Oathblood

It was an odd place for a village, though, out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by grassy hills. 'So, did Justin tell you why there's a town out here, back of beyond?' Tarma asked out of curiosity.

'Same thing as brought that slum here,' Kethry replied. 'Cattle. This is grazing country. There's a real Tanners' Guild House here, that's made leather for generations, and the locals produce smoked and dried beef for fighter rations.'

'And sometimes it's hard to tell one from the other,' Tarma chuckled.

Kethry laughed, and the sound of her merriment made heads turn toward them as they rode into the village square. Her laughter called up answering smiles from the inhabitants, who surely were no strangers to passing mercenaries.

Even Warrl caused no great alarm, though much curiosity. The dozen villagers in the square seemed to take it for granted that the women had him under control. It was a refreshing change from other villages, where not only Warrl's appearance, but even Tarma and Kethry's, was cause for distress.

In fact, no sooner had they reined in their horses, than one of the locals approached -- with the caution a war-trained animal like the mares or Warrl warranted, but with no sign of fear. 'The inn be closed, miladies,' the young man said diffidently, pulling off his soft cloth hat, and holding it to his leather-clad chest. 'Beggin' yer pardon. Old Man Murfee, he died about two weeks agone, an' we be waitin' on the justice to figger out if the place goes to the son, or the barkeep.' He grinned at Tarma's expression. 'Sorry, milady, but they's been arguin' an' feudin' about it since the old man died. It ain't season yet, so 'twere easier on the rest of us t' do without our beer an' save our ears.'

'Easier for you, maybe,' Tarma muttered. 'Well, I suppose we can press on-'

'Now, that's the other thing,' he continued. 'If ye be members of the Merc Guild, the Tanners' Guild Hall be open to ye. Any Guild member, really. Master left word. One Guild to another, Master Lenne says.'

That brightened Tarma's mood considerably. 'I take it you're 'prenticed there?' she asked, dismounting with a creak of leather and a jingle of harness.

'Aye,' he replied, ducking his head. 'Ye'll have to tend yer own horses. We don't see much of live 'uns at the Guild. Ye can put 'em in the shed with the donkey.'

As the young man turned to lead the way across the dusty, sunlit square, Tarma glanced over at her partner. 'Worth our Guild dues, I'd say. Glad now that I insisted on joining?'

Kethry nodded slowly. 'This is the way it's supposed to work,' she said. 'Cooperation between Guilds and Houses of the same Guild. Not starting trade wars with each other; not cutting common folk out of trades.'

'Hmm.' Tarma held her peace while they stabled the warsteeds in the sturdy half-shed beside a placid donkey, and took their packs into the Guild Hall. Like the rest of the village, it was a fairly simple structure; one- storied, with a kitchen behind a large meeting hall, and living quarters on either side of the hall, in separate wings. Built, like the rest of the village, from the yellow rock that formed these hillsides, it was a warm, welcoming building.

'Ye can sleep here in the hall, by the fireplace,' said the young man. 'Ye can take a meal when the rest of the 'prentices and journeymen come in, if that suits ye.'

'That'll be fine,' Kethry replied vaguely, her eyes inwardly-focused, her thoughts elsewhere for a moment, the faint line of a headache -- frown appearing between her eyebrows.

'Where's the tannery at?' Tarma asked curiously. 'I haven't caught a whiff of it--'

'And you won't, sword-lady,' said a weary, if pleasant voice from the shadows of one of the doorways. A tall, sparse-haired man whose bulky scarlet-wool robe could not conceal his weight problem moved into the room.

He's sick, Tarma thought immediately. The careful way he moved, the look of discomfort about him, and a feeling of wrongness made her as uneasy as that foul tannery.

:I agree,: Warrl replied, startling her. :He has been ill for some time, I would say.:

'No, you will not smell our tannery, ladies,' the man -- who Tarma figured must be Master Lenne -- repeated. 'We keep the sheds well-ventilated, the vats sealed, and spills removed. I permit no poisoning of the land by our trade. I am happy to say that tallen-flowers bloom around our foundations -- and if we find them withering or dying, we find out why.'

Tarma smiled slightly at his vehemence. Master Lenne caught the smile and correctly surmised the reason.

'You think me overly reactive?' he asked.

'I think you -- feel strongly,' she said diplomatically.