If I Were a Herald

Chapter 14

The Bandit Song

Well, here's Chapter 13. I just love this song, because it speaks to my heart. But it's not always the bandits who carry daggers in their boots. So much for proving my mettle…

By the way, if anyone knows any cool curses, feel free to tell me. I'm no longer the prick I was a year ago. I've finally admitted to myself that curses are absolutely fascinating, and I want to learn as many as I can. In all languages that I can.

On another note, if anyone knows the entirety of the Ten Commandments, please include them in your review. Because it irks me not to be able to remember them.

Nawyn: Hopefully, I'll be able to keep it secret forever. That's the plan, at least. My major debut as a mage is going to happen aboard a pirate ship, and you know pirates, can't ever trust them to get a story right. And could you please tell me when you're going to be on im so I can try to be on at the same time to send you the songs?

Fireblade K'Chona: Don't I get any say in whether this story is AU? I seem to recall that most people at this point don't even believe in magic. Yeah—I just came across a reference to just that. Kethry's son Jendar is talking about Valdemar and magic, and he says he has a hell of a time even mentioning magic to them. And I'm really trying my best to keep them from finding out… we'll see how well that works out. And I've changed the one mention of Grays I found to being Whites… tell me if there are any that I missed. And feel free about suggesting details for any of the chapters… I'll go back and put them in when I feel like doing so. Now I've got a question for you… er, if only I could remember what it was. It may have had to do with Alberich and the Karsite border, but I think I was only thinking about that because I was reading By the Sword. Hmm… Well, I know I need some details on the scene with Vanyel and the Shadow-Lover, if you'd be so kind as to look that up. Do you know how I might send you the songs via email?

Oh, I am a Rover, I roam the land over,
And I'll never settle until I get caught.
From village to township a sword hangs at my hip,
But you'll never catch me; I'll always be sought.

We hold the highways and we hold the hills;
Steal your silver, make off with your jewels.
Call down your kinsmen—we quicken our pace;
Drive hard for the forest, we live for the chase!

A knave so beguiling that while you're still smiling,
Before you know it I've got all your gold.
And I am so dashing I'll escape the thrashing—
So damnably vexing I'll live till I'm old.

We have the forest and we have the moors,
Rustle your cattle and take what is yours.
Call the High Sheriff, we couldn't care less.
Torture us gladly—we'll never confess!

No you cannot beat me nor ever defeat me.
I am but a sinner and I have no shame.
To filch all that glimmers, purloin all that shimmers,
To nab it and grab it, that's our favorite game.

We hold the alley and we hold the night.
We're always ready and willing to fight.
Put all your money right here in the sack.
Just do as we say, there's a knife at your back!

Ah we are hellacious, our greed is voracious,
And no one is safe above our plans and schemes
Rogues from a nightmare, we burgle with great care,
And if you can hear this, we've stolen your dreams.

We rule the backlands and we know the waste,
Sneak into the village and ride off in haste.
We rob and we plunder and sunder and kill,
We wreck and we ruin and threaten with steel.

Yes we're here to scare you, to trap and ensnare you,
Rakish young devils, we scoff at the law.
Remarkably daring, our nostrils are flaring,
Make off with your chattel, our plans have no flaw.

We'll take the booty and we'll take the loot.
We all have daggers concealed in our boot.
Call the king's horses and all the lawmen,
We'll just evade them again and again.

Yes we are all blackguards, raise up all the tankards
And drink to the wild ways that led us astray.
Sometimes we are charming but most times alarming,
Don't ever forget us or be our next prey!

We hide in shadows and hide behind trees.
We prove that there is no honor among thieves.
We'll count up the gain, and you'll count up the loss.
Where is my dagger? In your gullet boss!

So in conclusion we thrive on illusion.
We're all in collusion, keep secrets or die.
We all conspire, around the campfire—
Make plans to go straight, of course I'd never lie.

From the personal journal of Captain Jacoby of the Bloodred Falcon:

It was her, I swear it was her. Her face was blurred, like in the dreams, but this wasn't a dream. This was reality. Yeller swears that I was hallucinating—he didn't see any brown-haired lass standing next to me in the bucket brigade. I haven't been able to find that other lass to question her. The one with the baby, whose house it was. Maybe she was a hallucination too.

Now she's in trouble, and I don't know who she is.

