By the Sword (22 page)

Her prediction of coming darkness proved true; within moments after they took shelter, it was impossible to see anything out beyond the mouth of the cave. For that matter, it was impossible to see anything
in
the cave.

“At least we don't have to worry about bears or wolves or anything,” Daren said after a long silence. Both of them had finally stopped shivering, even though Kero doubted that either of them was really warm. She thought, with a longing so sharp that it hurt, of hot tea and her hot bath, and a fire in the fireplace in her room.
This isn't fair. I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't for him playing
the fool.
I wouldn't
be bruised and battered if
he'd had any sense.

Still, being surly wasn't going to accomplish anything. And if he decided she was insulting him and left in a huff, she'd freeze. Together their bodies were keeping the little hollow of their shelter tolerable. By herself she'd shiver herself to pieces. “You think we're safe because nothing with any sense would be out in this rain?” Kero asked. “You're probably right. Unless there's any truth in the stories about water-demons—and I doubt either of us would be of much interest to a water-demon.”

“Not even water-demons are going to stumble around in this,” Daren replied, his voice dull and dispirited. “Dear gods, I hurt. Even my hair hurts.”

“I know what you mean,” Kero told him, glumly. “The colder I get, the stiffer my bruises get.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “You know, we could have handled this better.”

“You mean
you—”
He stopped himself. “I guess you're right. We. I just—I never thought you were serious about all of this. And I didn't think there was any way you could keep up with me. You're a
girl.
”

“So? Half of the mercs Grandmother hired for the Keep are
girls,
” Kero retorted curtly. “Half of the mercs that put your father on his throne were girls. His sister, the Captain of the Sunhawks, was a
girl
. I'd have thought it would have occurred to you by now that being a girl doesn't mean your mind is dead, or that you can't handle anything more dangerous than a needle.”

“You're going to become a
mercenary?”
His voice spiraled up and broke on the high note. “But—why?”

“Because I have to keep myself fed and clothed somehow, your highness,” she said sourly. “Nobody's going to give me anything. My father was a common merc himself before he married my mother, and Grandmother's the only family I've got besides my brother. I'm not going to live out my life on her charity or as the old maiden aunt if I can help it. I've seen too many old maiden aunts, taking care of every chore the wife finds inconvenient. And I really don't have any interest in selling anything other than my sword.”

She thought by his coughing fit, followed by an embarrassed silence, that she'd made him blush.

Finally he cleared his throat, and asked, “Just exactly what are you? You speak like a noble, but you dress like a peasant half the time—a
male
peasant, at that.”

“That's because dressing like a peasant is a lot smarter than you think in conditions like this ‘hound and hare' game,” she pointed out, shifting a little to ease an ache in her hip. “The grays and browns blend right into the forest. And you can't fight in skirts and tight bodices. Or hunt, or ride, or do much of anything besides look attractive. You'd discover, if you ever bothered to look closer, that a lot of the peasants working in the fields that you think are men and boys are actually women.”

“They are?” Evidently this had never occurred to him.

“How in hell are you supposed to swing a scythe with a skirt in the way?” she asked him. “You'd have your skirt in ribbons! As for us, we were supposed to be thinking ‘enemy territory,' right? So I was dressed like a peasant, hard to see, and if anyone did see me, they might not think I was anything dangerous. And I was warm, might I add; peasants know how to dress for bad weather. And there you are in a bright red cloak, in the middle of a dead forest. I suspect we'd have been tagged for that alone.”

“Oh.” He sounded gratifyingly chagrined.

“So you just found out for yourself how well those hunting leathers of yours keep you warm in the rain,” she persisted. “You didn't pay any attention to the weather this morning, you didn't ask Tarma about it either, did you? I've never once heard you ask what the weather was going to be like when we were going to be out all day. It's been unseasonably good since you arrived, if you want to know the truth.”

“You could have told me,” he replied sullenly.

“Why?” Her own repressed anger was warming her better than all her shivering. “You come in here and take my teacher's time away from me, you treat me like I'm too stupid to know that you're insulting me with your superior attitude, you act like you expect me to be excited about the so-called ‘privilege' of training with you. Why should I tell you
anything?
Why should I share my edge with you? You haven't done a thing to deserve it.”

He stiffened as she spoke, and she waited for the outburst she knew would followed her words.

It never came.

“Why is it that you're here, Kerowyn?” he asked slowly. “All I know is that you're Lady Kethry's granddaughter. I thought—I guess I thought you were just playing at this business of learning from Tarma, but you're talking about really going out and selling your sword—”

“I'm not talking about it, I'm going to do it,” she told him firmly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that it had been a long time since she'd last eaten. “I don't have much choice in the matter, not unless I want to live on my brother's good will until he decides to find an appropriate husband for me. If anyone would take me at this point; there's no telling. I've certainly scandalized all of Dierna's family. And of course that assumes I'd sit right down and marry whoever he found for me, like a good little girl, which I don't think I'm minded to do.”

And if some of the hints about the Baron that Grandmother's dropped are true, I suspect he 'd have an interest in keeping me from producing any competition for the Keep
. Kethry had never actually accused the Baron of anything, but Kero was perfectly capable of putting facts together for herself, including a few that Kethry didn't know about. The Baron had been quite interested in the proposed marriage, and had sent a very handsome set of silver as a gift—yet had sent no representative to the wedding. Which argued for the fact that he might well have known that something was going to happen.

And he was in an excellent position to plan for it to happen
. She was very glad that Tarma had hired all those guards, those very competent guards. Doubtless Kethry was keeping a magical eye on the place as well, since the promises she'd made to Rathgar were void with his death.

