The Shattered Chain (24 page)

Chapter

TEN

Magda woke late; it was full daylight in the shelter, and the Amazons had built up the fire and were cooking breakfast. She closed her eyes, pretending sleep, knowing that she could delay the decision no longer.

I took the oath to gain time. I do not want to break it. I have learned
—
and learned too late that I am almost more Darkovan than Terran, and an oath is sacred. But that does not matter now. I cannot let Peter die, alone and by torture. I am an agent of Terra, and Peter is my colleague.

Once she had formulated that clearly, all the emotional reasons on the other side surged up inside her; but she forced them down with a great effort, her face set in rigid calm.
I have made my decision. I will not even think about any other possibility.

Even if it’s a
wrong
decision?

Stop that! No more wavering!

She set about wondering how she could carry it out. They were planning to send her to the Guild-house at Neskaya, which was a good long way from here. But it was in a different direction from Nevarsin, which was their immediate mission. Surely they would not alter their route to take her to Neskaya; one or, at the most, two would be detailed for that. She would pretend submission until they were off guard and trusted her—
How skillful I am at betrayal!
—then slip away and take the fastest route back to Thendara.
They will be looking for me at Sain Scarp, and if I go directly there, having betrayed my oath to them, they will have a legal right to kill me on sight, and Peter will die, under torture. Once in Thendara
—
what then?

All I can do is to tell Montray I’ve failed, that
—
literally
—
he sent a woman to do a man’s job, and on this world, a woman couldn’t handle it. He will have to send someone else. There will still be time, just barely.

And what’s ahead for me, on this world, after that?

Nothing. …

Magda accepted the fact that this meant exile from her own world, which was Darkover. She could never again take up her old work in Thendara; once she stepped into the Darkovan zone, any Free Amazon was legally entitled to kill her on sight. She would have to put in for a transfer, go somewhere else.

To a planet where a woman can have something genuine to do.
She thought, bleakly, that at least her coup with the Free Amazons—
I’ve quadrupled all existing knowledge about them
—would bring her an offer worthy of her capabilities.

The thought of leaving Darkover brought sharp, tearing pain, almost a physical agony. But there was no other way. She knew she could no longer endure the ordinary life of a woman op this world, nor the limited work that a woman could do here for the Empire.

If I could live here as a Free Amazon…
but the price of keeping her oath was Peter’s death by torture.

He is Darkovan, too. Would he accept his life, knowing I had bought it by oath breaking and the sacrifice of integrity?
The thought was too painful to endure. Magda forced herself to get up, to break off the endless, useless self-questioning.

Jaelle, already dressed, was standing by the fire, making up a hot drink from roasted grain; Magda had tasted it a few times in Caer Donn. She dipped up a cup for Magda, and said, “I made them let you sleep; you must have been wearied to death. The others are out with the horses, making ready to go. This morning you and I take the road for the Guild-house, where your name will be written on the rolls of the Charter.”

Magda said, in a last desperate attempt to get through to her, “I have told you my mission is life and death; my kinsman will die by torture if I do not ransom him at midwinter.”

Jaelle looked sympathetic. But she said, “By oath, sister, you renounced loyalty to any man, and to any household, family or clan. Your loyalties are to us now.”

Magda clenched her fists in utter despair. Jaelle said gently, “When we reach the Guild-house, you may lay your case before the Guild-mothers; it may be that when they have heard all, they will decide that your claim does not violate the oath, and send someone in your place to ransom him. There would be tune for that. But I am not empowered to make that decision.”

Magda turned abruptly away.
So be it,
she thought grimly;
on your own head, Jaelle, even if I have to kill you.

The other women came from the barn, laughing, chattering, talking of the ride ahead. Jaelle said, “The rest of you may ride when you will, but you must choose another leader; Margali and I must ride for Neskaya.”

“Oh, Jaelle,” Gwennis protested, “you took this mission because your brother is there, and you have not seen him in years! Appoint one of us to take her to Neskaya for you! I will gladly change with you.”

Jaelle laughed, shaking her head. “Why, I just reproved Margali, reminding her that our first loyalty is to Guild, not kindred! As for my brother, a boy of ten has little need for a visit from a grown sister; I can see him at Ardais in midsummer, and anyway, no doubt dom Gabriel has taught him enough about the family disgrace that I am sure he would rather be spared my visit!”

Magda asked, “Is your brother a monk, then?”

“Oh, no! But he has been sent there, like many Comyn sons, to learn to read and write and to hear something of our history. He is Rohana’s fosterling; I have seen him but once since he was three years old.”

Pretending interest, she asked the nature of the mission.

“At Nevarsin, the monks keep the records of much knowledge lost elsewhere since the Ages of Chaos. They will not teach women, and we are not even allowed to stay in the guesthouse, but we have leave to use their library. Our best scribes, a little at a time, are transcribing their books on anatomy and surgery, as well as those on birth and the diseases of women—books you would think they would turn over to us entirely, since the monks can make no use of them. We are allowed to have only two scribes there at a time; Rayna and Sherna are going there to change with two women who have been there for half a year, and Gwennis to keep house for them in the village, while Camilla will escort the others home.”

Magda toyed with a bowl of the powdered porridge. She was curious, but asked no more questions. It went against the grain to pretend friendliness with a woman she might have to kill.

