One

It was a dark and stormy night. ...

:Pah!: Warri said with disgust so thick Tarma

could taste it. :MMS( you even think in cliches'?:

Tarma took her bearings during another flash of

lightning, tried and failed to make out Warrl's shaggy

bulk against watery blackness, then thought back at

him, Well it is, danmit1.

Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, who was Shin'a'in no-

mad, KaFenedral (or, to outClansmen, a "Sword-

swom"), and most currently Scoutmaster for the

mercenary company called "Idra's Sunhawks" was

not particularly happy at this moment. She was

sleet-drenched, cold and numb, and mired to her

armpits; as was her companion, the lupine kyree

Warrl. The Sunhawks' camp was black as the in-

side of a box at midnight, for all it was scarcely an

hour past sunset. Her hair was plastered flat to her

skull, and trickles of icy water kept running into

her eyes. She couldn't even feel the ends of her

ringers anymore. Her feet hurt, her joints ached,

her nose felt so frozen it was like to fall off, and her

teeth were chattering hard enough to splinter. She

was not pleased, having to stumble around in the

dark and freezing rain to find the tent she shared

with her partner and oathbound sister, the White

Winds sorceress, Kethry.

The camp was dark out of necessity; even in a

downpour sheltered fires would normally burn in

the firepits in front of each tent, or a slow-burning

ti

Mercedes Lackey

torch would be staked out in the lee of every fourth,

but that was impossible tonight. You simply couldn't

keep a fire lit when the wind howled at you from

directions that changed moment by moment, driv-

ing the rain before it; and torches under canvas

were a danger even the most foolhardy would forgo.

A few of the Sunhawks had lanterns or candles

going in their tents; but the weather was foul enough

that most preferred to go straight to sleep when not

on duty. It was too plaguey cold and wet to be

sociable. For heat, most stuck to the tiny charcoal

braziers Idra had insisted they each pack at the

beginning of this campaign. The Sunhawks had

known their Captain too well to argue about (what

had seemed at the time) a silly burden; now they

were grateful for her foresight.

But with the rain coming down first in cascades,

then in waterways, Tarma couldn't see the faint

glow of candles or lanterns shining through the

canvas walls that would have told her where the

tents were. So she slogged her way through the

camp mostly by memory and was herself grateful to

Idra for insisting on an orderly camp, laid out neatly,

in proper rows. and not the hugger-mugger arrange-

ment some of the other mere officers were allow-

ing. At least she wasn't tripping over tent ropes or

falling into firepits.

:I can smell Ketk and magic,: Warri said into her

mind. .-You should see the mage-light soon.:

"Thanks, Furball," Tarma replied, a little more

mollified; she knew he wouldn't hear her over the

howl of the wind, but he'd read the words in her

mind. She kept straining her eyes through the tem-

pest for a sight of the witchlight Keth had prom-

ised to leave at the front—to distinguish their tent

from the two hundred odd just like it.

They were practically on top of it before she saw

the light, a blue glow outlining the door flap and

brightening the fastenings. She wrestled with the

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balky rawhide ties (the cold made her fingers stiff)

and it took so long to get them unfastened that she

was swearing enough to warm the whole camp be-

fore she had the tent flaps open. Having Warri

pressed up against her like a sodden* unhappy cat

did not help.

The wind practically threw Tarma into the tent,

and half the sleet that was knifing down on their

camp tried to come in with her. Warri remained

plastered against her side, not at all helpful, smell-

ing in the pungent, penetrating way only a wet

wolf can smell—even if Warri only resembled a

wolf superficially. The kyree was not averse to

reminding Tarma several times a day (as, in fact,

he was doing now) that they could have been curled

up in a cozy inn if they hadn't signed on with this

mercenary company.

She turned her back to the occupant of the tent

as soon as she got past the tent flaps; she needed all

her attention to get them laced shut against the

perverse pull of the wind. "Gods of damnation!"

she spat through stiff lips, "Why did I ever think

this was a good idea?"

Kethry, only just now waking from a light doze,

refrained from replying; she just waited until Tarma

got the tent closed up again. Then she spoke three

guttural words, activating the spell she'd set there

before drowsing off—and a warm yellow glow raced

around the tent walls, meeting and spreading up-

ward until the canvas was bathed in mellow light

and the temperature within suddenly rose to that

of a balmy spring day. Tarma sighed and sagged a

little.

"Let me take that," Kethry said then, unwinding

herself from the thick wool blankets of her bedroll,

rising, and pulling the woolen coat, stiff with ice,

from Tarma's angular shoulders. "Get out of those

soaked clothes."

1-1

Mercedes Lackey

The swordswoman shook water out of her short-

cropped black hair, and only just prevented Warri

from trying the same maneuver.

"Don't you dare, you flea-bitten curl Gods above

and below, you'll soak every damned thing in the

tent!"

Warri hung his head and looked sheepish, and

waited for his mindmate to throw an old thread-

bare horse blanket over him. Tarma enveloped him

in it, head to tail, held it in place while he shook

himself, then used it to towel off his coarse gray-

black fur.

"Glad to see you, Greeneyes," Tarma continued,

stripping herself down to the skin, occasionally winc-

ing as she moved. She rummaged in her pack, find-

ing new underclothing, and finally pulling on dry

breeches, thick leggings and shirt of a dark brown

lambswool. "I thought you'd still be with your

crew—"

Kethry gave an involuntary shudder of sympathy

at the sight of her partner's nearly-emaciated frame.

Tarma was always thin, but as this campaign had

stretched on and on, she'd become nothing but

whipcord over bone. She hadn't an ounce of flesh to

spare; no wonder she complained of being cold so

much! And the scars lacing her golden skin only

gave a faint indication of the places where she'd

taken deeper damage—places that would ache de-

monically in foul weather. Kethry gave her spell

another little mental nudge, sending the tempera-

ture of the tent a notch upward.

I should have been doing this on a regular basis, she

told herself guiltily. Well—that's soon mewled.

"—so there's not much more I can do." The sweet-

faced sorceress gathered strands of hair like sun-

touched amber into both hands, twisting her curly

mane into a knot at the back of her neck. The light

from the shaded lantern which hung on the tent's

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crossbar, augmented by the light of the shielding

spell, was strong enough that Tarma noted the dark

circles under her cloudy green eyes. "Tresti is ac-

complishing more than I can at this point. You

know my magic isn't really the Healing kind, and on

top of that, right now we have more wounded men

than women."

"And Need'11 do a man about as much good as a

stick of wood."

Kethry glanced at the plain shortsword slung on

the tent's centerpole, and nodded. "To tell you the

truth, lately she won't heal anybody but you or me

of anything but major wounds, so she isn't really

useful at all at this point. I wonder sometimes if

maybe she's saving herself— Anyway, the last badly

injured woman was your scout Mala this morning."

