"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 home, 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 happened, you can't undo it; you'd tell me that if the 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 partner 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-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, sitting 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.
"Beyond it?"
"Uh -- "
"Thought so." Tarma closed her eyes again in satisfaction. "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 backwards, 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 name, who was making a specialty of creating ballads 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 particularly, 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 trouble. 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. 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 mercenary guards were cosily holed up in their private quarters at the Broken Sword, with the winter months to while away. They certainly weren't stinting 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 descend 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."