('We'll have to do something to flush at least one of them out,' Kethry said at last. 'The sorcerer has transported at least three more people into that house. He may have done more -- I couldn't tell if the spell brought one or several at a time, only that he definitely brought people in.')
A new courtesan, property of none of the three Houses, began to ply her trade among those who still retained some of their wealth. One had to be wealthy to afford her services -- but those who spent their hours in her skillful embraces were high in their praise.
('I thought your vows kept you sorcerers from lying,' Tarma said, watching Kethry's latest client moaning with pleasure in the dream-trance she'd conjured for him.
'I didn't lie,' she answered, eyes glinting green with mischief. 'I promised him -- all of them -- an hour to match their wildest dreams. That's exactly what they're getting. Besides, nothing I'd be able to do could ever match what they're conjuring up for themselves!')
The chieftain's sergeant caught a glimpse of her spending an idle hour in the marketplace. He had been without a woman since his chief had forbidden the men to go to the Houses. He could see the wisdom in that: someone was evidently out after the band's hearts, and a House would be far too easy a place in which to set a trap. But this whore was alone but for her pimp, a thin beardless boy who did not even wear a sword, only paired daggers. She should be safe enough. Nor would he need to spend any of his stored coin, though he'd bring it to tempt her. When he'd had his fill of her, he'd teach her that it was better to give her wares to him.
She led him up the stairs to her room above the inn, watching with veiled amusement as he carefully bolted the door behind him. But when he began divesting himself of his weaponry and garments, she halted him, pinioning his arms gently from the rear and breathing enticingly on the back of his neck as she whispered in his ear.
'Time enough, and more, great warrior -- I am sure you have not the taste for common tumblings that are all you can find in this backward place.' She slid around to the front of him, urging him down onto the room's single stool, a water-beaded cup in her hand. 'Refresh yourself first, great lord. The vintage is of mine own bringing -- you shall not taste its like here-'
It was just Kethry's bad luck that he had been the official 'taster' to a high lordling during his childhood of slavery. He sipped delicately out of habit, rather than gulping the wine down, and rolled the wine carefully on his tongue-and so detected in the cup what he should not have been able to sense.
'Bitch!' he roared, throwing the cup aside and seizing Kethry by the throat.
Kethry's panic-filled scream warned Tarma that the plan had gone awry. She wasted no time in battering at the door -- the man was no fool and would have bolted it behind him. It would take too long to break it down. Instead, she sprinted through the crowded inn and out the back through the kitchen. A second cry -- more like a strangled gurgle than a scream, which recalled certain things sharply to her and gave her strength born of rage and hatred -- fell into the stableyard from the open window of Kethry's room. Tarma swarmed up the stable door onto the roof of the building, and launched herself from there in through that window. Her entrance was as unexpected as it was precipitate.
Kethry slowly regained consciousness in her bed in the rented room. She hurt from top to toe -- her assailant had been almost artistic, if one counted the ability to evoke pain among the arts. Oddly enough, he hadn't raped her -- she would have expected that, been able to defend herself arcanely. He'd reacted to the poisoned drink instead by throwing her to the floor and bearing her with no mercy. She'd had no chance to defend herself with magic, and her sword had been left back at the brothel at Tarma's insistence.
Tarma was bathing and tending her hurts. One look at her stricken eyes, and any reproaches she might have uttered died on Kethry's tongue.
'It's all right,' she said as gently as she could with swollen lips. 'It wasn't your fault.'
Tarma's eyes said that she thought otherwise, but she replied gruffly, 'Looks like you need a keeper more than I do, lady-mage.'
It hurt to smile, but Kethry managed. 'Perhaps I do, at that.'
Four evenings later, all but three of the bandits marched in force on the inn, determined to take revenge on the townsfolk for the acts of the invisible enemy in their midst. Halfway there, they were met by two women blocking their path. One was an amber-haired sorceress with a bruised face and a blackened eye. The other was a Shin'a'in swords-woman.
Only those two survived the confrontation. 'We have no choice now,' Kethry said grimly. 'If we wait, they'll only be stronger-and I'm certain that sorcerer has been watching. They're warned, they know who and what we are.'
'Good,' Tarma replied. 'Then let's bring the war to their doorstep. We've been doing things in secret long enough, and it's more than time that this thing was finished. Now. Tonight.' Her eyes were no longer quite sane.
Kethry didn't like it but knew there was no other way. Gathering up her magics about her, and resting one hand on the comforting presence of he sword, she followed Tarma to the bandit stronghold.
