Heroes' Reward

by Moira J. Moore

  HEROES’ REWARD

  By

  MOIRA J. MOORE

  Copyright 2012 Moira J. Moore

  I am granting permission to read this material and print this material for the purpose of reading. I am not waiving any copyright rights, which include but are not limited to the following:

  -Protection from the sale of this material by any person, corporation, entity, etc, not authorized – in writing – by me to do so.

  -Protection from plagiarism

  -Protection from any person, corporation, entity, etc, claiming to have written this book

  -Moral rights

  -Any other rights granted to me by legislation and/or case law or any other legal authority.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The writer does not have control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  Edited by Debby Turner Harris

  Cover Art by Judy Bullard

  I’m not sure what to call what Tracy McQuoid and Kathy McCracken did, but it involved reading a very raw, early, long draft of the book and providing encouragement and criticism, as well as telling me when something I was doing was driving them nuts.

  Dedicated to Tracy McQuoid and Kathy McCracken, because they’re FABULOUS!

  Heroes’ Reward is the final book in the series, which is sometimes called the Hero or Heroes series. The first six books, in order, are:

  Resenting the Hero

  The Hero Strikes Back

  Heroes Adrift (Despite the insinuation presented by the cover, this book doesn’t involve pirates. Sorry.)

  Heroes at Risk

  Heroes Return

  Heroes at Odds

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter One

  “We’re going to cut the property in half,” Fiona announced. “These documents are a mess. I’ve had three solicitors look at them.” At Fiona’s expense. She didn’t say so, but everyone knew it, so both the plaintiff and the respondent had better be damned grateful. “There have been so many purchases back and forth, so many allowances over the decades, it is simply impossible to determine who owns what. So we’re going to start all over. Each of you own half. The boundary is at the eighth mark. I expect you both to have proper surveys drafted and to respect them, and the next time I hear of any kind of sabotage, someone’s getting fined.”

  Neither party liked that. Their eyes were narrowed, their jaws clenched. Both had hoped to get the whole piece of land. But neither voiced their objections, and they both bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lady,” one said, and then the other. At her nod, they strode to the door, maintaining a significant distance between them.

  It was Decision Day, held once every week, when Fiona Keplar, Duchess of Westsea, heard the complaints and disputes of her tenants and tried to settle them without anyone losing their minds over the results. When she had first taken on the responsibility, more than seven years before, she had been uncertain in her abilities, and the tenants had often challenged her rulings. Sometimes with fists. Since then, she had become adept at it, and while her tenants didn’t always like her decisions, they complied with them, and with better grace than they’d shown at first.

  It probably helped that Westsea had become extremely prosperous over the last several years. Fish and whales were abundant and crops were rich. The weather had been kind. Traders from far afield came to Flown Raven to sell rare goods and pay coin for food, shelter, and stock. Everyone profited.

  I had noticed that people confident about having well-constructed roofs and a quantity of good food were less fractious. Not entirely, of course. There were always crazy, unreasonable people, quality of life notwithstanding, but Decision Days had certainly become less violent.

  There was a brief pause as we waited for any further plaintiffs to step forward. When none did, Fiona announced, “I call Decision Day closed. From this until next Day, leave your concerns with Solicitor Panimus.”

  In the seats along the wall of the courtroom, the spectators – local gentry and others who had nothing better to do with their time than watch the legal squabbles of others – rustled and spoke together in whispers, dissecting Fiona’s decisions and the behaviour of the parties.

  “So, what do you think?” Fiona asked me as we climbed up the stairs to the second floor of her manor.

  I smiled. “You ask me that every week.”

  “I value your opinion. You’ve lived here almost as long as I have.”

  I shrugged. “All of your decisions seem sound to me.” I didn’t always agree with her rulings, but there was always well-constructed reasoning behind them. And if there weren’t, I would never say so. It wasn’t my place.

  I was a Shield, and a Shield’s only task was to protect her Source, not tell leaders how to fulfill their responsibilities.

  Fiona grinned at me. “You always say that.”

  “It’s always true. You perform your duty well.” Certainly better than those who had held the title before her.

  That seemed to satisfy her. “Have you got time for coffee?”

  “Browne is expecting me.”

  “You’re not ill, are you?”

  “It’s just a lesson.”

  “Why, Dunleavy Mallorough, are you running around violating the law again?”

  I held up a finger. “Technically, not violating a law.”

  “Any argument that includes the word technically is a doomed one.”

  Aye, pretty much. “Do you need me for anything? I can always – ”

  “No, no.” Fiona waved her hand. “Go have fun with Browne.”

