details wrong!
'And every packtrain we've sent out since has just vanished without a trace-and without survivors,' the merchant Grumio concluded. 'And yet the decoy trains were allowed to reach their destinations unmolested.'
In the silence that followed his words, he studied the odd pair of mercenaries before him, knowing they knew he was doing so. Neither of the two women seemed in any great hurry to reply to his speech, and the crackle of the fire behind him in this tiny private eating room sounded unnaturally loud in the absence of conversation. So, too, did the steady whisking of a whetstone on blade-edge, and the muted murmur of voices from the common room of the inn beyond their closed door.
The whetstone was being wielded by the swords-woman, Tarma by name, who was keeping to her self- appointed task with an indifference to Grumio's words that might-or might not-be feigned. She sat straddling her bench in a position that left him mostly with a view of her back and the back of her head, what little he might have been able to see of her face screened by her unruly shock of coarse black hair. He was just as glad of that; there was something about that expressionless, hawklike face with its ice-cold blue eyes that sent shivers up his spine.
The other partner cleared her throat, and gratefully he turned his attention to her. Now there was a face a man could easily rest his eyes on! She faced him squarely, this sorceress called Kethry, leaning on her folded arms that rested on the table between them. The light from the fire and the oil lamp on their table fell fully on her. A less canny man than Grumio might be tempted to dismiss her as being very much the inferior of the two; she was always soft of speech, her demeanor refined and gentle. She was sweet-faced and quite conventionally pretty, with hair like the finest amber and eyes of beryl-green, and it would have been easy to think of her as being the swordswoman's vapid tagalong. But as he'd spoken, Grumio had now and then caught a disquieting glimmer in those calm eyes-nor had he missed the fact that she, too, bore a sword, and one with the marks of frequent use and a caring hand on it. That in itself was an anomaly; most sorcerers never wore more than an eating knife. They simply hadn't the time- or the inclination-to attempt studying the art of the blade. To Grumio's eyes the sword looked very odd slung over the plain, buff-colored, calf-length robe of a wandering sorceress.
'I presume,' Kethry said when he turned to face her, 'that the road patrols have been unable to find your bandits.'
She had been studying the merchant in turn; he interested her. There was muscle beneath the fat of good living, and old sword-calluses on his hands. Unless she was wildly mistaken, there was also a sharp mind beneath that balding skull. He knew they didn't come cheaply-it followed then that there was something more to this tale of banditry than he was telling. Certain signs seemed to confirm this; he looked as though he had not slept well of late, and there seemed to be a shadow of deeper sorrow upon him than the loss of mere goods would account for.
Grumio snorted his contempt for the road patrols. 'They rode up and down for a few days, never venturing off the trade road, and naturally found nothing. Overdressed, overpaid, underworked arrogant idiots!'
Kethry toyed with a fruit left from their supper, and glanced up at the hound-faced merchant through long lashes that veiled her eyes and her thoughts.
Tarma answered right on cue. 'Then guard your packtrains, merchant, if guards keep these vermin hidden.' He started; her voice was as harsh as a raven's, and startled those not used to hearing it.
Grumio saw at once the negotiating ploy these two were minded to use with him. The swordswoman was to be the antagonizer, the sorceress the sympathizer. His respect for them rose another notch. Most freelance mercenaries hadn't the brains to count their pay, (much less use subtle bargaining tricks. Their reputation was plainly well-founded.
However he had no intention of falling for it. 'Swordlady, to hire sufficient force requires we raise the price of goods above what people are willing to pay.'
Odd -- there was a current of communication and understanding running between these two that had him thoroughly puzzled. He dismissed without a second thought the notion that they might be lovers- the signals between them were all wrong for that. No, it was something else, something that you wouldn't expect between a Shin'a'in swordswoman and an outClansman-
Tarma shook her head impatiently. 'Then cease your interhouse rivalries, kadessa, and send all your trains together under a single large force.'
Now she was trying to get him off-guard by insulting him, calling him after a little grasslands beast that only the Shin'a'in ever saw, a rodent so notoriously greedy that it would, given food enough, eat itself to death; and one that was known for hoarding anything and everything it came across in its nest-tunnels. He refused to allow the insult to distract him. 'Respect, swordlady,' he replied patiently, 'but we tried that, too. The beasts of the train were driven off in the night, and the guards and traders were forced to return afoot. This is desert country, most of it, and all they dared burden themselves with was food and drink.'
'Leaving the goods behind to be scavenged. Huh. Your bandits are clever, merchant,' the swords-woman
