Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  Now that they were climbing into the hills, they walked single file, traveling in two groups of four while he took the lead. Sorn walked behind Lady Celia where he could keep an eye on her; Fendrikanin was in front to help her over the rough spots. Falsom ranged above them on the ridges, using his Talent of Heimdal’s Sight to scout their surroundings. The other team followed several minutes behind to lessen the risk of drawing the attention that a combined group might attract.

  Dahleven looked back at Lady Celia as she walked between Sorn and Fendrikanin. She looked down, concentrating on her footing. Then she glanced up and met his gaze. She frowned and her eyes narrowed again. Pointedly, she looked away from him.

  He continued to watch her over the course of the morning. Though he set a brisk pace, she didn’t lag.

  He regretted his brusqueness. It wasn’t his habit to be rude to women. She probably wasn’t responsible for the inconvenience she presented. She probably shouldn’t be blamed for the effect she had on the men, either. Nevertheless, her presence was a distraction. A woman, especially a beautiful woman, didn’t belong on a drylands mission. He and his men needed to stay focused and move quickly.

  Good advice. Now, all he had to do was follow it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  What a jerk!

  Cele refused to meet Dahleven’s eyes when he looked back at her, checking on her again. Well, she’d said she could keep up, and by God she would. Her legs ached and she felt a blister rising on her left heel, but she kept to the brisk pace he set.

  They traveled single file. Fendrikanin walked ahead of her, Sorn behind. Most of the sparse vegetation was comprised of thorn bushes, with the occasional Spanish Dagger-like plant thrown in. The group’s path twisted through the spiny growth. A careless hiker could easily find her leg impaled if she didn’t watch her step.

  Dahleven led the way with an unconscious grace. She’d seen that same smooth gait in some of the firemen she’d met and in her self-defense instructor. They walked with confidence, trusting their bodies to do whatever was needed. Dahleven moved the same way. He never hesitated or looked at a map, just forged ahead, never pausing, never slacking his pace. Just looking over his shoulder now and then to see if she was falling behind. Jerk.

  They walked in relative silence, the crunching of their footsteps on the sand the only noise. They didn’t talk, and Cele didn’t miss the conversation. She needed all her breath to keep up.

  The sun moved higher in the sky. Cele felt like they’d been walking for hours, but the eastern range looked no closer than it had when they’d set out this morning. In fact, as the sun rose, the mountains seemed to recede. She pulled one of her water bottles from its holder and took a long draw, then put it back without taking a second drink. No one had warned her to conserve. Sorn could see every time she drank and said nothing to caution her, so water must not be a problem. Just the same, maybe she’d hold off a little. After enduring nearly two days of thirst, feeling the weight of the remaining water on her hips gave her comfort.

  As she thought about water, Cele experienced the peculiar certainty again. Yes, there was water ahead, and Dahleven’s course led them toward it. She gave herself a mental shake. There was no way she could know that. Don’t flake out. She was in enough trouble without imagining things.

  The morning wore on and her blisters grew more painful. Cele started to think about raising the white flag and asking to rest, but she hated the thought of giving Dahleven the satisfaction. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but he clearly expected a lady to slow them down. She wouldn’t care so much if he hadn’t been such an ass about accepting her gratitude. Thanking him had been embarrassing enough without being called pointless. Cele gritted her teeth. She hated being dismissed.

  Dahleven raised his left arm over his head, then signaled in that direction. Cele noticed Falsom’s attention immediately rivet on him.

  “What’s happening?” Cele asked.

  Dahleven veered toward a spur of rock thrust outward from the hills.

  “He’s calling a break,” Fendrikanin answered, following Dahleven around a tumble of boulders that had long ago broken from the cliff. Sharp spikes of the Spanish dagger-like plant grew in every crack and joint between the stones.

  On the far side, Dahleven waited by a cleft at the base of a sheer rock face that rose thirty feet before breaking back to the ridge above. The two sides of a long crack had shifted, creating a cave that ran deep into cool darkness. As soon as she came close, Cele knew: There’s water here.

