Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers by Mercedes Lackey Page A

know, fewer can leak.”
    The Lord Commander sent one of his pages out after Lord Shoveral, then he and Idra began planning in earnest. From time to time he snapped out a question at Tarma; how far, how many, what about this or that—she answered as best she could, but she was tired, far more weary than she had guessed. She found her tongue feeling oddly clumsy, and she had to think hard about each word before she could get it out.
    Finally Leamount and Idra began a low-voiced colloquy she didn’t bother to listen to; she just hung on to the edge of the table and tried enforcing her alertness with Kal‘enedral discipline exercises. They didn’t work overly well; she was on her last wind, for certain.
    Leamount caught Tarma’s wavering attention. The maps on the table were beginning to go foggy to her eyes. “Swordsworn,” he said, looking a little concerned, “you look half dead, but we may need you; what say you go bed down over there in the corner—” He nodded in the direction of his own cot. “If there’s a point you need to clarify for us, we’ll give you a shake.” He raised his voice. “Jons—”
    One of the two sentries poked his head in through the tent flap. “Sir?”
    â€œStir up my squire, would you? Have him find something for this starving warrior to eat and drink.”
    Tarma had stumbled to the other side of the tent and was already collapsing onto the cot, her weariness washing her under with a vengeance. The blankets felt as welcoming and warm as they looked, and she curled up in them without another thought, feeling Warrl heaving himself up to his usual position at her feet. As the tent and the voices faded, while the wave of exhaustion carried her into slumber, she heard Idra chuckling.
    â€œYou might as well not bother Jons,” the Captain told Leamount, just before sleep shut Tarma’s ears. “I don’t think she cares.”

Three

    K ethry shifted her weight over her mount’s shoulders, half-standing in her stirrups to ease Hellsbane’s balance as the mare scrambled up the treacherous shale of another slope. They were slightly more than halfway across the hills; it was cold and damp and the lowering gray clouds looked close enough to touch, but at least it wasn’t raining again. She wasn’t too cold; under her wool cloak she wore her woolen sorceress’ robe, the unornamented buff color showing her school was White Winds, and under that, woolen breeches, woolen leggings, and the leather armor Tarma had insisted she don. The only time she was uncomfortable was when the wind cut in behind the hood of the robe.
    She was a member of the last party to leave the camp and make the crossing; they’d left their wounded to the care of Leamount’s hillclansmen and his own personal Healer. Tresti, the Healer-Priest, had been in the second party to slip away from the camp, riding by the side of her beloved Sewen. Oreden and Jiles, the two hedge-mages, had gone two groups later; The herbalist Rethaire and his two young apprentices had left next. Kethry had stayed to the very last, her superior abilities at sensing mage-probes making her the logical choice to deflect any attempts at spying until the full exchange of personnel was complete.
    She felt a little at a loss without her partner riding at her left. Tarma had preceded her more than half a day ago, leaving before midnight, as the guide with Idra and the first group. Of all the party that had made the first crossing, only Jodi had remained to ride with the tailguard group.
    Jodi was somewhere behind them, checking on the backtrail. That was not as comforting to Kethry as it should have been. Kethry knew her fears were groundless, that the frail appearance of the scout belied a tough interior—but—
    As if the thought had summoned her, a gray shadow slipped up upon Kethry’s right, with so little noise it might have been a shadow