Oathbreaker

heard the arrival of Someone, by the quickening of all life around her, and the sudden surge of pure power.

She lowered her hands and her eyes, expecting to see one of Her Hands, the spirit-Kal'enedral that were the teachers of all living Kal'enedral --

-- to see that the radiant figure before her, glowing faintly within a nimbus of soft light, appeared to be leshya'e Kal'enedral, but was unveiled -- her body that of a young, almost sexless woman. A woman of the Shin'a'in, with golden skin, sharp features, and raven-black hair. A Swordsworn garbed and armed from head to toe in unrelieved black -- and whose eyes were the featureless darkness of a starry night sky, lacking pupil or iris.

The Star-Eyed Herself had answered to Tarma's calling, and was standing on the snow not five paces from her, a faint smile on Her lips at Tarma's start of surprise.

*My beloved jel'enedra, do you value yourself so little that you think I would not come to your summons? Especially when you call upon Me so seldom?* Her voice was as much inside Tarma's head as falling upon her ears, and it was so musical it went beyond song.

'Lady, I -- ' Tarma stammered,

*Peace, Sword of My forging. I know that your failure to call upon Me is not out of fear, but out of love; and out of the will to rely upon your own strength as much as you may. That is as it should be, for I desire that My children grow strong and wise and adult, and not weakly dependent upon a strength outside their own. And that is doubly true of My Kal'enedral, who serve as My Eyes and My Hands.*

Tarma gazed directly into those other-worldly eyes, into the deep and fathomless blackness flecked with tiny dancing diamond-points of light, and knew that she had been judged, and not found wanting.

'Bright Star -- I need advice,' she said, after a pause to collect her thoughts. 'As You know my mind and heart, You know I cannot weigh these strangers. I want to help them, I want to trust them -- but how much of that is because my oath-sister comes to their calling? How much do I deceive myself to please her?'

The warm wind stirred the black silk of Her hair as She turned those depthless eyes to gaze at some point beyond Tarma's shoulder for a moment. Then She smiled.

*I think, jel'enedra, that your answer comes on its own feet, two and four.*

Two feet could mean Kethry -- but four? Warrl?

Snow crunched behind Tarma, but she did not remove her gaze from the Warrior's shining face. Only when the newcomers had arrived to stand shoulder to shoulder with her did she glance at them out of the tail of her eye.

And froze with shock.

On her right stood -- or rather, knelt, since he fell immediately to one knee, and bowed his head -- the Herald, Roald, his white cloak flaring behind him in Her wind like great wings of snow. On Tarma's left was the strange, blue-eyed horse.

Tarma felt her breath catch in her throat with surprise, but this was only to be the beginning of her astonishment. The horse continued to pace slowly forward, and as he did so, he almost seemed to blur and shimmer, much as Tarma's spirit-teachers sometimes did -- as if he were, as they were, not entirely of this world. Then he stopped, and stood quietly when the Warrior laid Her hand gently upon his neck. He gleamed with all the soft radiance of the hidden moon, plainly surrounded by an aura of light that was dimmer, but not at all unlike Hers.

*Rise, Chosen; it is not in Me to be pleased with subservience,* She said to the Herald, who obeyed Her at once, rising to stand silently and worshipfiilly at Tarma's shoulder. *Vai datha -- so, young princeling, your land forges white Swords that fit the same sheath as My black, eh? * She laughed, soundlessly, looking from Roald to Tarma and back again. *Such a pretty pair you make, like moon and cloud, day and night, bright and dark. How an artist would die for such a sight! Two such opposites -- and yet so much the same!*

It was only then that Tarma saw that the white clothing she had been wearing had been transmuted to the Warrior's own ebony, as was proper for Kal'enedral.

*And you. My gentle Child* She continued, ca-ressing the white horse's shining neck, *are Ushya'e Kal'enedral of another sort, hmm? Like My Hands, and unlike. Perhaps to complete the set I should see if any of My Children would become as you. What think you, should there be sable Companions to match the silver?* The look the horse -- no, Companion -- bent upon Her was one of reproach. She laughed again.

*Not? Well, it was but a thought. But this is well met, and well met again! This is a good land, yours. It deserves good servants, strong defenders -- vigilant champions to guard it and hold it safe as My Hands hold Mine. Do we not all serve to drive back the Dark, each in his own fashion? So I cry -- well met. Children of My Other Self!*

She turned that steady regard back to Tarma. *Are you answered. My cautious one? *