The spell Kethry had set in motion was still active; she whispered another question to the tiny air-entity she had summoned. This time the answer made her smile, albeit sadly.
'Your youngest brother, child, is making his way here afoot, having ridden his horse into foundering trying to reach you in time. He is swearing by every god that if you have been harmed he will not leave stone on stone here.'
Myria gave a tiny cry and buried her face in her hands; Katran moved to comfort her as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Kethry stood, and made her way into the other room. Need's magic was such that the girl would hold the blade until she no longer required its power. While it gave Kethry an expertise in swordwork a master would envy, it would do nothing to augment her magical abilities, so it was fine where it was. Right now there was a mystery to solve, and two lives hung in the balance until Kethry could puzzle it out.
As she surveyed the outer room, she wondered how Tarma was faring.
* * *
Tarma sat quietly beneath the window of a tiny, bare, rock-walled cell. In a few moments the light of the rising moon would penetrate it, first through the eastern window, then the skylight overhead. For now, the only light in the room was that of the oil-fed flame burning on the low table before her. There was something else on that table -- the long, coarse braids of Tarma's hair.
She had shorn those braids off herself at shoulderlength, then tied a silky black headband around her forehead to confine what remained. That had been the final touch to the costume she'd donned with an air of robing herself for some ceremony -- clothing that had long stayed untouched, carefully folded in the bottom of her pack. Black clothing; from low, soft boots to chainmail shirt, from headband to hose -- the stark, unrelieved black of a Shin'a'in Sword Sworn about to engage in ritual combat or on the trail of blood-feud.
Now she waited, patiently, seated cross-legged before the makeshift altar, to see if her preparations received an answer.
The moon rose behind her, the square of dim white light creeping slowly down the blank stone wall opposite her, until, at last, it touched the flame on the altar.
And without warning, without fanfare, She was there, standing between Tarma and the altar-place. Shin'a'in by Her golden skin and sharp features, clad identically to Tarma, only Her eyes revealed Her as something not human. Those eyes -- the spangled darkness of the sky at midnight, without white, iris or pupil -- could belong to only one being; the Shin'a'in Goddess of the South Wind, known only as the Star-Eyed, or the Warrior.
'Child, I answer.' Her voice was melodious.
'Lady.' Tarma bowed her head in homage.
'You have questions, child? No requests?'
'No requests, Star-Eyed. My fate -- does not interest me. I will live or die by my own skills. But Kethry's fate -- that I would know.'
'The future is not easy to map, child, not even for a goddess. I must tell you that tomorrow might bring your life or your death; both are equally likely.'
Tarma sighed. 'Then what of my she'enedra should it be the second path?'
The Warrior smiled, Tarma felt the smile like a caress. 'You are worthy, child; hear, then. If you fall tomorrow, your she'enedra, who is perhaps a bit more pragmatic than you, will work a spell that lifts both herself and the Lady Myria to a place leagues distant from here, while Warrl releases Hellsbane and Ironheart and drives them out the gates. I fear she allows you this combat only because she knows you regard it as touching your honor to hold by these outClan customs. If the choice were in her hands, you would all be far from here by now; you, she, the lady and her child and all -- well; she will abide by your choices. For the rest, when Kethry recovers from that spell they shall go to our people, to the Liha'irden; Lady Myria will find a mate to her liking there. Then, with some orphans of other Clans, they shall go forth and Tale'sedrin will ride the plains again, as Kethry promised you. The blade will release her, and pass to another's hands.'
Tarma sighed, and nodded. 'Then, Lady, I am content, whatever my fate tomorrow. I thank you.'
The Warrior smiled again; then between one heartbeat and the next, was gone.
Tarma left the flame to burn itself out, lay down upon the pallet that was the room's only other furnishing, and slept.
* * *
Sleep was the last thing on Kethry's mind.
She surveyed the room that had been Lord Corbie's; plain stone walls, three entrances, no windows. One of the entrances still had the bar across the door, the other two led to Myria's bower and to the hall outside. Plain stone floor, no hidden entrances there. She knew the blank wall held nothing either; the other side was the
