outside. Plain wooden floor, no hidden entrances there. She knew the blank wall held nothing either; the other side was the courtyard of the manor. Furnishings; one table, one chair, one ornate bedstead against the blank wall, one bookcase, half filled, four lamp. A few bright rugs. Her mind felt as blank as the walls.
'Start at the beginning,' she told herself. 'Follow what happened. The girl came in here alone-the man followed after she was asleep-then what?'
Every time Warrl spoke to her mind-to-mind it surprised her. She still couldn't imagine how he managed to make himself heard when she hadn't a scrap of that particular Gift. Tarma seemed to accept it un-questioningly; how she'd ever gotten used to it, the sorceress couldn't imagine.
Tarma-time was wasting.
On the desk stood a wineglass with a sticky residue in the bottom, an inkwell and quill, and several stacked ledgers. The top two looked disturbed.
Kethry picked them up, and began leafing through the last few pages, whispering a command to the invisible presence at her shoulder. The answer was prompt-the ink on the last three pages of both ledgers was fresh enough to still be giving off fumes detectable only by a creature of the air. The figures were written no more than two days ago.
She leafed back several pages worth, noting that the handwriting changed from time to time.
'Who else kept the accounts besides your lord?' she called into the next room.
'The seneschal; that was why his room has an entrance on this one,' the woman Katran replied, entering the lord's room herself. 'I can't imagine why the door was barred-Lord Corbie almost never left it that way.'
'That's a lot of trust to place in a hireling-'
'Oh, the seneschal isn't a hireling, he's Lord Corbie's bastard brother. He's been the lord's right hand since he inherited the lordship of Felwether.'
The sun rose; Tarma was awake long before.
If the priest was surprised to see her change of outfit, he didn't show it. He had brought a simple meal of bread and cheese and watered wine; he waited patiently while she ate and drank, then indicated she should follow him.
Tarma checked all her weapons; made sure of all the fastenings of her clothing, and stepped into place behind him, as silent as his shadow.
He conducted her to a small tent that had been erected in one corner of the keep's practice ground, against the keep walls. The walls of the keep formed two sides, the outer wall the third; the fourth side was open. The practice ground was of hard-packed clay, and relatively free of dust. A groundskeeper was sprinkling water over the dirt to settle it.
Once they were in front of the little pavilion, the priest finally spoke.
'The first challenger will be here within a few minutes; between fights you may retire here to rest for as long as it takes for the next to ready himself, or one candlemark, whichever is longer. You will be brought food at noon and again at sunset-' his expression plainly said that he did not think she would be needing the latter, '-and there will be fresh water within the tent at all times. I will be staying with you.'
Now his expression was apologetic.
'To keep my partner from slipping me any magical aid?' Tarma asked wryly. 'Hellfire, priest, you know what I am, even if these dirt-grubbers here don't!'
'I know, Swordswom-this is for your protection as well. There are those here who would not hesitate to tip the hand of the gods somewhat.'
Tarma's eyes hardened. 'Priest, I'll spare who I can, but it's only fair to tell you that if I catch anyone trying an underhanded trick, I won't hesitate to kill him.'
'I would not ask you to do otherwise.'
She looked at him askance. 'There's more going on here than meets the eye, isn't there?'
He shook his head, and indicated that she should take her seat in the champion's chair beside the tent flap. There was a bustling on the opposite side of the practice ground, and a dark, heavily bearded man followed by several boys carrying arms and armor appeared only to vanish within another, identical tent on that side. Spectators