"We got her to you in time? Gods be thanked!"

Tarma felt the harpwire-taut muscles of her shoulders

go lax with relief. Mala had intercepted an arrow

when the scouts had been surprised by an enemy

ambush; Tarma had felt personally responsible, since

she'd sent Warri off in the opposite direction only

moments before. The scout had been barely con-

scious by the time they'd pounded up to the Sunhawk

camp.

"Only just; an arrow in the gut is not something

even for a Master-Healer to trifle with, and all we

have is a Journeyman."

"Teach me to steal eggs, why don't you? Tell me

something I don't know," Tarma snapped, ice-blue

eyes narrowed in irritation, harsh voice and craggy-

featured scowl making her look more like a hawk

than ever.

Oops. A little too near the hone, I think.

"Temper," Kethry cautioned; it had taken years

of partnership for them to be able to say the right

thing at the right time to each other, but these days

they seldom fouled the relationship. "Whatever hap-

pened, you can't undo it; you'd tell me that if the

is

Mercedes Lackey

case were reversed. And Mala's all right, so there's

no permanent harm done."

"Gah—" Tarma shook her head again, then

continued the shake right down to her bare feet,

loosening all the muscles that had been tensed

against cold and anger and frustration. "Sorry. My

nerves have gone all to hell. Finish about Mala so I

can tell the others."

"Nothing much to tell; I had Need unsheathed

and in her hands when they brought her inside the

camp. The arrow's out, the wound's purified and

stitched and half-healed, or better. She'll be back

dodging arrows—with a little more success, I hope!—

in about a week. After that all I could do that was

at all useful was to set up a jesto-vath around the

infirmary tent—that's a shielding spell like the one

I just put on ours. After that I was useless, so I

came back here. It was bad enough out there I

figured a jesto-vath on owr tent was worth the

energy expense, and I waited for you to get in

before putting it in place so I wouldn't have to

cut it. Can't have the Scoutmaster coming down

with a fever." She smiled, and her wide green eyes

sparkled with mischief. "Listen to you, though—

two years ago, you wouldn't have touched a command

position, and now you're fretting over your scouts

exactly the way Idra fusses over the rest of us."

Tarma chuckled, feeling the tense muscles all

over her body relaxing. "You know the saying."

"Only too well—'That was then, this is now; the

moment is never the same twice.' "

"You're learning. Gods, having a mage as a part-

ner is useful."

Tarma threw herself onto her bedroll, rolling over

onto her back and putting her hands behind her

head. She stared at the canvas of the tent roof, bright

with yellow mage-light, and basked in the heat.

"I pity the rest of the Hawks, with nobody to

weatherproof their tents, and nothing but an itty-

16

OATHBREAKERS

bitty brazier to keep it warm. Unless they're twoing,

in which case I wish them well."

"Me too," Kethry replied with a tired smile, sit-

ting crosslegged on her own bedroll to fasten the

knot of hair more securely, "though there's only a

handful really twoing it. I rather suspect even the

ones that aren't will bundle together for warmth,

though, the way we used to when I wasn't capable

of putting up a jesto-vath."

"You must be about Master-grade yourself by

now, no?"

Tarma cracked her left eye open enough to see

Kethry's face. The question obviously caught the

mage by surprise.

"Uh—"

"Beyond it?"

«T     H

"Thought so." Tarma closed her eyes again in sat-

isfaction. "This job should do it, then. Through

Idra we'll have contacts right up into the Royal

ranks. If we can't wangle the property, students and

wherewithal for our schools after this, we'll never

get it."

"We'd have had it before this if it hadn't been for

that damned minstrel!" Now it was Kethry's turn

to snap with irritation.

"Must you remind me?" Tarma groaned, burying

her face in the crook of her arm. "Leslac, Leslac, if

it weren't for Bardic immunity I'd have killed you

five times over!"

"You'd have had to stand in line," Kethry

countered with grim humor. "I'd have beat you to

it. Bad enough that he sings songs about us, worse

that he gets the salient points all bass-ackwards,

but—"

"To give us the reputation that we're shining

warriors of the Light is too damned muck!"

They had discovered some four or five years ago

that there was a particular Bard, one Leslac by

17

Mercedes Lackey

name, who was making a specialty of creating bal-

lads about their exploits. That would have been all

to the good, for it was certainly spreading their

name and reputation far and wide—except that he

was also leaving the impression that the pair of

them were less interested in money than in Just

Causes.

Leslac had stressed and overstressed their habit

of succoring women in distress and avenging those

who were past distress. So now anyone who had an

ax to grind came looking for them—most particu-

larly, women. And usually they came with empty

pockets, or damned little in the way of payment to

offer, while the paying jobs they would rather have

taken had been trickling away to others—because

those who might have offered those jobs couldn't

believe they'd be interested in "mere money."

And to add true insult to injury, a good half of

the time Kethry's geas-blade Need would force them

into taking those worthless Just Causes. For Need's

geas was, as written on her blade, "Woman's Need

calls me/As Woman's Need made me./Her Need

will I answer/As my maker bade me." By now Kethry

was so soul-bonded to the sword that it would have

taken a god to free her from it. Most of the time it

was worth it; the blade imparted absolute weapons

expertise to Kethry, and would Heal anything short

of a death wound on any woman holding it. And

after the debacle with the demon-godling Thalhkarsh,

Need had seemed to quiet down in her demands,

unless directly presented with a woman in dire trou-

ble. But with all those Just Causes showing up,

Need had been rapidly turning into something more

than a bit expensive to be associated with, thanks

to Leslac.

They'd been at their wits' ends, and finally had

gone to another couple of mercenaries, old friends

of theirs, Justin Twoblade and Ikan Dryvale, for

advice. They hadn't really hoped the pair would

have any notions, but they were the last resort.

18

OATHBREAKERS

And, somewhat to Tarma's surprise, they'd had

advice.

It was the off-season for the Jewel Merchant's

Guild, Justin and Ikan's employers; that meant no

caravans. And that meant that the paired merce-

nary guards were cosily holed up in their private

quarters at the Broken Sword, with the winter

months to while away. They certainly weren't stint-

ing themselves; they had a pair of very decent

rooms, the Broken Sword's excellent ale—and, as

Tarma discovered when she tapped at their door,

no lack of female companionship. But the current

pair of bright-eyed lovelies was sent pouting away

when straw-haired Ikan answered their knock and

discovered just who it was chat had chosen to de-

scend upon himself and his partner-

One of the innkeeper's quick-footed offspring was

summoned then, and sent off for food and ale—for

neither Justin nor his shieldbrother would hear a

word of serious talk until everyone was settled and

comfortable at their hearth, meat and drink at their

elbows. Justin and Ikan took their hospitality very

seriously.

