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Authors: Mercedes Lackey
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go?”
“Enlightening.” Kethry wore a fairly wry smile. She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above the hum of conversation that filled the room. “I never quite realized the extent to which polite feuding among the Fifty goes before I took this little job.”
“Ah?” Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and washed down the last bite of bread and butter with a long pull on her mug.
“Well, I thought that business the fellow at the Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration—until I started using mage-sight on some of the animals my client had picked out as possibles. A good half of them had been beglamoured, and I recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that’s generally used by House mages around here. Some of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a nasty-brat sort of way—like the pair of matched grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow.”
“What would that have accomplished? A horse is a horse, no matter the color.”
“Well, just imagine the young man’s chagrin to be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig; in a procession, perhaps—and then the glamour is lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to flap. ”
Tarma chuckled. “He’d lose a bit of face over it, not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would drive a maroon rig.”
“You’re heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are his House colors, and he hasn’t much choice but to display them. He’d lose more than a little face over it; he wouldn’t dare show himself with his rig in public until he got something so spectacular to pull it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and for a trick like that, he’d practically have to have hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of pride. By the way, that’s my client you’re calling an idiot, and he’s paying quite well.”
“In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do you think you’ll be at this?”
“About a week, maybe two.”
“Good; that will give my pupils their money’s worth and get us back on the road in good time.”
“I hope so,” Kethry looked over her shoulder a little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness. “The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I’ll be found out.”
“I doubt it,” Tarma took another long pull at her mug. “Who’d think to look for you here?”
“She’s where?” The incredulous voice echoed in the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.
“At one of the foreigners’ inns; the Broken Sword. It’s used mostly by mercenaries,” Kavin replied, leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearly-empty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirming and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile furniture. “She isn’t using her full name, and is claiming to be foreign herself.”
“What’s she doing there?” Wethes ran nervous fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then played with the gold letter opener from his desk set. “Has she any allies? I don’t like the notion of going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There could be trouble, and more than money would cover.”
“She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all I could tell, has earned the right to—”
“That’s trouble enough right there,” Wethes interrupted.
Kavin’s eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger at the banker’s rudeness. “That is what you have a house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his equal, else she’d have a patron, and be spending the winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that, she’s wandering about as an itinerant, doing nothing more taxing than checking horses for beglamour ing. As to her allies, there’s only one that matters. A Shin‘a’in swordswoman.”
“Shin‘a’in? One of the sword-dancers? I don’t like
“Enlightening.” Kethry wore a fairly wry smile. She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above the hum of conversation that filled the room. “I never quite realized the extent to which polite feuding among the Fifty goes before I took this little job.”
“Ah?” Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and washed down the last bite of bread and butter with a long pull on her mug.
“Well, I thought that business the fellow at the Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration—until I started using mage-sight on some of the animals my client had picked out as possibles. A good half of them had been beglamoured, and I recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that’s generally used by House mages around here. Some of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a nasty-brat sort of way—like the pair of matched grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow.”
“What would that have accomplished? A horse is a horse, no matter the color.”
“Well, just imagine the young man’s chagrin to be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig; in a procession, perhaps—and then the glamour is lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to flap. ”
Tarma chuckled. “He’d lose a bit of face over it, not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would drive a maroon rig.”
“You’re heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are his House colors, and he hasn’t much choice but to display them. He’d lose more than a little face over it; he wouldn’t dare show himself with his rig in public until he got something so spectacular to pull it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and for a trick like that, he’d practically have to have hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of pride. By the way, that’s my client you’re calling an idiot, and he’s paying quite well.”
“In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do you think you’ll be at this?”
“About a week, maybe two.”
“Good; that will give my pupils their money’s worth and get us back on the road in good time.”
“I hope so,” Kethry looked over her shoulder a little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness. “The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I’ll be found out.”
“I doubt it,” Tarma took another long pull at her mug. “Who’d think to look for you here?”
“She’s where?” The incredulous voice echoed in the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.
“At one of the foreigners’ inns; the Broken Sword. It’s used mostly by mercenaries,” Kavin replied, leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearly-empty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirming and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile furniture. “She isn’t using her full name, and is claiming to be foreign herself.”
“What’s she doing there?” Wethes ran nervous fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then played with the gold letter opener from his desk set. “Has she any allies? I don’t like the notion of going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There could be trouble, and more than money would cover.”
“She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all I could tell, has earned the right to—”
“That’s trouble enough right there,” Wethes interrupted.
Kavin’s eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger at the banker’s rudeness. “That is what you have a house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his equal, else she’d have a patron, and be spending the winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that, she’s wandering about as an itinerant, doing nothing more taxing than checking horses for beglamour ing. As to her allies, there’s only one that matters. A Shin‘a’in swordswoman.”
“Shin‘a’in? One of the sword-dancers? I don’t like
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