From ambush, bandits screaming, charge the pack train and its prize—

Neither Lyrna nor I quite knew what had hit us. One minute we were charging headlong through the trees, the next Lyrna had tripped over something and we both went flying. I did a face-plant into a great big oak and lost sight of Lyrna as the wonderful birdies circled my head.

A spell to cancel whatever magics I might try to use, Mind-magic or otherwise, settled over me. Oh, bloody hell.

:Chosen: Lyrna asked, her mindvoice sounding distant and strained.

:I'm alive: I assured her, struggling against the nullifying spell. Bandits, it had to be, but not just your average highwaymen. These were prepared to deal with Heralds. Now I could see Lyrna, hobbled and tied to a tree, looking quite indignant at the insult. The rogues eyed her warily, and one of them stood guard. More loomed over me.

They eyed me leeringly. "I think this one's a lassie," one announced. During the reckless flight from the Sun-Priests, my hair had come loose from my hat, and it now hung down to my shoulders. A year ago it wouldn't have mattered—a year ago my hair had still been short. Now I began to wish that I'd never gotten it into my head to let my hair grow out.

Of course, there was still the problem of the way they'd searched me. It had certainly been close enough to a grope for them to feel my breasts. They'd taken my more obvious weapons, like the throwing knives, but hadn't searched my boots. Then they trussed me up like a pig for the slaughter.

"Well, well, looks like we're gonna have ourselves some fun."

Over my dead body! I couldn't take them all on at once, although God knows I wanted to try. They'd made one mistake in trussing me up: they'd tied my arms to my ankles, making it possible for me to take off my boots and thus access the daggers therein concealed.

Slowly, careful not to let them see what I was doing, I worked my boots back and forth until I could slip them off. Both daggers fell to the ground, and I leaned back to grab them. I sawed at the ropes binding my wrists until they came free.

They were still gloating over me. "You Heralds think you're so high-and-mighty. No one would dare interfere with you. Ha! You try to get rid of us, but we'll be here forever."

I tamped down my immediate reflex of yelling at them until I was hoarse.

"Not a Herald," I muttered.

"Of course you're a Herald. You're riding a Companion."

"That's not a Companion. Dunno what it is, but I stole it. I'm a poor minstrel without enough food." At this point, I figured my best chance was to convince them that I wasn't what they thought, and maybe they'd get careless and I'd be able to get away with life and virginity intact. "I know a great song about bandits."

"Really? Sing it for us!"

So I did, trying to put something of my Wild Talent into the music. I couldn't control them, I couldn't do anything not related to the music, not like the real Bardic Gift, but my Wild Talent allowed me to project the fact that I was one of them. They relaxed, letting down their guard. A big mistake. Now I could take them on. I lunged at the nearest one, my dagger flashing as I cut his throat. The ropes came off easily, the only knots having been the ones around my wrists. "Die, bastards." I cursed them fluently in Karsite and Tayledras—I was still working on the English, but I could be more creative in my native tongue, since I knew more non-expletives.

They circled me, hoping to use their numbers against me. Not this time, varlíónz. I'd been trained by the best—it was rumored that Weaponsmaster Eduard had been trained by Tarma herself, and well I could believe it. Now, although the bandits outnumbered me ten to one, and they had swords while I carried only a pair of daggers, I faced them with what confidence I could muster. There were ten—no, a dozen—but not all could attack at once. I grinned to see them trip over each other in their eagerness to get at me. Only two actually made it within range, which meant that I only had to block two blades. Parry once, slip between them, and let them finish each other off.

Now my mocking voice floated above the sounds of battle. Red-hot rage clouded their eyes. They attacked with no thought or planning, their only intention to see that this upstart Herald paid for her crimes. Their very eagerness worked against them, making them sloppy, and easy targets. I slipped into the movements of the dance of death, letting myself go into a trance where nothing existed beyond myself and my foes. One by one, they fell, until the remainder fled in fear of me. I freed Lyrna and leaned against her dusty coat, only then noticing that I was bleeding from places I'd never before known to bleed. I'm gonna have a whole passel of scars from this lovely encounter.

:Oh, cheer up. At least you're alive.:

"Oh, aye, love. At least we're both alive. But I think that next time the Council doesn't want me to do something, I'm going to listen to them."

Less than a week later, I was back on the border. I thought I swore I wasn't going to do this again.

