Read Online Oathblood by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online

with a grin, stood, stretched stiffened muscles, then stripped to a shift and climbed in beside Kethry. Warrl sighed with gratitude and took his usual spot at her feet.
    â€œThree things see no end—
A flower blighted ere it bloomed,
A message that was wasted
And a journey that was doomed.”
    The two mercenaries rode out of town in the morning, obviously eager to be gone. Grumio watched them leave, gazing sadly at the cloud of dust they raised, his houndlike face clearly displaying his disappointment. His fellow merchants were equally disappointed when he told them of his failure to persuade them; they had all hoped the women would have solved their problem.
    After sundown Grumio took a cart and horse out to his farmstead, a saddled riding beast tied to the rear of it. After making certain that no one had followed him, he drove directly into the barn, then peered around in the hay-scented gloom. A fear crossed his mind that the women had tricked him and had truly left that morning.
    â€œDon’t fret yourself, merchant,” said a gravelly voice just above his head. He jumped, his heart racing. “We’re here.”
    A vague figure swung down from the loft; when it came close enough for him to make out features, he started at the sight of a buxom blonde wearing the swordswoman’s clothing.
    She grinned at his reaction. “Which one am I? She didn’t tell me. Blonde?”
    He nodded, amazed.
    â€œMalebait again. Good choice, no one would ever think I knew what a blade was for. You don’t want to see my partner.” The voice was still in Tarma’s gravelly tones; Grumio assumed that that was only so he’d recognize her. “We don’t want you to have to strain your acting ability tomorrow. Did you bring everything we asked for?”
    â€œIt’s all here,” he replied, still not believing what his eyes were telling him. “I weighted the boxes with sand and stones so that they won’t seem empty.”
    â€œYou’ve got a good head on you, merchant.” Tarma saluted him as she unharnessed the horse. “That’s something I didn’t think of. Best you leave now, though, before somebody comes looking for you.”
    He jumped down off the wagon, taking the reins of his riding beast.
    â€œAnd merchant—” she called as he rode off into the night, “—wish us luck.”
    That was one thing she didn’t have to ask for. He didn’t have to act the next morning, when the delicate and aristocratically frail lady of obvious noble birth accosted him in his shop, and ordered him (although it was framed as a request) to include her in his packtrain. In point of fact, had he not recognized the dress and fur cloak she was wearing, he would have taken her for a real aristo—one who, by some impossible coincidence, had taken the same notion into her head that the swordswoman had proposed as a ruse. This sylphlike, sleepy-eyed creature with her elaborately coiffed hair of platinum silk bore no resemblance at all to the very vibrant and earthy sorceress he’d hired.
    And though he was partially prepared by having seen her briefly the night before, Tarma (posing as milady’s maid) still gave him a shock. He saw why she called the disguise “malebait”—this amply-endowed blonde was a walking invitation to impropriety, and nothing like the sexless Sworn One. All that remained of “Tarma” were the blue eyes, one of which winked cheerfully at him, to bring him out of his shock.
    Grumio argued vehemently with the highborn dame for the better part of an hour, and all to no avail. Undaunted, he carried his expostulations out into the street, still trying to persuade her to change her mind even as the packtrain formed up in front of his shop. The entire town was privy to the argument by that time.
    â€œLady, I beg you—reconsider!” he was saying anxiously. “Wait for the King’s Patrol.