  Sorn stepped into the shade near the entrance and peered into the cave. “Nice and cool. This will be a good resting place.”

  Dahleven snorted a laugh. “I’m glad you approve.”

  Cele tried not to show her surprise at his unstuffy response. Instead, she sat and began removing her hiking boots and socks. The air on her hot, tired feet felt wonderful, and she wiggled and stretched her toes.

  The other men came around the spur of tumbled rock. Ghav came and knelt before her, shaking his head at her new collection of scrapes and bruises. “Those blisters must have pained you. You should have said something.” He rummaged through his pack. “I have a salve that will help.”

  “Thanks. They feel better already.” She was surprised to realize her statement was true. Just as it had last night, Ghav’s mere presence made her aches and twinges fade away.

  “Of course they do.” The Healer found what he was looking for. “Now, let’s tend to your hurts.”

  Fendrikanin stooped twenty feet to Cele’s left, kneeling by a cleft eroded into the hillside. When he straightened, his hands and beard were wet. “The water’s sweet, and there’s plenty of it.”

  Dahleven joined Fender, kneeling by the spring, and placing something Cele couldn’t see into the water. “Accept our gift in return for your bounty,” he murmured. He paused a moment, then rose and returned to the cave opening.

  What was that all about?

  “Drink as much as you want, and refill your bags.” Dahleven directed his comment to the group in general and gestured toward the small rill. He turned to Fendrikanin. “Will we have water tonight?”

  The other man closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s hard to tell this close to the spring, but I think we’ll have a dry camp tonight.

  Dahleven nodded and leaned against the rock face to Cele’s right, arms crossed, watching her.

  Trying to ignore his scrutiny, Cele watched Ghav clean her blisters, but the leader soon made that impossible by coming close and crouching nearby.

  He picked up one of her boots and examined it closely. “These are very finely made.”

  Cele looked at him cautiously. “Scrimping on footwear is a false economy, in my opinion.”

  “Very wise.” Dahleven continued to examine the boot. “Of what materials are these?” His gaze lifted to hers and stayed there, intent and waiting.

  His scrutiny was unsettling. The stormy grey of his eyes swirled around his pupils and Cele felt she was being swallowed by his steady, unwavering gaze.

  “Lady Celia?”

  She missed a beat while trying to remember his question. “Uh, leather, nylon, and the usual assortment of man-made products, I guess.” Then the oddness of his question struck her. He was impressed with my belt pack, and the sandwich bag, too.

  Cele looked closely at him. She’d noted the presence of leather boots and waterskins, spears and swords. Now the absence of plastics and synthetics struck her forcefully. It was the final blow, and it hit her harder than the changed landscape and vegetation, or even the missing city. She was lost. Profoundly lost. Completely severed from everything she knew and loved.

  Cele felt her eyes filling, and looked away so Dahleven wouldn’t see. She’d been around enough macho types to know he already resented having to haul a woman along with him. His attitude would only get worse if he caught her weeping.

  Ghav startled her by smearing his brown ointment on her scraped knee and she jumped, sha
king loose a tear. Ghav said, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Then he looked up at her face and paled. “Are you in pain?” he asked urgently. His concern seemed out of proportion to her injury.

  “Not at all.”

  Ghav still frowned doubtfully, and Cele tried to reassure him with a shaky smile. “I wish the doctors back home had your touch.”

  Ghav looked relieved. He pointed at her face. “The tears alarmed me.”

  Cele quickly wiped the dampness away, wishing Ghav hadn’t called attention to it. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” But the tears kept slipping down her cheeks.

  Ghav drew a rolled bandage from his pack, but Cele stopped him.

  “I’ve got just the thing for this.” Cele pulled out her first aid kit, complete with the pack of adhesive bandages. “Here’s one just the right size,” she said, applying it.

  Ghav was delighted and inspected it closely. “How wonderful! It sticks to the uninjured skin on either side. Do you have larger bandages like this?”

