Kerowyn's Ride

things, and I like fighting practice,“ he said. “It’s like a dance, only better, because in court dances you spend an awful lot of time not moving much. But—I’ve never—actually killed anyone—”

“I have,” she said without thinking. “It’s not like in the ballads. It’s pretty awful.”

She felt him wince again. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he confessed. “I’m afraid that—I won’t be able to—” He swallowed audibly, then seemed to realize what she’d said. “You’ve killed someone?” he said, his voice rising again,

“Well, the sword did—”

“You’re that Kerowyn?” he squeaked. She couldn’t tell from his voice if he was pleased or appalled.

“I’m what Kerowyn?” she asked. “I didn’t know there were more of me.”

“The one the song’s about, the one that rescued the bride for—” he faltered, “—for her brother—with her grandmother’s magic sword.”

“I guess I must be,” she said wearily, “since there can’t be too many Kerowyns with magic swords around. The sword did most of it. It was more like it was the fighter, and I was the weapon.”

“If I’d known you were that Kerowyn,” he began. “I wouldn’t have—”

“You see?” she said through a clenched jaw. “Why should it have made any difference in the way you treated me? Deciding that someone’s serious just because they’ve had a bloody song written about them is a pretty poor way to make judgment calls, if you ask me. Grandmother and Tarma had plenty of songs written about them, and most of them were wrong.”

“It’s just—just that when I heard the song—I wished I could meet you,” he whispered. “I thought, that’s a girl that I could talk to, she doesn’t have any stupid ideas about honor, she just knows what’s right. And then she goes and does something about it.”

“Well, you’re talking to me now,” she replied sourly, hunching herself up against the bed of leaves, wishing she could find a position that hurt a little less.

“I guess I am.” Another long silence. “So what was it really like?”

“If I hadn’t been sweating every drop of water out of me, I’d have wet myself,” she told him bluntly. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”

Somehow it was easy to tell him everything, including things she hadn’t told her grandmother, the anger she’d felt at Rathgar for being so stupid as to die and leave them all without protection, the same anger at Lordan for being unable to take up the rescue himself. She didn’t cry, this time; she wasn’t even particularly saddened by the losses anymore. It might all have happened to someone else, a long time ago, and not to her at all.

He told her about his father, his brothers; quite a bit about Faram, not so much about Thanel. She guessed, though, from what little he did say that Thanel was a troublemaker, a coward, and a sneak. The worst possible combination. Fortunately, their father seemed well aware of that; Kero just hoped he’d considered the possibility that Thanel might well try to arrange for an “accident” to befall his older brother. Daren didn’t say anything about that, and Kero decided that it wasn’t her business to bring it up.

They dozed off sometime during the night; for Kero it was an uneasy sleep, she woke every time he moved, and every time one of her bruises twinged. And it was hard to sleep when her stomach kept gnawing at her backbone. When the sky began to lighten, she just stayed awake. The moment it was bright enough to see, she nudged him; he must have been as awake as she was, because he pulled the cloak off them without a single word, and they both crawled out of their shelter.

The rock they’d hidden under was no longer pig-shaped; it was a very familiar castle-shaped outcropping that Kero had seen a hundred times. They were no more than a few furlongs from the Tower.

Daren blinked stupidly at the rock; undoubtedly he recognized it, too, but he didn’t say anything. So far as Kero was concerned, this only confirmed her suspicion of last night, that Kethry had cast some kind of glamour over the area that wouldn’t lift until they cooperated.

Well, they were cooperating now.

She caught Daren’s eye; he nodded. They got themselves as straightened up as possible, then dragged themselves back to the Tower, figurative tails between their legs. Kero wasn’t sure what Daren was thinking—and saw no reason to try and find out—but she had to admit that they’d pretty much brought this whole mess on themselves.

And she had a shrewd guess as to what was going to be awaiting them.

She was right. Daren preceded her; he stopped for a moment behind the outcropping that hid the entrance,