All the men I've known, she thought with a touch of wry humor, and all the men I've been courted by - boggles the mind. Mages, fighters -- some of them damned good looking. Good lord, if you were to count Thalhkarsh, I've even been propositioned by a godling! And who is it that attracts me like no one else ever has? A scholar half again my age, who I could probably break in half if I put my mind to it, with no recourse to Need required.
".,. Like all those weirdling things out of the Pelagirs," Roald finished, "Except that this thing seems impossible to kill."
"The Pelagirs'?" Jadrek exclaimed, perplexed. "But I thought you said this thing was seen north of Lake Evendim?"
"It was -- right in the heart of the Pelagir Hills."
"Wait a moment," Jadrek said, rummaging in the pile of clutter under his chair, and hunting up a piece of scraped vellum and a bit of charcoal. "All right -- here's the lake -- your Pelagirs are where?"
"Up here." The Herald took the charcoal from him and sketched.
"Huh." Jadrek studied the sketch thoughtfully. "We have a range of hills we call the Pelagirs, too -- here."
"Well! I will be dipped for a sheep -- "
"Fairly obvious, now that we have the information, isn't it?" Jadrek said with a grin. "Your Pelagirs and ours are the same; except that your inland sea cuts off the tail of the range, leaving it isolated from the rest up in your northwest corner. And now that I know that's true, I think I know what your 'man-beast' is, assuming I've got the description right. Four arms, twice man-height, face like a boar and taloned hands? No sign of genitals, nipples or navel, and the color of clay?"
"That's it."
"It's a krashak, a mage-made construct. Virtually immortal and indestructible."
"You can name it; can you tell us how to get rid of it?" Roald pleaded.
"Oddly enough, yes; it's a funny thing, but High Magick seems curiously vulnerable to Earth Magick, and with all the mages hanging about Char I took to looking for spellbreakers. It will take courage, but if you can get in close to the thing without it seizing you, and throw a mixture of salt, moly and Lady's Star into its eyes and mouth, it will literally fall apart." He coughed, coloring a little with embarrassment. "I know it sounds like a peasant superstition, but it does work. I found a mage I could trust, and asked him. Now I-I always carry some with me...."
Roald only looked impressed. "Havens, how long did you have to look before you found that out?"
Jadrek flushed, this time with pleasure. "Well, I got the first hint of it from a translation of Grindel's Discourses on Unnatural History."
"The Orwind translation, or the Quenta?"
"The Orwind...." Their voices sank again and Kethry lost the thread of their conversation. It didn't much matter; she was more interested in watching Jadrek in an unguarded mood. Oh, that mind! I don't think anything ever escapes him. And, for all that he's been treated badly, he so enjoys people -- such a vital spirit in that flawed body. He's so alive. And damn it, I -- Windbom, he makes me so shameless that I feel like a cat in heat around him. I want to purr and cuddle up against him -- gods, I am bloody well infatuated. If he so much as raised an eyebrow in invitation at me, I'd warm his bed in a minute!
Unfortunately, he seemed blissfully unaware of that fact, so far as she could tell. Oh well....
As for Tarma, from the moment she had re-entered the hall arm in arm with Roald, Stefansen and Mertis accepted her without reservation. And that meant that Mertis was only too happy to let her play nursemaid to little Megrarthon whenever she wished. Which was most of the time.
And which was precisely what she was doing at this very moment.
She's as happy as Jadrek, Kethry mused. For that matter, so is the baby. Just look at her --
Tarma was cuddling the happily cooing child in her black-clad arms, her expression a soft and warm one that few besides Kethry had ever seen. The hands that had killed so often, and without remorse, were holding the little one as gently as if he were made of down and spun glass. The harsh voice that had frightened many an errant fighter into instant obedience was crooning a monotonous lullaby.
She'd be happiest surrounded by a dozen small ones, or two or three dozen. And they know it; children know it, somehow. I've never seen one run from her, not even in the midst of a house-to-house battle. More often than not, they run to her. And rightly; she'd die to protect a child. When this is over -- when this is over, I swear we'll give this up. Win or lose, we'll refound her Clan for her, and to the nether hells with my school if that's what it takes. I'll spend the rest of my life as a hedge-wizard and Shin'a'in horsebreeaer if I have to.
While she watched, Tarma put the now-slumbering child back in his cradle; rose, stretching like a cat, then began heading for the fire. The two men at hearthside turned at the soft sound of her footstep, and smiled as one. She saw the smiles, and returned their grins with a good-natured shake of her head.
"And what are you two smirking about?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her and detouring slightly to stroll over to them, her lithe, thin body seeming almost to move fluidly, bonelessly.
The rest has done her good, too. She's in better shape than she's been in months -- years --
"Trying to imagine you as a man, Darksib," Roald teased, using the pet name he'd invented for her. "Put a youngling around you, and you'd give yourself away in a breath."
"Hah. I'm a better actor than that. But as to that," she paused before them, crossed her arms, and frowned a little, "you know, we really ought to be getting on with it. Raschar isn't sitting back, not likely. He's consolidating his power, you can bet on it. We had better be safely in place before he gets himself so ensconced on the throne that there'll be no dislodging him without an army."
Kethry felt the last of her muscles emerge into wakefulness, and began uncoiling from her position in the hearth-comer.
"The sleeper awakes," Roald noted.
"Not sleeper," she corrected, imitating Tarma's long stretch. "I've been listening while I was coming out of trance. And, loath though I am to leave, in agreement with Tarma. I'm at full power now; Tarma and Jadrek have recovered. It's time to go."
She half expected Jadrek to protest, but he, too, nodded. "If we don't go now," he opined, gravely, "Stefan won't have a kingdom to come back to. But I do have one excellent question -- this plan of ours calls for Tarma to replace the champion, and you can bet that Char won't let a Shin'a'in within a spear's cast of him now. So to truly ensure her safety, that means a full magical disguise. With all the mages in the Court, how are you going to hide the fact that Tarma's bespelled? They won't let anyone with a smell of magic on him compete with the King's champion, you know."
Tarma raised an interrogative eyebrow at her.
"The thought had occurred to me, too," she said. "Every trial-by-combat that I've ever seen has specifically forbidden any kind of magic taint, even lucky amulets."