Free Quag Keep by Andre Norton

distance beyond their line of march.
    Milo was startled, angry with himself at his own inattention. To go into this land without one’s senses always alert was worse than folly and to have betrayed his carelessness shamed him.
    For what he saw proved that Yevele might well be right in her opinion that they were not naked to the sight of an enemy. The grass (which was so tough that it stung if one pulled at it) quivered along a narrow line that exactly matched their own line of march.
    He did not doubt that quiver marked a slight distortion, only visible to them in this fashion, masking
them
from aught but a counter-spell strong enough to break it.
    â€œIt cannot last too long, of course,” the battlemaid continued. “I know not how strong a power-worker this Hystaspes may be—but if he can hold our cover so until we gain the tributary of the Vold, the land beyond is less of an open plain.”
    â€œYou have ridden this way before?” Milo asked. If the girl knew these southwest lands why had she not said so? Here, they depended upon Ingrge as a guide when the elf had admitted he used instinct alone.
    She did not answer him directly, only asked a question of her own.
    â€œYou have heard of the Rieving of Keo the Less?”
    For a moment he sought a way into his memory which had so many strange things hidden in it. Then he drew a deep breath. The answer to the name she spoke—it was something out of the darkness that ever lurked menacingly at the heels of any who swore by Law. It was treachery so black that it blotted the dark pages of Chaos’s own accounting—death so hideous a man might retch out his guts if he thought too long upon it.
    â€œBut that—”
    â€œLies years behind us, yes.” Her voice was as even and controlled as Ingrge’s ever was. “And why should such as I think upon that horror? I am one born to the sword way, you know the practice of the Northern Bands. Those who ride under the Unicorn have a choice after their thirtieth year—they may then wish a union, to become a mother, if the High Horned Lady favors an enlargement of her followers. Then the child, being always a girl, is trained from birth in the ways of the One Clan of her heritage.
    â€œMy mother, having put aside the Unicorn and followed her will of union, became swordmistress and teacher. But our clan fell into hard days and there were three harvests that were too thin to support any but the old and the very young. Therefore, those who were still hearty of arm, who could ride and fight—and my mother was a Valkyrie”—Yevele’s head lifted proudly—“took council together. They were, by custom, unable to join the companies again, but they had such skills as were valuable in the open market wherein sword and spear may be lawfully sold. My clan—there were twenty-five who swore leadership to my mother. They came then to Greyhawk to bargain—settling for their pay in advance so that they might send back to the clan hold enough to keep life in the bodies of those they cherished. Then, under my mother’s command, they took service with Regor of Var—
    Milo’s memory flinched away from what that name summoned.
    â€œThose who were lucky died,” Yevele continued dispassionately. “My mother was not lucky. When they were through with her. . . . But no matter. I have settled two debts for that and the settlement hangs at the Moon shrine of the clan. I took blood oath when I took the sword of a full clan sister. That is why I do not ride with any Band, but am a Seeker.”
    â€œAnd why you came to Greyhawk,” he said slowly. “But you are not—not Yevele—remember? We are entrapped in others . . .”
    She shook her head slowly. “I am Yevele—who I might have been in that other time and place which the wizard summoned for us to look upon does not matter. Do you not feel this also, swordsman?” For the