Selena trampled it into the cave’s floor. Her teeth were bared and her ears flat to her skull. Coryn clung to her back, making no effort to stop her, though she went on long after there was nothing more than a wet smear on the waxy stone.
The Companion stood still. Her light had dwindled to a moonlit glow. Her ears were still slanted back and her nostrils were wrinkled in disgust, but her fury was gone.
She blew out her breath in a sudden and explosive snort. Coryn jumped so hard he almost fell off. Merris found herself on her feet, arms wrapped around Selena’s neck, holding on for dear life.
A tiny part of her gibbered that she could be killed, too. She was the Lady’s heir, after all.
But Selena was calming down even more, relaxing little by little. Her neck bent around, but only to nuzzle Merris’ hair. She sighed into it; if she had been human, Merris thought she would have sagged in relief.
“We got here in time,” Coryn said for his Companion. “Dear gods, that was close!”
“Did you know?” Merris asked. “What she was?”
“We suspected,” Coryn said. He had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “Selena is sorry she let you be bait. She’s also sorry she took so long to get here. She had to wait for the change, to catch the thing at its weakest point, when it was completely focused on you. But still . . . that was close.”
Merris thrust herself away from the Companion. The flash of temper warmed her, which was a good thing—she had been cold to the bone. “I did not let anyone do anything. Any stupidity I committed, I did entirely on my own.”
:And bravery, too.:
That was not a voice, precisely. It was a woman’s, or at least female. Blue eyes glowed in it.
The Companion’s approval washed over Merris. It was a gift. Merris decided, after due consideration, to accept it.
By the day before Merris’ birthday, Herald Isak was well enough to sit in the garden and enjoy his Companion’s company. It was a beautiful day, not too warm for the time of year, and the roses were in full bloom.
There was still going to be a celebration, though Darkwall’s Lady would not be attending it. People from Forgotten Keep were in Darkwall, helping its people to recover from their spell-born confusion and the grief and rage that came with it. Merris had come back from there the day before, because she needed to see her father and her childhood home again—and because Coryn’s Companion had told her she should.
Selena was there, too, with Coryn. The Companion had allowed Merris to braid roses in her mane. Coryn seemed to think she looked silly, but she was pleased with herself. Selena was more than a little vain.
Herald Isak smiled at them. “It was good of you to come back,” he said to Merris.
“I couldn’t refuse a Companion’s summons,” she said, “and I wanted to be here.”
He nodded. “You’ve done well. Darkwall will prosper now, I think.”
“I hope so,” she said. Something about his smile made her add, “It’s true, isn’t it? You didn’t come here by accident. You were sent to deal with Darkwall.”
“We were exploring the region,” he admitted, “and we meant to investigate certain rumors that we had heard. We weren’t quite expecting matters to turn out as they did. We were thinking more on the lines of saving an innocent from a terrible fate, then making what order we could.”
“And so you did,” she said. “I’m grateful.”
“We’re grateful to you for proving yourself so well fit for the office.”
“Am I?” she asked. “I’m hardly more than a child. Now that . . . thing . . . is gone, someone else can take the Keep. Someone older. Wiser. Better fit to rule.”
“But,” said Isak, “you were raised and trained for it. It was meant to be a ruse, an elaborate lie, but it was well done. We’ve already sent our recommendation to the King, and we’re sure he’ll approve it. You are the Lady of Darkwall.”
Merris supposed she should raise more of a fuss, but the truth was, she agreed with him. It scared her—and well it should. Darkwall had a long way to go before it felt like home. But with her father’s help and maybe some assistance from the King as well, she could turn that poor broken valley into the prosperous domain it had pretended to be.
“And, of course,” Isak continued through the babble of her thoughts, “now the spell is broken and these lands are open to us again, Heralds will come here more often. In fact, his majesty wonders if Darkwall would be amenable to the presence of one of his own for a while, to help as needed and guide when he can.”
“I’m sure Darkwall would be pleased to accept such a gift,” Merris said. Her words were cool, but her heart was beating hard. “You’ll be coming to Darkwall, then? Are you well enough to travel?”
“I will be,” Isak said, “but I’m not the one the King has in mind.” His smile slanted toward Coryn. “There is one whose Internship is just about complete, who is ready for a posting. His Majesty wonders if, since he and his Companion have served Darkwall so well already, whether—”
It was the height of impoliteness to interrupt, and a gentleperson never let out a whoop, but Merris was guilty of the one and Coryn of the other. “Yes!” she said through his eruption. “Yes, we would be pleased.”
She glared at him. He scowled back. Then they grinned. Selena pushed between them, snorting and shaking rose petals from her mane. Let them never forget, her every move said, to whom the credit really belonged.
“Never!” they said together—then broke out laughing.
It was going to be a very interesting association.
Not only that, thought Merris. Partnership, too. And above all, and perhaps most best of all, friendship.
NAUGHT BUT DUTY
by Michael Z. Williamson
Michael Z. Williamson is variously, an immigrant from the UK and Canada, a twenty-year veteran of the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force, a bladesmith, and a science fiction, fantasy, military fiction, technical author and political satirist. He lives near Indianapolis with his wife Gail, whom he helped graduate Army Basic Training at age thirty-six, their children Morrigan and Eric, and various cats that will assist in taking over the world any day now. He can be found online at
www.MichaelZWilliamson.com
and
www.SharpPointyThings.com
THE aftermath of a battle was always confusing and ugly. Arden rode through the fractured pockets of suffering, surveying everything with trained eyes. His concern was practical, casualties and effect; there was little pleasure in this aspect.
Pleasure came from a well-planned and executed attack, a lightning raid against a larger force that inflicted casualties while keeping his own troops whole, a good maneuver around the flank of a worthy foe, or a feint that misdirected an enemy so the Toughs cracked his shield wall or line of battle.
The burning huts, the moaning, writhing bodies and the indignities and rape weren’t pleasurable to any but the crass, the coward, or the pervert. A common soldier could be forgiven a few hours’ brutality in the aftermath, his partner’s blood still splashed on his tunic. But pain inflicted against helpless civilians as a punitive measure was the mark of a scared weakling.
Crass, coward, pervert, scared weakling. Those words well described the Toughs’ current employer, Lord Miklamar. Jobs had been few and far between, and it had been necessary to move farther south to find employ. But the quality of the ruler varied greatly, and Arden had little time to sound out prospects. His concern had been for good and reliable pay with enough action to keep his troops interested, not enough to wipe out them or his reputation. Here in Acabarrin, the petty lords paid well enough, and the action was steady. But with the King dead, the squabbling princes and heirs, vassal-lords and slavering, powermad seekers were carving the corpse of the Kingdom to nothing. He’d known nothing of Miklamar’s reputation when he accepted the contract. He despised the man now that he did.