"I've figured this was coming," Justin had said,

somewhat to Tarma's shock, "And not just because

of that idiot songster. You two have very unique

and specialized skills—not like me and Ikan. You've

gotten about as far as you can as an independent

pairing. Now me and Ikan, we had the opposite

problem. We're just ordinary fighting types; a bit

better than most, but that's all that distinguishes

us. We had to join a company to get a reputation;

then we could live off that reputation as a pair. But

you—you've got a reputation that will get you high

fees from the right mercenary company."

Tarma had shaken her head doubtfully at that,

but Justin had fixed her with his mournful houndlike

eyes, and she'd held her peace.

19

Mercedes Lackey

"You, Tarma," he'd continued, "need much wider

experience, especially experience in commanding

others—and only a company will give you that.

Kethry, you need to exercise skills and spells you

wouldn't use in a partnership, and to leam how to

delegate if your school is ever going to be success-

ful, and again, you'll learn that in a company."

"Long speech," Tarma had commented sardoni-

cally.

"Well, I've got one, too," Ikan had said, winking a

guileless blue eye at her. "You also need exposure

to highborns, so that they know your reputation

isn't just minstrelsy and moonshine. You haven't a

choice; you truly need to join a company, one with

a reputation of their own, one good enough that the

highborns come to them for their contract. Then,

once you are ready to hang up your blades and start

your schools, you'll have noble patrons and noble

pupils panting in anticipation of your teaching—and

two not-so-noble aging fighters panting in anticipa-

tion of easy teaching jobs."

Kethry had laughed at Ikan's comic half-bow in

their direction. "I take it that you already have a

company in mind?"

"Idra's Sunhawks," Justin had replied blandly.

"The Sunhawks? Warrior's Oath—you'd aim us

bloody damned high, wouldn't you?" Tarma had

been well taken aback. For all that they were com-

posed of specialist-troops—skirmishers, horse-archers

and trackers—the Sunhawks' repute was so high

that kings and queens had been known to negotiate

their contracts with Idra in person. "Good gods, I

should bloody well think highborns negotiate with

them; their leader's of the damned Royal House of

Rethwellan! And just how are we supposed to get a

hearing with Captain Idra?"

"Us," Ikan had replied, stabbing a thumb at his

chest. "We're ex-Hawks; we started with her, and

probably would still be with her, but Idra was going

20

OATHBREAKERS

more and more over to horse-archers, and we were

getting less useful, so we decided to light out on

our own. But we left on good terms; if we recom-

mend that she give you a hearing, Idra will take our

word on it."

"And once she sees that you're what you claim to

be, you'll be in, never fear." Justin had finished for

him. "Shin'a'in KaFenedral—gods, you'd fit in like

a sword in a sheath, Hawkface. And you, Keth—

Idra's always got use for another mage, 'specially

one nearly Masterclass. The best she's got now is a

couple of self-taught hedge-wizards. Add in Furball

there—you'll be a combination she won't be able to

resist."

So it had proved. With letters in their pouches

from both Ikan and his partner (both could read

and write, a rarity among highborn, much less mer-

cenaries) they had headed for the Sunhawks' win-

ter quarters, a tiny hill town called Hawksnest.

The name was not an accident; the town owed its

existence to the Sunhawks, who wintered there

and kept their dependents there, those dependents

that weren't permanent parts of the Company biv-

ouac. Hawksnest was nestled in a mountain valley,

sheltered from the worst of the mountaintop weather,

and the fortified barracks complex of the Sunhawks

stood between it and the valley entrance. When the

Hawks rode out, a solid garrison and all the Hawks-

in-training remained behind. Idra believed in creat-

ing an environment for her fighters in which the

only worries they needed to have on campaign were

associated with the campaign.

Signing with Idra was unlike signing with any

other Company; most Hawks stayed with Idra for

years—she had led the Company for nearly twenty

years. She'd willingly renounced her position as

third in line to the throne of Rethwellan twenty-

five years earlier, preferring freedom over luxury.

21

Mercedes Lackey

She'd hired on with a mercenary company herself,

then after five years of experience accompanied by

her own steady rise within the ranks, had formed

the Hawks.

Tarma had been impressed with the quarters and

the town; the inhabitants were easy, cheerful and

friendly—which spoke of good behavior on the part

of the meres. The Hawks' winter quarters were

better than those of many standing armies, and

Tarma had especially approved of the tall wooden

palisade that stretched across the entrance to

Hawksnest, a palisade guarded by both Hawks and

townsmen. And the Hawks themselves—as rumor

had painted them—were a tight and disciplined

group; drilling even in the slack season, and show-

ing no sign of winter-bom softness.

Idra had sent for them herself after reading their

letters; they found her in her office within the

Hawks' barracks. She was a muscular, athletic look-

ing woman, with the body of a born horsewoman,

mouse-gray hair, a strong face that could have been

used as the model for a heroic monument, and the

direct and challenging gaze of the professional

soldier.

"So," she'd said, when they took their seats

across the scratched, worn table that served as her

desk, "if I'm to trust Twoblade and Dryvale, it

should be me begging you to sign on."

Kethry had blushed; Tarma had met that direct

regard with an unwavering gaze of her own. "I'm

Kal'enedral," Tarma said shortly. "If you know

Shin'a'in, that should tell you something."

"Swordsworn, hmm?" The quick gray eyes took

in Tarma's brown clothing. "Not on bloodfeud—"

"That was ended some time ago," Tarma told

her, levelly. "We ended it, we two working to-

gether. That was how we met."

"Shin'a'in Kal'enedral and outClansman. Unlikely

pairing—even given a common cause. So why are

you still together?"

22

OATHBREAKERS

For answer they both turned up their right palms

so that she could see the silver crescent-scars that

decorated them. One eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly.

"Sa. She'enedran. That explains a bit. Seems I've

heard of a pair like you."

"If it was in songs," Tarma winced, "let's just

say the stories are true in the main, but false in the

details. And the author constantly left out the fact

that we've always done our proper planning before

we ever took on the main event. Luck plays won-

drous small part in what we do, if we've got any

say in the matter. And besides all that—we're a lot

more interested in making a living than being some-

body's savior."

Idra had nodded; her expression had settled into

something very like satisfaction. "One last question

for each of you—what's your specialty, Shin'a'in—

and what's your rank and school, mage?"

"Horseback skirmishing, as you probably figured,

knowing me for Shin'a'in." Tarma had replied first.

