Kerowyn's Ride

Tarma considered that for a moment. I’d like to devote all my attention to her—but she needs some competition. “Depends,” she replied after a moment. “Depends on who the pupil is, and how much free rein I have with him. It is easier to teach two, and having someone else around will keep her on her toes. Competition will be damned good for her, especially if she thinks she’s having to compete for my attention. But I can’t have a brat taking my concentration away from her, and frankly, I won’t put up with a brat anymore.”

“I got a ‘begging’ letter from Megrarthon,” Kethry replied, watching Kero, and picking absently at a shiny bit of quartz embedded in the rock wall. “It arrived a couple of days ago, but I had to get up the nerve to ask you about Kero first.”

“So what’s the King of Rethwellan want with us?” Tarma asked, a little surprised. “Was it from ‘His Majesty the King, Megrarthon Jadrevalyn’ or my old student Jad? And did he mention his overhand?”

“From your old student, and he said the gout in that broken shoulder is just too bad; he’s never going to get the overhand swing back. Hopefully, he’ll never need it.” Kethry sighed; and Tarma knew why. The King’s letters had always been very open with both of them, and lately they’d been profoundly unhappy. Rethwellan politics were torturous at the best of times, and he was regretting that his father’s sword had ever spoken for him. Three state marriages, two of them loveless, had given him a surfeit of sons and daughters, and one of the sons was making life difficult for him. Tarma and Kethry were two of a scant handful of people he could be that open with; Tarma had changed his diapers more than once and had tutored him in the way of the sword, Keth had nursed him through his first love and subsequent broken heart.

Together they had helped put his father on the throne before he was a year old, which made them very old friends of the family.

“That middle son of his is being a—”

“Grek’ka’shen,” Tarma said in disgust, said carrion eater combining the worst aspects and habits of every scavenger known to the Shin’a’in. It ate things even vultures wouldn’t touch, it slept in a bed of rotting detritus from its foraging, and both sexes were known to eat their own young on a whim.

Kethry nodded. “So he’s written to you?”

“Not lately, but yes, I got a letter while I was down on the Plains. I just didn’t see any reason to depress you with it.” Tarma grimaced. “You know, sometimes I wonder if the reason the Rethwellan royal line has so much trouble is because of the wretched things they name their children.”

“That’s as good a theory as any,” Kethry replied, managing not to smile. The names Jad had given his boys were bad enough, but the eight girls’ names were worse, all full of historical significance and all as unpronounceable as kyree howls. Those awful names were an ongoing joke between the two of them. “Faramentha’s as bright and trustworthy a young man as you’d ever hope to see, and Karathanelan is making up for him by causing Jad three times the grief his older brother gave. His latest antic is to torment the youngest boy verbally until the youngster explodes and attacks him. Now the poor lad is getting a reputation for being a hothead and a bully, because Thanel is—”

“A handsome, languid vicious little fop, playing on the fact that he’s shorter and lighter than the other boy,” Tarma interrupted. “Remember, I’ve seen him, when I went back up with Faram to deliver him to Jad and see him made heir. That’s why I told Jad I wouldn’t have him here. At thirteen he’d already made up his mind that since he wasn’t the heir, he was going to sleep and charm his way to a crown. He probably will, too. Some little fool of a princess with a senile old father is going to fall for his pretty face, clever wit and graceful manners, and spend the rest of her life pregnant while he plays bed games with her ladies, torments her lap dogs, and spends her treasury dry.”

Kethry shook her head. “From everything Jad says, you’re right. I told him it was a mistake to let Irenia raise Thanel instead of fostering him out, and now the mistake is irreversible. Well, the long and the short is that he hopes he can find some place to send Thanel that will keep him out of mischief—but until he does, he needs to get the youngest out of Thanel’s reach.”

“Otherwise there’s going to be fratricide.” Tarma nodded. It was a logical solution, and rather elegant. Especially since it would get the hot-headed boy some much-needed discipline and training. “So he wants us to take the youngest. That’d be Darenthallis, right? Absolute baby of the bunch?”

“Right. He’s not mage-talented, so he’ll be yours.” Kethry tilted her head to one side. “Are you up to this?”

Tarma stretched, feeling every joint creak. “For Jad’s sake—and for the boy’s. From what Jad’s said, the youngster is a lot like Faram, which means he won’t be at all hard to teach. I understand that the boy does have a quick temper, which makes him an easy target for Thanel. I wouldn’t see any lad have to put up with that if I can help it. I don’t like bullies, and Thanel’s the worst kind of bully—a clever one. Although I must say, a lot of this is Jad’s own fault. He wouldn’t have gotten into this mess if he hadn’t been trying to compete with you in the number of offspring he could produce.”

Kethry smiled, the tension draining out of her. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, just one other possible problem. My granddaughter is not what I would call ‘unattractive,’ and she’s very probably not only a virgin, she has no idea of—”

Tarma grinned evilly; she knew what was coming, and she had no intention of letting Keth slough this job off on her. Especially not when she’d agreed to teach a second youngster all by herself. “Then you’d better tell her, hadn’t you? After all, you’re her grandmother. And you know very well when I start to make the two youngsters work together what’s going to happen.”