'He stole it from me. I took it back off his dead body. It was the last thing Dharin gave me. Our pledge-gift. I never found the knife I gave him.'
Kethry said nothing; Tarma regarded the necklace with a stony-cold expression that belied the ache in her heart, then rewrapped it and stowed it away. 'As I said, I'd rather not lose it, but losing it's better than causing a riot. Now how do we find work?'
'We'd be safest going to a Hiring Hall. They charge employers a fee to find people with special talents.'
'Well, that's us.'
'Of course, that's money we won't see. We could get better fees if we went out looking on our own, but it would probably take longer.'
'Hiring Hall; better the safe course.'
'I agree, but they're sure to notice at the gate that my accent is native. Would you mind doing the talking?'
Tarma managed a quirk of the lips that approximated a half-smile. 'All right, I'll do all the talking at the gate. Look stupid and sweet, and let them think you're my lover. Unless that could get us in trouble.'
Kethry shook her head. 'No, there's enough of that in Mornedealth. Virtually anything is allowed provided you're ready to pay for it.'
'And they call this civilization! Vai datha; let's get on with it.'
They turned their beasts once more onto the road, and within a candlemark were under scrutiny of the sentries on the walls. Tarma allowed a lazy, sardonic smile to cross her face. One thing she had to give them; these guards were well disciplined. No catcalls, no hails, no propositions to Kethry -- just a steady, measuring regard that weighed them and judged them unthreatening for the moment. These 'soft, city-bred' guards were quite impressive.
The Stranger's Gate was wide enough for three wagons to pass within, side by side, and had an ironwork portcullis as well as a pair of massive bleached-wood doors, all three now standing open. They clattered under the wall, through a woodenwalled tunnel about three horse-lengths deep. When they reached the other entrance, they found themselves stopped by a chain stretched across the inner side of the gate. One of the men standing sentry approached them and asked them (with short words, but courteous) to follow him to a tiny office built right into the wall. There was always a Gate Guard on duty here; the man behind the desk was, by the insignia pinned to his brown leather tunic, a captain. Kethry had told her partner as they approached the walls that those posted as Gate Guards tended to be high-ranking, and above the general cut of mercenary, because they had to be able to read and write. Their escort squeezed them inside the door, and returned to his own post. The Gate Guard was a middle- aged, lean, saturnine man who glanced up at them from behind his tiny desk, and without a word, pulled a ledger, quill and ink from underneath it.
The Gate Guard was of the same cut as the men on the walls; Tarma wondered if Kethry would be able to pass his careful scrutiny. It didn't look like he missed much. Certainly Kethry looked nothing like a Shin'a'in, so she'd have to be one damn convincing actress to get away with claiming a Shin'a'in Clanname.
Tarma stole a glance sideways at her partner and had to refrain from a hoarse chuckle. Kethry wore a bright, vapid smile, and was continuously fussing with the way her cloak draped and smoothing down her hair. She looked like a complete featherhead. No problem. The Guard would have very little doubt why the partner of a rather mannish swordswoman was claiming her Clanname!
At the Guard's brusque inquiry as to their names and business, Tarma replied as shortly, 'We're Shin'a'in mercenaries. Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Kethry shena Tale'sedrin. We're on our way back to the Dhorisha Plains; I've got inheritance coming from my Clan I need to claim. But we've run out of provisions; we're going to have to take some temporary work to restock.'
'Not much call for your kind on a temporary basis, Swordlady,' he replied with a certain gruff respect. 'Year contract or more, sure; Shin'a'in have a helluva reputation. You'd be able to get top wage as any kind of guard, guard-captain or trainer; but not temporary. Your pretty friend's in mage-robes; that just for show, or can she light a candle?'
'Ah, Keth's all right. Good enough to earn us some coin, just no horse-sense, he shala? She's worth the trouble taking care of, and for more reasons than one, bless her.'
'Eyah, and without you to keep the wolves away, a pretty bit like that'd get eaten alive in a week,' the Guard answered with a certain gleam of sympathy in his eyes. 'Had a shieldmate like that in my younger days, fancied himself a poet; didn't have sense enough to come in out of a storm. Caught himself a fever standing out in a blizzard, admiring it; died of it eventually -- well, that's the way of things. You being short of coin; tell you what, one professional to another -- you go find the Broken Sword, tell 'em Jervac sent you. And I hear tell the Hiring Hall over by the animal market was on the lookout for a mage on temp.'
'Will do -- luck on your blade, captain.'
'And on yours. Ah -- don't mount up; lead your beasts, that's the law inside the gates.'
As they led their mounts in the direction the Gate Guard had indicated, Kethry whispered, 'How much of that