"I'm a damned good archer—probably as good as

any you've got. I can fight afoot, but I'd rather not.

We've both got battlesteeds, and Tm sure you know

what that means. My secondary skill is tracking."

"I'm White Winds, Journeyman; I'd say I lack a

year or two of being Masterclass." Kethry had given

her answer hard on the heels of Tarma's. "One

other thing I think Ikan and Justin may have

forgotten—Tarma is mindmate to a feyrec, and I've

got a bespelled blade I'm soul-bonded to. It gives me

weapons expertise, so I'm pretty good at keeping

myself in one piece on a battlefield; that's damned

useful in a fight, you won't have to spare anybody

to look after me. And besides that, it will Heal most

wounds for a woman—and that's any woman, not

just me."

Idra had not missed the implication. "But not a

man, eh? Peculiar, but—well, I'm no mage, can't

fathom your ways. About half my force is female,

23

Mercedes Lackey

so that would come in pretty useful* regardless.

But White Winds—that's no Healing school."

"No, it's not," Kethry agreed, "I haven't the

greater Healing magics, just a few of the lesser. But

I've got the battle-magics, and the defensive mag-

ics. I'm not one to stand in the back of a fight,

shriek, and look appalled—"

For the first time Idra smiled. "No, I would guess

not, for all that you look better suited to a bower

than a battlefield. About the kyree—we're talking

Pelagir Hills changeling, here? Standard wolf-

shape?"

"Hai—overall he's built like a predator cat, but

he's got the coat and head of a wolf. Shoulder comes

to about my waist, he runs like a Plains grasscat;

no stamina for a long march, but he's used to riding

pillion with me." Tarma's description made Idra

nod, eyes narrowed in definite satisfaction. "He's

got a certain ability at smelling out magic, and a

certain immunity to it; given he's from the Pelagirs

he might have other tricks, but he hasn't used them

around me yet. Mindspeaks, too, mostly to me, but

he could probably make himself heard to anyone

with a touch of the Gift. Useful scout, even more

useful as an infiltrator. But be aware that he eats a

lot, and if he can't hunt, he'll be wanting fresh

meat daily. That'll have to be part of any contract

we sign."

"Well, from what my boys say, what I knew by

reputation, and what you've told me, I don't think I

need any more information. Only one thing I don't

reckon—" Idra had said, broad brow creased with

honest puzzlement. "If you don't mind my asking

what's none of my business even if I do sign you,

why's the kyree mindmate to the fighter and not the

mage's familiar?"

Tarma groaned, then, and Kethry laughed. "Oh,

Warri has a mind of his own," the mage had an-

swered, "I had been the one doing the calling, but

24

OATHBREAKERS

he made the decision. He decided that I didn't

need him, and Tarma did."

"So besides your formidable talents, I get three

recruits, not two; three used to teamworking. No

commander in her right mind would argue with

that." Idra then stood up, and pushed papers across

her desk to them. "Sign those, my friends, if you're

still so minded, and you'll be Sunhawks before the

ink dries."

So it had been. Now Tarma was subcommander

of the scouts, and Keth was in charge of the motley

crew concerned with Healing and magery—two

hedge-mages, a field-surgeon and herbalist and his

two apprentices, and a Healing Priest of Shayana.

"Priestess" would have been a more accurate title,

but the Shayana's devotees did not make any gen-

der differences in their rankings, which ofttimes

confused someone who expected one sex and got

the opposite. Tresti was handfasted to Sewen, Idra's

Second, a weathered, big-boned, former trooper;

that sometimes caused Keth sleepless nights. She

wondered what would happen if it was ever Sewen

carried in through the door flap of the infirmary,

but the possibility never seemed to bother Tresti.

Tarma and Kethry had fought in two intense

campaigns, each lasting barely a season; this was

their third, and it had been brutal from the start.

But then, that was often the case with civil war

and rebellion.

Ten moons ago, the King of Jkatha had died,

declaring his Queen, Sursha, to be his successor and

Regent for their three children. Eight moons ago

Sursha's brother-in-law, Declin Lord Kelcrag, had

made a bid for the throne with his own armed

might.

Lord Kelcrag was initially successful in his at-

tempt, actually driving Sursha and her allies out of

the Throne City and into the provinces. But he

25

Mercedes Lackey

could not eliminate them, and he had made the

mistake of assuming that defeat meant that they

would vanish.

Queen Sursha had talent and wisdom—the talent

to attract both loyal and capable people to her cause,

and the wisdom to know when to stand back and

let them do what was needful, however distasteful

that might be to her gentle sensibilities. That talent

won half the kingdom to her side; that wisdom

allowed her to pick an otherwise rough-hewn pro-

vincial noble, Havak Lord Leamount, as her General-

in-Chief and led her to give him her full and open

support even when his decisions were personally

repugnant to her.

General Lord Leamount levied or begged troops

from every source he could—and then hired spe'

cialists to till in the skill gaps his levies didn't

have.

And one of the first mercenary Captains he had

approached was Idra. His troops were mostly foot,

with a generous leavening of heavy horse—no skir-

mishers, no scouts, no light horse at all, other than

his own personal levy of hill-clansmen. The hillmen

were mounted on rugged little ponies; good in rough

country but slow in open areas, and useless as strike-

and-run skirmishers.

And by now Idra's troops were second to none,

thanks in no small part to Tarma. The Shin'a'in

had seen no reason why she could not benefit her

presumptive clan's coffers, and her new comrades

as well; she'd arranged for the Sunhawks to get

first pick of the sale-horses of Tale'sedrin. These

weren't battlesteeds, which were never let out of

Shin'a'in hands, but they weren't culls either, which

was what the Sunhawks had been seeing. And when

the Hawks had snapped up every beast she offered,

she arranged for four more clans to bring in their

first-pick horses as well.

So now the Hawks were better mounted than

26

OATHBBEAKERS

most nobles, on horses that could be counted as

extra weapons in a close-in fight.

That fact was not lost on Lord Leamount, nor

was he blind to Idra's canny grasp of strategy. Idra

was made part of the High Command, and pretty

much allowed to dictate how her Hawks were used.

As a result, although the fighting had been vi-

cious, the Hawks were still at something like four-

fifths strength; their ranks were nowhere near as

decimated as they might have been under a com-

mander who threw them recklessly at the enemy,

rather than using them to their best advantage.

At Midsummer, Lord Leamount's combined forces

had fallen on the Throne City and driven Lord

Kelcrag out. Every move Kelcrag had made since

then had been one of retreat. His retreat had been

hard fought, and each acre of ground had been

bitterly contested, but it had been an inexorable

series of losses.

