But she couldn‘t, and knew it. There were other considerations, not the least of which was that she wasn’t as young as she used to be. And guarding a target from assassins was a young person’s job. That had been when she’d thought of Lyla. After that, it had been a matter of sending a mage-borne message via Keth to the shaman of Tale’sedrin—who just happened to be Kethry’s son, Jadrek. And then, when Lyla had agreed to come, some mysterious transaction involving the Tale‘edras of the Pelagiris Forest had been negotiated via Jadrek to get her here. I’m still not sure how she got here as fast as she did. Those Hawkbrothers—they’ve got to have secrets of magic even Kethry and the other Adepts don’t know. Probably only the Clan shamans have any idea what they can do. And they aren’t telling, either.

Even Lyla didn’t remember how she’d gotten here; she told Tarma that Jadrek had taken her to the forest edge—and the next thing she knew, she was walking through the open mouth of a cave near the Tower.

Just as well; let them keep their secrets. I don’t think I want to know them.

Lordan was now as safe as Tarma knew how to make him. Certainly safer than money could buy....

Lyla was a pleasure to watch; wasting no effort, and certainly almost as good as Tarma in her prime. Better than Tarma was now. Not through fault of training or will, just old bones and stiff, scarred muscles, slower reactions and senses that were no longer as keen—

So the world belongs to the young. At least there’re youngsters I’m glad to see have it. Like young Kero.

She hoped she’d said the right things, neither too much, nor too little. Too much, and she might frighten the bird back to its nest. Too little, and she wouldn’t realize there was a great big world out here, and a whole sky in which to use her wings.

If I’m any judge, she’s got the reactions and the instincts; all she needs is the skill and the strength, and she’ll put Lyla in the shade. She has it in her. She has the brains and the guts, too, which means even more—she can be more than even an exceptional merc with those. But if I push, she’ll rebel, or she’ll be frightened off.

“Good!” she said aloud, and the sweaty fighters lowered their weapons with varying expressions of gratitude. “All right, ladies and gentlemen—off to the baths. On the quickstep—march!”