Wind Rider's Oath

close behind you, Dame Kaeritha,' she observed. 'Still, I would have appreciated at least a little more time-perhaps even as much as a whole hour-to prepare myself for this particular conversation.'

'So would I,' Kaeritha admitted. 'In fact, a certain cowardly part of me wonders whether or not this office has a back door.'

'If you think I'm going to let you sneak out of here, Milady, you're sadly mistaken,' Kalatha's mayor replied tartly, and Kaeritha chuckled.

It wasn't an entirely cheerful sound, because she truly wasn't looking forward to what she expected to be a painful confrontation. On the other hand, once Yalith had made her decision and the initial tension between them had eased a bit, she'd found herself liking the mayor much more than she'd originally believed she might. Yet there was still an undeniable edge there, rather like the arched spines of two strange cats, sidling towards one another and still unsure whether or not they should sheath their claws after all. She wasn't certain where it came from, and she didn't much care for it, whatever its source. But there should be plenty of time to smooth any ruffled fur, she reminded herself. Assuming she and Yalith both survived their interview with Tellian.

'I suppose you'd better show him in, then, Sharral,' Yalith said after moment.

'Yes, Mayor,' Sharral acknowledged, and withdrew, closing the door behind her.

It opened again, less than two minutes later, and Baron Tellian strode through it. It would have been too much to call his expression and body language 'bristling,' but that was the word which sprang immediately to Kaeritha's mind. He was liberally bespattered with mud, and-like Kaeritha's own-his bedraggled appearance showed just how hard and long he'd ridden to reach Yalith's office. And in his effort to overcome her own head start on him. Even his courser must have found the pace wearying, and she suspected that most of his armsmen-those not mounted on coursers-must either have brought along two or three horses each to ride in relays, or else rented fresh ones at the livery stables along the way.

'Baron,' Yalith said, rising behind her desk to greet him. Her voice was respectful and even a bit sympathetic, but it was also firm. It acknowledged both his rank and his rightful anxiety as a parent, but it also reminded him that this was her office . . . and that the war maids had seen many anxious parents over the centuries.

'Mayor Yalith,' Tellian said. His eyes moved past her for a moment to Kaeritha, but he didn't greet the knight, and Kaeritha wondered just how bad a sign that might be.

'I imagine you know why I'm here,' he continued, returning his gaze to the mayor. 'I'd like to see my daughter. Immediately.'

His tenor voice was flat and crisp-almost, but not quite, harsh-and his eyes were hard.

'I'm afraid that's not possible, Baron,' Yalith replied. Tellian's brow furrowed thunderously, and he started to reply sharply. But Yalith continued before he could.

'The laws and customs of the war maids are unfortunately clear on this point, Milord,' she said in a voice which Kaeritha considered was remarkably calm. 'Leeana has petitioned for the status of war maid. Because she's only fourteen, she will be required to undergo a six-month probationary period before we will accept her final, binding oath. During that time, members of her family may communicate with her by letter or third-party messenger, but not in person. I should point out to you that she was not aware upon her arrival that she would be required to serve her probationary time, or that she would not be permitted to speak to you during it. When I informed her of those facts, she asked Dame Kaeritha to speak to you for her.'

Tellian's jaw had clenched as the mayor spoke. If there'd been any question about whether or not he was angry before, there was none now, and his right hand tightened ominously about the hilt of his dagger. But furious father or no, he was also a powerful noble who had learned from hard experience to control both his expression and his tongue. And so he swallowed the fast, furious retort which hovered just behind his teeth and made himself inhale deeply before he spoke once more.

'My daughter,' he said then, still looking directly at Yalith, as if Kaeritha were not even present, 'is young and, as I know only too well, stubborn. She is also, however, intelligent, whatever I may think of this current escapade of hers. She knows how badly her actions have hurt her mother and me. I cannot believe she would not wish to speak to me at this time. I don't say she would look forward to it, or be happy about it, but she is neither so heartless nor so unaware of how much we love her that she would refuse to see me.'

