“What did it say?” Kero asked, aware of—something—in the back of her mind. A testing—but distracted by what her grandmother had just said. Granddaughters? Daughters? I thought Mother—
“Woman’s Need calls me, as Woman’s Need made me. Her Need will I answer as my maker bade me.” Kethry tilted her head sideways to fix Kero with a penetrating stare. “This is my sword Need, Granddaughter—the sword I wore for most of my life. Your sword, now; for well or ill, you’re bound to her like you’ll never be bound to another living thing, man or woman. But I don’t think you’ll rue the bargain.”
Kerowyn almost dropped the sword in her surprise. This was Kethry’s famous blade? Even she had heard stories about this sword. “B-b-but I don’t know how to—”
“You won’t have to,” Kethry said confidently. “She’ll take care of you. At least in this instance she will—well, you’ll see.”
Kero managed to stop gaping and slid the sheath onto her belt, removing the old blade she’d taken from Lordan’s armory. “Grandmother,” she said slowly, looking from the sword to Kethry and back again. “A few moments ago you wanted me to go back home. Now you’ve given me this—and you’re all but throwing me after those raiders. Why?”
Kethry clasped her hands behind her, and stepped back a few paces, looking Kero up and down with a distinctly satisfied expression. “I was testing you,” she said calmly. “What you’re about to do is going to change your life forever. Oh, don’t look so skeptical; I know what I’m talking about. It will. And the road you’re about to take is not for the fainthearted. But you seem to be made of stronger stuff than poor Lenore.” Kethry nodded, slowly. “Yes indeed. I think you’ll do.”
What happened?
One moment, Kero was standing in the middle of Kethry’s Tower, staring at her grandmother. Then there was a moment of dizziness, as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her, and she found herself here, at the foot of the stairs.
She blinked, and the moonlit meadow wavered a little in front of her eyes. Dizzy—blessed Trine—She staggered two steps forward, her hand outstretched in front of her, stopping herself on Verenna’s shoulder. The mare snorted in alarm and jumped, as if she hadn’t known Kero was there until that moment.
The dizziness vanished. She looked up suddenly, only to see the light in the Tower blink out, leaving it entirely dark.
“Gods.” She stared up at the Tower, but could make nothing out in the shadows—and something told her that if she climbed all the way back up again, she could pound her fists bloody on that door and never raise a soul. She’d gotten all the answer she was going to get, at least for now.
She looked back down at the sword hanging from her belt. It was not the one she’d gotten from the Keep. It was the one she remembered her grandmother giving her.
She stroked the mare’s neck to calm her. “I think I’ve been dismissed, Verenna,” she said quietly. “I didn’t get the answer I came for—”
But maybe I got a better one, she thought slowly. And at any rate, it’s the only one I’m going to get.
She clenched her jaw, and mounted before she could turn coward. “Come on, girl,” she said to the mare, turning her back down the trail, the way they had come. “We’ve got a hard ride in front of us.”
Tarma shena Tale’sedrin, Kal’enedral warrior of the Shin’a’in Clan of the Hawk, urged her tall gray warsteed a little faster up the backtrail to Kethry’s Tower. The mare snorted an objection as she moved from an amble into a running walk; she didn’t like taking the back way at night, and she didn’t like to be rushed at the end of a journey.
“You’re going to like what’s coming up even less, old girl,” Tarma told the mare, patting her coarse-coated neck. “You only think you’re getting a warm stable and a rest. I’m afraid we’re going to be turning right back around as soon as we find out what my partner’s planning.”
:So you’re going to follow the girl?: asked a rough voice as familiar to her as her own in the back of her mind, a voice carrying overtones of approval. :Good. I like her; I’d have followed her alone if you’d refused. She has courage.:
“Oh, that, certainly. Lots of guts, not too many brains, but that’s the way of things when you’re young,” Tarma retorted to the shaggy, calf-sized beast trotting along with its head level with her stirrup.
The kyree turned its lupine head up so that his great glowing eyes met hers, and blinked. :Exactly. Reminds me very much of a certain barbarian Shin’a’in I knew many years ago.:
“Barbarian?” Tarma exclaimed, as her mare’s ears swiveled back with surprise. “Who’s calling who a barbarian? You’re the one who eats his meat raw. And fish-blessed Goddess, that’s a vile thought.”
:Cooking ruins the flavor,: Warrl replied haughtily. :Some of the most civilized beings in the world eat their fish raw.:
“Dear Goddess. No wonder they die young. Yes, I’m going after her. I just want to find out what Keth has in mind for both of us.” Tarma reminded her mare with a touch of her heels that she was supposed to be trotting. The mare grunted, and grudgingly increased her speed. “Have you picked up anything more from Keth’s mage-alerts down on the Keep?”
:No.: Warrl, creature of the magic-riddled Pelagir Hills, had some mage-abilities of his own; how much, he’d never told Tarma or her partner. He’d been able to throw off magical attacks in the past that would have killed a man. He’d once managed to feign death, pull Tarma out of a demon-sent trance, and smell the presence of mage-energy. He was also able to speak mind-to-mind with Tarma—which meant, she assumed, that he could do so with anyone he chose.
She’d been quite grateful for those abilities in the past, and never more so than tonight. She’d actually been within a couple of leagues of the Tower, returning from her annual visit to Clan Tale’sedrin, when Warrl had sensed the alarms Kethry had placed on the Keep sounding a danger-signal. They’d pushed their pace, knowing Keth was going to need them—only to have Warrl sense the girl riding hell-for-leather straight for the Tower herself. He knew her, of course; he knew all of Kethry’s children and grandchildren, whether or not they knew him. He’d played spy for Kethry often enough; Rathgar didn’t know of the kyree’s existence, and what he didn’t know about, he couldn’t forbid. Ward’s excursions to the Keep were often the only things that kept Kethry from violating her sworn word.
They’d stopped Kerowyn easily enough; even a Shin’a’in-bred horse didn’t readily pass something as large and carnivorous as a kyree. Tarma had played a part then; testing her while she and Warrl extracted information from the girl’s words and mind. Tarma had sensed the despair in her voice, the fear she had been trying to cover with bravado.
Poor child, the Shin’a’in thought, wishing she was already guarding the “child’s” back. Wishing she’d dared to be sympathetic. She wasn’t ready for this.