Free Oathblood by Mercedes Lackey

ornamental dagger from her belt and passed it to Kethry with exaggerated care. Tarma claimed it with the same caution—caution that was quite justified, since the “dagger” was in reality Kethry’s sword Need, no matter what shape it wore at the moment. Beneath the illusion, it still retained its original mass and weight.
    â€œNow look at him.”
    Tarma cast a surreptitious glance at the guard again, and her lips tightened. Even when it was done by magic, she didn’t like being tricked. “Mouse-brown hair and a ratty face,” she said. “He changed.” She returned the blade to Kethry.
    â€œAnd now?” Kethry asked, when Need was safely back on her belt.
    â€œNow that’s odd,” Tarma said thoughtfully. “If he were using an illusion, he should have gone back to the way he looked before, but he didn’t. He’s still mousy and ratty, but my eyes feel funny—like something’s pulling at them—and he’s blurred a bit around the edges. It’s almost as if his face was trying to look different from what I’m seeing.”
    â€œMind-magic,” Kethry said with satisfaction. “So that’s why I wasn’t able to detect any spells! It’s not a true illusion like I’m holding on us. They practice mind-magic a lot more up north, and I’m only marginally familiar with the way it works since it doesn’t operate quite like what I’ve learned. If what I’ve been told is true, his mind is telling your mind that you know him, and letting your memory supply an acceptable face. He could very well look like a different person to everyone in the caravan, but since he always looks familiar, any of them would be willing to vouch for him.”
    â€œWhich is how he keeps sneaking into the packtrains. He looks different each time, since no one is likely to ‘see’ a man they know is dead. Very clever. You say this isn’t a spell?”
    â€œMind-magic depends on inborn abilities to work; if you haven’t got them, you can’t learn it. It’s unlike my magic, where it’s useful to have the Gift, but not necessary. Was he the same one you were watching?”
    â€œHe is, indeed. So your True Sight spell works on this ‘mind-magic,’ too?”
    â€œYes, thank the gods. What tipped you off to him?”
    â€œNothing terribly obvious, just a lot of little things that weren’t quite right for the ordinary guard he’s pretending to be. His sword is a shade too expensive. His horse has been badly misused, but he’s got very good lines; he’s of much better breeding than a common guard should own. And lastly, he’s wearing jewelry he can’t afford.”
    Kethry looked puzzled. “Several of the other guards are wearing just as much. I thought most hire-swords wore their savings.”
    â€œSo they do. Thing is, of the others, the only ones with as much or more are either the guard-chief, or ones wearing mostly brass and glass; showy, meant to impress village tarts, but worthless. His is all real, and the quality is high. Too damned high for the likes of him.”
    â€œNow that we know who to watch, what do we do?”
    â€œWe wait,” Tarma replied with a certain grim satisfaction. “He’ll have to signal the rest of his troupe to attack us sooner or later, and one of us should be able to spot him at it. With luck and the Warrior on our side, we’ll have enough warning to be ready for them.”
    â€œI hope it’s sooner.” Kethry sipped at the well-watered wine which was all she’d allow herself when holding spells in place. Her eyes were heavy, dry, and sore. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold up my end.”
    â€œThen go to sleep, dearling.” Tarma’s voice held an unusual gentleness, a gentleness only Kethry, Warrl, and small children ever saw. “Furface and I can take turns on nightwatch; you