The Oathbound by Mercedes Lackey Page B

marks. Now their camp was set up, and the tiny fire burning brightly in the stone-lined pit. When they had entered this forest, Tarma had emphasized the importance of keeping their fires small and under strict control. Now that Kethry knew about the Hawkbrothers, she could guess why. This tree-filled land was theirs, and they doubtless had laws that a visitor to it had better keep, especially with winged watchers all about.
    She heard Tarma approaching long before she saw her; a dark shape looming back along the trail, visible only because it was moving.
    “Ho, the camp!” Tarma’s hoarse voice called cheerfully.
    “Ho, yourself—what was your luck?”
    “Good enough. From this place you take no more than you need, ally or not. Got browse?”
    Tarma appeared in the firelight, leading Kessira, something dangling from her hand.
    “Behind me about forty paces; Rodi’s already tethered there, along a downed tree. If you’ll give me what you’ve got, I’ll clean it.”
    “Skinning is all you need to do, I field-gutted ‘em.” Tarma tossed two odd creatures at Kethry’s feet, the size and shape of plump rabbits, but with short, tufted ears, long claws, and bushy, flexible tails.
    “I’ll go take care of Rodi and my baby, and I’ll be right back.” Tarma disappeared into the darkness again, and sounds from behind her told Kethry that she was unsaddling her mare and grooming both the animals. She had unsaddled Rodi but had left the rest to Tarma, knowing the Shin‘a’in could tend a saddlebeast in the dark and half asleep. Rodi, while well-mannered for a mule, was too ticklish about being groomed for Kethry to do it in uncertain light.
    When Tarma returned, she brought with her their little copper traveling-kettle filled with water. “We’ll have to stew those devils; they’re tough as old boots after the winter,” she said; then, so softly Kethry could hardly hear her, “I got a reply to my invitation. We’ll have a visitor in a bit. Chances are he’ll pop in out of nowhere; try not to look startled, or we’ll lose face. I can guarantee he’ll look very strange; in this case, the stranger the better—if he really looks odd it will mean he’s giving us full honors.”
    Just at the moment the stewed meat seemed ready, their visitor appeared.
    Even though she’d been forewarned, Kethry still nearly jumped out of her skin. One moment the opposite side of the fire was empty—the next, it was not.
    He was tall; like Tarma, golden-skinned and blue-eyed. Unlike Tarma, his hair was a pure silver-white; it hung to his waist, two braids framing his face, part of the rest formed into a topknot, the remainder streaming unconfined down his back. Feathers had been woven into it—a tiny owlet nestled at the base of the topknot, a nestling Kethry thought to be a clever carving, until it moved its head and blinked.
    His eyes were large and slightly slanted, his features sharp, with no trace of facial hair. His eyebrows had a slight, upward sweep to them, like wings. His clothing was green, all colors of green—Kethry thought it at first to be rags, until she saw how carefully those seeming rags were cut to resemble foliage. In a tree, except for that hair, he’d be nearly invisible, even with a wind blowing. He wore delicate jewelry of woven and braided silver wire and crystals.
    He carried in his right hand a strange weapon; a spearlike thing with a wicked, curving point that seemed very like a hawk’s talon at one end and a smooth, round hook at the other. In his left he carried Tarma’s medallion.
    Tarma rose to her feet, gracefully. “Peace, Moonsong. ”
    “And upon you, Child of the Hawk.” Both of them were speaking Shin‘a’in—after months of tutoring Kethry was following their words with relative ease.
    “Tarma,” the Shin‘a’in replied, “and Kethry. My she‘enedra. You will share hearth and meal? It is tree-hare, taken as is the law; rejected suitors, no mates, no young, and older than