Oathbreaker

'Very well, gentlemen, ladies -- ' he said after a moment of silence. 'All the pieces are on the game board. Shall we begin?'

* * *

It was Midsummer's Night, and folk in carnival garb thronged the streets. Among the mob of wildly costumed maskers, who would notice six hundred-odd more celebrants ?

Who would notice masks on a night of masking? Who would note six hundred-odd sets of phony weaponry among so many thousand tawdry pieces of junk like them? Who would take alarm from another merchant or peasant playing at Warrior?

Except that beneath the cheap gilding and pasted-on glass jewels, beneath the paper and the tinsel, the arms and armor of this lot was very real.

This was the night of all nights that the rebels had hoped to be able to use -- in part because of the ability to move freely, and in part because of one aspect in particular of the Midsummer's Night celebrations of Rethwellan. Though the folk of Petras were mostly long since severed from any direct ties to the farms that formed a good third of Rethwellan's wealth. Midsummer's Night was still the night which ensured the fertlity of the land. There would be reveling in the streets right up until the stroke of midnight -- but at midnight, the streets would be deserted. Every man and woman in Petras would be doing his or her level best to prove to the Goddess in Her aspect as Lover that the people of Rethwellan still worshiped Her in all the appropriate ways. This Midsummer's Night they would be trying especially hard, because over the past three months the priests of the city had been doing their best to encourage exactly that behavior tonight. Some of them had even unbent themselves enough to admit that -- on this one night -- perhaps it didn't altogether worry Her if your partner did not happen to be your lawfully wedded spouse. And that if one felt guilty after being infected with Her sacred desires and fulfilling same -- well, for a case of indulgence after Midsummer's Night, penances would be few and light, and forgiveness easily obtained.

For all but six hundred-odd, who would not be fulfilling Her desires as Lover, but as Avenger.

Tarma picked her way through the thinning crowds, still wearing her guise of Arton. It was that guise that was going to give the Hawks the entry to the Palace grounds. From all directions, she knew, the Hawks were converging on the Palace; she would be one of the last to arrive. Kethry was already in place, waiting to spring her trap-spells. If they didn't work, she would be in a position to guide Hawks to the mages to deal with them physically while she kept them occupied magically. If they did work, she would be a most welcome addition to their arsenal.

And just in case Char somehow slipped through their fingers -- Warrl?

:Here, mindmate.:

Got the horses in place?

Warrl's duty was to work with Horsemaster Tindel; the fastest of the Shin'a'in-bred mounts she'd sold Char the year before were to be saddled and kept at the ready, in a cul-de-sac just outside the Palace gate, with Warrl and Tindel guarding them. If Char got away rrom them, Tarma and the best riders among the Hawks would be hot on his heels --

:Saddled, bridled, and ready to ride.:

Good. Let's hope we don't have to use them.

:Devoutly.:

Tarma approached one of the side gates, that gave out onto a delivery area. Tonight the gate stood open for the convenience of servants, and the courtyard beyond was dark and deserted. And there was Kethry -- still in her own disguise, and looking angry enough to bite a board in two. Tarma altered her walk, swaying a little, as if drunk. She was carrying what looked like a jug loosely in her right hand. As it happened, it wasn't a jug; it was her sword, magicked with another illusion.

Kethry spotted her; Tarma put a little more of a stagger into her step.

'There you are, you beast! And drunk as a pig!' she shrilled, to the amusement of the two gate guards.

'J-janna?' Tarma slurred uncertainly, coming to a halt just before the gate.

'Of course it's Janna, you brute! You asked me to meet you here, you sot! I've been waiting for hours''

'Don't you believe her, Arton,' snickered the right-hand gate guard. 'She ain't been here more'n half a candlemark -- an' she showed up with a big blond lad on one arm, too. Reckon she's been playin' more'n one game tonight, eh?'

'You-damned-slutt' Tarma snarled, feigning that she had suddenly gone fighting-drunk. She advanced on Kethry, brandishing the jug. Kethry backed up until she was just inside the gate itself, giving every evidence of