The Steerswoman's Road (34 page)

“Understand,” Rowan said to Bel, “a wizard could have any
companion he chooses. Willing or unwilling, I suppose. The field of possibilities
is large.”

“Large indeed, and more willing than not. Really, the way
some of those people behaved!” Liane fluttered her fingers fastidiously. “Beneath
me. I didn’t try to attract attention at all.”

She was altering her speech patterns, Rowan realized, and trying
to adopt a form she considered superior. Likely her normal style was more like
that of most of the guards. A local girl.

“And despite that, you were chosen, from everyone.” Rowan
tried to sound impressed.

“Oh, yes.” Liane sighed ostentatiously. “It was love at
first sight, I suppose.”

Bel was more dubious. “With which one?”

The girl feigned surprise. “Why, both of them.” She gave an
arch, self-satisfied look. “They’re very close.”

The Outskirter frowned in thought as she tried to work out
the logistics.

Rowan manufactured an envious expression. “Some people are
born for good fortune.”

“Not all love and fun, I tell you,” the girl stressed
seriously, slipping into natural speech, then slipping out again. “Mine is an
important responsibility! When they’re distressed, or out of sorts, when their
spells go bad and their plans don’t work, who do they turn to?”

There was a large pause before anyone recognized that she expected
an answer to so rhetorical a question. Bel surrendered. “You?”

“Yes, indeed! And if I can’t soothe them and cheer them up—”
She made a wide gesture. “Everyone suffers.”

“Are they out of sorts now?”

Her expansive mood faltered. She rubbed her nose with the
back of one hand: an unconscious gesture, natural and poignant. “They’re very
demanding,” she eventually replied.

“Is it this business with the steerswoman?” Rowan queried
nonchalantly, remembering Ellen’s comments.

Liane showed disgruntlement and picked up another slice of
meat. “Nothing else. I hate her. Everything’s in an uproar, just when we had
gotten decently settled.”

“We might get sent out in a search squad,” Bel volunteered.

“I hope you kill her. No,” the girl amended, “that would
only make matters worse.”

“It’s not really fair,” Rowan said, trying to voice Liane’s
own thoughts. “Shammer and Dhree have just fought a dreadful war. I imagine
they’d like to rest and enjoy themselves, rather than worry about some
fugitive.”

Bel discovered her role in the conversation and began to
play it. “Not at all,” she said to Rowan. “They have a responsibility. If this
woman is some criminal, then she ought to be punished.”

“I’m sure they have other matters to attend to. How
important can one woman be?”

Brooding on her hatred for the mysterious steerswoman, Liane
commented distractedly, “It doesn’t matter if she’s important or not. They
still have to catch her. But they don’t have to like it.”

Rowan stopped short. Implications crowded her mind, each demanding
attention. Misunderstanding her silence, Bel tried to carry on the
investigation. “If they don’t like it, why don’t they stop?”

The girl’s gaze refocused, and she slipped back into her superior
manner. “That’s hardly the sort of thing soldiers should worry about. You just
do as you’re told, and leave the decisions to your betters. Well.” She pushed
away her plate. “Let’s leave the mess for the scullions. It will be a great
mystery. Don’t you have to report to someone or go and guard something?”

If they reported to the night officer immediately, the lost
time would not be difficult to explain away. Nevertheless, Rowan said, “Perhaps,
miss, you’d let us escort you back to your chambers?” She thought it likely
that Liane’s rooms were within the central keep.

The girl smiled charmingly, tilting her head. She had
apparently decided that she liked this understanding guardswoman. “Well. That’s
well spoken, but explaining you would take more trouble than it’s worth.
However—” She tapped one cheek thoughtfully, amused with her own idea. “I think
that tomorrow I’ll ask if I might be allowed to have a small contingent of my
own, a sort of honor guard? Would you two enjoy a job like that?”

Rowan was astonished. “Very much, miss,” she said quite honestly.
Bel’s grin possibly seemed feral only to Rowan.

“That’s good. I’d like it, too.” Liane turned away, allowing
the cloak to swirl dramatically about her, very conscious of the effect.
Pausing at the door, she made a gesture back toward the stairs. “Go on. You’re
dismissed.”

