getting into here. You're the native; where are we
going?"
Kethry reined in, a startled look on her face.
"I—I've spent so much time thinking about Kavin
and Wethes . . ."
"Li'sa'eer!" Tarma exclaimed in exasperation, pull-
ing Kessira up beside her. "Well, think about it
now, dammit!" She kneed her mare slightly; Kessira
obeyed the subtle signal and shouldered Rodi to
one side until both of the beasts had gotten off onto
the shoulder of the road, out of the way of traffic.
There wasn't anybody in sight, but Tarma had had
yuthi'so'coro—road-courtesy—hammered into her
from the time she was old enough to sit a horse
unaided. No Shin'a'in omitted road-courtesy while
journeying, not even when among deadly enemies.
And road-courtesy dictated that if you were going
to sit and chat, you didn't block the progress of
others while you were doing it.
"We'll have to use the Stranger's Gate," Kethry
said after long thought, staring at the point where
the walls of Mornedealth began paralleling the road.
"That's no hardship, it's right on the Trade Road.
But we'll have to register with the Gate Guard,
give him our names, where we're from, where we're
going, and our business here."
"Warrior's Oath! What do they want, to write a
book about us?" Tarma replied with impatience.
"Look, this is as much for our sakes as theirs.
Would you want total strangers loose in your Clan
territory?"
"Sa-hai. You're right. Not that strangers ever get
past the Border, but you're right."
"The trouble is, I daren't tell them what I really
am, but I don't want to get caught in a complicated
falsehood."
"Now that's no problem," Tarma nodded. "We
just tell him a careful mixture of the truth with
enough lie in it to keep your enemies off the track.
Then?"
"There are specific inns for travelers; we'll have
to use one of them. They won't ask us to pay straight
off, we'll have three days to find work and get our
reckoning taken care of. After that, they confiscate
everything we own except what we're wearing."
Tarma snorted a little with contempt, which ob-
viously surprised Kethry.
"I thought you'd throw a fit over the notion of
someone taking Kessira."
"I'd rather like to see them try. You've never
seen her with a stranger. She's not a battle-steed,
but nobody lays a finger on her without my permis-
sion. Let a stranger put one hand on her rein and
he'll come away with a bloody stump. And while
he's opening his mouth to yell about it, she'll be off
down the street, headed for the nearest gate. If I
were hurt and gave her the command to run for it,
she'd carry me to the closest exit she could remem-
ber without any direction from me. And if she
couldn't find one, she might well make one. No, I've
no fear of anyone confiscating her. One touch, and
they wouldn't want her. Besides, I have something I
can leave in pledge—I'd rather not lose it, but it's
better than causing a scene."
Tarma took off her leather glove, reached into
the bottom of her saddlebag and felt for a knobby,
silk-wrapped bundle. She brought the palm-sized
package out and unwrapped it carefully, uncover-
ing to the brilliant sunlight an amber necklace. It
was made of round beads alternating with carved
claws or teeth; it glowed on the brown silk draped
over her hand like an ornament of hardened sun-
beams.
"Osberg wore that!"
"He stole it from me. I took it back off his dead
body. It was the last thing Dharin gave me. Our
pledge-gift. I never found the knife I gave him."
Kethry said nothing; Tarma regarded the neck-
lace with a stony-cold expression that belied the
ache in her heart, then rewrapped it and stowed it
it's better than causing a riot. Now how do we find
work?"
"We'd be safest going to a Hiring Hall. They
charge employers a fee to find people with special
talents."
"Well, that's us."
"Of course, that's money we won't see. We could
get better fees if we went out looking on our own,
but it would probably take longer."
"Hiring Hall; better the safe course."
"I agree, but they're sure to notice at the gate
that my accent is native. Would you mind doing the
talking?"
Tarma managed a quirk of the lips that approxi-
mated a half-smile. "All right, I'll do all the talking
at the gate. Look stupid and sweet, and let them
think you're my lover. Unless that could get us in
trouble."
Kethry shook her head. "No, there's enough of
that in Mornedealth. Virtually anything is allowed
provided you're ready to pay for it."
"And they call this civilization! Vai datha; let's
get on with it."
They turned their beasts once more onto the road,
and within a candlemark were under scrutiny of
the sentries on the walls. Tarma allowed a lazy,
sardonic smile to cross her face. One thing she had
to give them; these guards were well disciplined.
No catcalls, no hails, no propositions to Kethry—
just a steady, measuring regard that weighed them
and judged them unthreatening for the moment.