  I trotted up to the third floor, where I shared a suite with Taro. It had been recently redecorated – new furniture, carpets, draperies – at Fiona’s insistence and according to Taro’s taste. He’d had no problem accepting such an expensive gift. Generosity of that nature made me itchy, but no one listened to me when it came to that sort of thing. Fiona had claimed it was the least she could do in repayment for our services, some of which had had nothing to do with our duties as a Pair. For this same reason, Fiona also gave us the best of clothing to wear and the finest of horses to ride.

  As members of the Source and Shield Service – more commonly known as the Triple S – Taro and I had the right to requisition goods from merchants and trades people, as we weren’t paid for our work. This didn’t endear us to the people required to fulfill our requests. The locals ap
preciated Fiona paying for these items on our behalf. This was no doubt another reason they had developed as much affection for her as they had, and perhaps resented Taro and me less than they would in other circumstances.

  I entered the suite and then the bedchamber, where I removed the front of the overmantle. This was where I hid most of my spell casting supplies. I had little reason to believe they wouldn’t be safe if I left them out, even for our maid to see, but Imperial Guards had once ransacked our suite while Taro and I weren’t there, looking for casting tools. It was possible they could show up out of the blue and do so again.

  According to the law, casting didn’t truly exist. There was only the pretence of it, used to bilk the gullible. There were punishments for owning the alleged tools of casting, and for behaving as though one were casting a spell, but none for actually casting spells, because such a thing was said to be impossible. Even though more and more people were learning that it wasn’t, and more and more people were actually doing it.

  The law could be quite stupid.

  I removed the book Browne and I were currently working on, put it into a bag, and put the overmantle back together.

  I heard the door to the suite open and close, rather loudly, which told me it was Taro. Our maid would never make so much noise.

  Source Shintaro Karish was one of the few who could tame the horrific earthquakes, tornadoes, and other destructive natural events that destroyed cities, swallowed crops, and killed thousands. He was able to access the forces behind the events with his mind and direct them into harmless patterns, keeping land and water still.

  Unfortunately, those forces were powerful enough to kill him, tearing his mind apart, driving his blood to flow fast enough to rupture his heart and veins. I was his Shield. It was my task to keep him safe as he worked, to use our Bond to keep his mind and his blood calm.

  Taro was a beautiful man, and our eight years as a Bonded Pair had not diminished my enjoyment in looking at him. He was slight and fine-featured, with gorgeous golden skin, lovely slanted black eyes, and wavy black hair. Though still inclined to swift changes in mood, he had acquired a deeper aura of dignity over the years, and this was a joy to see.

  That aura of dignity was a little lessened right then by the fact that his hair was half out of the tie at the back of his neck, his eyes were shining, and his grin was huge.

  “Steeple chasing?” I guessed.

  His answer was a kiss, not a brief one. “I won, too.”

  I hated his steeple chasing. It was stupidly dangerous. But he loved it, and I wasn’t going to get in the way of that. “Of course, you did. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

  He kissed me again, and I smiled through it. “I’m meeting Browne,” I told him, suddenly wishing I didn’t have to go.

  “Can’t you do that long distance communication cast thing?” he wheedled. “Tell her you’re delayed.”

  “Browne is a woman with many commitments. I can’t cancel a lesson immediately before it is to begin. You wouldn’t have me treat her with anything less than the respect she is due.”

  He growled. “Fine.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll have to find something else to do. I’ll hold you responsible for any shenanigans I get into.”

  I tapped his cheek, not at all concerned. For all his reputation as a wild one, someone who drank and gambled too much and slept with almost everyone he met, he’d never committed any real mischief. Not that his restraint had any impact on the rumours, which both of us found aggravating. Nothing to be done about it, though.

  I jogged out of the manor into the sort of slightly cool, damp day so common in Flown Raven. At first, I’d found the nearly constantly overcast sky and frequent drizzle oppressive, but it had come to feel restful to me. It seemed to encourage contemplation and serenity.

  I reached Browne’s cottage and knocked on the door. I didn’t know whether she would actually be able to meet with me, despite our arrangement. Browne was a healer – that was her true vocation – and obviously, any patients would have priority over me.

  But she was alone in her cottage, and as soon as I stepped through the door, she handed me a cup of tea. “Have you been practising?”

  It wasn’t as though I had a whole lot else to do. “Every day.”

  Browne gestured at me, indicating I should sit at the table. And then we started, as we did every lesson, by beginning with the simplest of casts to get my head thinking in the right way. Children’s spells from which Browne and her casters had eliminated any need for any ingredients at all, shortened to only a few words. Fewer demands to put foul things in my mouth, fewer embarrassing gestures, less bad poetry. Some of the vocabulary chosen to replace the poetry didn’t fall smoothly off the tongue, but, just like almost everything else, practise made it easier.