:Yes, but this time the Council had every confidence that you were the right one for the job.:

I snorted. "Hell, I'm the only one. Everyone else is doing important stuff related to the ever-present threat of war. Even Jorjie's got a job lined up when she gets back from circuit." Corwin had been sent back out on circuit while I was away, this time with my former roommate in tow. "Besides, I dress like a bleeding bandit anyways." And I look like one. The Healers had done their best to stitch me up, but I did, in fact, have several new scars, these ones much more glorious than the years-old bee sting on my left hand.

Lyrna snickered. :You could make Formal Whites look like something a pirate would wear.:

"Yeah, that's because I am a pirate, even when I wear them. Did ya see what I managed to steal from Jello?"

:It's not proper for a Herald to steal: my Companion admonished.

"Oh, shut up, horseface. I gave it all to charity. Now it'll actually be doing good, rather than decorating FitzJohan's bedroom wall."

:It's still morally wrong—: Lyrna admonished, but I interrupted her.

"Yeah, and the only one of the Ten Commandments I've ever followed is 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery.' I'm real big on that one. Lie, steal, kill, don't really remember the rest. Honor thy father and mother—only because they actually deserved my respect. I don't worship false idols, never said anything about worshiping real idols, not that I do that, either. 'Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me,' doesn't deny the existence of other gods, in fact makes one inclined to believe that they do exist. That makes, what, six?"

:Seven: Lyrna corrected.

"Right. So three more. Well, I know I can name at least three of the Ten Commandments of Latin. Thou shalt have orgies at least three times a week, thou shalt not keep thy hands to thyself, thou shalt molest thy classmates, thou shalt distribute sustenance equally among the class, thou shalt honor and respect the holy union of Marcus and Lucius, thou shalt not do any work whatsoever, thou shalt beg for extra credit at every opportunity—that makes seven of those I can remember, as well."

:We've been surrounded: Lyrna commented in a conversational tone.

"I know. It's not like they were very stealthy about it. And they scared off all the birds."

:They can hear everything you're saying.:

"I know that, too." I sent my gaze searching the woods for telltale flashes of color. There were about eight of them. Bandits. But was it the group I'd been sent here to find? "Howdy, folks. Right fine morning, don't you agree? How about coming out of them there trees and into the open where I can see you? It's unfriendly-like, all this skulking about."

:Where on Velgarth did that accent come from: Lyrna demanded.

:Texas, actually. Not on Velgarth at all. They've got a lot of outlaw-types in Texas.:

Cautiously, the bandits crept into view, every one brandishing a long knife or short sword. "Just give us all your money and we'll let you go."

"Sorry, partner. I'm just a poor merc, haven't got anything worth stealing. Tax-collectors took everything of value I owned." I'd cut my hair during my short stay at the Palace, so now, at least, I looked like a boy, and my voice was deep enough—being as it was a low alto—that no one questioned their assumptions of my gender.

"The horse, then," another one suggested.

I shook my head. "That's not a very good idea. This here horse is Shin'a'in bred. She gets real unfriendly when strangers try to get too near."

:I'm not a bloody horse:

:I know that, love. Don't forget our disguise. At least I said you were Shin'a'in bred. That'll explain any intelligence you display.:

"You one of them Heralds?" the rat-faced man directly before me asked suspiciously.

"D'you see me wearing Whites? Naw, I'm just a commoner, but I've got a cousin who's Shin'a'in. Married into Clan Tale'sedrin. Gets me good connections, but doesn't keep the tax collectors away."

:You are having far too much fun.:

:'Course I am, love. I'm in my element here. Making up a story that involves me becoming a bandit. I've been doing that since I was ten.:

"So, have you ever heard of Gordon Ashkevron?" one of the green-cloaked men asked. This one held himself with an air of command; presumably he was their leader.

I schooled my face into a blank expression. Gordon was my mission, and if they were asking about him, that meant I'd stumbled upon the right group of bandits. But that also meant it was necessary that I not give away my true reason for being in the woods. The stupid bard had heard tales of William Greencloak and had decided to join up with him for a spell to get material for songs. Definitely not the brightest idea a bard had ever had. "Is he descended from that Herald, Vanyel Ashkevron?"

Greencloak laughed. "Vanyel was shaych, son. He didn't have any kids." He was wrong about that, but one can't expect a bandit to know everything. "But I'd imagine this one's related, at least. So I take it you haven't heard of him? Didn't come into these woods looking for him?"

"Why would I do a thing like that? Naw, I came looking for bandits. I want to join a gang. Has to pay better than what I'm going now."

