the past year, their 'chattels' were not pleased with their return.
Tarma burned with scorn for these soft townsmen. Surely there were enough able-bodied adults in the place to outnumber the bandit crew several times over. If by nothing else, by sheer numbers the townsmen could probably defeat them, if they'd try.
She turned her mind toward her own quest, trying to develop a plan that would enable her to take as many of the enemy down into death with her as she could manage. She was under no illusion that she could survive this. The kind of frontal assault she planned would leave her no path of escape.
A shadow came between Tarma and the fire.
She looked up, startled that the other had managed to come so close without her being aware of it. The silhouette was that of a woman, wearing the calf-length, cowled brown robe of a wandering sorceress. There was one alarming anomaly about this woman -- unlike any other magic-worker Tarma had ever seen, this one wore a sword belted at her waist.
She reached up and laid back the cowl of her robe, but Tarma still was unable to make out her features; the firelight behind her hair made a glowing nimbus of amber around her face.
'It won't work, you know,' the stranger said very softly, in a pleasant, musical alto. 'You won't gain anything by a frontal assault but your own death.'
Fear laid an icy hand on Tarma's throat; to cover her fear she snarled. 'How do you know what I plan? Just who are you?'
'Lower your voice, Sworn One.' The sorceress took a seat on the bench next to Tarma, uninvited. 'Anyone with the Talent and the wish to do so can read your thoughts. Your foes number among them a sorcerer; I know he is responsible for the deaths of many a sentry that otherwise would have warned their victims in time to defend themselves. I judge him to be at least as capable as I; rest assured that if I can read your intentions, he will be able to do the same should he care to cast his mind in this direction. I want to help you. My name is Kethry.'
'Why help me?' Tarma asked bluntly, knowing that by giving her name the sorceress had given Tarma a measure of power over her.
Kethry stirred in her seat, bringing her face fully into the light of the fire. Tarma saw then that the woman was younger than she had first judged; they were almost of an age. Had she seen only the face, she would have thought her to be in the same class as the townsmen; the sorceress was doll-like in her prettiness. But Tarma had also seen the way she moved, like a wary predator; and the too-wise expression in those emerald eyes sat ill with the softness of the face. Her robe was worn to the point of shabbiness, and though clean, was much travel-stained. It was evident from that, that whatever else this woman was, she was not one who was overly concerned with material wealth. That in itself was a good sign to Tarma-since the only real wealth in this town was to be had by serving with the brigands.
But why did she wear a sword?
'I have an interest in dealing with these robbers myself,' she said, 'and I'd rather that they weren't set on their guard. And I have another reason as well-'
'So?'
She laughed deprecatingly. 'You could say I am under a kind of geas, one that binds me to help women in need. I am bound to help you, whether or not either of us are pleased with the fact. Will you have that help unforced?'
Tarma's initial reaction had been to bristle with hostility -- then, unbidden, into her mind came the odd, otherworldly voice of her trainer, warning her not to cast away unlooked-for aid. 'As you will,' she replied curtly. The other did not seem to be the least bit discomfited by her antagonism. 'Then let us leave this place,' she said, standing without haste. 'There are too many ears here.'
She waited while Tarma retrieved her horse, and led her down tangled streets to a dead-end alley lit by gay red lanterns. She unlocked a gate on the left side and waved Tarma and Kessira through it. Tarma waited as she relocked the gate, finding herself in a cobbled courtyard that was bordered on one side by an old but well-kept stable. On the other side was a house, all its windows ablaze with lights, also festooned with the red lanterns. From the house came the sound of music, laughter, and the voices of many women. Tarma sniffed; the air was redolent with cheap perfume and an animal muskiness.
'Is this place what I think it is?' she asked, finding it difficult to match the picture she'd built in her mind of the sorceress with the house she'd led Tarma to.
'If you think it's a brothel, you're right,' Kethry replied. 'Welcome to the House of Scarlet Joys, Sworn One. Can you think of a less likely place to house two such as we?'
'No.' Tarma almost smiled.
'The better to hide us. The mistress of this place and her charges would rejoice greatly at the conquering of our mutual enemies. Nevertheless, the most these women will do for us is house and feed us. The rest is all in our four hands. Now, let's get your weary beast stabled, and we'll adjourn to my rooms. We have a great deal of planning to do.'