  “No, but I have gauze and tape.” Grateful for the distraction, Cele showed him the contents of her first aid kit, including the empty tube of antibacterial ointment. “I finished this off before you found me. It does what your brown stuff does: prevents infection.”

  “You might not have needed so much bandaging if you’d been dressed properly,” Dahleven commented. “Do your people not have clothing to equal your footwear? I don’t understand how you kept the sun from burning you, but you obviously haven’t been as successful avoiding thorn-bushes and rocks. Heavier clothing, any clothing, would have given you greater protection.”

  There was that look again. It made her feel indecent. She’d dressed appropriately for a short hike, but Dahleven’s intense gaze made her feel like she was half naked.

  Ghav intervened. He waggled his bushy gray eyebrows at Dahleven, then turned to Cele. “You must tell me more of the healing arts of your home. The differences must be as great as in your customs and dress.”

  “Indeed.” Dahleven got to his feet and began climbing to where Falsom kept watch near the top of the ridge.

  Sorn poked his head out of the cave. “Ghav will keep you talking about healing and herbs all day if you don’t stop him. Come in out of the heat.”

  Ghav laughed. “He’s right. Go. Rest. We’ll talk later.”

  Cele put on her socks, then gathered up her belt-pack and boots and followed Sorn inside.

  “How’s your knee?” Sorn asked, sitting down cross-legged on Cele’s left.

  “It looked worse than it was. Ghav fixed me up so it doesn’t hurt at all.”

  “He has a Talent for that.”

  “I guess so.” Ghav had a talent for healing. Sorn had a talent for kindness and Dahleven had a talent for pissing her off.

  Cele changed the subject. “I don’t know anything about anything or anybody here. Tell me about yourselves.”

  A twinkle appeared in Sorn’s eye. “I’ve been in Lord Dahleven’s company now for six years. I like roast duckling, sleeping late on holidays, and my favorite color is blue.”

  Cele snorted, and dug Halsted’s dried fruit from her pack. “What about your family? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “None living. My only brother died before I was born. The fever took my mother and sisters five years ago, so it’s just me and my father now. What about you? Do you come from a large family?”

  “No,” Cele said around a mouthful. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She was more interested in what Sorn’s life was like. “What’s your father like?”

  “He’s a jeweler. His Talent is Enhancing Beauty, so everyone wants one of his pieces. When I was younger, I wanted to be just like him.”

  “You wanted to be a jeweler?” Cele couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. Sorn seemed so comfortable in his skin, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. Certainly not making jewelry.

  Sorn chuckled. “No. I wanted his Talent. When he was young all the women wanted to be seen with him.”

  “Because he made them jewelry?”

  Sorn gave her an odd look. “Because his Talent made them beautiful. Before he learned to harness it, his Talent ran loose. Anyone within its aura appeared more beautiful. When I was young, I thought being surrounded by beautiful women sounded pretty good.”

  That sounded new-agey. “I doubt you had much trouble gaining the attention of the ladies, even without your father’s talent thingy.”

  “You have the truth of it, Lady Celia! Our Sorn here is a smooth hand with the ladies. He’s not lonely much of the time, are you Sorn?” Fendrikanin grinned and winked at Cele.

  “Shut it, Fender,” Sorn growled.

  “That’s right. Our Sorn here seldom lacks feminine companionship. Or should I say, sisterly companionship?” Fendrikanin leaned forward to push his jibe home with a direct look.

  Sorn rolled his eyes. “Yes, Fender, back home I’m surrounded by women. Thronged. Hounded.”

  “I’m a little confused,” Cele said tentatively. “I thought you were an only child?”

  “He is, but half the ladies of Quartzholm would adopt him if they could.” Fendrikanin’s eyes glinted with his joke.

  “We won’t discuss your reputation with the fairer sex, as there is a lady present.” Sorn looked away from Fendrikanin with exaggerated disdain, but there was a sparkle of humor in his eyes. “Actually, he’s right.” Sorn’s mouth twisted in a rueful grin. “The ladies at home do love me—as a brother. Whenever you see me engaged in conversation with a woman, it’s a safe bet she’s asking advice on how to deal with her beau.”

