There were no flies in here. Nor any other insects. Curious...
When the mare was finished, Tarma guided her out backward, there being no room to turn her around; it seemed almost as if the bushes and vines were willing to let them inflict a limited amount of damage in order to reach the water, but resisted any more than that. And as soon as they were clear of the scent of the crushed vegetation, the flies descended on Hellsbane again.
An idea occurred to her; she backtracked to the bushes, and got a handful of the trampled leaves and rubbed them on the back of her hand. She waited for some sort of reaction; rash, burning, itching -- nothing happened. Satisfied that the vegetation at least wasn't harmful, she rubbed it into the mare's shaggy hide. It turned her a rather odd shade of gray-green, but the flies wouldn't even land on her.
Very pleased with herself, Tarma watered Ironheart and repeated the process on her. By the time she'd finished, the sun was well up, and she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She was going to have to get some rest, at least.
But that was another advantage of having battlesteeds.
She loosed Hellsbane and took her to the entrance of the circle. "Guard," she said, shortly. The mare immediately went into sentry-mode -- and it would take a determined attacker indeed to get past those iron-shod hooves and wicked teeth. Now all she needed to keep alert for was attack from above.
She propped herself up with their packs and saddles, and allowed herself to fall into a half-doze. It wasn't as restful as real sleep, but it would do.
When hunger finally made further rest impossible, it was getting on to sunset -- and Kethry was showing signs of breaking out of trance.
She'd carefully briefed Tarma on what she'd need to do; Tarma shook herself into full alertness, and rummaged in Kethry's pack for high-energy rations. Taking those and her waterskin, she sat on her heels just outside of the inscribed circle, and waited.
She didn't have to wait long; Kethry's eyes opened almost immediately, and she sagged forward with exhaustion, scarcely able to make the little dismissing motion that broke the magic shield about her. Tarma was across the circle the instant she'd done so, and supported her with one arm while she drank. Kethry looked totally exhausted; mentally as well as physically. She was pale as new milk, and scarcely had the energy to drink, much less speak. Tarma helped her to her feet, then half-carried her to the tiny campsite and her bedroll.
Kethry had no more than touched her head to her blankets than she was asleep. She slept for several hours, well past moonrise, then awoke again with the first appearance of the lights and noises that had so disturbed Tarma the night before.
"They seem to be harmless," Tarma began.
"They are. That's not what woke me," Kethry croaked from a raw throat. "It's coming -- what I called -- "
"What did you call, anyway?"
After a swallow or two of water, Kethry was better able to speak. "A kyree -- they're a little like wolves, only bigger; they also have some of the physical characteristics of the big grass-cats, retractile claws, that sort of thing. They're also like Gervase's folk; they're human-smart and have some gift for magic. They'd probably do quite well for themselves if they had hands instead of paws -- well, that's one reason why some of them are willing to become mage-familiars. Another is gender. Or lack of."
"Get'ke?"
"Kyree throw three kinds of cubs -- male, female, and neuter. The neuters really don't have much to do in pack-life, so they're more inclined to wander off and see the world."
Kethry broke off, staring over Tarma's shoulder. Tarma turned.
In the opening of the tree-circle where the road turned into the paved "court" was -- something. It looked lupine -- it had a wolf-type head, anyway. But it was so damn big!
Kethry pulled herself to her feet and half-stumbled to the entrance. "If you come in the Name of the Powers of Light, enter freely," she croaked, "If not, be you gone."
The thing bowed its head gravely, and padded into the circle. There it stood, looking first at Kethry, then at Tarma; deliberately, measuringly.
:I bond to you:, said a deep voice in the back of Tarma's head.
Once again she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Li'sa'eer!" she choked, backing a few paces away from the thing. "What?"
:I bond to you, warrior. We are alike, we two; both warriors for the Light, both -- celibate --: - The voice in her head had a feeling of amusement about the choice of the last word. :It is fit we be soul-bonded. Besides, Lady of Power --: he turned to look at Kethry, :-- you do not need me. You have the spirit-sword. But you --: he turned his huge eyes back to Tarma, :-- YOU need me.:
"She'enedra," Tarma said tightly, keeping a firm grip on her nerves, "What in hell am I supposed to do? He says he wants me!"
"Oh, my Lady Bright -- what a bloody mess! It could only happen to me! Give in," Kethry staggered to her bedroll and half-collapsed into it, laughing weakly. "A day and a night of spell-casting, and what happens? My familiar decides he'd rather bond to my partner! Lady Bright -- if it weren't so damned funny I think I'd kill you both!"
"But what am I supposed to do?"
:You could try talking to me.:
Tarma gulped, and approached the beast cautiously. It sat at its ease, tongue lolling out in a kind of grin. She could sense his amusement at her apprehension in the back of her mind. Curiously, that seemed to make her fear vanish.
"Well," she said at last, after several long moments of trying to think of something appropriate. "I'm Tarma."
:And I -- am Warrl.: The creature lay down on the pavement, and cocked its head to one side. Its -- no, his; it might have been a "neuter" but there was a distinctly masculine feeling to him -- his eyes caught the moonlight and reflected greenishly.
"I'm not quite sure what I should do about you," she confessed. "I mean I'm no mage -- what's the next move?"
:You might start by offering me something to eat,: Warrl said, :I've come a long way, and I'm hungry. Do I smell meat-bars?: There was something in his mental sending that was so like a child begging for a sweet that Tarma had to laugh.
"You do, my friend," she replied, rising to get one for him. "And if you like them as much as I dislike them, I have the feeling we're going to suit each other very well indeed!"
Six
They were fortunate; almost as soon as they emerged from the Pelagirs, they were able to find a short-term job as escorts. A scrawny, middleaged man sought them at their inn within hours of when they had posted themselves at the Mercenaries' Guild and paid their fees.
"You'll be providing protection for my new bride," their employer, an hereditary knight who didn't look capable of lifting his ancestral blade, much less using it, told Tarma. "I will be remaining here for a month or more to consolidate my interests with Darthela's father, but I wish her to make the journey to Fromish now, before winter weather sets in."