she'd inflicted on her body by neglecting it. Tarma had her badly worried lately with all the cosseting she'd been doing -- like she was trying to keep Kethry wrapped safely in lambswool all the time -- but at this moment Kethry was rather glad to have the cosseting. In fact, it was at moments like this that she valued Tarma's untiring affection and aid the most.
'What, and ruin our disguises?' she retorted with a little more life.
'There's nothing at all out of the ordinary in an attentive maid helping her poor, sick mistress to eat. They already think there's something wrong with you. Half of them think you're ill, the other half think you're in a drug- daze,' Tarma replied. 'They all think you've got nothing between your ears but air.'
Kethry capitulated, picked up her dinner, and forced it down, grit and all.
'Now,' Tarma said, when they'd both finished eating. 'I know you've spotted a suspect, I can tell by the way you're watching the guards. Tell me which one it is; I'd be very interested to see if it's the same one I've got my eye on.'
'It's the one with the mouse-brown hair and ratty face that rode tail-guard this morning.'
Tarma's eyes widened a little, but she gave no other sign of surprise. 'Did you say brown hair? And a ratty face? Tailguard this morning had black hair and a pouty, babyish look to him.'
Kethry revived a bit more. 'Really? Are you talking about the one walking between us and their fire right now? The one with all the jewelry? And does he seem to be someone you know very vaguely?'
'Yes. One of the hired swords with the horsetraders my Clan used to deal with -- I think his name was Tedric. Why?'
Kethry unbuckled a small ornamental dagger from her belt and passed it to Tarma with exaggerated care. Tarma claimed it with the same caution, caution that was quite justified, since the 'dagger' was in reality Kethry's sword Need, no matter what shape it wore at the moment. Beneath the illusion, it still retained its original mass and weight.
'Now look at him.'
Tarma cast a surreptitious glance at the guard again, and her lips tightened. Even when it was done by magic, she didn't like being tricked. 'Mousebrown hair and a ratty face,' she said. 'He changed.' She returned the blade to Kethry.
'And now?' Kethry asked, when Need was safely back on her belt.
'Now that's odd,' Tarma said thoughtfully. 'If he's using an illusion, he should have gone back to the way he looked before, but he didn't. He's still mousy and ratty, but my eyes feel funny -- like something's pulling at them -- and he's blurred a bit around the edges. It's almost as if his face was trying to look different from what I'm seeing.'
'Uh-huh. Mind-magic,' Kethry said, with satisfaction. 'So that's why I wasn't able to detect any spells! It's not a true illusion like I'm holding on us. They practice mind-magic a lot more up north in Valdemar -- I think I must have told you about it at some time or other. I'm only marginally familiar with the way it works, since it doesn't operate quite like what I've learned. If what I've been told is true, his mind is telling your mind that you know him, and letting your memory supply an acceptable face. He could very well look like a different person to everyone in the caravan, but since he always looks familiar, any of them would be willing to vouch for him.'
'Which is how he keeps sneaking into the packtrains. He looks different each time, since no one is likely to 'see' a man they know is dead. Very clever. You say this isn't a spell?'
'Mind-magic depends on inborn abilities to work; if you haven't got them, you can't learn it. It's unlike my magic, where it's useful to have the Gift, but not necessary. Was he the same one you were watching?'
'He is, indeed. So your True Sight spell works on this 'mind-magic' too?'
'Yes, thank the gods. I'm glad now I didn't rely on mage-sight; he would have fooled that. What tipped you off to him?'
'Nothing terribly obvious, just a lot of little things that weren't quite right for the ordinary guard he's pretending to be. His sword is a shade too expensive. His horse has been badly misused, but he's a gelding of very good lines; he's of much better breeding than a common guard should own. And lastly, he's wearing jewelry he can't afford.'
Kethry looked puzzled. 'Several of the other guards are wearing just as much. I thought most hired swords wore their savings.'
'So they do. Thing is, of the others, the only ones with as much or more are either the guard-chief, or ones wearing mostly brass and glass; showy, meant to impress village tarts, but worthless. His is all real, and the quality is high. Too damned high for the likes of him.'
'Now that we know who to watch, what do we do?'
