"... so I've got a pair of pupils. Never thought I'd care for teaching, but I'm having a rare good time of it," Tarma concluded over fish stew and fried potatoes. "Of course it helps that Ikan and Justin are good-tempered about their mistakes, and they've got the proper attitude about learning swordwork."
"Which is?" Kethry asked, cheered to see a smile on Tarma's face for a change. A real smile, one of pleasure, not of irony.
"That inside that enclosure, I'm the only authority there is."
Kethry sniffed in derision; it was quiet enough in the back-wall corner they'd chosen that Tarma heard the sniff and grinned. "Modest, aren't you?" the mage teased.
She was feeling considerably better herself. No spies of Wethes or Kavin had leapt upon her during the day, and nothing that had occurred had brought back any bad memories. In point of fact she had frequently forgotten that she was in Mornedealth at all. All her apprehension now seemed rather pointless.
"No, seriously," Tarma replied to her japing. "That's the way it is; no matter what your relationship is outside the lessons, inside the lesson the master is The Master. The Master's word is law, and don't argue about the way you learned something before." Tarma wiped her plate clean with a last bit of bread, and settled back against the wall. "A lot of hire-swords don't understand that relationship -- especially if it's a woman standing in the Master's place -- but Ikan and Justin have had good teaching, and got it early enough to do some good. They're able, and they're serious, and they're going to come along fast."
"What if you wanted to learn something from one of them?" Kethry asked, idly turning a ring on her finger. "Wouldn't all this Master business cause problems?"
"No, because when I become the pupil, my teacher becomes the Master -- actually that's already happened. Just before we wrapped up for the day, I asked Justin to show me a desperation-counter he'd used on me earlier." Tarma sighed regretfully. "Wish you knew something of swordwork, Greeneyes -- that was a clever move he showed me. If you knew enough to appreciate it, I could go on about it for a candlemark. Could get you killed if you tried it without timing it exactly right, but if you did, it could save your getting spitted in a situation I couldn't see any way out of."
Kethry shook her head. "I don't see how you keep things straight. Back at the School, we only had one Master for each pupil, so we didn't get mixed up in trying to learn two different styles of magery."
"But half of your weaponry as a hire-sword is flexibility. You've got to be able to learn anything from anybody," Tarma replied. "If you can't be flexible enough mentally to accept any number of Masters, you've no business trying to make your living with a blade, and that's all there is to say. How did your day go?"
"Enlightening." Kethry wore a fairly wry smile. She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above the hum of conversation that filled the room. "I never quite realized the extent to which polite feuding among the Fifty goes before I took this little job."
"Ah?" Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and washed down the last bite of bread and butter with a long pull on her mug.
"Well, I thought that business the fellow at the Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration -- until I started using mage-sight on some of the animals my client had picked out as possibles. A good half of them had been beglamoured, and I recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that's generally used by House mages around here. Some of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a nasty-brat sort of way -- like the pair of matched grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow."
"What would that have accomplished? A horse is a horse, no matter the color."
"Well, just imagine the young man's chagrin to be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig; in a procession, perhaps -- and then the glamour is lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to flap."
Tarma chuckled. "He'd lose a bit of face over it, not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would drive a maroon rig."
"You're heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are his House colors, and he hasn't much choice but to display them. He'd lose more than a little face over it; he wouldn't dare show himself with his rig in public until he got something so spectacular to pull it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and for a trick like that, he'd practically have to have hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of pride. By the way, that's my client you're calling an idiot, and he's paying quite well."
"In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do you think you'll be at this?"
"About a week, maybe two."
"Good; that will give my pupils their money's worth and get us back on the road in good time."
"I hope so," Kethry looked over her shoulder a little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness. "The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I'll be found out."
"I doubt it," Tarma took another long pull at her mug. "Who'd think to look for you here?"
* * * "She's where?" The incredulous voice echoed in the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.
"At one of the foreigner's inns; the Broken Sword. It's used mostly by mercenaries," Kavin replied, leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearlyempty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirming and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile furniture. "She isn't using her full name, and is claiming to be foreign herself."
"What's she doing there?" Wethes ran nervous fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then played with the gold letter opener from his desk set. "Has she any allies? I don't like the notion of going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There could be trouble, and more than money would cover."
"She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all I could tell, has earned the right to -- "
"That's trouble enough right there," Wethes interrupted.
Kavin's eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger at the banker's rudeness. "That is what you have a house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his equal, else she'd have a patron, and be spending the winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that, she's wandering about as an itinerant, doing nothing more taxing than checking horses for beglamouring. As to her allies, there's only one that matters. A Shin'a'in swordswoman."
"Shin'a'in? One of the sword-dancers? I don't like the sound of that."
"They seem," he continued, toying with a lock of his curly, pale gold hair, "to be lovers."
"I like that even less."
"Wethes, for all your bold maneuvering in the marketplace, you are a singularly cowardly man." Kavin put his imperiled glass safely on one of Wethes' highly-polished wooden tables, and smiled to himself when Wethes winced in anticipation of the ring its moist bottom would cause. He stood up and stretched lazily, consciously mirroring one of the banker's priceless marbles behind him; then smoothed his silk-velvet tunic back into its proper position. He smiled to himself again at the flash of greed in Wethes' eyes; the banker valued him as much for his decorative value as for his lineage. With Kavin as a guest, any party Wethes held was certain to attract a high number of Mornedealth's acknowledged beauties as well as the younger members of the Fifty. It was probably time again to grace one of the fat fool's parties with his presence, after all, he did owe him something. His forbearance in not negating their bargain when Kavin's brat-sister vanished deserved some reward.