* * *
"What is that?" A familiar voice said.
"Don't ask her that." Marrit, the older woman who supervised the cooking, looked a tad harried as she glared in David's general direction.
"It's a bat."
"I know what it is."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Don't be a smartass, Kelse. Why are you carrying it around?"
"It's as much a weapon as anything else I own."
"And you need a weapon on kitchen duty?" David laughed. "Marrit, I didn't realize that you'd become such a danger over the past few days."
"Look—don't you have something to do?"
"I'm off duty. I've got nothing to do but sit and visit." He smiled broadly and took a seat. He even managed to keep it for five minutes. Marrit didn't say one disparaging word about her cook's lax work habits when Kelsey dropped her knife into the potato sack, turned, and pushed him backward over the log.
Two days passed.
Carris was edgy for every minute of them, except when he spoke of Lyris. Then his emotions wavered from guilt and grief to a fury that had roots so deep even Kelsey was afraid to disturb them by asking intrusive questions that stirred up memories too sharp and therefore too dangerous. This didn't stop her from listening, of course. She managed to infer that Lyris was the Herald who had traveled with Carris, and further that Lyris was young, attractive and impulsive. She knew that he had come from the wrong side of town, just as Carris had come from too far into the right side, as it were.
Never anger a noble, her grandmother used to say. Especially not a quiet one. Although it was a tad on the obvious side, it was still good advice.
"Kelsey, why must you take that club everywhere you go?"
Given that she'd just managed to hit his rib with the nubbly end, it was a reasonable enough question—or it would have been had she not heard it so often. "Don't start. I thought if there was one person in camp I'd be safe from, it'd be you. Why do you think I'm carrying it?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Everyone here seems to have their pet theory."
"What do you mean, everyone?"
"Guards," he said, offering her the gleam of a rare smile, "have very little to talk about these days."
She blushed. "I'd better not catch them talking about me, or I'll damned well show them what I'm carrying it for."
Carris actually laughed at that. Then he stopped. "I know I'm unshaven and unkempt, but have I done something else to make you stare?"
"Yes," she replied without thinking. "You laughed." She regretted her habit of speech without thought the moment the words left her lips; the clouds returned to his face, and with them, the distance.
"And there's not much to laugh about, is there?" He said softly, his right hand on his sword hilt.
Kelsey was at the riverside, washing more tin bowls than Torvan owned, when she heard the screaming start. A silence fell over the men and woman who formed Marrit's kitchen patrol. Fingers turned white as hands young and old clenched the rims of tin and the rags that were being used to dry them. No one spoke, which was all the better; Kelsey could hear the sound of hooves tearing up the ground.
Horses, she thought, as she numbly gained her feet. The bandits have horses!
"Kelsey!" Marrit hissed. "Where are you going?"
Kelsey lifted her fingers to her lips and shook her head. She motioned toward the circular body of wagons. Marrit paled, and mouthed the order to stay by the riverside, where many of the cooking staff were already seeking suitable places to hide.
It was the smartest course of action. Of course, Kelsey thought, knees shaking, that's why I'm not doing it. She swung her bat up to her shoulder and began to run.
In the confusion and chaos, panic was king, and the merchant civilians his loyal subjects.
The wagons, circled for camping between villages too small to maintain large enough inns and grounds, provided all the cover there was against the attackers. People—some Kelsey recognized, and some, expressions so distorted by fear that their faces were no longer the faces she knew—ran back and forth across her path, ducking for cover into the flapped canvas tents, the wagons, or the meager undergrowth. The guards on watch had their hands full, and the guards off duty were scrambling madly to get into their armor and join the formation that was slowly—too slowly—taking shape.
She counted forty guards—there were forty-eight in total—as she scanned the circular clearing searching desperately for some glimpse of Carris. No sign of him; maybe he'd finally shown some brains and was hiding somewhere under the wagons.