Ascending the stairs, Rowan’s steps began to slow of their own
accord. Halfway up, she discovered that she had stopped climbing.

Bel paused, looking back down at her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. But wait a bit, I need to think. Something Liane
said.” The conversation had yielded possibly important information, and Rowan
stood silently as she organized the implications of three offhand comments.

It doesn’t matter if she’s important or not.
Possibilities were two: the steerswoman was unimportant; or there was no way to
determine her degree of importance.

They still have to catch her.
There was an impetus to
do so that was outside of Shammer and Dhree’s control. Possibilities were two:
a natural impetus consisting of the real threat she represented; or an artificial
impetus.

They don’t have to like it.
Shammer and Dhree
resented the situation. Possibilities were two, and not mutually exclusive:
they resented the waste of their resources; or they resented the existence of
the outside impetus.

That resentment itself presented two possibilities: it was
justified; or it was unjustified.

If their resentment was unjustified, it implied unrealistic
attitudes. At least in the two wizards’ minds, it was justified.

If it was justified, then they believed she was unimportant,
and they disliked acting against their own judgment against a threat they did
not see as real. The impetus, then, was irresistible—and artificial.

The steerswoman turned to Bel. “Shammer and Dhree are acting
under orders.”

She half expected Bel to doubt her and require lengthy
justification, but the Outskirter digested the statement, then nodded minutely.
“You’re certain.”

“Yes.”

“Who gives orders to wizards?”

Possibilities were two. “Either the decision was made by the
wizards in concert, with Shammer and Dhree dissenting but forced to follow
the majority ... or there’s some single authority set over all wizards.”

“If there were, why would they ever war against each other?”
Possibilities were two. “If the authority exists, either it doesn’t care or it approves.”

They continued up and then along the second-floor corridor, planning
to return to their barracks by completing their circuit of the fortress. As
they turned the final corner, they saw in the distance the last member of the
squad they had ambushed, the man they had tortured. He was alive.

They flattened themselves against the wall.

He was descending an open staircase, moving like a recently
risen invalid. His bandages were fresh, his clothes and person clean. A
solicitous comrade walked beside him, speaking in low tones.

“If he turns this way he’s bound to recognize us,” the
Outskirter muttered.

“I doubt he’ll ever forget your face.” There was a door by Rowan’s
right hand. She slid closer and tested the latch. It was unlocked. A tap on the
shoulder got Bel’s attention, and the two slipped through. Rowan eased the
latch silently closed.

The dim corridor they found was warmer than outside, with a
faintly muffled feel. Trying to orient herself, Rowan felt a moment’s
confusion, and then amazed gratification. Briefly, the danger outside vanished
from her thoughts. Rowan called her map to mind. “This is it. We’re in the
center.” The ceiling there was lower than elsewhere. Rowan ran her hand along
one wall. It was paneled in rich dark wood, kept gleaming by much attention.

“Yes.” Bel looked around. “The inner fortress, nestled
within the outer one. Do you think he’ll come in here?”

Rowan shook her head, thinking. “Possibly not.” She made a
gesture back toward the door. “That’s the part that most people deal with.
Official rooms, residences—everything connected with the outside is conducted
there.”

“Then this is important.” They were speaking in whispers.

“But the door isn’t guarded, and it stands in plain sight.
This area isn’t really secret or protected. Perhaps it’s just meant to be
secluded.”

“Or perhaps there’s something in here that takes care of
intruders by itself.”

Fear and excitement fought each other in Rowan. “And that
might signify something very important indeed.”

“This hall seems normal enough. In fact, it’s more pleasant
here than in the rest of the keep.”

“Perhaps that’s its only purpose. The wizards may keep their
private chambers here.”

“And everyone would avoid them.” Bel looked back at the
door. “Well, we can’t go back out without being seen. And someone else might
come in soon.”

“Yes.” The corridor ran straight for some twenty feet and
came to a cross juncture. A single, heavily carved door faced them from the intersection.
Rowan approached it cautiously, Bel trailing ten feet behind, watching their
back.