But now autumn was half over; he had made a

break-and-run, and at this point everyone in Lea-

mount's armies knew why. He was choosing to make

a last stand on ground he had picked.

Both sides knew this next battle would have to

bring the war to a conclusion. In winter it would be

impossible to continue any kind of real fight—the

best outcome would be stalemate as troops of both

sides floundered through winter storms and prayed

that ill-luck and hardship would keep their ranks

from being thinned too much. If Kelcrag retreated

to his own lands, he'd come under seige, and ulti-

mately lose if the besieging troops could be sup-

plied and rotated. If he fled into exile, the Queen

would have to mount an ever-present vigil against

his return—an expensive proposition. She and

Leamount had both wanted to invoke the Merce-

nary Code ritual of Oathbreaking and Outcasting

on him—but while he was undeniably a rebel, he

had actually broken no vows; nor could Sursha find

27

fAercedes Lackey

the requisite triad for the full ceremony of priest,

mage and honest man, all of whom must have suf-

fered personal, irreparable harm at his hands as a

result of violation of sworn oaths. So technically, he

could have been seen by some to be the injured

party.

And as for Kelcrag in such a situation, exile would

mean impoverishment and hardship, circumstances

he was not ready to face; further, it would bring

the uncertainty of when or even if he could muster

enough troops and allies to make a second try.

Kelcrag had chosen his ground with care, Tarma

had to give him that. He had shale cliffs (impossi-

ble to scale) to his left, scrub forest and rough,

broken ground to his right (keeping Leamount from

charging from that direction); his troops were on

the high ground, occupying a wide pass between

the hills, with a gradual rising slope between his

army and the loyalists—

It was as close to being an ideal situation for the

rebels as Tarma could imagine. There was no way

to come at him except straight on, and no way he

could be flanked. And now the autumnal rains were

beginning.

Of all of Idra's folk, only the scouts had been

deployed, seeking (in vain) holes or weaknesses in

Kelcrag's defenses. For the rest, it had been Set up

camp. Dig in, and Wait. Wait for better weather,

better information, better luck.

"Gah—" Tarma groaned again. "I hope Kelcrag's

as miserable on his damned hill as we are down

here. Anything out of the mages?"

"Mine, or in general?"

"Both."

"Mine have been too busy fending off nuisance-

spells to bother with trying to see what's going on

across the way. I've been setting up wards on the

camp, protections on our commanders, and things

like the jesto-vatk on the Healer's tent. I haven't

28

OATHBREAKERS

heard anything directly from Leamount's greater

mages, but I've got some guesses."

"Which are?" Tarma stretched, then turned on

her side.

"The Great Battle Magics were exhausted early

on for both sides in this mess, and none of the

mages have had time to regather power. That leaves

the Lesser—which means they're dueling like a pair

of tired but equally-matched bladesmen. Neither

can see what the other is doing; neither can get

anything through that's more than an annoyance.

And neither wants to let down their guards and

their shields enough to recharge in a power circle

or open up enough to try one of the Greater Magics

they might have left. So your people will be pretty

much left alone except for physical, material attacks."

"Well, that's a blessing, any—"

"Scoutmaster?" came a plaintive call from out-

side the tent. "Be ye awake yet?"

"Who the bloody—" Tarma scrambled for the

lacings of the door flaps as Kethry hastily cut the

spell about the door with two slashes of her hands

and a muttered word.

"Get in here, child, before you turn into an ice

lump!" Tarma hauled the half-frozen scout into

their tent; the girl's brown eyes went round at the

sight of the spell energy in the tent walls, wide and

no little frightened. She looked like what she was, a

mountain peasant; short, stocky and brown, round

of face and eye. But she could stick to the back of

her horse like a burr on a sheep, she was shrewd

and quick, and nobody's fool. She was one of the

Hawks Tarma had been thinking of when she'd

mentioned other ways of keeping warm; Kyra was

shieldmated to Rild, a mountain of a man who

somehow managed to sit a horse as lightly as thin

Tarma.

"Keth, this is Kyra, she's one of the new ones.

Replaced Pawell when he went down." Tarma

29

Mercedes Lackey

pushed the girl down onto her bedroll and stripped

the sodden black cloak from her shoulders, hanging

it to dry beside her own coat. "Kyra. don't look so

green; you've seen Keth in the Healer's tent; this is

just a bit of magic so we sleep more comfortable.

Keth's better than a brazier, and I don't have to

worry about her tipping over in the night!"

The girl swallowed hard, but looked a little less

frightened. "Beg pardon, but I ain't seen much

magery."

"I should think not, out in these hills. Not much

call for it, nor money to pay for it. So—spit it out;

what brings you here, instead of curled up with

that monster you call a shieldmate?"

The girl blushed brilliant red. "Na, Scoutmaster—"

"Don't 'na' me, my^irl. I may not play the game

anymore, but I know the rules—and before the War-

rior put her Oath on me, I had my moments, though

you children probably wouldn't think it to look at

me, old stick that I am. Out with it—something

gone wrong with the pairing?"

"Eh, no! Naught like that—I just been thinking.

Couldn't get a look round before today; now seems

I know this pass, like. Got kin a ways west, useta

summer wi' 'cm. Cousins. If I'm aright, 'bout a

day's ride west o' here. And there was always this

rumor, see, there was this path up their way—"

Tarma didn't bother to hide her excitement; she

leaned forward on her elbows, feeling a growing

internal certainty that what Kyra was about to re-

veal was vital.

"—there was this story abaht the path, d'ye ken?

The wild ones, the ponies, they used it. At weanin'

time we'd go for 'em t* harvest the foals, but some

on 'em would allus get away—well, tales said they

used that path, that it went all the way through

t'other side. D'ye take my meaning?"

"Warrior Bright, you bet I do, my girl!" Tarma

jumped lithely to her feet, and pulled Kyra up

after her. "Keth?"

30

OATHBREAKERS

"Right." Kethry made the slashing motions again,

and the magic parted from the door flaps. "Wait a

hair—I don't want you two finding our answer and

then catching your deaths."

Another pass of hands and a muttered verse sent

water steaming up out of coat and cloak—when

Tarma pulled both off the centerpole they were dry

to the touch.

Tarma flashed her partner a grin. "Thanks, mi-

lady. If you get sleepy, leave the door open for me,

hey?"

Kethry gave a most unladylike snort. "As if I

could sleep after this bit of news! I haven't been

working with you for this long not to see what you

saw—"

"The end to the stalemate."

"You've said it. I'll be awake for hours on this

one." Kethry settled herself with her blankets around

her, then dismissed the magic altogether. The tent

went dark and cold again, and Kethry relit her

brazier with another muttered word. "I'll put that

jesto-vath back up when you get back—and make it

fast! Or I may die of nerves instead of freezing to

death!"