Ha. And maybe the horses she heard were a herd of Companions, all come to ask her to join them. She took advantage of a scurry of panicked movement to take a look under a wagon. She saw the horses then.
Funny thing, about these bandits. They weren't wearing livery, and they weren't wearing uniforms—but they looked an awful lot like a Bardic description of cavalry. The horses were no riding horses, and no wagon-horses either. She didn't like the look of them at all, and she loved horses.
They sure make bandits a damned sight richer than they used to, she thought, clenching her teeth on the words that were choking her in a rush to get said. And a damned sight more organized. She had a very bad feeling about this particular raid. And when the blood spray of a running civilian hit the grass two feet from her face, she knew that if there were any survivors to the raid at all, it was going to be a minor miracle.
A flare went up in front of the lead wagon; fire-tipped arrows came raining from the trees, and shadows detached themselves from the undergrowth, gaining the color and height of men as they came into the fading daylight.
Kelsey knew she should be cowering for cover somewhere, but the tree that she'd managed to climb was central enough—and leafy enough—that it gave her both a terrific vantage point and a false sense of security. She counted the mounted men; there were ten. She couldn't get as good a sense of the foot soldiers—bandits, she corrected herself—but she thought there weren't more than thirty. So if one didn't count the cavalry as more than a single man each, the caravan guards outnumbered them.
It made for a tough fight, but the horses were too large to be easily maneuvered around the wagons, and if the merchants and their staff were careful, the caravan would pull out on top. She smiled in relief, and then the smile froze and cracked.
For on horseback—a sleek, slender riding horse with plaited manes and the carriage of a well-trained thoroughbred—unarmored and deceptively weaponless, rode a man in a plain black tunic. At his throat, glowing like a miniature sun, was a crystal that seemed to ebb light out of the very sky.
This was the threat that Carris wouldn't speak openly of. This was what he had to reach other Heralds to warn them about. This was the information that the King needed. Kelsey gripped both her bat and the tree convulsively as the Mage on horseback drew closer to where she sat, suddenly vulnerable, among the cover of leaves.
His was a power, she was afraid, that dwarfed the power of all save a few Heralds—and she was certain that Carris was no Herald-Mage, to take on such a formidable foe.
Damn it, she thought, holding her breath lest a whisper rustle a leaf the wrong way. Carris was right. I shouldn't have brought him along with the caravan. Then, And he'll probably die just like the rest of us—they won't know he's their Herald, and they won't care.
One of the mounted soldiers rode up to the Mage.
"That wagon," he said, pointing. "Food supplies, but nothing of more value."
"Good." The Mage gestured and fire leaped up from the wagon's depths, consuming it in a flash. The circle was broken, and the ten mounted horseman, pikes readied, charged into the encampment.
She heard the shouts and then the screams of the guards and the civilians they were to protect. People fled the horses and the hooves that dug up the ground as if it were tilled soil. They didn't get far. Kelsey saw, clearly, the beginning of a slaughter.
Sickened, she shrank back, closing her eyes. T
here's nothing you can do, some part of her mind said. Hide here. Maybe they won't notice you.
"Captain! 'Ware—they've got a Mage at the center of their formation!" It was Carris' voice, booming across the panicked cries and painful screams of the newly dying. In spite of her fear, she gazed down to see him, sword readied, shield tossed aside and forgotten. The blade caught the fire of the camplight, and it glowed a deep orange.
You see? Another part of her taunted. You wouldn't have made a decent Herald after all. She hid in the trees, and Carris, broken arm and cracked ribs forgotten, stood in the center of the coming fray, his sword glowing dimly as it reflected the light of the fires.
No. She took a deep breath. Watched.
The guards met the bandits, but the bandits attacked like frenzied berserkers, and it was the caravan guards that took casualties. Kelsey could not make out individual faces or fighting styles—and she was thankful for it. What she could see was that somehow, the blows that the caravan guards landed seemed to cause no harm.
It was almost as if the enemies were being protected by an invisible shield. Magic. Magic.
