By the Sword (36 page)

It seemed to take half the night to creep past the village; and once past, she didn't relax her vigilance in the least. She stayed in the shadow of the trees for furlongs, then she mounted the mare and rode out on the road to the east, and she didn't leave that cover, not even when the village was long past.

That vigilance paid off shortly before dawn, when she thought she heard hoofbeats ahead of her. The sound faded after only an instant, but she found a gap in the brush and dismounted to lead the mare into its concealment. There she waited.

And waited.

She began to feel like a fool, but not even that would send her out onto the road again before she knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no one else on it.

Then—she felt that
searching
again, and froze. Once again it passed over her, but she felt as helpless as a mouse stuck in an open field, knowing there's a hawk overhead ready to stoop the moment it moves.

The feeling passed, but before she could take Hellsbane out onto the road, she heard hoofbeats, the same as before, but much nearer—practically on top of her position.
Some quirk of the hills echoed them up in time to warn me,
she realized numbly.
Blessed Agnira! If I hadn't heard them
—

It was a long time before she could convince herself to move.

 

 

East and north, a little west, then north again; never any closer to her goal, never any idea of where she really was. She was in sheep country now—there were fewer priests, which was a blessing, but shepherds are lonely and inquisitive folk, the kind she wanted to avoid at all costs.

Twice she dropped all caution and used her Gift to help her raid farms for food. Each time she felt that searching “eye” pass over her some time later, as if she had inadvertently set off some kind of alarm by her use of Thoughtsensing. After the second time, she resolved to tighten her belt further. Nothing was worth feeling that
presence
out there, looking for her.

Hellsbane was a hardy soul, and could live quite happily on grass alone since she wasn't seeing heavy activity. In fact, fully half the time Kero walked and led her instead of riding, especially at night.

She slept by day, whenever she could find cover enough to hide the mare. She dreamed almost every night; vague, odd dreams involving Need, Need and an old woman, and a very young girl barely into her teens. They weren't very coherent dreams, and they involved things that seemed to be right out of the wildest of legends, so far in the past that they bordered on incomprehensible.

It was after the first of those dreams that she encountered the first
priestess—as
opposed to priest—of Vkandis.

She had slept most of the day, knowing that there was another village to pass that night, and at sundown had worked her way down toward that village to keep watch until everyone was safely tucked up for the night. Right on schedule, a cowled and robed figure appeared from the rock-walled temple and assembled the villagers. She wondered idly if this village's sunset service was going to be as dull as the other ones she'd overseen when the figure threw back its cowl to reveal a head of wild, scarlet curls and an unmistakably feminine face.

Shock held her in place; further shock kept her frozen for a moment, as the priestess raised her head and stared directly at the place where she lay concealed.

Only the sun saved her; there was a service to conduct, and Kero was under the impression that if there was an earthquake, battle-charge or erupting volcano in progress at sunset, the followers of Vkandis would
still
conduct their devotions to the last ray of light.

Halfway into the service, Kero managed to shake off her paralysis, and crawl back to where she'd left Hellsbane tethered. This time she did
not
wait until sunset; she mounted Hellsbane and rode farther eastward, giving the village a wide berth, and pulling every trick Tarma had ever taught her to confuse and conceal her trail.

Thereafter, following every one of those dreams, she'd encounter a female devotee of Vkandis. And every single one of them seemed able to detect either her, or the sword.

It was unnerving, not the least because she hadn't known—nor had anyone else to her knowledge—that there
were
women placed so highly in Vkandis' priesthood. Up until this time everyone
she'd
ever talked to had spoken of the cult as being exclusively male, and certainly the little anyone outside of Karse knew of it painted the credo as being thoroughly misogynistic.

Certainly the Karsites had very little use for women in general, and positively despised fighting women like the ones in the ranks of the Skybolts, reserving particularly gruesome treatment for them when caught.

And yet—the order of Vkandis was a
militant
order. Every one of the women Kero had seen had worn a sword. The order of Vkandis deplored the use of magic—yet she had felt magic searching for her, and these women seemed perfectly willing to employ something like enough to magic as to make no difference.

It appeared that whatever the outside world knew of Karse and the state religion, there were things going on within it that were not to be discovered until one penetrated into the country itself. What those things meant, Kero had no idea, except that
she
had better keep her head down and her behind well-hidden, or she wasn't going to be telling anyone of her discoveries. Except, perhaps, an inquisitor.

 

I think I've been in hiding forever,
she thought dispiritedly, from her concealment among the rocks above the road. Sundown would be soon, and then she could get on her way.

Hoofbeats signaled a Karsite patrol; she'd learned that the military were the only groups that traveled mounted. She watched yet another of those woman-priests riding by her, this one evidently in too much of a hurry to do more than raise her head in startlement as she passed Kero's hiding place in the rocks above the road. And once again, she wondered what the presence of high-ranking women in the priesthood meant.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she ought to abandon Need. She'd had half a dozen very narrow escapes so far, and she had the feeling that the only reason she hadn't been caught was the blade's belated realization that just because these were women, they were
not
friendly toward Need's current bearer.

