Two days after Tarma's arrival in the town of Brether's Crossroads, one of the brigands (drunk with liquor and drugs far past his capacity) fell into a horsetrough, and (bizarrely enough) drowned trying to get out. His death signaled the beginning of a streak of calamities that thinned the ranks of the bandits as persistently as a plague.
One by one they died, victims of weird accidents, overdoses of food or drugs, or ambushes by preternaturally clever thieves. No two deaths were alike- with one exception. He who failed to shake out his boots of a morning seldom survived the day, thanks to the scorpions that had taken to invading the place. Some even died at each other's hands, goaded into fights.
('I dislike this skulking in corners,' Tarma growled, sharpening her swordblade. 'It's hardly satisfactory, killing these dogs at a distance with poison and witchery.'
'Be patient, my friend,' Kethry said without rancor. 'We're better off thinning them down somewhat before we engage them at sword's point. There will be time enough for that later.')
When the deaths were obviously at the hands of enemies, there were no clues. Those arrow-slain were found pierced by several makes; those dead by blades seemed to have had their own used on them.
Tarma found herself coming to admire the sorceress more with every passing day. Their arrangement was a partnership in every sense of the word, for when Kethry ran short of magical ploys she turned without pride to Tarma and her expertise in weaponry. Even so, the necessary restrictions that limited them to the ambush and the skills of the assassin chafed at her.
('It will not be much longer,' Kethry counseled. 'They'll come to the conclusion soon enough that this has been no series of coincidences. Then will be the time for frontal attack.')
The leader, so it was said, ordered that no man go out alone, and all must wear talismans against sorcery.
('See?' Kethry said then. 'I told you you'd have your chance.')
A pair of swaggering bullies swilled ale, unpaid for, in the inn. None dared speak in their presence; they'd already beaten one farmer senseless who'd given some imagined insult. They were spoiling for a fight, and the sheeplike timidity of the people trapped with them in the inn was not to their liking. So when a slender young man, black-clad and wearing a sword slung across his back entered the door, their eyes lit with savage glee.
One snaked out a long arm, grasping the young man's wrist. Some of those in the inn marked how his eyes flashed with a hellish joy before being veiled with cold disdain.
'Remove your hand,' he said in a harsh voice, 'dog-turd.'
That was all the excuse the brigands needed. Both drew their weapons; the young man unsheathed his in a single fluid motion. Both moved against him in a pattern they had long found successful in bringing down a single opponent.
Both died within heartbeats of each other.
The young man cleaned his blade carefully on their cloaks before sheathing it. (Some sharp eyes may have noticed that when his hand came in contact with one of the brigand's talismans, the young man seemed to become, for a fleeting second, a harsh-visaged young woman). 'This is no town for a stranger,' he said to no one and everyone. 'I will be on my way. Let him follow me who desires the embrace of the Lady Death.'
Predictably, half-a-dozen robbers followed the clear track of his horse into the hills. None returned.
The ranks of his men narrowed to five including himself and the sorcerer, the bandit leader shut them all up in their stronghold.
('Why are these -- ladies -- sheltering us?' Tarma demanded one day, when forced idleness had her pacing the confines of Kethry's rooms like a caged panther.
'Madam Isa grew tired of having her girls abused, and they were more than tired of being abused.'
Tarma snorted with scorn. 'I should have thought one would learn to expect abuse in such a profession.'
'It is one thing when a customer expresses a taste for pain and is willing to pay to inflict it. It is quite another when he does so without paying,' Kethry answered with wry humor. Tarma replied to this with something almost like a smile. There was that about her accomplice -- fast becoming her friend -- that could lighten even her grimmest mood. Occasionally the sorceress was even able to charm the Shin'a'in into forgetfulness for hours at a time. And yet -- and yet -- there was never a time she could entirely forget what had driven her here....)
At the end of two months, there were rumors that the chieftain had begun recruiting new underlings, the information passed to other cities via the arcane methods of his sorcerer.