Another horseman rode in, and stopped three yards from the mage. "Sir," he said. "We've got a group of them hiding by the riverside. Possible one or two have managed to cross it."
The Mage cursed. "Get the archers out, then," he snarled. "We can't afford to have anyone escape."
"Can't you—"
"Not if you want to be safe from steel and arrow tips," he replied grimly. "Go." He gripped the crystal around his neck more tightly.
Get down, Kelsey. She shivered as she saw the Mage close his eyes. Now's your chance. Get down. But her legs wouldn't unlock. Her hands shook. She watched the ground below as if the unfolding drama was on a stage that she couldn't quite reach.
Carris came out of the wings. She saw him, close to the ground, and nearly cried out a warning as the mounted soldier departed. But she bit her lip on the noise. He used the shadows, Carris did, and he moved as if he had no injuries. An inch at a time, he made his way to the Mage who sat on horseback, concentrating.
The horse shied back, and the Mage's eyes snapped open. Carris leaped up from the ground, swinging his sword. It whistled in a perfect arc; the Mage didn't have time to avoid it. The sword hit him across the chest and shimmered slightly. That was all.
The man laughed out loud. "You fool!" He cried. "Did you think to harm me with that?" Carris swung again, and again the Mage did nothing to avoid the strike. "Why, I think I know you—you're the little Herald that escaped us. It's probably best for you—you wouldn't have enjoyed the fate that you consigned your friend to suffer alone."
Carris' next swing was wild, and it was his last; three foot soldiers came up, slowly, at his back. But the Mage lifted a hand, waving them off. "No, this one is mine, gentlemen. Unfinished business." He smiled. "Don't you have merchants to kill?"
The soldiers nodded and stepped back almost uncertainly. If Kelsey had to guess, the Mage had probably killed one or two of them to keep them in line; they weren't comfortable with him; that much was clear.
"You can't think that you'll get away with this," Carris said. It was, in all, a pretty predictable thing to say—and not at all what Kelsey would have chosen as her last words.
Something snapped into place for Kelsey as she thought that. I can't let him die with that for an exit line, she told herself, and very slowly, watching her back as much as possible, Kelsey began to shinny down the tree.
"I know we will," the Mage replied, all confidence. "Are you sure you don't want to continue your futile line of attack? It amuses me immensely."
Carris lowered his sword.
"You could try the bow—you can wield it, can't you? It would also amuse me, and perhaps if I'm amused, you'll die quickly. I was embarrassed by your escape," he added, his voice a shade darker. "And have much to make up for to the Baron."
Carris said nothing.
"Come, come. Why don't you join me? We can watch the death of all of your compatriots before we start in on yours. You see, you have a larger number of guards—but they aren't, like my men, immune to the effects of sword and arrow. It's a lovely magic I've developed, and it's served me exceptionally well. Come," he added, and his voice was a command.
Like a puppet, Carris was jerked forward.
"Watch."
It was almost impossible not to obey his commands. Kelsey looked up—and what she saw made her freeze for a moment in helpless rage. David was fighting a retreat of sorts—but he was backing up into another cluster of the enemy. He seemed to understand that the swords that the caravan guards wielded were only good for defense, for he parried, but made no attempt to strike and extend himself to people who didn't have to worry about parrying anymore.
A guard went down at David's side.
Kelsey bit her lip.
And then, because she was her grandmother's daughter—and more than that besides—she swallowed, took a deep breath, and crawled as quickly as possible to where the Mage sat enjoying the carnage.
She wanted to say something clever or witty or glib—but words deserted her. Only the ability to act remained, and she wasn't certain for how much longer. She lifted the bat, and, closing her eyes, swung it with all the force she could muster.
She had never heard a sound so lovely as the snapping of the Mage's neck. She would remember it more clearly than almost any other detail of the attack. Almost.
