By the Sword by Mercedes Lackey Page B

screaming and crying. “You’ve done everything else tonight. Never mind that horrid old woman.”
    Horrid old—now I remember where I heard that voice before. The old woman. That was the same voice I heard on the road, the old woman that stopped me on the way to the Tower—
    While Dierna picked the sword up with a clumsiness caused mainly by the fact that she was trying not to touch it, and was doing her best to keep it at arm’s length away from her, Kero looked around for the old woman.
    She was gone. So was the wolf. And all the usable arrows.
    â€œHere,” Dierna said, thrusting the sword hilt at Kero. She stared at the girl without taking it; that awful, bone-deep gash was healing right before her eyes, faster than Kero had ever seen anything heal before. By the time she had shaken off her surprise to take the blade out of Dierna’s reluctant grasp, the wound had sealed shut and was already fading from a thin pink line to practically nothing, leaving not even a scar.
    It Heals? Dearest Agnira, it Heals, too? After turning me into a berserk killer?
    And what was that old woman doing here, anyway?
    The sound of dancing hoofbeats made her turn, to see one more surprise in a night full of near-miracles.
    The enormous wolf had returned. In its mouth were the reins of two horses; Kero‘s, and one she recognized as coming from the Keep stables. Kero’s Verenna was sweating with fear, and trembling so hard that she was plainly too frightened to try and escape, but the other beast was so tired it was paying no attention to its unusual “groom.”
    The wolf led the horses right up to her, and snorted, which made Verenna grunt and shy. Kero grabbed the ends of the reins dangling from its mouth, and the wolf let go immediately. Verenna jerked her head and tried to bolt, but Kero held her, dropping the sword into the dirt a second time, as the mare rolled her eyes with terror and danced. Finally Kero had to grab her nostrils and pinch them shut, cutting off her air, before she’d calm down.
    She glanced around guiltily as she retrieved the sword a second time, but the old woman was still nowhere in sight. She had the feeling that she’d get a real tongue-lashing if she didn’t clean the blade off after all this. And somehow she didn’t want that formidable old harridan to unleash the full force of her scorn.
    So how am I going to keep the horses from running off while I clean the damn thing? She looked around for something suitable, and finally wound up improvising hobbles for both horses before tethering them to a bush. She could only hope that would hold; if they bolted, she didn’t think the wolf was likely to bring them back a second time.
    By now the sword was encrusted with dirt; Kero had to cut a piece from the bottom of her tunic and use what was left in a stray wineskin to get it clean enough to sheath. The fire was dying down by the time she finished, and she sheathed the blade at her belt and looked for Dierna, again expecting her to be collapsed somewhere, as helpless and incoherent as her two cousins.
    Instead, she saw the girl sorting through a pile of the loot that was part of one of the bandits’ dice winnings, turning things over with a stick, and tossing selected items onto a tattered cloak she had spread out to one side.
    â€œDierna!” she shouted, and winced when the girl jumped, overbalanced, and fell. She left the horses and walked wearily to give the girl a hand up. “Sorry. But what in the name of the six hells are you doing?”
    The girl’s face took on a stubborn expression. “Looking for my wedding presents,” she said.
    â€œYou’re what?” Kero wasn’t sure whether to scream, laugh or cry. She’d been kidnapped, her friends and new relations had been slaughtered, she’d very nearly gone down the gullet of some kind of monster. She lives through all this, and she’s looking for a few