Oathbreaker

'Peace upon you, lady.' The voice of the one astride the strange white beast was not that of a spirit; nor, when Tarma allowed a corner of herself to test the feel of him, was there any of the tingle she associated with magic. The man's voice was not hollow, as a spirit's normally sounded; it was warm, deep, and held a tinge of amusement. 'Your four-footed friend came looking for aid, and we heard his calling. I did not mean to startle you.'

Tarma's arms shook as she resheathed the blade. 'Goddess bless -- warn a body next time! You just about ate six thumbs of steel!'

'Again, your pardon, but we could not tell exactly where you were. Your presences seem rather ... blurred.'

'Never mind that,' Kethry interrupted from behind Tarma, her voice sharp. 'Who are you? What are you? Why should we trust you?'

The man did not seem to be taken aback by her words. 'You're wise not to take anything on appearance, lady. You don't know me -- but I do know you; I've talked to your friend mind-to-mind, and I know who you are and what you wish. You can trust me on three counts.' He and his horse moved in to stand nose to nose with Ironheart. Tarma saw with no little surprise that even in the fading light the beast's eyes were plainly a bright and startling blue. 'Firstly -- that you are no longer in Rethwellan; you crossed the Border some time back, and you are in Valdemar. The enemy on your backtrail will not be able to pass the Border, nor would I give you to him. Secondly, that the man you seek, Prince Stefansen, is Valdemar's most welcome guest, and I will be taking you to him as quickly as your tired beasts can manage. And thirdly, you can trust me because of my office.'

'Look -- we're tired, we don't know anything about your land, and our friend, who might, is not even half- conscious.'

So that was what was making Keth's voice sound like she was walking on glass.

'I seem to be making a mess of this,' the man replied ruefully. 'I am Roald. one of the Heralds of Valdemar. And you may believe your large, hairy friend there, that any Herald is to be trusted.'

:They are, mindmate,: Warrl confirmed. :With more than life. There is no such creature as a treacherous Herald.:

All right, Tarma thought, worn past exhaustion. We've got no chance out here -- and you've never been wrong before this, Purface.

'Lead on, Herald Roald,' she said aloud. And wearily hoped Warrl was right this time, too.

Eight

Tarma clasped her blue-gray pottery mug in both her hands and sniffed the spicy, rich aroma of the hot wine it contained a trifle warily. The stuff was too hot to drink; not that she minded. The heat of it had warmed the thick clay of the mug, and that, in turn, was warming her hands so that they no longer ached in each separate joint. And the heat gave her an excuse to be cautious about drinking it.

She blinked sleepily at the flames in the fireplace before her, trying to muster herself back up to full alertness. But she was feeling the heat seeping into her bones, and with the heat came relaxation. The fire cast dancing patterns of light and shadow up into the exposed rough-hewn beams of the square common room, and made the various trophies of horns and antlers hung on the polished wooden walls seem to move. She didn't want to stir, not at all, and that had the potential for danger.

She was wearing, bizarrely enough, some ofRoaId's spare clothing, all of her own too thoroughly soaked even to bother with. A Kal'enedral in white -- Warrior bless, now that's a strange thought. Roald was the only one of them near to her size; off his horse he was scarcely more than a couple of thumblengths taller than Tarma, and was just as rangy-thin. He was exceedingly handsome in a rugged way, with a heavy shock of dark blond hair, a neat little beard, and eyes as blue as his horse's.

I thought I'd never be warm again. She settled a little more down into her chair and the eiderdown they'd given her to wrap around herself, and blinked at the kyree stretched out between her and the flames. Warrl was fast asleep on the red-tiled hearth at her feet, having bolted a meal of three rabbits first. He trusts them. Especially Roald. Dare we?

Her chair was set just to one side of the fireplace, practically on the hearthstone. Directly across from her, Kethry was curled up in a second chair, wrapped in eiderdown, looking small and unwontediy serious. She'd been summarily stripped of her wet gear, the same as Tarma, but opted for one of Lady Mertis' soft green wool gowns. Jadrek had been spirited away as well, and regarbed in Stefansen's warmest-heavy brown wool breeches and tunic and knitted shirt.

If Roald hadn't come when he did -- Star-Eyed, we came perilously close to losing him. If I'd known he'd taken enough of that painkilling stuff to put him out like that --

Jadrek was pacing the floor beside the two chairs and within the arc of heat and light cast by the fire. He limped very badly -- walking slowly, haltingly, trying to shake the fog of his medicines from his head so that he could talk coherently again. He was moving so stiffly that Tarma hurt just watching him.