He toppled from his horse as the horse reared. She watched him crumple and fall, watched his body hit the ground. Then she lifted the bat and began to strike him again and again and again. Carris shouted something—she couldn't make out the words—as she began to try to shatter the crystal that hung at the Mage's neck.
Then she felt a hand on her arm, and swung the bat round.
"Kelsey, it's me!" Carris' face was about two inches away from hers. There was a bit of blood on it—but she thought it wasn't his. Couldn't be certain. "You did it," he said. He tried to pry the bat out of her hands, but her fingers locked tighter around it than a merchant's around his money chest. He let go of her hands and smiled. The grin was wolfish.
"We've got them, Kelsey. Thanks to you, they don't know that they can die yet—but they're about to find out the Mage is gone." His teeth flashed. "And they've been walking onto our swords because there's no risk to them."
"Remind me," she said faintly, "not to make you mad."
He looked down at the corpse at her feet. Laughed, loudly and perhaps a little wildly. "You're telling me that?"
An hour later it was all over. People lay dead in pockets of blood across the width of the encampment. The merchants buried and mourned their own, but they left the bandits for carrion. The mounted men had fared the best, once they realized that they were vulnerable, and three at least had fled the arrows and bolts that the guards used against them. The rest joined their unmounted counterparts.
David, injured, was still alive. Kelsey was glad of it. She watched his wounds being bound by the doctor—the merchant Tuavo always traveled with a good physician as part of his caravan—and swung her bat up onto its familiar shoulder-perch. "Hey," she said.
"I know, I know. So we never make fun of strange barmaids who carry bats around the kitchen. Okay?"
She smiled. "That's not what I'm here for. It's about my position as a caravan guard."
"As a what?"
"Look, I'm a bit of a hero for the next hour, and I'll be damned if I don't use it to get out of peeling potatoes and onions for the next two months. You're going to vouch for me—is that clear?"
He laughed. "As a bell."
"Hello," Kelsey said, as she caught Carris' shadow looming over her shoulder. "Aren't you late for your shift?"
"The captain excused me. I've been," he added, lifting his arm, "injured in action." He grinned and Kelsey laughed. She'd done a lot of that lately.
Carris returned her laugh with a laugh of his own. He seemed both taller and younger than he had when she'd
first laid eyes on him in Torvan's place. A little more at peace with himself.
Still, there was something she wanted to say. "I—I've been meaning to apologize to you."
"To me? For what?"
"The Mage." She looked up, and her eyes, dark in the fading day, met his.
Carris shook his head almost sadly. "Was it that obvious?" He took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his short, peppered hair. Very quietly, he gave her her due. "I've never wanted to kill a man so badly in my life."
"I would've felt the same way."
"You got to kill him." He looked into the fire, and she knew he was seeing Lyris. She reached up and caught his hand, felt his fingers stiffen and then relax as she pulled him down to the log.
"Tell me," she said, in the softest voice he had yet heard her use. "Tell me about Lyris."
He did. He talked for hours, letting his tears fall freely at first, and then returning to them again and again as an odd story or an old, affectionate complaint brought the loss home. He talked himself into silence as the fire lapped at the gravel.
Then he did something surprising. He turned to her in the darkness and said, "Now tell me about Kelsey."
She was so flustered, she forgot how to speak for a moment—and Kelsey was not often at a loss for words. Well, she thought, as she stared at the crackling logs beyond her feet, what do you have to say for yourself? About yourself?
His chuckle was gentle. "Should I start?"
"Go ahead."
"Kelsey is a young woman who, as a child, very much wanted to be a Herald."
It was dark, so he couldn't see her blush. "H-how did you know that?"
"It's a... gift of mine. And as a Herald, you get used to spotting people who hold the Heralds in awe. Or rather," he added wryly, as he touched his short hair again, "hold the position in awe."
She shrugged.
"You asked me if I knew why we were Chosen—but what you really wanted to know was why you weren't."
She couldn't answer because every word he spoke was true.
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