'I didn't say she had refused, Milord. In fact, she was extremely distressed when she discovered it would be impossible for her to speak to you in person. Unfortunately, our laws permit me no latitude. Not out of arrogance or cruelty, but to protect applicants from being browbeaten or manipulated into changing their minds against their free choice. But I will say, if you'll permit me to, that I have seldom seen an applicant who more strongly desired to speak to her parents. Usually, by the time a young woman seeks the war maids, the last thing she wants is contact with the family she's fled. Leeana doesn't feel at all that way, and she would be here this moment, if it were her decision. But it isn't. Nor is it mine, I'm afraid.'

Tellian's knuckles whitened on his dagger, and his nostrils flared. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

'I see.' His tone was very, very cold, but for a man who'd just been told his beloved daughter would not even be permitted to speak to him, it was remarkably controlled, Kaeritha thought. Then his eyes swiveled to her, and she recognized the raging fury and desperate love-and loss-blazing within them.

'In that case,' he continued in that same, icy voice, 'I suppose I should hear whatever message my daughter has been permitted to leave me.'

Yalith winced slightly before the pain in his voice, but she didn't flinch, and Kaeritha wondered how many interviews like this one she had experienced over the years.

'I think you should, Milord,' the mayor agreed quietly. 'Would you prefer for me to leave, so that you may speak to Dame Kaeritha frankly in order to confirm what I've said, and that Leeana came to us willingly and of her own accord?'

'I would appreciate privacy when I speak to Dame Kaeritha,' Tellian said. 'But not,' he continued, 'because I doubt for a moment that this was entirely Leeana's idea. Whatever some others might accuse the war maids of, I am fully aware that she came to you and that you did nothing to 'seduce' her into doing so. I won't pretend I'm not angry-very angry-or that I do not deeply resent your refusal to allow me to so much as speak to her. But I know my daughter too well to believe anyone else could have convinced or compelled her to come here against her will.'

'Thank you for that, Milord.' Yalith inclined her head in a small bow of acknowledgment. 'I'm a mother myself, and I've spoken with Leeana. I know why she came to us, and that it wasn't because she didn't love you and her mother or because she doubted for a moment that you love her. In many ways, that's made this one of the saddest applications ever to pass through my office. I'm grateful that, despite the anger and grief I know you must feel, you understand this was her decision. And now, I'll leave you and Dame Kaeritha. If you wish to speak to me again afterward, I will, of course, be at your service.'

She bowed again, more deeply, and left Tellian and Kaeritha alone in her office.

For several seconds, the baron stood wordlessly, his hand alternately tightening and loosening its grip on his dagger while he glared at Kaeritha.

'Some would call this poor repayment of my hospitality, Dame Kaeritha,' he said at length, his voice harsh.

'No doubt some would, Milord,' she replied, keeping her own voice level and as nonconfrontational as possible. 'If it seems that way to you, I deeply regret it.'

'I'm sure you do.' Each word was carefully, precisely spoken, as if bitten clean-edged from a sheet of bronze. Then he closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake.

'I could wish,' he said then, his voice much softer, its angry edges blurred by grief, 'that you'd returned her to me. That when my daughter-my only child, Kaeritha-came to you in the dark, on the side of a lonely road, running away from the only home she's ever known and from Hanatha's and my love, you might have recognized the madness of what she was doing and stopped her.' He opened his eyes and looked into her face, his own eyes wrung with pain and bright with unshed tears. 'Don't tell me you couldn't have stopped her from casting away her life-throwing away everything and everyone she's ever known. Not if you'd really tried.'

'I could have,' she told him unflinchingly, refusing to look away from his pain and grief. 'For all her determination and courage, I could have stopped her, Milord. And I almost did.'

'Then why, Kaeritha?' he implored, no longer a baron, no longer the Lord Warden of