31

Two

Back out into the cold and wet and dark they went,

Kyra trailing along behind Tarma. She stayed

right at Tanna's elbow, more a presence felt than

anything seen, as Warri, in mindtouch with Tanna,

led both of them around washouts and the worst of

the mud. Tanna's goal was the Captain's tent.

She knew full well it would be hours before Sewen

and Idra saw their bedrolls; she'd given them the

reports of her scouts just before rumbling her way

to her own rest, and she knew they would still be

trying to extract some bit of advantage out of the

bleak word she'd left with them.

So Warri led them to Idra's quarters; even in the

storm-black it was the only tent not hard to find.

Idra had her connections for some out-of-the-ordinary

items, and after twenty years of leading the Hawks,

there was no argument but that she had more than

earned her little luxuries. There was a bright yel-

low mage-light shining like a miniature moon atop

each of the poles that held up a canvas flap that

served as a kind of sheltered porch for the sentry

guarding the tent. Unlike Keth's dim little witchlight,

these were bright enough to be seen for several feet

even through the rain. If it had been reasonable

weather, and if there had been any likelihood that

the camp would be attacked, or that the command-

ers of the army would be sought out as targets,

Idra's quarters would be indistinguishable from the

rest of the Hawks'. But in weather like this—Idra

OATHBREAKEBS

felt that being able to find her, quickly, took prece-

dence over her own personal safety.

Idra's tent was about the size of two of the biv-

ouac tents. The door flap was fastened down, but

Tarma could see the front half of the tent glowing

from more mage-lights within, and the yellow light

cast shadows of Idra and Sewen against the canvas

as they bent over the map-table, just as she'd left

them.

Warri was already moving into the wavering glow

of the mage-lights. He was a good couple of horse-

lengths in front of them, which was far enough that

the sentry under that bit of sheltering canvas

couldn't see Kyra and Tanna to challenge them—at

least not yet. No matter—and no matter dial Warri's

black fur couldn't be seen in the rain even with the

glow of the mage-lights on him. Warri barked three

times out of the storm, paused, then barked twice

more. That was his password. Every man, woman,

and noncombatant in the Hawks knew Warri and

Warri's signal—and knew that where Warri was,

Tanna was following after.

So by the time Tanna and Kyra had slogged the

last few feet to the tent, the sentry was standing at

ease, the door flap was unlaced, and Sewen was

ready to hold it open for them against the wind.

His muddy gray eyes were worried as he watched

the two of them ease by him. Tarma knew what he

was thinking; at this hour, any caller probably meant

more trouble.

"I trust this isn't a social call," Idra said dryly, as

they squeezed themselves inside and stood, drip-

ping and blinking, in the glow of her mage-lights.

The mage-lights only made her plain leather armor

and breeches look the more worn and mundane.

"And I hope it isn't a disciplinary problem—"

Kyra's autumnal eyes were even rounder than

before; Tarma suppressed a chuckle. Kyra hadn't

seen the Captain except to sign with her, and was

33

Mercedes Lackey

patently in awe of her. "Captain, this is my new

scout, Kyra—"

"Replaced Pawell, didn't she?"

"Aye—to make it short, she thinks she knows a

way to come in behind Kelcrag."

"Great good gods!" Idra half rose off of her tall

stool, then sank down again, with a look as though

she'd been startled out of a doze.

Well, that certainly got their attention, Tarma

thought, watching both Idra and her Second go from

weary and discouraged to alert in the time it took

to say the words.

"C'mere, kid," Sewen rumbled. He took Kyra's

wool-clad elbow with a hard and callused hand that

looked fit to crush the bones of her arm, and which

Tarma knew from experience could safely keep a

day-old chick sheltered across a furlong of rough

ground. He pulled her over to the table in the

center of the tent. "Y'read maps, no? Good. Here's

us. Here's him. Report—"

Kyra plainly forgot her awe and tear of magic,

and the diffidence with which she had regarded

her leaders, and became the professional scout be-

neath Sewen's prodding. The tall, bony Second was

Idra's right hand and more—where her aristocratic

bearing sometimes overawed her own people, par-

ticularly new recruits. Sewen was as plain as a clod

of earth and awed no one. Not that anyone ever

thought of insubordination around him; he was just

as respected as Idra—it was just that he looked and

sounded exactly like what he was; a common fighter

who'd come up through the ranks on brains and

ability. He still dressed, by preference, in the same

boiled-leather armor and homespun he'd always

worn, though he could more than afford the kind of

expensive riveted brigandine and doeskin Idra

and Tarma had chosen. He understood everything

about the Hawks from the ground up—because he'd

served the Hawks since Idra's fifth year of command-

id

OATHBREAKEBS

ing them. Idra and Tarma just leaned over the map-

table with him and let him handle the young scout.

"So—on the face of it, it bears checking. That's a

task for the scouts," Idra said at last, when Kyra

had finished her report. She braced both hands on

the table and turned to her Scoutmaster. "Tarma,

what's your plan?"

"That I take out Kyra and—hmm—Garth, Beaker

and Jodi," Tarma replied after a moment of thought

"We leave before dawn tomorrow and see what we

can see. If this trail still exists, we'll follow it in

and find out if the locals are right. I'll have Beaker

bring a pair of his birds; one to let you know if we

find the trail at all, and one to tell you yea or nay

on whether it's usable. That way you'll have full

information for Lord Leamount without waiting for

us to get back."

"Good." Idra nodded in satisfaction, as a bit of

gray-brown hair escaped to get into her eyes.

"Sewen?"

"What I'd do," Sewen affirmed, pushing away

from the table and sitting back onto his stool. "Them

birds don't like water, but that's likely to mafce 'em

want their coops more, maybe fly a bit faster, hey?

Don' wanta send a mage-message, or Kelcrag's

magickers might track it."

"Uh-huh; that was my thought," Tarma agreed,

nodding. "That, and the sad fact that other than

Keth, our magickers might not be able to boost a

mage-message that far."

"I need Keth here," Idra stated, "and none of

Leamount's mages are fit enough to travel over that

kind of territory."

Sewen emitted a bark of laughter, weathered face

crinkling up for a moment. "Gah, that lot's as mis-

erable as a buncha wet chickens in a leaky hennery

right now. They don' know this weather, an' ev'ry

time they gotta move from their tent, y'd think it

was gonna be a trip t' th' end of th' earth!"

35

Mercedes Lackey

Idra looked thoughtful for a moment, and rubbed

the side of her nose with her finger. "This isn't

wizard weather, is it, do you suppose?"

