And which was precisely what she was doing at this very moment.
Tarma was cuddling the happily cooing child in her black-clad arms, her expression a soft and warm one that few besides Kethry had ever seen. The hands that had killed so often, and without remorse, were holding the little one as gently as if he were made of down and spun glass. The harsh voice that had frightened many an errant fighter into instant obedience was crooning a monotonous lullaby.
While she watched, Tarma put the now-slumbering child back in his cradle; rose, stretching like a cat, then began heading for the fire. The two men at hearthside turned at the soft sound of her footstep, and smiled as one. She saw the smiles, and returned their grins with a good-natured shake of her head.
'And what are you two smirking about?' she asked, clasping her hands behind her and detouring slightly to stroll over to them, her lithe, thin body seeming almost to move fluidly, bonelessly.
'Trying to imagine you as a man, Darksib,' Roald teased, using the pet name he'd invented for her. 'Put a youngling around you, and you'd give yourself away in a breath.'
'Hah. I'm a better actor than that. But as to that,' she paused before them, crossed her arms, and frowned a little, 'you know, we really ought to be getting on with it. Raschar isn't sitting back, not likely. He's consolidating his power, you can bet on it. We had better be safely in place before he gets himself so ensconced on the throne that there'll be no dislodging him without an army.'
Kethry felt the last of her muscles emerge into wakefulness, and began uncoiling from her position in the hearth-comer.
'The sleeper awakes,' Roald noted.
'Not sleeper,' she corrected, imitating Tarma's long stretch. 'I've been listening while I was coming out of trance. And, loath though I am to leave, in agreement with Tarma. I'm at full power now; Tarma and Jadrek have recovered. It's time to go.'
She half expected Jadrek to protest, but he, too, nodded. 'If we don't go now,' he opined, gravely, 'Stefan won't have a kingdom to come back to. But I do have one excellent question -- this plan of ours calls for Tarma to replace the champion, and you can bet that Char won't let a Shin'a'in within a spear's cast of him now. So to truly ensure her safety, that means a full magical disguise. With all the mages in the Court, how are you going to hide the fact that Tarma's bespelled? They won't let anyone with a smell of magic on him compete with the King's champion, you know.'
Tarma raised an interrogative eyebrow at her.
'The thought had occurred to me, too,' she said. 'Every trial-by-combat that I've ever seen has specifically forbidden any kind of magic taint, even lucky amulets.'
'Well, I'll answer that in an hour,' Kethry replied.
'Why in an hour?'
'Because that's how long it will take me to try a full Adept manifestation, and see if it succeeds or fails.'
* * *
Kethry didn't want an audience, not for this. Not even Tarma. So she took one of the fur cloaks and went out into the snow-laden scrub forest until she found a little clearing that was far enough from the lodge that she couldn't see or sense the building or the people within it. The weather was beautiful; the air was utterly still, the sky a deepening blue, the sun beginning its downward journey into the west. There would be no better time than now.
A mage of the White Winds school was tested by no one except himself, with a series of spells marking the rise in ability from Apprentice to Journeyman, from Journeyman to Master, and from Master to Adept. A mage could attempt these spells whenever he chose, and as many times as he chose. They would only work when he was truly ready. The series was constructed so that the power granted by each was used to fuel the spell for the next.
