with your purpose, dammit! I'm even perfectly willing to go along with this agenda of helping women in trouble! But I am, by all that's holy, going to do so on my terms. And you're going to have one hell of a time helping women from the bottom of a well if you don't go
along
with this.

The anger vanished, replaced by surprise—and then, silence. She waited a moment longer, but the sword might as well have been a plain old steel blade at that point. Not that it felt lifeless—but she had a shrewd notion she'd made her point.

“Silence means assent,” she said out loud, and put her glove back on. Then, bending over and retrieving the reins, much to Verenna's relief, she sent the mare back toward the Tower.

But the last thing she expected was to be met at the stable by Tarma.

The Shin‘a'in took Verenna's reins from her once she'd dismounted, and led the mare toward her stall, all without saying a word. Kero waited, wondering what was coming next. A reproach for not taking Daren up on his offer? That hardly seemed likely. But Tarma's silence portended
something.

Tarma tethered Verenna to the stall, but instead of unsaddling her at once, put a restraining hand over Kero's.

“I'd have said this within the next couple of months,” she began, “But sending Daren back is just letting me say it sooner. You're ready, little hawk. Think you're up to losing the jesses?”

Kero blinked. “To go where?” she asked, after a moment of thought. “Knowing you, you have a plan for me.”

Tarma nodded, her ice-blue eyes warming a little. “Experience is going to be a better teacher than I am, from here on,” she said, “And I've been looking around for a place for you for the past couple of moons. As it happens, the son of a good friend of mine just took over a bonded Company. They're called the Skybolts; they're scout-skirmishers, like my old Company, the Sunhawks. Lerryn Twoblades is the Captain's name; he's got a reputation for honesty, fair dealing, and as much honor as anyone ever gives a merc credit for. He'll have you, and gladly, if you want to go straight to a Company.”

“And if I don't?” Kero asked, curious to know just what her options were.

Tarma shrugged. “You could go out on your own, and I have some referrals for the Jewel Merchants Guild caravans, but your skills would be better used in a Company like the Skybolts. You could go home, if you really want. You could go after Daren, you're even dressed for
that, ”
she said wryly. “But it's time for you to go—before you stop wanting to.”

Silence hung thick in the stable; even the horses sensed something was afoot, and weren't making their usual noise. Finally, Kero nodded. “I thought this would happen in the spring, but I'm ready—or as ready as I'll ever be. And I'll go to the Skybolts; I'd have to be a fool to turn down an offer like that.”

Tarma relaxed, and smiled. “I try not to train fools,” she replied. “And—Kero, you're of the Clan—I want you to take Hellsbane.”

“What?”
Kero asked, incredulously. “I can't do that!”

“Why not?” Tarma retorted. “You've been training with her all damned year; you're better with her than I am. Leave Keth your Verenna—a saddle horse isn't going to do you much good as a merc, anyway, you'll spend far too long getting her battle-trained. I'll still have Ironheart, Keth is never going to need a battlemare again, and to tell you the truth, she's always been a shade uneasy about riding them. She'll be just as happy with Verenna, and your girl will be a lot happier with us.”

Warrl appeared like a shadow behind the Shin‘a'in.
:She's right, you know. Hellsbane is warrior-trained, like
you.
It would be a shame for
her
potential to be wasted.:

Kero shook her head, part in disbelief, part in amusement. “I can see I've been outvoted.”

Tarma's hoarse voice roughened still further with emotion. “You're kin of my Clan. You're the closest thing I'll have to a daughter. You're my only true protégée. And you're the best damned warrior I've ever trained. I want you equipped with the very best.” Then she smiled, and her voice and eyes lightened again. “Besides, after you see the rest of the gear Keth and I got you, Hellsbane is going to seem like an afterthought!”

Kero found it very hard to speak, or even swallow. “I don't know what to say—” she began.

Tarma pulled the saddle off Verenna, and led the relieved mare back into her stall. “You can start with ‘thank you,' and we'll take it from there. Think you'd be ready to take the road by the end of the week?”

“I—” Kero faltered. “I—”

“If you are,” Tarma continued, “Keth can start the messages out to Twoblades, and we can start fitting your fancy new armor to you so you don't disgrace us when you get there.”

“I can be ready,” she managed. “As ready to leave as I'm likely to be. I wish—I wish I didn't have to leave. Or that I could take you with me....”

Tarma snorted. “Not likely. I
did
my share on the lines. Chick can't go back in the shell, and a young hawk can't unfledge. Time for you to try your wings.”

“And maybe fly,” she said, thinking aloud.

“Oh, you'll fly, little hawk,” Tarma answered. “You'll fly.”

“Great Jaesel,” Shallan said, her bright blue eyes widening in awe at the sight of what blocked the well-pounded trail, “What in hell is
that?”

She must have unconsciously tightened her legs, because her high-strung gelding bucked, then bounced a little sideways, blundering into Hellsbane.

Trouble—
Kero exerted immediate pressure on the reins, so the mare only laid her ears back, rather than reacting with the swift snap of teeth she would ordinarily have indulged in.

Shallan swore, made a fist and thumped her restive mount between his ears, and the fractious beast subsided. Once again the scouting party turned their collective attention toward the untidy sprawl of humanity across their path. “Sprawl” was definitely the operative term, Kero decided. There was a tangle of about twenty or thirty men, some standing, most in variations of “fallen,” all interlaced with ten-foot (thankfully) headless pikes.

“Didn't the sergeant from Bornam's Bastards say something about recruiting from the area last night?” asked a male voice from right behind Kero. Gies, she identified automatically; of the twins, he had the deeper voice. “I think so,” replied his identically-swarthy brother, Tre, and she knew she'd picked the right name for the right twin. “The sergeant wasn't real optimistic.”

“I'd say he had reason not to be,” Shallan replied, shaking her ice-blonde head in disgust. “And from the look of this, we'd better detour before they get themselves sorted out and stand up.” A few more of the men got themselves untangled from the rest and stood aside. Their sergeant wasn't shouting—mostly because, from the crimson color of his face, Kero reckoned that he was holding off a fit of apoplexy by will alone.

“Aye to that,” Kero said. She was nominally the head of this group, but only during the actual scouting foray, and they weren't in the field at the moment. “Let's take the back way.”