  Cele didn’t say anything, chagrined to recognize a similar feeling within herself. Of course women talked to Sorn, he was easy to talk to. Sorn was comfortable. He was…safe. “I see your problem.”

  “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

  Cele grinned. “You can ask.”

  “A true lady. She promises nothing.” Fendrikanin sketched a bow.

  Cele laughed and inclined her head.

  Dahleven appeared in the cave entrance. He gestured and Knut left the cave. Cele wondered if he would quash the conversation like the sudden appearance of a study hall monitor.

  Fendrikanin seemed undeterred. “We were just sharing confidences. Care to play?”

  “It sounds like a dangerous game. Whose turn is it?” Dahleven asked, sitting against the opposite wall. He bent his legs to avoid blocking the entrance and propped his elbows on his knees.

  Cele glanced at him with surprise at his unstuffy reply and saw a smile lurking around his lips.

  “Lady Celia’s, but she has reserved a lady’s prerogative.” Fendrikanin grinned at her.

  Cele knew she was supposed to ask, and knew she shouldn’t, but did anyway. “To which of my prerogatives do you refer?” she asked with mock dignity.

  Unrepressed, Fender replied, “Why, to change the rules at any time, my lady.”

  Cele had to laugh, and so did everyone else, including Dahleven. “And don’t you forget it.” She wagged her finger at Fender.

  “You’ve heard about me,” Sorn said. “Now tell us about your family, Lady Celia.”

  “I’d rather hear more about this Talent thing you mentioned.”

  Sorn’s eyebrows rose, and Fendrikanin darted a look at Dahleven.

  What did I say?

  “Do you not have Talent among your people, Lady Celia?” Dahleven’s face and voice were very casual. Too casual.

  Cele answered carefully. “We have people back home who are talented in art and music. Or we might say someone has a talent for fixing things, but that sounds different from what you’re talking about.”

  Sorn’s brows were drawn together. “We have those among us who are skilled in the Arts as well, but Talent is a separate thing.”

  “Separate how? Are you talking about some kind of magic?”

  Sorn glanced at Dahleven, who gave a slight nod. “Our Talents are neither tricke
ry nor ritual magic,” Sorn said. “They’re part of us, but separate from gifts of skill. A man might have a Talent for shaping wood, but no skill for woodcarving. So he might become a cooper or a wainwright. My father could have applied his Talent by working with paint, or cut stone, or fabric and laces, but his skill and his heart lie in working with metal and fine stones. His Talent enhances the natural beauty of his creations, and the beauty of those who wear them.”

  Cele wasn’t sure what to think. Were these guys serious? It sounded like they were talking about psychic stuff, and they obviously took it very seriously.

  “A few poor fools have Talents of little use. I know one fellow whose Talent is imitating sounds and voices. Entertaining, but not of much value,” Fendrikanin added.

  Cele thought of the highly paid performers back home who’d built their fortunes on mimicry, but said nothing. Home. She’d been there only three days ago. Now it seemed very far away.

  *

  “Do you have Talent among your people, perhaps called by another name?” Dahleven asked softly. From Lady Celia’s questions, he feared he knew the answer already.

  Falsom came in off watch and picked his way past the others. A little of the midday heat drifted in with him. It would be a while yet before the day cooled enough for them to move on. Dahleven wished they could have kept moving, but none of them, bred in the mountains, tolerated the lowland heat very well, so they rested each midday while in the drylands.

  Lady Celia waited for Falsom to pass before she answered. “I don’t think so. Not the way you talk about it.”

  Fendrikanin studied the ground. Dahleven felt awkward, but he forced himself to meet Lady Celia’s eyes. What did you say to someone who was Talentless? Sorn reached out and squeezed Lady Celia’s hand. To his surprise, Dahleven wished he were the one comforting her.

  Lady Celia gave Sorn a quizzical look. “What’s wrong? You all look as though someone died.”

  Dahleven exchanged an embarrassed glance with the other two men.