These "soft, city-bred" guards were quite impressive.
The Stranger's Gate was wide enough for three
wagons to pass within, side by side, and had an
ironwork portcullis as well as a pair of massive
bleached-wood doors, all three now standing open.
They clattered under the wall, through a wooden-
walled tunnel about three horse-lengths deep. When
they reached the other entrance, they found them-
selves stopped by a chain stretched across the in-
ner side of the gate. One of the men standing sentry
approached them and asked them (with short words,
but courteous) to follow him to a tiny office built
right into the wall. There was always a Gate Guard
on duty here; the man behind the desk was, by the
insignia pinned to his brown leather tunic, a cap-
tain. Kethry had told her partner as they approached
the walls that those posted as Gate Guards tended
to be high-ranking, and above the general cut of
mercenary, because they had to be able to read and
write. Their escort squeezed them inside the door,
and returned to his own post. The Gate Guard was
a middle-aged, lean, saturnine man who glanced up
at them from behind his tiny desk, and without a
word, pulled a ledger, quill and ink from under-
neath it.
The Gate Guard was of the same cut as the men
on the walls; Tarma wondered if Kethry would be
able to pass his careful scrutiny. It didn't look like
he missed much. Certainly Keth
ry looked nothing
like a Shin'a'in, so she'd have to be one damn con-
vincing actress to get away with claiming a Shin'a'in
Clanname.
Tarma stole a glance sideways at her partner and
had to refrain from a hoarse chuckle. Kethry wore a
bright, vapid smile, and was continuously fussing
with the way her cloak draped and smoothing down
her hair. She looked like a complete featherhead.
No problem. The Guard would have very little
doubt why the partner of a rather mannish swords-
woman was claiming her Clanname!
At the Guard's brusque inquiry as to their names
and business, Tarma replied as shortly, "We're
Shin'a'in mercenaries. Tarma shena Tale'sedrin,
Kethry shena Tale'sedrin. We're on our way back
to the Dhorisha Plains; I've got inheritance coming
from my Clan I need to claim. But we've run out of
provisions; we're going to have to take some tempo-
"Not much call for your kind on a temporary
basis, Swordlady," he replied with a certain gruff
respect. "Year contract or more, sure; Shin'a'in have
a helluva reputation. You'd be able to get top wage
as any kind of guard, guard-captain or trainer; but
not temporary. Your pretty friend's in mage-robes;
that just for show, or can she light a candle?"
"Ah, Keth's all right. Good enough to earn us
some coin, just no horse-sense, he shala? She's worth
the trouble taking care of, and for more reasons
than one, bless her."
"Eyah, and without you to keep the wolves away,
a pretty bit like that'd get eaten alive in a week,"
the Guard answered with a certain gleam of sym-
pathy in his eyes. "Had a shieldmate like that in
my younger days, fancied himself a poet; didn't
have sense enough to come in out of a storm. Caught
himself a fever standing out in a blizzard, admiring
it; died of it eventually—well, that's the way of
things. You being short of coin; tell you what, one
professional to another—you go find the Broken
Sword, tell 'em Jervac sent you. And I hear tell the
Hiring Hall over by the animal market was on the
lookout for a mage on temp."
"Will do—luck on your blade, captain."
"And on yours. Ah—don't mount up; lead your
beasts, that's the law inside the gates."
As they led their mounts in the direction the
Gate Guard had indicated, Kethry whispered, "How
much of that was good advice?"
"We'll find out when we find this inn; chances
are he's getting some kickback, but he could be
doing us a good turn at the same time. Thanks for
the help with the ruse of being your protector; that
should warn off anybody that might be thinking
your services other than magery are for hire. We
couldn't have done better for a sympathizer if we'd
planned this, you know, that's why I played it a bit
thick. He had the feeling of a she'chorne; that bit
about a 'shieldmate' clinched it. If you're not lov-
ers, you call your partner 'shieldbrother,' not
'shieldmate.' How are you doing?"
Kethry looked a bit strained, but it was some-
thing likely only someone who knew her would
have noticed. "Holding up; I'll manage. The more
time I spend with nobody jumping me out of the
shadows, the easier it'll get. I can handle it."
"Vai datha." If Kethry said she'd be able to han-
dle her understandable strain, Tarma was willing
to believe her. Tarma took the chance to look around,
and was impressed in spite of herself. "Damn,
Greeneyes, you never told me this place was so
big!"
