'Whew.' Tarma supported herself on the wall of the snowfort with both arms, and looked over at Kethry, panting. Her eyes were shining, and the grin she was still wearing reached and warmed them. 'Gods, did we have that much energy at that age?'
'Damned if I remember. I'm just pleased I managed to keep up with them. Lady bless, I'd never have believed you could get this overheated in midwinter!'
'You had it easy. I was the one who had to keep leading the charges.'
'So that's why you let me take you out so easily!' Kethry teased. 'Shame on you, being in that poor a shape! You know, I rather liked that Snow Demon touch -- I was a little uneasy with Jininan's rhetoric.'
'Can't teach a child too early that there are folks that will use him. I just about had a foal when I found out there weren't any granny-stories up here on those lines. We Shin'a'in must have at least a dozen about the youngling who takes things on face value and gets eaten for his stupidity. Come to think of it, the Snow Demon is one of them. He ate about half a Clan before he was through.'
'Nasty story!' Kethry helped Tarma beat some of the snow out of her clothing, and the powdery stuff sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight as it drifted down. 'Was there such a creature, really? And was that what it did?'
'There was. And it did. It showed up in an unusually cold winter one year -- oh, about four generations ago. A Kal'enedral finally took it out -- one of my teachers, to tell the truth. Mutual kill, very dramatic -- also, he tells me, damned painful. I'll croak you the song sometime. Tonight, if you like.'
Kethry raised an eyebrow in surprise. That meant Tarma was in an extraordinarily good mood. While time had brought a certain amount of healing to the ruined voice that had once been the pride of her Clan, Tarma's singing was still not something she paraded in public. Her voice was still harsh, and the tonalities were peculiar. She sometimes sounded to Kethry like someone who had been breathing smoke for forty-odd years. She was very sensitive about it and didn't offer to sing very often.
'What brought this on?' Kethry asked, as they crunched through the half-trampled snow, heading back to their double room in the Hawks' barracks. 'You're seeming more than usually pleased with yourself.'
Tarma grinned. 'Partly this afternoon.'
Kethry nodded, understanding. Tarma adored children -- which often surprised the boots off their parents. More, she was very good with them. And children universally loved her and her never-ending patience with them. She would play with them, tell them stories, listen to their woes -- if she hadn't been Kal'enedral, she'd have made an excellent mother. As it was, she was the willing child tender for any woman in Hawksnest who had ties to the company.
When she had time. Which, between drill and teaching duties, wasn't nearly as often as she liked. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kethry was rather looking forward to the nebulous day when she and Tarma would retire to start their schools. Because then, Tarma would have younglings of her own -- by way of Kethry. More, she would have the children that would form the core of her resurrected Clan.
And bringing Tale'sedrin back to life would make Tarma happy enough that the smile she wore too seldom might become a permanent part of her expression.
'So -- what's the other part?' Kethry asked, shaking herself out of her woolgathering when she nearly tripped on a clump of snow.
Tarma snickered, eyes narrowed against the snow-glare and the westering sunlight. Her tone and her expression were both malicious. 'Leslac's cooling his heels in the jail as of last night.'
'Oh, really?' Kethry was delighted. 'What happened?'
'Let's wait till we get inside; it's a long story.'
Since they were only a few steps from the entrance to their granite-walled barracks, Kethry was willing to wait. As officers, they could have taken more opulent quarters, but frankly, they didn't really want them. Tarma hardly had any need for privacy; Kethry had yet to find anyone in or out of the Hawks that she wanted to dally with on any regular basis. On the rare occasions where comradeship got physical, she was more than willing to rent a room in an inn overnight. So they shared the same kind of spartan quarters as the rest of the mercenaries; a plain double room on the first floor of the barracks. The walls were wood, paneled over the stone of the building, there were pegs for their weapons, and stands for their armor, a single wardrobe, two beds, one on each wall, and three chairs and a small table. That was about the extent of it. The only concession to their rank was a wood-fired stove: Tarma felt the winter cold too much otherwise. They had a few luxuries besides: thick fur coverlets and heavy wool blankets on the beds, some fine silver goblets, oil lamps and candles instead of rush-dips -- but no few of the fighters had those, paid for out of their earnings. Both of them felt that since they worked as closely as they did with their underlings, there was no sense in having quarters that made subordinates uncomfortable. And, truth to tell, neither of them would truly have felt at ease in more opulent surroundings.
They pulled off their snow-caked garments and changed quickly, hanging the old on pegs by the stove to dry. Kethry noted as she pulled on a soft, comfortable brown robe and breeches, that Tarma had donned black, and frowned. It was true that Kal'enedral only wore dark, muted colors -- but black was for ritual combat or bloodfeud.
Tarma didn't miss the frown, faint as it was. 'Don't get your hackles up; it's all I've got left -- everything else