“I don't know why your brother would have any trouble finding a husband—” Daren began.

Something about the way he said that crystallized the problem that had been going around in her head for weeks. She interrupted him. “What if I don't want him to ‘find me a husband'? What if I'm perfectly happy without a husband? Why should everyone think I'm supposed to be overjoyed about getting wrapped up in ribbons and handed off to some man I've never even met? I'm not so sure I'd want to be handed off like a prize mare to anyone I have met!”

“But I thought that was what every girl wanted,” he said, with what sounded like honest bewilderment. “My sisters all do, or at least, that's all they talk about.”

“Not Tarma,” she reminded him. “Not Grandmother. Not your Aunt Idra. And not me. Does every man drool at the idea of going out and hacking people to bits?”

“Well,” he admitted, “No. My cousin—”

“Well, nothing,” she interrupted again. “Every man doesn't want the same thing. Then why should every woman want the same thing? We're not cookies, you know, all cut out of identical dough and baked to an identical brown and sprinkled with sugar so you men can devour us whenever you please.” She was rather proud of that simile, and preened a little in the dark—but the talk of cookies made her hunger all the worse.

“No,” he replied. “Some of you are crabapples.”

For once her mind was working fast enough. “At least crabapples don't get devoured,” she snapped.
Though I'd eat crabapples right now, if I could find them.
She'd have turned her back on him, if she could have, but there wasn't room in their shelter.

“It's not any easier on a man, you know,” he said after a sullen silence broken only by the steady pattering of rain on dead, soggy leaves. “We get presented with some girl our parents have picked out for us, we have no idea what she's like, and we're expected to make her fall deliriously in love with us so that she goes to the altar smiling instead of crying. And then we're supposed to live up to whatever plans our fathers have for us, whether or not we actually fit what they have in mind. I'm just lucky. Faram's the best brother in the world, and I don't
want
the crown—he thinks I'd make a good Lord Martial, and I've always been pretty good at strategy, so I'm not going to have to do anything I hate. And since I'm the youngest, nobody's going to be expecting me to pick out a bride until I want one. Poor Faram's got to choose before Midsummer, and the gods help him if there isn't at least a sign of an heir by Winter Solstice.”

All this came out in a rush, as if he'd been holding it in for much too long. Kero realized as she listened to him that she felt oddly sorry for him.

“So what are they forcing you into?” she asked quietly. “There must be something.”

He sighed, and winced halfway through as the sigh moved ribs that probably hurt. “I like the idea of planning things, and I like fighting
practice
, ” he said. “It's like a dance, only better, because in court dances you spend an awful lot of time not moving much. But—I've never—actually killed anyone—”

“I have,” she said without thinking. “It's not like in the ballads. It's pretty awful.”

She felt him wince again. “That's what I was afraid of,” he confessed. “I'm afraid that—I won't be able to—” He swallowed audibly, then seemed to realize what she'd said. “You've killed someone?” he said, his voice rising again,

“Well, the sword did—”

“You're
that
Kerowyn?” he squeaked. She couldn't tell from his voice if he was pleased or appalled.

“I'm what Kerowyn?” she asked. “I didn't know there were more of me.”

“The one the song's about, the one that rescued the bride for—” he faltered. “—for her brother—with her grandmother's magic sword.”

“I guess I must be,” she said wearily, “since there can't be too many Kerowyns with magic swords around. The sword did most of it. It was more like
it
was the fighter, and I was the weapon.”

“If I'd known you were that Kerowyn,” he began. “I wouldn't have—”

“You see?” she said through a clenched jaw. “Why should it have made any difference in the way you treated me? Deciding that someone's serious just because they've had a bloody song written about them is a pretty poor way to make judgment calls, if you ask me. Grandmother and Tarma had plenty of songs written about
them
, and most of them were wrong.”

“It's just—just that when I heard the song—I wished I could meet you,” he whispered. “I thought, that's a girl that I could talk to, she doesn't have any stupid ideas about honor, she just knows what's right. And then she goes and does something about it.”

“Well, you're talking to me now,” she replied sourly, hunching herself up against the bed of leaves, wishing she could find a position that hurt a little less.

“I guess I am.” Another long silence. “So what was it really like?”

“If I hadn't been sweating every drop of water out of me, I'd have wet myself,” she told him bluntly. “I've never been so scared in all my life.”

Somehow it was easy to tell him everything, including things she hadn't told her grandmother, the anger she'd felt at Rathgar for being so stupid as to die and leave them all without protection, the same anger at Lordan for being unable to take up the rescue himself. She didn't cry, this time; she wasn't even particularly saddened by the losses anymore. It might all have happened to someone else, a long time ago, and not to her at all.

He told her about his father, his brothers; quite a bit about Faram, not so much about Thanel. She guessed, though, from what little he did say that Thanel was a troublemaker, a coward, and a sneak. The worst possible combination. Fortunately, their father seemed well aware of that; Kero just hoped he'd considered the possibility that Thanel might well try to arrange for an “accident” to befall his older brother. Daren didn't say anything about that, and Kero decided that it wasn't her business to bring it up.

They dozed off sometime during the night; for Kero it was an uneasy sleep, she woke every time he moved, and every time one of her bruises twinged. And it was hard to sleep when her stomach kept gnawing at her backbone. When the sky began to lighten, she just stayed awake. The moment it was bright enough to see, she nudged him; he must have been as awake as she was, because he pulled the cloak off them without a single word, and they both crawled out of their shelter.

The rock they'd hidden under was no longer pig-shaped; it was a very familiar castle-shaped outcropping that Kero had seen a hundred times. They were no more than a few furlongs from the Tower.