Kerowyn's Ride

Kero had a half-heartbeat of warning, a flash of something stirring, like some old woman grumbling in her sleep, just before the blade began exerting its full potential for pressure. She managed to keep it from taking her over entirely, but she could not keep it from disabling her.

It did its best to overwhelm her with a desire to run away from all this, to be out running free; a desire so urgent that had she not already fought one set of pitched battles with the sword, she’d have probably spurred Verenna after Daren, overtaken, and passed him. Now she knew these spurious impulses for what they were, and she met them with a will tempered like steel, and a stubborn pride that refused to give in to a piece of metal, however enchanted. She had just enough time to toss Verenna’s reins over her neck, ground-tying her, before the sword took over enough of her body that making Verenna bolt for the road was a possibility.

Then she sat, rigid and trembling, every muscle in her body warring with her will. It wasn’t even going to be possible to get back to the Tower and get help from Kethry—assuming Kethry, having spent years under the blade’s peculiar bondage, even could help. Damn you, she thought at the blade, as her body chilled; and Verenna shuddered, unable to understand what was wrong with her rider, but sensing something she didn’t at all like. Damn you, I know who and what I am, and what I want and even why I want it—and if a man I like isn’t going to be able to pressure me into changing that, no chunk of metal is going to be able to either!

Muscle by muscle, she won control of her body back. She closed her eyes, the better to be able to concentrate, and fought the thing, oblivious to everything around her.

Finally, candlemarks later, or so it seemed—though the sun hadn’t moved enough for one candlemark, much less the eight or nine it should have taken for the fight—she sat stiffly in her saddle, the master of her own body again. She waited warily for the sword to try again, as her breath and Verenna’s steamed in the cold—and she sensed that the sword would try again, unless she could devise some way of ending the struggle here and now.

She stripped off one glove and placed her half-frozen hand on the hilt. Listen to me, you, she thought at the blade, and sensed a kind of stillness, as if it was listening, however reluctantly. Listen to me, and believe me. If you don’t stop this nonsense and leave me alone, and let me make my own decisions, I’ll drop you down the nearest well. I mean it. Having a blade that will protect me from magickers may be convenient, but damn if I‘m going to lose control of my life in return!

She sensed a dull, sudden heat, like far-off anger.

Look, you know what I’ve been thinking! I agree with your purpose, dammit! I’m even perfectly willing to go along with this agenda of helping women in trouble! But I am, by all that’s holy, going to do so on my terms. And you’re going to have one hell of a time helping women from the bottom of a well if you don’t go along with this.

The anger vanished, replaced by surprise—and then, silence. She waited a moment longer, but the sword might as well have been a plain old steel blade at that point. Not that it felt lifeless—but she had a shrewd notion she’d made her point.

“Silence means assent,” she said out loud, and put her glove back on. Then, bending over and retrieving the reins, much to Verenna’s relief, she sent the mare back toward the Tower.

But the last thing she expected was to be met at the stable by Tarma.

The Shin’a’in took Verenna’s reins from her once she’d dismounted, and led the mare toward her stall, all without saying a word. Kero waited, wondering what was coming next. A reproach for not taking Daren up on his offer? That hardly seemed likely. But Tarma’s silence portended something.

Tarma tethered Verenna to the stall, but instead of unsaddling her at once, put a restraining hand over Kero’s.

“I’d have said this within the next couple of months,” she began, “But sending Daren back is just letting me say it sooner. You’re ready, little hawk. Think you’re up to losing the jesses?”

Kero blinked. “To go where?” she asked, after a moment of thought. “Knowing you, you have a plan for me.”

Tarma nodded, her ice-blue eyes warming a little. “Experience is going to be a better teacher than I am, from here on,” she said, “And I’ve been looking around for a place for you for the past couple of moons. As it happens, the son of a good friend of mine just took over a bonded Company. They’re called the Skybolts; they’re scout- skirmishers, like my old Company, the Sunhawks. Lerryn Twoblades is the Captain’s name; he’s got a reputation for honesty, fair dealing, and as much honor as anyone ever gives a merc credit for. He’ll have you, and gladly, if you want to go straight to a Company.”

“And if I don’t?” Kero asked, curious to know just what her options were.

Tarma shrugged. “You could go out on your own, and I have some referrals for the Jewel Merchants Guild caravans, but your skills would be better used in a Company like the Skybolts. You could go home, if you really want. You could go after Daren, you’re even dressed for that,“ she said wryly. “But it’s time for you to go—before you stop wanting to.”

Silence hung thick in the stable; even the horses sensed something was afoot, and weren’t making their usual noise. Finally, Kero nodded. “I thought this would happen in the spring, but I’m ready—or as ready as I’ll ever