midafternoon, glimpses of the buildings and walls of Mornedealth could be seen above and through the trees.
It was a city made of the wood that was its staple in trade; weathered, silver-gray wooden palisades, wooden walls, wooden buildings; only the foundations of a building were ever made of stone. The outer wall that encircled it was a monument to man's ingenuity and Mornedealth's woodworkers; it was two stories tall, and as strong as any corresponding wall of stone. Granted, it would never survive being set afire, as would inevitably happen in a siege, but the wall had never been built with sieges in mind. It was intended to keep the beasts of the forest out of the city when the hardships of winter made their fear of man less than their hunger, and to keep the comings and goings of strangers limited to specific checkpoints. If an enemy penetrated this realm so far as to threaten Mornedealth, all was lost anyway, and there would be nothing for it but surrender.
Since the only city Tarma had ever spent any length of time in was Brether's Crossroads -- less than half the size of Mornedealth -- the Shin'a'in confessed to Kethry that she was suitably impressed by it long before they ever entered the gates.
'But you spent more than a year hunting down Gregoth and his band. Surely you -- '
'Don't remember much of that, she'enedra. It was a bit like being in a drug haze. I only really came awake when I was tr -- ' she suddenly recalled that Kethry knew nothing of her faceless trainers and what they were, and decided that discretion was in order. 'When I had to. To question someone, or to read a trail. The rest of the time, I might just as well not have been there, and I surely wasn't in any kind of mood for seeing sights.'
'No -- you wouldn't be. I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking at all.'
'Nothing to apologize for. Just tell me what I'm getting into here. You're the native; where are we going?'
Kethry reined in, a startled look on her face. 'I -- I've spent so much time thinking about Kavin and Wethes...'
'Li'sa'eer!' Tarma exclaimed in exasperation, pulling Kessira up beside her. 'Well, think about it now, dammit!' She kneed her mare slightly; Kessira obeyed the subtle signal and shouldered Rodi to one side until both of the beasts had gotten off onto the shoulder of the road, out of the way of traffic. There wasn't anybody in sight, but Tarma had had yuthi'so'coro -- road-courtesy -- hammered into her from the time she was old enough to sit a horse unaided. No Shin'a'in omitted road-courtesy while journeying, not even when among deadly enemies. And road- courtesy dictated that if you were going to sit and chat, you didn't block the progress of others while you were doing it.
'We'll have to use the Stranger's Gate,' Kethry said after long thought, staring at the point where the walls of Mornedealth began paralleling the road. 'That's no hardship, it's right on the Trade Road. But we'll have to register with the Gate Guard, give him our names, where we're from, where we're going, and our business here.'
'Warrior's Oath! What do they want, to write a book about us?' Tarma replied with impatience.
'Look, this is as much for our sakes as theirs. Would you want total strangers loose in your Clan territory?'
'Sa-hai. You're right. Not that strangers ever get past the Border, but you're right.'
'The trouble is, I daren't tell them what I really am, but I don't want to get caught in a complicated falsehood.'
'Now that's no problem,' Tarma nodded. 'We just tell him a careful mixture of the truth with enough lie in it to keep your enemies off the track. Then?'
'There are specific inns for travelers; we'll have to use one of them. They won't ask us to pay straight off, we'll have three days to find work and get our reckoning taken care of. After that, they confiscate everything we own except what we're wearing.'
Tarma snorted a little with contempt, which obviously surprised Kethry.
'I thought you'd throw a fit over the notion of someone taking Kessira.'
'I'd rather like to see them try. You've never seen her with a stranger. She's not a battle-steed, but nobody lays a finger on her without my permission. Let a stranger put one hand on her rein and he'll come away with a bloody stump. And while he's opening his mouth to yell about it, she'll be off down the street, headed for the nearest gate. If I were hurt and gave her the command to run for it, she'd carry me to the closest exit she could remember without any direction from me. And if she couldn't find one, she might well make one. No, I've no fear of anyone confiscating her. One touch, and they wouldn't want her. Besides, I have something I can leave in pledge -- I'd rather not lose it, but it's better than causing a scene.'
Tarma took off her leather glove, reached into the bottom of her saddlebag and felt for a knobby, silk- wrapped bundle. She brought the palm-sized package out and unwrapped it carefully, uncovering to the brilliant sunlight an amber necklace. It was made of round beads alternating with carved claws or teeth; it glowed on the brown silk draped over her hand like an ornament of hardened sunbeams.
'Osberg wore that!'