Both Tarma and her scout shook their heads vig-

orously. "Na, Cap'n," Kyra said, cheerful light

brightening her round face. "Na, is just a bit of a

gentle fall storm. Y'should see a had one, now—"

Idra's eyebrows shot upward; she straightened

and looked seriously alarmed until Sewen's guffaw

told her she'd been played for an ignorant flatlander.

"Seriously, no," Tarma seconded, "I asked Keth.

She says the only sign of wizard weather would be

if this stopped—that it's got too much weight behind

it, whatever that means."

Sewen lifted his own eyebrow and supplied the

answer. "She meant it's somethin' comin' in the

proper season—got all the weight of time an' what

should be behind it." He grinned at Tarma's loose

jaw, showing teeth a horse could envy. "Useta study

wizardry as a lad, hadn't 'nough Gift t' be more'n

half a hedge-wizard, so gave't up."

"Good, then, we're all agreed." Idra straightened

her shoulders, gave her head an unconscious toss to

get that bit of her hair out of her face. "Tarma, see

to it. Who will you put in to replace you tomorrow?"

"Tamar. Next to Garth and Jodi, he's my best.

and he's come in from the skirmishers."

"Good. And tell him to tell the rest of your scouts

not to give the enemy any slack tomorrow, but not

to get in as close as they did today. I don't want

them thinking we've maybe found something else

to concentrate on, but I don't want any more gut-

wounds, either."

It was dawn, or nearly, and the rain had slack-

ened some. There was still lightning and growling

thunder, but at least you could see through the

murk, and it was finally possible to keep the shielded

torches at the entrance to the guarded camp alight.

36

OATHBREAKERS

Tarma saw her scouts assembled beneath one of

those torches as she rode up to the sentry. She felt

like yawning, but wouldn't; she wouldn't be a bad

example. Cold, ye gods, I'm half-frozen and we haven't

even gotten out of the camp yet, she thought with

resignation. I haven't been warm since summer.

'.And then you were complaining about heat,: Warri

replied sardonically.

"I was not. That was Keth," she retorted. "I like

the heat."

Warri did not deign to reply.

Tarma was already feeling grateful for Kethry's

parting gift, the water-repelling cape Keth had

insisted on throwing over her coat. It's not magic,

Keth had said, I don't want a mage smelling you out.

Just tight-woven, oiled silk, and bloody damned expen-

sive. I swapped a jesto-vath on his tent to Gerroldfor

it, for as long as the rains last. 1 hope you don't mind

the fact that it's looted goods—

Not likely, she'd replied.

So today it was Keth looking out for and worry-

ing about her. They seemed to take it turn and turn

about these days, being mother-hen. Well, that was

what being partners was all about.

.'Toofe you long enough to come to that conclusion,:

Warri laughed. :Now if you'd just start mother-henning

me—:

"You'd bite me, you fur-covered fiend."

:0h, probably.:

"Ah—you're hopeless," Tarma chided him. smoth-

ering a grin. "Let's look serious here; this is

business."

:Yes, oh mistress.:

Tarma bit back another retort. She never won in

a contest of sharp tongues with the kyree. Instead of

answering him, she pondered her choice of scouts

again, and was satisfied, all things considered, that

she'd picked the best ones for the job.

First, Garth: a tiny man, and dark, he looked like

37

Mercedes Lackey

a dwarfish shadow on his tall Shin'a'in gelding. He

was one of Tarma's first choices for close-in night

work, since his dusky skin made it unnecessary for

him to smear ash on himself, but his most outstand-

ing talents were that he could ride like a Shin'a'in

and track like a hound. His one fault was that he

couldn't hit a haystack with more than two arrows

out of ten. He was walking his bay gelding back and

forth between the two sentries at the sally-point,

since his beast was the most nervous of the five

that would be going out, and the thunder was mak-

ing it lay its ears back and show the whites of its

eyes.

Beaker; average was the word for Beaker; size,

coloring, habits—average in everything except his

nose—that raptor's bill rivaled Tarma's. His chest-

nut mare was as placid of disposition as Garth's

beast was nervous, and Beaker's temperament

matched his mare's. As Tarma rode up, they both

appeared to be dozing, despite the cold rain coming

down on their heads. Fastened to the cantle of

Beaker's saddle were two cages, each the size of

two fists put together, each holding a black bird

with a green head. Beaker was a good tracker, al-

most as good as Garth, but this was his specialty;

the training and deployment of his messenger birds.

Jodi: sleepy-eyed and deceptively quiet, this pale,

ice-blonde child with evident aristocratic blood in

her veins was their mapmaker. Besides that skill,

she was a vicious knife fighter and as good with a

bow as Garth was poor with one. She rode a gray

mare with battlesteed blood in her; a beast impossi-

ble for anyone but her or Tarma to ride, who would

only allow a select few to handle her. Jodi sat her

as casually as some gentle palfrey—and with Jodi

in her saddle, the mare acted like one. Her only

fault was that she avoided situations where she

would have to command the way she would have

avoided fouled water.

w

OATHBREAKERS

And Kyra: peasant blood and peasant stock, she'd

trained herself in tracking, bow and knife, and hard

riding, intending to be something other than some

stodgy fanner's stolid wife. When the war came

grinding over her parents' fields and her family

had fled for their lives, she'd stayed. She'd coolly

sized up both sides and chosen Sursha's—then sized

up the mercenary Companies attached to Sursha's

army and decided which ones she wanted to ap-

proach.

She'd started first with the Hawks, though she

hadn't really thought she'd get in—or so she had

confessed to Tarma after being signed on. Little

had she guessed that Scout Pawell had coughed out

his life pinned to a tree three days earlier—and

that the Hawks had been down by two scouts before

that had happened. Tarma had interviewed her

and sent her to Sewen, who'd sent her to Idra—

who'd sent her back to Tarma with the curt order—

"Try her. If she survives, hire her." Tarma had

sent her on the same errand that had killed Pawell.

Kyra had returned. Since Pawell had had no rela-

tives, no leman and no shieldmate to claim his

belongings, Tarma gave her Pawell's dun horse,

Pawell's gear, and Pawell's tentmate. Kyra had

quickly acquired something Pawell hadn't—tentmate

had turned to shieldmate and lover.

The Scouts altogether approved, as Pawell had

been standoffish and his replacement was anything

but. The romance had amused and touched them.

Kyra had begun to bloom under the approval, to

think for herself, to make judgment calls. The Kyra

that had joined them would never have come to

Tarma with an old tale and a rumor; Kyra of "now"

had experience enough to know how important that

rumor could be, and enough guts to present the

information herself. She was Tarma's personal pick

to become a subcommander herself in a few years.