But if she did abandon it, the thing would only end up in the hands of some poor, ignorant child, who would very probably be dead the first time one of the
male
priests took advantage of his power and position to abuse one of his flock. Kero had long ago realized the same thing could have happened to
her
if Tarma hadn't been playing guardian that night. The blade had no sense of proportion, and seemed to have a varying regard for the safety and health of its bearer.

Or worse, the thing could end up in the hands of one of these priestesses, and Kero couldn't even guess what would happen then.

Anything,
she reflected, brooding down on the now empty road.
I think Need is a whole lot older than even Grandmother guessed. That probably accounts for a lot of the things it does. Anything that old has a set of priorities and plans that are a whole lot different from those of us who're likely to die if someone puts a hole in us.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the easier it was to imagine some of the things it was likely to do.

She snorted to herself.
Figures. Make someone a devout, fanatical anything, and his brain turns to mulch. Well, I sure's fire don't want to be the cause of another crusade among the Karsites.

And there was no indication the sword would even let her go in the first place. If she tried to abandon it, she might end up in agony.

Dusk was falling, and it was time to be on her way. Over the past few days, the sparsely-forested hills had been giving way to pine groves, with mountains looming up in the distance. Kero had the feeling she was very near the Karse-Valdemar border; she was certainly far enough north.

She'd never expected to get up here in her lifetime.

She put her head down on her arms, and allowed herself a painful lump in her throat.
I want
home,
I want out of here!
she wailed inside her mind.
I want to see the winter quarters,
and
Shallan, and Tre—I want cooked food and a real bed—I
want a
bath—I want to sleep without having to wake every few breaths because I think I hear something
—

She was tired right down to the bone, and her nerves were like red-hot wire. She started out of sleep lately at the least little sound, but she knew if she didn't keep herself at this kind of a pitch, she'd lie down one night and wake only with the point of a Karsite sword in her throat.

But worse than the rest was despair, the feeling that she'd never get back, never see familiar faces again, never see home, or what passed for it. And the loneliness. She'd thought she was cold, unfeeling—now she knew differently. She might not need people as desperately as Shallan did, but she needed them all the same.

Usually she could shake the mood after letting it have her for a few moments, but not tonight. Tonight despair followed her down off of the hill to the little valley and the brook she'd left Hellsbane tied beside. It rode as her companion, unseen, but profoundly felt, as she followed behind the Karsite patrol—behind
always
being the safest place to be, with the Karsites. It covered her with a gloom as thick as the dusk—and it was almost the death of her.

It was only when Hellsbane snorted and balked, and the sword threw a jab of agony into her head, that she pulled up and realized that there were voices ahead of her. She rode Hellsbane off into the forest, and dismounted, leading the horse quietly under the pines and up onto a tiny game trail above the floor of the valley and the road running through it. The crushed pine needles gave off a sharp scent that made her pause for a moment. That scent could disguise the mare's and make it possible for them to work around the patrol ahead of them without alerting the Karsites' horses.

She took handfuls of needles stripped from the bough, crushed them between her palm and her armor, and rubbed the resulting mass over Hellsbane's coat. The mare sneezed once and gave Kero a rather astonished look, but didn't really seem to object.

That accomplished, she spotted a good place to overlook the road; tethered the mare, and wriggled her way down to it on her stomach.

A rock outcropping offered little in the way of concealment, but the dusk itself provided that. She got into place just in time to see the patrol that had passed her earlier, returning with a prisoner.

A very obvious prisoner; a man, tied to the saddle of a much-abused mule. A man dressed entirely in white.

Something about the white uniform tugged at a half-buried memory in the back of her weary mind.
Something to do with a priesthood? No, that can't be it....

She was still trying to make the connection, when she saw something else moving below her; something moving so silently that if it hadn't been for the color—or lack of it—she'd never have spotted it. And if it hadn't been for the man, she wouldn't have thought—“horse”—she'd have thought—“ghost.”

Or fog. That was what it resembled; a bit of fog slipping through the trees.

But put white-clad man together with white horse, and even a tired, numb-brained mere knew what
that
meant. This prisoner was one of the Heralds, out of Valdemar.

And the Karsites appreciated the Heralds even less than they appreciated female fighters.

That horse is no horse at all, at least not according to Tarma,
she thought, keeping her eyes glued to the vague white shape as it flitted from one bit of cover to another. She said it
was—
leshy‘a,
I think. A spirit. Huh. Looks pretty solid for a spirit. Doesn't look particularly magical, either.

The Karsite troop had stopped in the middle of the road, and were conferring quietly, with anxious looks cast up at the mountainside above them, and back behind them, where they had been. The—what was it?—
Companion,
she remembered now—the Companion froze where it was. The man seemed oblivious to it all, slumped in his saddle—but Kero had the oddest feeling that he wasn't as badly hurt or as unaware as he seemed.

But it's going to take a lot more than wits and a magic horse to get you out of this one, my friend,
she told him silently.
An army would be nice. Or at least one friend free and able to convince the Karsites he
is
an army.

Instantly she berated herself for thinking like a fool. This man had no claim on her or her sympathy. Valdemar hired no mercs, and probably never would. She had no loyalty to his land and no personal feeling for him ... except that the Karsites were not going to be gentle with him. And there but for Need and the blessings of the gods, rode she....