"I'm used to it," Kethry shrugged.
"Well, I'm not," Tarma shook her head in amaze-
ment. The street they led their beasts on was fully
wide enough for two carts with plenty of space for
them to pass. It was actually paved with bricks,
something Tarma didn't ever remember seeing be-
fore, and had a channel down the middle and a
gutter on either side for garbage and animal drop-
pings. There were more people than she ever re-
called seeing in one place in her life; she and Kethry
were elbow to elbow in the crush. Kessira snorted,
not liking so many strangers so close. "Why isn't
anyone riding? Why'd the Guard say riding was
counter the law?" Tarma asked, noticing that while
there were beasts and carts in plenty, all were
being led, like theirs—just as the guard had told
them.
"No one but a member of one of the Fifty is
allowed to ride within the walls, and for good rea-
son. Think what would happen if somebody lost
control of his beast in this crush!"
"Reasonable. Look, there's our inn—"
The sign was plain enough-—the pieces of an ac-
tual blade nailed up to a shingle suspended above
the road. They turned their mounts' heads into a
narrow passage that led into a square courtyard.
The inn itself was built entirely around this yard.
It was two-storied, of the ubiquitous wood stained a
dark brown; old, but in excellent repair. The court-
yard itself was newly swept. The stabling was to
the rear of the square, the rest of the inn forming
the other three sides.
"Stay here, I want to have a look at the stabling.
That will tell me everything I need to know." Tarma
handed over her mare's reins to Kethry, and strode
purposefully toward the stable door. She was inter-
cepted by a gray-haired, scar-faced man in a leather
apron.
"Swordlady, welcome," he said. "How may we
serve you?"
"Bed, food and stabling for two—if I like what I
see. And I'd like to see the stables first."
He grinned with the half of his mouth not puck-
ered with a scar. "Shin'a'in? Thought so—this way,
lady."
He himself led the way into the stables, and
Tarma made up her mind then and there. It was
clean and swept, there was no smell of stale dung
or urine. The mangers were filled with fresh hay,
the buckets with clean water, and the only beasts
tied were those few whose wild or crafty eyes and
laid-back ears told Tarma were that they were safer
tied than loose.
"Well, I do like what I see. Now if you aren't
going to charge us like we were gold-dripping pal-
ace fatheads, I think you've got a pair of boarders.
Oh, and Jervac sent us."
The man looked pleased. "I'm Hadell; served with
Jervac until a brawl got me a cut tendon and
mustering out pay. About the charges; two trade-
silver a day for both of you and your beasts, if you
and the mage are willing to share a bed. Room isn't
big, I'll warn you, but it's private. That two pieces
gets you bed and breakfast and supper; dinner you
manage on your own. Food is guard-fare; it's plain,
but there's plenty of it and my cook's a good one.
I'll go the standard three days' grace; more, if you've
got something to leave with me as a pledge. Suits?"
"Suits," Tarma replied, pleased. "I do have a
pledge, but I'd rather save it until I need it. Where's
your stableboy? I don't want my mare to get a
mouthful of him."
"Her," Hadell corrected her. "My daughter. We're
a family business here. I married the cook, my girl
works the stables, my boys wait tables."
"Safer than the other way 'round, hey? Espe-
cially as she gets to the toothsome age." Tarma
shared a crooked grin with him, as he gave a pierc-
ing whistle. A shaggy-haired urchin popped out of
the door of what probably was the grain room, and
trotted up, favoring Tarma with an utterly fearless
grin.
"This is—" he cocked his head inquiringly.
"Tarma shena Tale'sedrin. Shin'a'in, as you said."
"She and her partner are biding here for a bit,
and she wants to make sure her mount doesn't eat
you."
"Laeka, Swordlady." The urchin bobbed her head.
"At your service. You're Shin'a'in?" Her eyes wid-
ened and became eager. "You got a battlesteed?"
"Not yet, Laeka. If I can make it back to the
Plains in one piece, though, I'll be getting one.
Kessira is a saddle-mare; she fights, but she hasn't
the weight or the training of a battlesteed."
"Well, Da says what the Shin'a'in keep for
thesselves is ten times the worth o' what they sells
us."
The innmaster cuffed the girl—gently, Tarma
noticed. "Laeka! Manners!" Laeka rubbed her ear
and grinned, not in the least discomfited.
Tarma laughed. "No insult taken, Keeper, it's
true. We sell you outClan folk our culls. Come with