Greencloak looked me over appraisingly. I knew what he would see. Scrawny, and young, but I held myself with an instinctive poise, and there was sinewy muscle wrapped around my bones.

:You look like a drowned rat every time you get wet, and there's not enough muscle on you to roast over a fire. Don't flatter yourself. You're skinnier than a lad your apparent age has any business being and still be able to carry a sword.:

:Thanks for the vote of confidence, love: I replied wryly.

"You any good with that sword you carry?"

I pretended to take offense. "I'm a merc, partner, and alive. I only got that way by being damned good with a blade."

"You're a young merc, and looking for easy gold. You could've just been lucky."

"Damned unlucky is what I've been," I muttered under my breath.

:I thought you swore by the fact that being born on a Friday the 13th made you lucky.:

:Yeah, in a crazy sort of way. It's made my life interesting. But then, that can be a curse as well as a blessing. Remember the Shin'a'in. Their two most potent curses are "May your life be interesting," and "May you get what you deserve.":

"Care to test your mettle against me?"

Just like a young merc, full of his own immortality, I accepted the challenge with a flair. Sword left scabbard as I leapt to the ground. It was my old, beloved sword, the one I'd had when I first came to Valdemar, but now it was sharpened to a fine edge. The well-made blade was, perhaps, a little more ornate than an impoverished mercenary would be carrying, but the bandits wouldn't ask questions, they would simply assume that I had stolen it.

Greencloak drew his own sword and closed the gap between us. He circled me for a minute, testing my defenses, then closed with a flurry of stabs and slashes I only barely managed to fend off. This bandit was better than good; he'd been trained by a professional. His style, however, was the dirty, street-fighting tactics that I'd insisted Weaponsmaster Eduard teach to me. And two could play at that game.

Rather than allow my left hand to dangle behind me uselessly, I grabbed a dagger from my belt and used that to engage his blade. That left my sword-arm free to try for a killing blow—except this one wouldn't be meant to kill him. I rather liked this bandit, and if half the tales about him were true, he didn't deserve to die.

I never got the chance to land the strike. He pulled out his own dagger and blocked just in time. We settled into a dance that I recognized on a level akin to instinct. Weaponsmaster Eduard had taught me well. This was the dance of death, not the dance of the blade. The goal was to kill. Only I didn't want to kill the bandit. So far he'd not done anything to deserve death. A bit of thievery was nothing. Perhaps the world would be a better and safer place with fewer of his ilk, but that was not my decision to make. Who was I to play God? No. I may have been impulsive, but I wanted never to kill someone without first weighing the consequences. Even with the Sun-Priests, I hadn't acted on reflex. The only reason I'd killed them was that they left me no choice. It was kill or be killed.

:I swear, you're the most backwards Herald I've ever known. Willing to stab someone in the back, but not willing to have a casual fling. The only thing you do have is your word.:

:Yeah, well, I take my vows seriously. I figure if I don't have that, I don't have anything. If I ever do decide to break my word, it had better be for a damned good reason. Now shut up so I can concentrate.:

Then I saw my opportunity. Three more moves and I could have him disarmed. But he did something entirely unexpected, taking an enormous risk and twisting my sword away from me between his sword and knife. Now I was left with only my dagger for defense. Fine if I wanted to kill him; I was slighter and quicker, and could dart under his guard; but I didn't want to kill him. And I didn't know if he planned to kill me if I lost. William Greencloak and his band of marauders were known for their penchant for keeping their captives alive, but that could mean they simply didn't kill everyone.

While he kept my knife-blade occupied with his own dagger, Greencloak brought his sword-point to rest against my throat. "Surrender?"

"I reckon I should."

With a grin, Greencloak sheathed his weapons. "Excellent fight. My name's William Greencloak. I lead this rabble."

"Kal," I introduced myself, not giving a surname.

"Welcome to the band, Kal."

"I'm not going with you," Gordon Ashkevron declared, his handsome face set in stubborn lines. "You just don't understand. These bandits are really quite fascinating." As he waxed eloquent on the subject, his expression turned to something more enthusiastic. "When they take captives, they treat them fairly until they can be ransomed. And they take captives often. They don't like to kill." This was followed by several metaphors and similes that were really quite poetic, but just couldn't compare to the Song of Roland, the part where the poet talks about how much he loves to see armies stretched across the battlefield in spring, right after he mentions his love for the little birdies.