Soon after, the other women rode away, leaving Magda and Jaelle alone. While they were saddling their horses, Jaelle discovered that hers had a loose shoe.

“I wish I had discovered it before Gwennis left,” she said. “She is no blacksmith, but I have seen her make emergency repairs. Well, we must stop in the nearest village. Just look at that!” She handed the shoe to Magda, who stood weighing it in her hand as Jaelle bent to examine the horse’s hoof.

I could stun her with it and get away now …

But she waited too long; Jaelle turned back and held out her hand for the shoe, dropping it into her saddlebag.

It was a bright morning, almost cloudless, with a brisk cold wind blowing. Jaelle sniffed the wind, started to throw a leg into her saddle—and at that moment Magda heard a savage yell and two men rushed them from the woods, knives drawn. In split-second shock, Magda recognized two of the bandits from last night: the black-bearded bandit leader, and the big man with the mustachios whom Jaelle had wounded. Magda heard herself shout a warning; Jaelle whirled, half out of her saddle. Then she was fighting, backed up against her horse, the two men almost hiding her from Magda’s sight. Magda thought,
Run! Get away now; they’re saving you the trouble of killing her.

But already she had her own knife out, was running toward them. Blackbeard whirled and Magda felt his knife graze her arm, a pain like fire, as she plunged her own knife deep into his chest; felt it turn on bone and slip. He slithered, with a groan, to the ground. Jaelle was still fighting with the other man; she saw that Jaelle was bleeding from a long slash on the cheek. Then she heard Jaelle scream with agony as the bandit’s knife drove down toward her breast; she fell to the ground and at that instant Magda felt her knife sink into the man’s back.

He fell with a harsh sound, air escaping from lungs already no longer breathing. Slowly, feeling sick, she pulled out the knife.

I haven’t fought anyone since combat training, ten years ago. Now I’ve killed one and wounded another.
She looked at Jaelle, unconscious on the ground, almost under the body of the man Magda had killed.
Is he dead?
The thought did not bring relief, but a wrenching agony.
She fought for me, last night. And I would have betrayed her…

Jaelle stirred, and Magda knew that Jaelle’s life still stood between her and her mission. She was still holding the bloody knife with which she had killed the bandit. She saw Jaelle’s eyes move to the knife; she lay still, looking up at Magda without a word. Magda suddenly knew that she could not kill anyone in cold blood; above all she could not kill this woman who lay bleeding and helpless in the snow at her feet.

What good is Peter’s life if I buy it with another death? I will save him honorably if I can; not otherwise.
She knelt beside Jaelle. Her face was covered with blood; more blood was soaking through her shoulder. She lifted the sticky clothes clinging to the wound.

The bandit’s knife had gone under the collarbone and sliced down toward the armpit; a bad wound, painful and dangerous but not, Magda thought, necessarily fatal. She got out her knife again and cleaned the blade, saw that one of Jaelle’s eyes was open—the other was clotted shut—and that she was watching the knife. Magda said irritably, “I’ve got to cut these clothes off so I can, stop the bleeding.” She slit Jaelle’s tunic and eased it gently away from the skin; Jaelle gasped with the pain but did not cry out. She only said, wetting her lips, “Did you—kill them both?”

“One is surely dead. I don’t know about the other, but he isn’t in any shape to harm us,” Magda said.

Jaelle said, her breath coming loud, “Bandages … in my saddlebags …”

Magda got up, edging between the dead bandit and Jaelle’s horse, which, smelling the blood, shifted its feet uneasily. She led the horse away and took down the saddlebags, hunting in them; she found two or three rolls, and what looked like a small, primitive first-aid kit.
That cut probably needs stitches, but I can’t do it.
She made a pressure bandage, strapped it around Jaelle’s shoulder, turned her attention to the long, hideous gash along Jaelle’s face; it had laid her cheek open to the bone. Jaelle said, in a hoarse, frightened voice, “Can’t see out of … this eye. … ”

Magda went to the well behind the shelter, dipped up the icy water, came back and sponged the dreadful gash. The eyelashes parted; a little more sponging showed
that
the eye had only been stuck shut with blood from a small nick in the eyelid. Magda pushed the eyelids open; Jaelle gasped with relief.

“Can you walk? You can’t lie out here in the snow.” Magda knelt, slipped an arm around the woman, managed to hoist her to her feet; Jaelle tried to walk, but collapsed against Magda. Magda managed, somehow, to get her inside the shelter and lay her on one of the stone benches. She started to build a fire, put some water to boil, thinking that some bark-tea, or some of the Amazon grain-brew, would do them both good. And if Jaelle was in shock—and she looked like it—she had better be kept warm. Not knowing how Jaelle had stowed her own blankets, Magda got out her own and wrapped Jaelle up in them; shoved one of the stone slabs into the fire, thinking she could heat it, wrap it in something and put it at the hurt woman’s feet. When the water boiled she poured it on the bark for tea, and went out to put the animals away—they wouldn’t be going anywhere right away. The second bandit was definitely dead. She had to drag him out of the way to get the horses and her pack beast into the stable again.

When she came into the shelter Jaelle was conscious. She whispered, “I thought you had gone.”

Remotely, like something someone else might have thought, it occurred to Magda: she could have escaped. After doing her best for Jaelle, she could have left her here to recover, and felt no particular guilt. Now it was something she could never have done.
I swore to treat every Amazon as my own mother, sister or daughter. …