all neatly bound in knots and braids, and pondered the problem. the Sisterhood was a peculiar group; part temple, part militia, part mage-school.
Any female was welcome here, provided she was prepared to work and learn some useful life-task at the same time. Worship was given to the Twins; two sets of gods and goddesses, Kerenal and Dina, Karanel and Dara; Healer, Crafter, Fighter, and Hunter. Shirkers were summarily shown the door-and women who had achieved self- sufficiency were encouraged to make their way in the outside world, although they could, of course, remain with the Sisterhood and contribute some or all of their income or skills to the upkeep of the enclave.
All this information flashed into Elspeth's mind in an eyeblink, as if she had always known it. those girls with Mage-Talent were taught the use of it; those who wished to follow the way of the blade learned all the skills to make them crack mercenaries. those who learned neither supported the group by learning and practicing a craft or in Healing-either herb and knife Healing, or Healing with their Gifts-or, very rarely, taking their place among the few true Priests of the Twins at the temple within the Sisterhood complex. the creations of the crafters in that third group-and those mages who chose to remain with the enclave-supported it, through sales and hire-outs. the Sisters were a diverse group, and that diversity had been allowed for. Only one requirement was absolute. While she was with the Sisterhood, a woman must remain celibate.
That had never been a problem for the woman whose soul now resided in the blade called 'Need.'
Interesting, though-in all her studies, Elspeth had never come across anything about the 'Twins' or the 'Sisterhood of Sword and Spell.' Not that she had covered the lore of every land in the world, but the library in Haven was a good one-there had been information there on any obscure cults.
On the other hand, there had been nothing in any of those books about the Cold Ones, and Elspeth had pretty direct experience of their existence.
She'd never found any man whose attractions outweighed the fascination of combining mage-craft with smithery. Of course, she thought humorously, the kind of man attracted to a woman with a face like a horse and biceps rivaling his own was generally not the sort she wanted to waste any time on.
She sighed and returned to her forge.
The scene changed again, this time to a roadway running -through thick forest, from a horse-back vantage point. The trees were enormous, much larger than any Elspeth had ever seen before; so large that five or six men could scarcely have circled the trunks with their arms. Of course, she had never seen the Pelagiris Forest; stories picked up from mercs along the way, assuming those weren't exaggerated, had hinted of something like this. the Fair was no longer exciting, merely tiring. She was glad to be going home.
But suddenly, amid the ever-present pine scent, a whiff of acrid smoke drifted to her nose-causing instant alarm. there shouldn't have been any fires burning with enough smoke to be scented out here. Campfires were not permitted, and none of the fires of the Sisterhood produced much smoke.
A cold fear filled her. She spurred her old horse which shuffled into a startled canter, rolling its eyes when it scented the smoke. the closer she went, the thicker the smoke became.
She rode into the clearing holding the Sisterhood to face a scene of carnage.
Elspeth was all too familiar with scenes of carnage, but this was the equal of anything she'd seen during the conflicts with Hardorn. Bodies, systematically looted bodies, lay everywhere, not all of them female, none of them alive. The buildings were smoking ruins, burned to blackened skeletons.
Shock made her numb; disbelief froze her in her saddle. Under it all, the single question-why? The Sisterhood wasn't wealthy, everyone knew that-and while no one lives without making a few rivals or enemies, there were none that she knew of that would have wanted to destroy them so completely. they held no secrets, not even the making of the mage-blades was a secret.
Anyone could do it who was both smith and mage, and willing to spend one month per spell on a single sword.
Why had this happened? And as importantly, who had done it? that was when Vena came running, weeping, out of the forest; face smudged with ash and smoke, tear-streaked, clothing and hair full of pine needles and bark.
Again the scene changed, to the forge she had seen before, but this time there was little in the way of walls or ceiling left. And again, knowledge flooded her.
Vena had been out in the forest when the attack occurred. She had managed to scale one of the smaller trees and hide among the branches to observe. Now they both knew the answer to her questions.
'Who' was the Wizard Heshain, a mage-lord who had never before shown any notice of the Sisterhood. Vena had described the badges on shields and livery of the large, well-armed force that had invaded the peaceful enclave, and she had recognized Heshain's device.
'Why?
His men had systematically sought out and killed every fighter, every craftswoman, every fighter apprentice. There had been mages with them who had eliminated every adult mage.
