Oathblood Read Online Free

a rapid teacher; she was able to prolong the bouts this night enough that he only killed her twice.
    It was a strange existence, tracking by day, training by night. When her track ended at a village, she found herself questioning the inhabitants shrewdly. When her provisions ran out, she discovered coin in the pouch that had held dried fruit—not a great deal, but enough to pay for more of the same. When, in other towns and villages, her questions were met with evasions, her hand stole of itself to that same pouch, to find therein more coin, enough to loosen the tongues of those she faced. She learned that all her physical needs were cared for—always when she needed something, she either woke with it to hand, or discovered more of the magical coins appearing to pay for it, and always just enough, and no more. Her nights seemed clearer and less dreamlike than her days, perhaps because the controls over her were thinner then, and the skill she fought with was all her own. Finally one night she “killed” her instructor.
    He collapsed exactly as she would have expected a man run through the heart to collapse. He lay unmoving—
    â€œA good attack, but your guard was sloppy,” said a familiar voice behind her. She whirled, her sword ready.
    He stood before her, his own sword sheathed. She risked a glance to her rear; the body was gone.
    â€œTruce; you have earned a respite and a reward,” he said. “Ask me what you will, I am sure you have many questions. I know I did.”
    â€œWho are you?” she cried eagerly. “What are you?”
    â€œI cannot give you my name, Sworn One. I am only one of many servants of the Warrior; I am the first of your teachers—and I am what you will become if you should die while still under Oath. Does that disturb you? The Warrior will release you at any time you wish to be freed. She does not want the unwilling. Of course, if you are freed, you must relinquish the blood-feud.”
    Tarma shook her head.
    â€œThen ready yourself, Sworn One, and look to that sloppy guard.”
    There came a time when their combats always ended in draws or with his “death.” When that had happened three nights running, she woke the fourth night to face a new opponent—a woman, and armed with daggers.
    Meanwhile she tracked her quarry, by rumor, by the depredations left in their wake, by report from those who had profited or suffered in their passing. It seemed that what she tracked was a roving band of freebooters, and her Clan was not the only group to have been made victims. They chose their quarry carefully, never picking anyone the authorities might feel urged to avenge, nor anyone with friends in power. As a result, they managed to operate almost completely unmolested.
    When she had mastered the use of sword, dagger, bow, and staff, her trainers appeared severally rather than singly; she learned the arts of the single combatant against many.
    Every time she gained a victory, they instructed her further in what her Oath meant.
    One of those things was that her body no longer felt the least stirrings of sexual desire. The Swordsworn were as devoid of concupiscence as their weapons.
    â€œThe gain outweighs the loss,” the first of them told her. After being taught the disciplines and rewards of the meditative trance they called “The Moonpaths,” she agreed. After that, she spent at least part of every night walking those paths, surrounded by a curious kind of ecstasy, renewing her strength and her bond with her Goddess.
    Inexorably, she began to catch up with her quarry. When she had begun this quest, she was months behind them; now she was only days. The closer she drew, the more intensely did her spirit-trainers drill her.
    Then one night, they did not come. She woke on her own and waited, waited until well past midnight, waited until she was certain they were not coming at all. She dozed off for a moment, when she felt a presence.