Kerowyn's Ride

So by hanging her on the wall, and not touching her, I kept her from getting the hold on me that she had on my grandmother. And probably everyone else that had her over the past however-many years.

So the soul-bond had been set in, but lightly. Had Kero been a magic-user, this could have been an unfortunate situation. It might even have been a disaster, depending on how much the magic-user in question was likely to depend on the sword’s ability to take over and provide fighting expertise. It was probably just as well that Kethry had been deeply soul-bonded to the thing, given some of the stories Kero had heard from her, and from Tarma.

But to protect Kero from magic, it simply needed to be in physical proxmity to her. Which meant it probably didn’t need to be bonded to her at all—

Except that it wants to know just who it’s fighting for. And it probably needs to have some kind of bond to make sure it can protect the bearer at all levels. But it’s got a light bond, so to protect me, now, it’s got everything it has to have.

It probably wasn’t going to like that, though. Given what Kethry told her about the way the sword had behaved in the past....

I’ll bet it’s going to fight me, trying to get what it wants. I’m not going to give in. Now, I wonder—should I give this thing up?

If I can....

Kethry had never said anything about the sword deciding to switch owners before the present owner was ready to lose it.

It could happen. All it would have to do would be to decide that it doesn’t want to protect me right at the moment some sorcerer has me targeted. Well, that was true enough—except that would also be violating the blade’s own purpose.

Given that it’s refused to work against some fairly nasty characters simply because they were female, I don’t think it’s likely to drop me in the middle of danger.

That still didn’t answer the question of whether or not she wanted to be rid of the thing.

I don’t think so. It’s too valuable. And—I don’t mind paying for that value with a little altruistic work now and again. Truth to tell, it’s something I’d probably do on my own anyway. The sword is just going to tell me when it needs to be done, and who needs help.

It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open, especially since there didn’t seem to be a good reason to stay awake any longer.

But as she drifted away into sleep, she couldn’t help but wonder just how much of a fight the sword was going to give her. And who was going to come out the victor.

The next four weeks were a constant reminder that a potent Shin’a’in curse was, “May your life be interesting.”

The moment she fell asleep at night, she dreamed. Vivid, colorful dreams of women in peril, in which she rode up, and put their peril to rout. Dreams of a life on the move, in which all innkeepers were friendly, all companions amusing, all weather perfect—in short, a life right out of the ballads.

Finally, on Warrl’s advice, she took the sword down off the wall, and unsheathed it. With it held in both her hands, she thought directly at it, unshielded.

I’m not thirteen, and you’re not going to gull me with hero-tales, she told it firmly. Save them for minstrels and little children.

Was it her imagination, or did she hear a sigh of disappointment as she hung the blade back up on the wall?

In any event, the dreams ended, only to be replaced by darkly realistic ones. Night after night, she was witness to all the evil that could be inflicted on women by men. Abuse and misuse, emotional and physical; rape, murder, torture. Evil working in subtler fashion; marriages that proved to be no more than legalized slavery, and the careful manipulation of a bright and sensitive mind until its owner truly believed with all her heart in her own worthlessness. Betrayal, not once, but many times over. All the hurts that could be inflicted when one person loved someone who in turn loved no one but himself.

This was hardly restful.

And during the day, any time she was not completely shielded, the sword manipulated her emotional state, making her restless, inflaming her with the desire to be out and on the move.

But she wasn’t ready, and she knew it. Even if the blade didn’t.