The Oathbound (39 page)

That had turned out to be a foolish fear, as her priest-friend had proved to her. No sooner had he cleansed her of the last of Thalhkarsh’s magic-bindings, then she felt the Warrior’s cool and supportive presence once again in her heart; the asexual psychic armor of the Sword Sworn closed around her again, and she could regard the whole experience as something to learn and benefit from. She was heart-whole and healed again—in spirit if not in body.

Still, none of this would have happened if they’d returned to the Plains; in the very home of the Goddess of the Four Winds the demon would have been powerless, no matter what he had claimed; the bandit would never have made his way past the Outer Clans. And—Warrior’s Oath, how Tarma longed to see the Tale‘sedrin banner flying above a full encampment, with bright-faced children within and fat herds without. Kethry’s wandering feet had nearly caused their deaths this time, and Tale’sedrin had nearly died with them. And her Clan, as for any Shin‘a’in, was the most important thing in Tarma’s life.

But no, it
wasn’t
the most important thing, not anymore. Not if Kethry was going to be made a captive to see that dream achieved. A willing captive she would be, perhaps, but still a captive.

Kethry had been right—she
had
been stifling her friend, and with the best of intentions. She had been putting invisible hobbles on her, or trying to.

Her Shin‘a’in soul rebelled at the notion—“You do not hobble your hound, your horse, your hawk, your lover, or your
she‘enedren,”
went the saying, “love must live free.” A prisoner was a prisoner, no matter how willingly the bonds were taken. And how truly Shin’a‘in could Kethry be, bound? And if she were not Shin’a‘in in her heart, how could her children follow the Clan-ways with whole spirits?

And yet—and yet—there remained Kethry’s oath, and her dream. If Kethry died ...

She closed her eyes and emptied her heart, and hoped for an answer.

And miraculously, one came.

A tiny breath of chill wind wafted out of the north, and coiled around her body, enclosing her in silence. And in that silence, an ageless voice spoke deep in her soul.

Tarma’s heart lifted and she turned back to face her partner with a genuine smile.

“What, and turn you into ‘another Shin’a‘in brood mare’? Come now,
she‘enedra,
we treat our stock better than that! A warsteed mates when
she
is ready, and not before. Surely you don’t reckon yourself as less than Hellsbane!” Tarma’s smile turned wicked. “Or should I start catching handsome young men and parading them before you to tempt your appetite... ?”

Kethry laughed with mingled chagrin and relief, blushing hotly.

“Perhaps I ought to begin a collection, hmm? That’s what we do for our warsteeds, you know, present them with a whole line of stallions until one catches their fancy. Shall I start a picket line for you? Or would you rather I acquired a house of pleasure and stocked the rooms so that you could try their paces at your leisure before choosing?”

Kethry rolled up into the covers to hide her blushes, still laughing.

Tarma joined the laughter, and limped back to her own bed, blowing out their candle and falling into the eiderdowns to find a dreamless and healing sleep.

For there
were
going to be tomorrows, she was sure of that now—and they’d better be in shape to be ready for them.