Then she realized that this was different; strange, in a way she could not quite describe. This life-was ancient, heavy with years, and faded. She felt the experience as if through a series of muffling veils, each of which was a century.
Her name was Vena; she was once a novice of the Sisterhood of Spell and Sword. Now she was alone, except for the sword that had once been her teacher, the Mage-Smith Sister Lashan-and ahead of her was an impossible task.
A mage that Lashan identified as Wizard Heshain had come to the enclave of the Sisterhood with an army of men and lesser mages, capturing the Sisterhood's mage-novices and slaughtering everyone else.
Vena had escaped mostly by luck, and by hiding in the forest surrounding the enclave until they all left. She had thought she was completely alone until Sister Lashan had come riding up, returning from her yearly trip to the trade-markets where she sold her bespelled blades to weapons' brokers to profit the Sisterhood.
When she saw her teacher, she'd had no thought but to escape with her to somewhere safe. But Lashan had other ideas.
She had questioned Vena very carefully, probing past the girl's hysteria to extract every possible detail from her. Then she had sat in silence for a long, long time.
Her decision had not been the one that Vena had expected; to make their way to some other temple of the Twins, and seek shelter there, since it was plainly impossible for anyone to rescue the captured novices from such a powerful mage-lord. Sister Lashan had told her stunned apprentice that they-the two of them-were going to rescue their captive Sisters. She admitted that she did not know what he planned to do with the novices exactly-mostly because there were so many things he could do with a collection of variously mage-talented, untrained, mostly virginal young women. But all of the fates she outlined to her apprentice were horrible. Eventually, even Vena had to agree. They could not leave their Sisters in Heshain's hands.
Rescue was possible. Especially if rescue could come before the caravan reached Heshain's stronghold. But there was no time to gather another small army to rescue them, assuming that anyone could be found willing to commit themselves and their troops against a mage like Heshain.
That had left only Vena and Sister Lashan, who had decided, unbeknownst to her bewildered apprentice, that her old, worn-out human body was just not going to be up to the task. So instead, she had chosen a new one; a body of tempered steel. A sword ' to be precise; a bespelled blade, the kind she had been teaching Vena to make.
Vena was still not certain how Sister Lashan, who had ordered her to forget that name and call her 'Need' now, had ensorceled herself into the blade. She wasn't certain that she wanted to know. It had certainly involved the death of the mage herself, for she had found the Sister spitted on her own sword. She had thought that despair had overcome her mentor, and had been overwhelmed with grief-when the sword spoke into her mind.
Now she was on the trail of Heshain and his minions, armed with a blade she scarcely knew how to use, ill- provisioned, and without the faintest idea of what she was doing. And winter was coming on. In fact, since the trail led northward, she would be walking straight into the very teeth of winter.
But if she did not try to do something, no one would. She had no choice.
No choice at all.
All this, she knew in an instant, as if she had always known it. And then, she was no longer aware of Nyara-only of Vena. Only of a moment that was dim and distant, and yet, Now.
Vena crouched above the road, belly-down in the snow, and tried to think of nothing. there was no sign that Heshain had any thought-seekers among his men-but no sign that he didn't, either. Despite her wool and fur-lined clothing, she was aching with cold. It had been a very long time since she'd last dared to light a fire, and she couldn't remember when she'd last been warm.
She was hungry, too. the handful of nuts and dried berries she'd eaten had only sharpened her appetite. And down below her was everything she craved. Shelter, a roaring fire, hotfoodtrouble was, it was all in the hands of the enemy.
And the enemy wasn't likely to share.
She Felt Sister Lashan-or rather, Need-studying the situation through her eyes. She wasn't certain how Need felt about it, but it looked pretty hopeless from here. the group that had captured the novices seemed to have divided up. This was the hindmost bunch, and the girls they guarded seemed to be the ones in the worst shape. Most were in deep shock; some were comatose, and carried on wagons. the rest hardly seemed aware of their surroundings.
None of them were going to be of any help at all-at least, not until Vena could physically get Need into their hands, for contact-Healing was one of Need's abilities. But that could only happen after they were rescued, and not before, So just how was one half-trained Mage-Smith apprentice going to successfuly take on twenty or more well- trained fighters?
'Cleverly, of course,' Need's voice grated in her mind. 'There are twenty or more tired, bored, careless males down there. What do you think would distract them the most?'
'Women?' she whispered tentatively, thinking of conjuring an illusion of scantily-clad girls, and getting into the camp under the cover of the excitement.
But then what? the illusion wouldn't hold past the first attempt to touch one of the girls, unless Need could somehow make it more than a mere illusionher teacher made a mental sound of contempt. 'And a troupe of dancing girls rides up out of nowhere. I don't think so, dear. These are also seasoned fighters; they're suspicious of anything and everything. Try to think like one of them. Look at their camp; what are they doing?' As if she hadn't been doing just that, ever since they cleared a space for the first tent, and freezing her rear off, too. 'they're eating,' she offered tentatively.
'Closer. What are they eating?' Vena's mouth watered as she stared down at the common fire. 'Looks like winter-rations. Beans and bread, I think.' Oh, she would gladly have killed for some of those hot spiced beans and a piece of bread I don't see-'
'Meat, Vena. They don't have any. They're on winter-rations, and they haven't been allowed time to hunt, so they don't have any meat.
And these are fighters; they're used to having it. They don't seem to have any wine, either, but I can't think of a way to get that to them without making them suspicious of their good fortune. Back down the ridge, slowly. I'm going to try calling in an elk. I used to be good at this.'