Reaching the door, Rowan paused and leaned close. Voices
leaked faintly from within. She shook her head once in frustration, then
glanced both ways down the crossing corridor. Deserted, with more doors. She
added their orientation to her mental map, chose the direction that seemed to
have the most options, and indicated that Bel should wait at the intersection.

She took five slow steps, her gum-soled boots dead silent on
the carpet, and a door on the right opened. A slight, dark man emerged, his
arms full of bundled clothing. Rowan slipped into a more normal pace and made
to continue by nonchalantly. Bel stepped back out of sight.

He dropped the bundle. “Say! You can’t be in here!”

Rowan stopped and looked about in puzzlement. “Sorry. Made a
wrong turn.” She turned back.

“You, there!” he called after her. “Stop!”

Rowan ignored him. He called again, then set up a cry for
guards. A bustle and clatter grew ahead, and abruptly Rowan’s alternatives had
vanished.

She was trapped three ways, with the servant behind, the
guards ahead, and the door by which she and Bel had entered, with people
possibly outside

She made the only choice she could, and Bel was ahead of
her, already at the door. The Outskirter reached for the latch.

There was a faint snap, and Bel spun back as if struck, slamming
up against the wall.

A guard-spell!

Rowan felt a hand on her shoulder, turned, and fisted the servant
across the face. Then the guards were there, three men, and she was gripped by
too many—and too strong—hands.

Bel had recovered her balance and stood weaving slightly,
watching dazedly. Rowan wanted to tell her to flee, but it came to her that
her friend would do no such thing. One of the guards spotted the Outskirter. “Here,
who’s that one?”

They must not both be caught. Rowan’s mind went into a flurry,
then clutched at an inspiration.

She struggled wildly, aiming a kick at the man’s crotch.
“She’s
the only reason you lowlives caught me. You’re all too stupid except her.”

One man laughed harshly. “Not too stupid to know there’s no
women in the inner guard.” He called over to Bel. “You! How did you get through
that door?”

Rowan spoke before Bel could. “She was
chasing
me!
Slipped in behind me. She’s too damn fast and too damn smart.”

“Is that right?”

Bel wavered on her feet. She seemed hesitant, her reactions
oddly slowed. The spell, an aftereffect, Rowan thought. Bel, keep up with me!

Bel, beginning to catch on, approached. “That’s right.” One
of the guards shook Rowan. “So how did
you
get in?”

She ceased struggling abruptly and leaned her face mere
inches from his. She made her voice brittle with spite and disdain. “I got in because
your pitiful little guard-spells have no effect on
me.”

Someone’s grip faltered. “Gods below, she’s a wizard.”

“No.” Understanding grew on the servant’s face. “I know who
she is. She’s that steerswoman.”

“What, the one all them squads were sent for? She’s here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Her fear lent credence to the sneering
anger she feigned. “I’ve been in the midst of you for days. You wouldn’t have
caught me at all but for
her.”
She jerked her head in Bel’s direction.

Her ploy was not working. Bel should have been
participating, playing up, filling in the story. Instead, she stood to one
side, still dazed, watching with the desperate attention of someone trying to
follow a situation suddenly too complex.

Rowan needed a reaction from her, a convincing one, and
quickly. Taking advantage of the guard’s weakened grip, she pulled half-free,
took one step toward the Outskirter, and spit in her face.

Bel went blank in shock and stood for a moment, stunned. A
sound grew inside her; then she released a single furious shriek and went for
Rowan’s throat with her bare hands.

Rowan dodged back into the arms of the guards, and one of
them stepped forward to fend off Bel’s onslaught. “Ho, hold it there!” He
laughed. “They want this one alive, I think.”

“Keep her away from me!” Rowan pressed herself deeper into
her captor’s grips.

“We’ll handle the steerswoman, girlie. Calm down!” Bel subsided,
looking at the man with a wild eye. “You done good,” he assured her. “Probably
a promotion in this for you.”

“So, we take her to Druin?” The man spoke close beside Rowan’s
ear. Her heart stumbled. Druin would remember that the women had come in
together; the ploy would fail.