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

identity. There was a perfectly logical reason for this. Kal‘enedral served first the Goddess of the South Wind, the Warrior, who was as sexless as the blade She bore—and they served next the Clans as a whole—and lastly they served their individual Clans. Being sexless allowed them to keep a certain cool perspective that kept them free of feuding and allowed them to act as interClan arbitrators and mediators. Every Shin’a‘in knew the cost of becoming Kal’enedral. Some in every generation felt the price was worth it. Tarma certainly had—since she had the deaths of her entire Clan to avenge, and only Kal‘enedral were permitted to swear to bloodfeud—and Kethry was mortally certain that having been gang-raped by the brigands that slaughtered her Clan had played no little part in the decision.
    Leslac didn’t believe this. He was certain—without bothering to check into Tarma’s background or the customs of the Shin‘a’in, so far as Kethry had been able to ascertain—that Tarma’s vows were as simple as those of most other celibate orders, and as easily broken. He was convinced that she had taken those vows for some girlishly romantic reason; he had just recently written a song, in fact, that hinted —very broadly—that the “right man” could thaw the icy Shin‘a’in. That was the gist of “that song. ”
    And he evidently thought he was the right man.
    He’d certainly plagued them enough before they’d joined up with Idra, following behind them like a puppy that couldn’t be discouraged.
    He’d lost track of them for two years after they’d joined the Sunhawks and that had been a profound relief. But much to their disappointment, he’d found them again and tracked them to Hawksnest. There he had remained, singing in taverns to earn his keep—and occasionally rendering Tarma’s nights sleepless by singing under her window.
    â€œThat song” was new; the first time Tarma had heard it was when they’d gotten back from the Surshan campaign. Kethry had needed to practically tie her down to keep her from killing the musician.
    â€œThat’s not a wise place to sing that particular ballad,” Kethry observed, “Seeing as that’s where your scouts tend to spend their pay.”
    â€œHai—but it wasn’t my scouts that got him,” Tarma chuckled, “which is why I’m surprised you hadn’t heard. It was Tresti and Sewen.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt was lovely—or so I’m told. Tresti and Sewen sailed in just as he began the damned thing. Nobody’s said—but it wouldn’t amaze me much to find out that Sewen set the whole thing up, though according to my spies, Tresti’s surprise looked real enough. She knows what Kal‘enedral means. Hellfire, we’re technically equals, if I wanted to claim the priestly aspects that go with the Goddess-bond. She also knows how you and I feel about the little warbling bastard. So she decided to have a very public and very priestly fit about blasphemy and sacrilegious mockery.”
    That was one of the few laws within Hawksnest; that every comrade’s gods deserved respect. And to blaspheme anyone’s gods, particularly those of a Sunhawk of notable standing, was an official offense, punishable by the town judge.
    â€œShe didn‘t!”
    â€œShe ruddy well did. That was all Sewen and my children had been waiting for. They called civil arrest on him and bundled him off to jail. And there he languishes for the next thirty days.”
    Kethry applauded, beaming. “That’s thirty whole days we won’t have to put up with his singing under our window!”
    â€œAnd thirty whole days I can stroll into town for a drink without hiding my face!” Tarma looked very pleased with herself.
    Warrl heaved a gigantic sigh.
    â€œLook, Furface, if you like him so much, why