Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page B

Idra as she did, Tarma had a pretty good idea of what the Captain’s suggested strategy was going to be. And it would involve the Hawks and no one else. No bad thing, that; the Hawks could count on their own to know what to do.
    The rain had finally let up as they broke back out into the herder’s country; they were dead tired and ready to drop, but at least they weren’t wet anymore. Tarma saw an outrider a few furlongs beyond the camp; he, she or it was waving a scarf in the Hawks’ colors of brown and golden yellow. She waved back, and the outrider vanished below the line of a hill. They all relaxed at that; they were watched for, they need not guard their path—and there would almost certainly be food and drink waiting for them in the camp. That was exactly what they’d needed and hoped for.
    They hadn’t expected Idra and Sewen to be waiting for them at the entrance to the camp.
    â€œGood work, children. Things are heating up. Maps,” Idra said curtly, and Jodi handed over the waterproof case with a half-salute and a tired grin. They were all achingly weary at this point; horses and humans alike were wobbly at the knees. Only Tarma and Ironheart were in any kind of shape, and Tarma wasn’t too certain how much of Ironheart’s apparent energy was bluff. Battlemares had a certain stubborn pride that sometimes made them as pigheaded about showing strain as—
    :Certain Kal‘enedral,: Warrl said in her head.
    Shut up, she thought back at him, you should talk about being pigheaded—
    â€œGood work. Damned fine work,” Idra said, looking up from the maps and interrupting Tarma’s train of thought. “Tarma, if you’re up to a little more—”
    â€œCaptain.” Tarma nodded, and sketched a salute.
    â€œThe rest of you—there’s hot wine and hot food waiting in my tent, and a handful of Hawks to give your mounts the good rubdown and treat they deserve. Tarma, give Ironheart to Sewen and come with me. Warrl, too, if he wants. The rest of you get under shelter. We’ll be seeing you all later—with news, I hope.”
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    Tarma had been too fatigue-fogged to note where they were going, except that they were working their way deeply into the heart of the encampments. But after a while the size of the tents and the splendor of the banners outside of them began to penetrate her weariness.
    What in the name—
    :On your best behavior, mindmate,: Warrl said. For once his mindvoice sounded dead serious. :This is the camp of the Lord Commander.:
    Before Tarma had a chance to react, Idra was ushering her past a pair of massive sentries and into the interior of a tent big enough to hold a half dozen of the Hawks’ little two-man bivouacs.
    Tarma blinked in the light and warmth, and felt her muscles going to jelly in the pleasant heat. Mage-lights everywhere, and a jesto-vath that made Kethry’s look like a simple shieldspell.
    Other than that, though, the tent was as plain as Idra‘s, divided, as hers was, into a front and back half. In the front half was a table, some chairs and document-boxes, a rack of wine bottles. The curtain dividing it was half open; on the other side Tarma could see what looked like a chest, some weapons and armor—and a plain camp cot, piled high with thick furs and equally thick blankets.
    What I wouldn’t give to climb into that right now, she was thinking, when her attention was pulled away by something more important.
    â€œLeamount, you old warhorse, here’s our miracle-maker,” Idra was saying to a lean, grizzled man in half-armor standing by the map-table, but in the shadows, so that Tarma hadn’t really noticed him at first. Tarma had seen Lord Leamount once or twice at a distance; she recognized him by his stance and his scarlet surcote with Sursha’s rampant grasscat more than anything else, although once he turned in her direction she saw the two signature braids he