  Then we moved on to significantly more difficult spells, the ones described in the book I had brought with me, those for which we hadn’t been able to cut out all of the annoying steps, though at least we had simplified most of them. Part of the process of learning new casts included searching Browne’s cottage – under her supervision, of course – to find the right ingredients in the appropriate amount and of the right quality before performing the cast. I tended to do well. I spent a lot of time working through the procedures and I’d been gifted with a fair amount of talent.

  Though not as much as Browne. She was phenomenal, performing any cast beautifully, and even devising new ones. Creating new casts was not a normal practice. People bought books – surreptitiously – or learned old spells from others. They didn’t usually create their own.

  Unfortunately, Browne was not the only innovator in the area of spell casting. In the past, we had encountered casters who’d created spells that could kill. Those experiences had forced Browne and her colleagues to change their approach to casting, from hobby to necessity, from tool to weapon.

  It was disturbing to learn to hurt others, to set up ingredients and memorize words meant to do physical harm. This was nowhere near the sphere of knowledge a Shield should possess.

  But I studied. After all, it wasn’t as though I’d never killed anyone before.

  “Good,” said Browne, and I felt like I was back at the Shield Academy. She opened an enormous book and turned it to me. “This one.”

  Ooh, I liked this one.

  I collected the ingredients. I put them on the table before Browne, who nodded.

  “Guard me from light.”

  I poured ebony dust into my palm.

  “Let the light flow.”

  I carefully rubbed finely powdered glass into the ebony dust.

  “Let their gaze slide.”

  Using the yellow powder from the wings of a rikkor butterfly, I drew on my forehead a triangle, and then a horizontal line across it, just under the tip. That had been a difficult part of the cast, drawing the symbol properly without being able to see it. A problem easily solved by a mirror, of course, and I had done so the first few times I had practised the cast, but Browne hadn’t allowed me to rely on that for long.

  “Let them not know.”

  I drew stripes of the powdered mixture along one sleeve of my shirt, one leg of my trousers, and both of my boots. I rubbed some into my hair.

  Something happened. I could feel it – a sort of buzzing in my brain that had once disturbed me but had come to be almost pleasant.

  “It looks good to me,” said Browne. “Let’s see if it works on everyone else.”

  We left the cottage and walked along the closest lane, deeper into the village.

  “Healer Browne,” the first person we encountered greeted. “Fair day to you.”

  “Fair day to you,” Browne responded, and we all passed each other.

  Shortly thereafter, one of the village blacksmiths offered a small bow. “Healer Browne.”

  Browne nodded. “Smith Doyle.”

  And we all passed each other.

  This was fun.

  We came across a few more people, all
of whom showed Browne cheer and respect. It was a pleasure to watch. As far as I could determine, Browne was an excellent healer, a talented and thoughtful attendant. She worked hard and had risked her life in aid of her patients. It was lovely to see their gratitude.

  We were approached by Farmer White, a tall handsome man of middle years who, due to the prosperity of his farm, hadn’t had to work his own fields or slaughter his own livestock for years. He kept himself trim by, among other things, steeple chasing with Taro and fencing.

  I thought fencing an archaic sport, but it was pretty to watch.

  “Healer Browne,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I was on my way to see you.”

  I’d seen Browne remain stoic in the face of brutal injuries perpetrated on her patients, threats of execution by the Imperial Guard, and a horrific battle. Now she became flustered. Her cheeks flushed, she shifted on her feet, and she tucked a non-existent lock of hair behind her ear.

  It was hilarious.

  Everyone knew Farmer White had a romantic interest in Browne, and that Browne was not adverse to his attentions. It just seemed as though she didn’t know what to do with them.

  “May I walk you home?”

  “I’m afraid I … ah … I’m in the … middle of something. Can we … I can see you later?”

  Quite hilarious.

  “I apologise, addressing the matter in the street, and I despise pressing you, but you haven’t yet responded to my invitation, and the gathering is tonight.”

  Browne’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh dear, I didn’t mean – I mean I didn’t get it.”

  “Ah. Most peculiar.”

  Browne frowned. “Yes.”

  “I’ll have to speak to James about it. But, as I mentioned, the dinner is tonight. Just a small collection of friends. I know this is now little notice, but would you be able to attend?”

  Browne tucked another nonexistent lock behind her same ear. “I would enjoy that very much.”

  “Excellent! We plan to gather at seven. Merely some of the local gentry.”

  A gentle way to warn Browne that she needed to dress well for the occasion.

  “I … look forward to it.”