the bandit's head. One was the symbol Tarma knew to be Kethry's sigil, the other was the glyph for 'Justice.'
'Any attempt to probe the spell will make those appear. I doubt that anyone will ignore the judgment sign, and even if they were inclined to, I think my reputation is good enough to make most sorcerers think twice about undoing what I've done.'
'You really didn't change him, did you?' Tarma asked, a horrible thought occurring to her. 'I mean, if he's really a woman now-'
'Bright Lady, what an awful paradox we'd have!' Kethry laughed, easing Tarma's mind considerably. 'We punish him for what he's done to women by turning him into a woman-but as a woman, we'd now be honor-bound to protect him! No, don't worry. Under the illusion-and it's a very complete illusion, by the way, it extends to all senses-he's still quite male.'
She gave the horse's rump a whack, breaking the light enchantment that had held it quiet, and it bucked a little, scrabbling off into the barren hills.
'The last of the band went that way,' she said, pointing after the beast, 'And the horse he's on will follow their scent back to where they've made their camp. Of course, none of his former followers will have any notion that he's anything other than what he appears to be.'
A wicked smile crept across Tarma's face. It matched the one already curving Kethry's lips.
'I wish I could be there when he arrives,' Tarma said with a note of viciousness in her harsh voice. 'It's bound to be interesting.'
'He'll certainly get exactly what he deserves.' Kethry watched the horse vanish over the crest of
the hill. 'I wonder how he'll like being on the receiving end?'
'I know somebody who will like this-and I can't wait to see his face when you tell him.'
'Grumio?'
'Mm-hmm.'
'You know-' Kethry replied thoughtfully, '-this was almost worth doing for free.'
'She'enedra!' Tarma exclaimed in mock horror. 'Your misplaced honor will have us starving yet! We're supposed to be mercenaries!'
'I said almost.' Kethry joined in her partner's gravelly laughter. 'Come on. We've got pay to collect. You know-this just might end up as some bard's song.'
'It might at that,' Tarma chuckled. 'And what will you bet me that he gets the tale all wrong?'
THE MAKING OF A LEGEND
Speaking of Leslac, here he is, in his debut, making life miserable for the ladies. It's kind of interesting that the more I write about Tarma and Kethry, the more often there's humor in the stories. The first one was rather grim, but they've gradually lightened up.
By the way, if you've noticed that the ladies often swtich horses, it's not a mistake. As explained in By the Sword, since they are partners, the battlesteeds are trained to accept either rider, so they often switch off just to keep the mares in training, just as one can have a guard dog that accepts more than one handler, but eats anyone who isn't a designated handler. It would be a real problem if Tarma happened to need a horse that was all the way across a battlefield, and Kethry's happened to be right at hand but wouldn't let her mount....
Brown-gray and green-brown landscape, and a coating of dust all over everything, a haze of dust in the air, a cloud of dust hanging behind them where Tarma and Kethry's tired mares had kicked it up. Fields, farmholdings, trees. More fields, more farmholdings, more trees. Not wild trees either; trees tamed, planted in neat little orchards or windbreaks, as orderly and homebound as the farmers who husbanded them. A tidy land this; carefully ruled. No calling here for outland mercenaries.
All the more reason to get through it as fast as Hellsbane and Ironheart could manage.
On the other hand, the White Winds sorceress Kethry reflected, there was no use in night-long riding when they were in civilized lands. No telling when they might see a real bed once they got into territory that did need their spells and swords.
Kethry wiped her forehead with her sleeve, adjusted the geas-blade Need on her back, and blinked the road dust out of her sore eyes. The sun sat on the horizon like a fat red tomato, seemingly as complacent as the farmers it shone down on. 'How far to the next town?' she asked over the dull clopping of hooves on flint-hard earth.
