She pushed Warrl's head off her lap and went to open the shutters to the room's one window. Moonlight flooded the room; she seated herself on the floor where it would fall on her, just as she did every night when there was a moon and she wasn't ill or injured. Since they were within the walls of a town and not camped, she would not train this night, but the Moonpaths were there, as always, waiting to be walked. She closed her eyes and found them. Walking them was, as she'd often told Kethry, impossible to describe.
When she returned to her body, Warrl was lying patiently at her back, waiting for her. She ruffled his fur with a grin, stood, stretched stiffened muscles, then stripped to a shift and climbed in beside Kethry. Warrl sighed with gratitude and took his usual spot at her feet.
* * *
The two mercenaries rode out of town in the morning, obviously eager to be gone. Grumio watched them leave, gazing sadly at the cloud of dust they raised, his houndlike face clearly displaying his disappointment. His fellow merchants were equally disappointed when he told them of his failure to persuade them; they had all hoped the women would be the solution to their problem.
After sundown Grumio took a cart and horse out to his farmstead, a saddled riding beast tied to the rear of it. After making certain that no one had followed him, he drove directly into the barn, and peered around in the hay- scented gloom. A fear crossed his mind that the women had tricked him, and had truly left that morning.
'Don't fret yourself, merchant,' said a gravelly voice just above his head. He jumped, his heart racing. 'We're here.'
A vague figure swung down from the loft; when it came close enough for him to make out features, he started at the sight of a buxom blonde wearing the swordswoman's clothing.
She grinned at his reaction. 'Which one am I? She didn't tell me. Blonde?'
He nodded, amazed.
'Malebait again. Good choice, no one would ever think I knew what a blade was for. Or that I ever thought of anything but men and clothing, not necessarily in that order. You don't want to see my partner.' Her voice was still in Tarma's gravelly tones; Grumio assumed that that was only so he'd recognize her. 'We don't want you to have to strain your acting ability tomorrow. Did you bring everything we asked for?'
'It's all here,' he replied, still not believing what his eyes were telling him. 'I weighted the boxes with sand and stones so that they won't seem empty.'
'You've got a good head on you, merchant,' Tarma saluted him as she unharnessed the horse. 'That's something I didn't think of. Best you leave now, though, before somebody comes looking for you.'
He jumped down off the wagon, taking the reins of his riding beast.
'And merchant -- ' she called as he rode off into the night, ' -- wish us luck.'
He didn't have to act the next morning, when a delicate and aristocratically frail lady of obvious noble birth accosted him in his shop, and ordered him (although it was framed as a request) to include her in his packtrain. In point of fact, had he not recognized the dress and fur cloak she was wearing, he would have taken her for a real aristo, one who, by some impossible coincidence, had taken the same notion into her head that the swordswoman had proposed as a ruse. This sylphlike, sleepy-eyed creature with her elaborately coiffed hair of platinum silk bore no resemblance at all to the very vibrant and earthy sorceress he'd hired.
And though he was partially prepared by having seen her briefly the night before, Tarma (posing as milady's maid) still gave him a shock. He saw why she called the disguise 'malebait' -- this amply endowed blonde was a walking invitation to impropriety, and nothing like the sexless Sworn One. All that remained of Tarma were the blue eyes, one of which winked cheerfully at him, to bring him out of his shock.
Grumio argued vehemently with the highborn dame for the better part of an hour, and all to no avail. Undaunted, he carried his expostulations out into the street, still trying to persuade her to change her mind even as the packtrain formed up in front of his shop. The entire town was privy to the argument by that time.
'Lady, I beg you -- reconsider!' he was saying anxiously. 'Wait for the King's Patrol. They have promised to return soon and in force, since the bandits have not ceased raiding us, and I'm morally certain they'll be willing to escort you.'
'My thanks for your concern, merchant,' she replied with a gentle and bored haughtiness, 'But I fear my business cannot wait till their return. Besides, what is there about me that could possibly tempt a bandit?'
Those whose ears were stretched to catch this conversation could easily sympathize with Grumio's silent -- but obvious -- plea to the gods for patience, as they noted the lady's jewels, fine garments, the weight of the cart holding her possessions, and the well-bred mares she and her maid rode.