"That's nice," I said, distinctly unimpressed. Yes, I agreed with him, these bandits were fascinating—quite unlike most outlaws, bandit, pirate, or thief—but that didn't mean he had to risk his life by joining them. Besides, I'd been ordered to keep him safe, and that's what I was going to do.

"Seriously, you can't really expect that you could keep me safe. Why, you're just a girl." My disguise may have worked with the bandits, but it hadn't stood up under the scrutiny of a Bard, who was trained to notice details like that.

"Idiot. I'm a Herald. You lived right next door to a whole passel of my kind while you trained at Bardic; one would think you'd have learned that we know how to take care of ourselves. Even us 'just girls.'"

"I'm not going back with you," he repeated stubbornly.

"Then I'll stay here until you change your mind."

"A bandit gang is not a good place for a Herald," he said condescendingly. "You'll give yourself away in the first raid."

"Oh really?" I asked, arching my eyebrows. Back before I'd decided I wanted to be a pirate, my dream had been to be a bandit, or a thief. Robin Hood—steal from the rich and give to the poor. Of course you wouldn't steal from the poor. They don't have anything worth stealing!

I could tell that the bandits didn't really trust me. I had a secret, and my every movement proclaimed the fact. I was still working on my "innocent" expression, although it had undergone a marked improvement from my old five-year-old stare-at-the-ceiling-and-hum-a-tune.

One of the scouts brought news of a merchant caravan winding its way through the territory of the border. Who knows why on Velgarth a merchant wanted to travel from Karse to Valdemar. I sure didn't have any clue. To satisfy my curiosity, I went with the next scout to keep an eye on the caravan.

Together we crept through the forest. I couldn't ride Lyrna because she was far too obvious against the dark trees. My companion, a rangy man named Tuno, set a grueling pace, more a lope than a creep. Every time I stepped on a twig or a crackly leaf, he turned and glared at me. So I fell back into my old routine of trying to feel the upcoming path with a sort of sixth sense, allowing the forest itself to guide my footfalls. Immediately the noise quieted, and we picked up speed. Interesting. I really didn't expect that to work.

The hiding I knew how to do. At this point I was wearing muted colors, not my usual loud, obnoxious pirate garb. I held myself absolutely still, lying prone at the top of a ridge, the road clear to me, but my own profile obscured by an intervening bush. Several times I had to fight the urge to stretch, to relieve the pressure in my back. There was one point, slightly to the right of my spine, between my shoulder-blades, that always pained me, especially if I remained in the same position for an extended period of time.

Stretched out before me was the merchant caravan, its owner riding with it. Cautiously, I lowered my shields. What I felt made me hope this raid went off exactly as planned. He was oily smooth, so slick he could swim through a river and never get wet. I took an immediate disliking to him.

:I thought you liked the criminal types: Lyrna teased.

:Only the ones who are rough around the edges. Even Silk could be rough-and-tumble if the situation warranted.:

The bandits leapt from cover, screaming and brandishing weapons. The horses reared, ridding themselves of their riders, and bolted. The guards were forced to scramble to their feet and defend themselves to the best of their abilities. Already many were down from well-placed stones or a lucky blow to the head. Unconscious, not dead. Greencloak's band were well-organized and followed their orders well.

It wasn't long before all the guards were down, and the merchant stood gibbering in terror. There were a few bloodstains spreading across the ground, unavoidable casualties. Greencloak approached the wagon that seemed to carry the most loot. Suddenly one of the seemingly unconscious guards sprung from the ground to hold a dagger to Greencloak's throat. "Tell your men to leave."

That just pissed me off. We'd gone to all this trouble to get the gold, and by God, we weren't going to give up now. I considered Fetching the knife, and discarded the idea immediately. It would be too obvious, it would cause ripples, and half the bandits were from Karse, and wouldn't take kindly to a "witch."

So I went to Plan B. A single leap positioned me right next to the tricky guardsman, a kick knocked him away from Greencloak, and then I had my sword at his throat. With the handle of my knife I knocked him unconscious, making sure of him this time. Ah, yes. An old potion, very reliable. Then I headed for the wagon to help myself to the booty. Lyrna watched my antics in resigned amusement.

I sensed a presence behind me, and turned to find Greencloak studying me like he'd never really seen me before. "I'd like to thank you, Kal, for that daring rescue. I must admit, until now I didn't entirely trust you. I hope you can forgive me."