It was false dawn; one hour to real dawn, and

39

Mercedes Lackey

there was a hint that the sky was getting lighter.

No words were needed; they all knew what they

had to do. When Tarma rode gray Ironheart into

the waiting knot of Scouts and horses, those dis-

mounted swung back up into their saddles. Tarma

didn't even slacken her pace; all five of them left

the camp in proper diamond formation, as if they'd

rehearsed the whole maneuver. Tarma had point

(since as commander she was the only one of the

five with all the current passwords). Garth tail,

Jodi right and Kyra left—Beaker and his precious

birds rode protected in the middle.

They rode along the back of the string of encamp-

ments; dark tents against slowly graying sky to

their right, scrub forest and hills stark black against

the sky to their left. The camps were totally dark,

since just about everyone had encountered the same

troubles as the Hawks had with lights and fires in

the pouring rain.

They were challenged almost as soon as they left

their own camp; a foot-sentry, sodden, but alert.

He belonged to Staferd's Cold-drakes; this was the

edge of their camp. Tarma nodded to herself with

satisfaction at his readiness, and gave him the

countersign.

Then came a heavy encampment of regular in-

fantry, whose sentry hailed Warri, who was trot-

ting at Ironheart's flank, by name, and called out;

"You're recognized, Sunhawks. Pass on." Tarma

felt a little twitchy about that one, but couldn't

fault him. You challenged those whom you didn't

recognize; you could let known quantities by. And

there were no kyree in Kelcrag's forces.

At the next encampment—Duke Greyhame's

levy—they were physically challenged; a fully-armed

youth with an arrogant sneer on his lips, mounted

on a heavy, wild-eyed warhorse. He blocked their

path until Tarma gave an elaborate countersign.

Even then, he wouldn't clear the path entirely. He

40

OATHBREAKEBS

left only enough room for them to ride past in

single file, unless they wanted to desert the firm

ground and ride on the mushy banks. And he backed

off with some show of reluctance, and much in-

duced rearing and prancing of his gelding.

"Scoutmaster—"

Garth eased his horse alongside Tanna's and whis-

pered angrily to her:

"I'd like to feed that little son of a bitch his own

damned gauntlet!"

"Peace," Tarma said, "Let me handle this. Give

me rear for long enough to teach him a lesson."

Garth passed the word; wry grins appeared and

vanished in an instant, and the scout ranks opened

and closed so that Beaker had point and Tarma had

dropped back to tail. The scouts squeezed past the

arrogant sentry, one by one, Tarma the last. She

didn't move, only stared at him for a long moment,

letting Ironheart feel her ground and set her feet.

Then she dropped her hands, and signaled the

battlemare with her knees.

Black as a nightmare in the rain, the battlesteed

reared up to her full height—and stayed there, as

perfectly balanced as only a Shin'a'in trained

warsteed could be. Another invisible command from

Tarma, and she hopped forward on her hind hooves,

forefeet lashing out at the stranger-gelding, who,

not being the fool his rider was, cleared off the

path and up onto the mucky shoulder. Then Ironheart

settled to all four hooves again, but only for as long

as it took to get past the arrogant sentry. As Tarma

had figured he would, he spurred his beast down

onto the path again as soon as they got by. What-

ever he'd thought to do then didn't much matter.

As soon as he was right behind them and just out of

range of what was normally an attack move, Tarma

gave her mare a final signal that sent her leaping

into the air, lashing out with her rear hooves in a

wicked kick as she reached the top of her arc. Had

41

Mercedes Lackey

the boy been within range of those hooves, his face

would have been smashed in. As it was (as Tarma

had carefully calculated), the load of mud Ironheart

had picked up flicked oft her heels to splatter all

over him, his fancy panoply, and his considerably

cowed beast.

"Next time, boy," she called back over her shoul-

der, as her scouts snickered, "best know whose tail

it is you plan to twist, and be prepared for conse-

quences."

The edge of the camps was held by the free-

fighters—little clots of scum no good company would

take into itself. They were one of the reasons each

levy and company had its own set of sentries; poli-

tics was the other. Tarma didn't much understand

politics—scum, she knew. It had been a band of

this sort of flotsam that had wiped out her Clan-

But a sword was a sword, and Leamount was not

above paying them so long as someone he trusted

could keep an eye on them. That, thank the Warrior,

is not Idra's job^ Tarma thought to herself, wrin-

kling her nose at the stench of their huddle of

makeshift shelters. Unwashed bodies, rotting can-

vas, garbage, privy pits right in the camp—the mix

was hardly savory. Even the rain couldn't wash it

out of the air. They rode past this lot (too sodden

with drink or drug, or just too damn lazy to set one

of their own to sentry duty) without a challenge,

but with one hand on their knives and shortswords

at all times. There'd been trouble with this lot

before—and five were not too many for them to

consider mobbing if they thought it worth their

while.

Once out of the camps, they rearranged their

order. Now it was Kyra who had point, and Tarma

who took tail. This side of the mountains, danger

would be coming at them from the rear—Kelcrag's

scouts, sniffing around the edges of the Royalist

42

OATHBREAKERS

army. All of them had taken care long ago to re-

place metal harness pieces with leather where they

could, or even carved wood—anything that wouldn't

shine and wouldn't clink. The metal they had to

have was not brightwork; it was dulled and tar-

nished and left that way. Shin'a'in horses were

trained to neck and knee, so all they needed was a

soft halter with no bit. As for their own armor, or

lack of it, their best protection would be speed on a

mission like this—stay out of the way if you can,

and never close for a fight unless you have no

choice. So they saved themselves and their horses

the few extra pounds, and dressed for the weather.

not for battle. Tarma kept her short Shin'a'in horse-

bow strung and under her cape; if it came to a

fight, she would buy the rest time to string theirs.

Warri ranged all over their backtrail, keeping in

steady mindtouch with Tarma. He would buy them

yet more advance warning, if there was going to be

trouble.

But the trek west was quiet.

The storm gradually slackened to drizzle as the

sky grew lighter; the landscape was dreary, even

without the devastations of warfare all about them.

The hills were dead and brown, and lifeless; the

herds of sheep and gercattle that usually grazed

them had gone to feed one or both armies. The

scrub trees displayed black, leafless branches against

the gray sky, and the silence around them intensi-

fied the impression that this area was utterly de-

serted. Wet, rotting leaves left their own signature

on the breeze, a melancholy, bitter aroma more

tasted than smelled, that lingered in the back of the

throat. The track they followed was part rock, part

yellow mud, a thick, claylike stuff that clung to

hooves and squelched when it let go.

All five of them rode in that peculiar half-trance

of the scout on his way to something; not looking

for anything, not yet—not paying outward atten-

41