If I Were a Herald

Chapter 17

Coward of the County

A/N (11/10/05): I'm trying out some advice a friend gave me on how to write good action scenes. According to him, people "wax poetic" about his action scenes. We'll see how well it works.

Fireblade K'Chona: Aw, come on. I put a lot of effort into those songs. And all you can say is you think it's sweet that I love my Companion? The bloody horse is the only thing keeping me away from Evendim at this point! ;-)

Nawyn: Your spacing worked. I sent you the songs; tell me if you got them. As for Jacoby, just think for a minute. We haven't actually met, ever, in the physical plane.

I just love this song, have loved it since the first time I heard it. This was, in fact, the very first Kenny Rogers song I came to like.

"C'mon, singer. Bardic immunity can only get you so far. Show yer stuff." The bully stretched his muscular arms and cracked his knuckles.

Very impressive, I thought sarcastically, though I kept my thoughts to myself. I'd grown up somewhat due to my ordeal at the hands of the bastard Sun-Priest. In the end, the only reason I'd kept insulting him was to keep my spirits up, knowing what his reaction would be. I didn't have to do that with these people. What I had to do was keep a low profile. I'd been sent here to find a murderer. In order to do that, I had to be a stranger. Unfortunately, it looked like my refusal to fight was going to get me known just as surely as if I'd beat this boy's face into a pulp. The pup was far too big for his britches, and I longed to give him a lesson. I would have, too, but the last thing I needed was an enemy. Besides, it's no fun having a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.

:Now that's not very nice: Lyrna said reproachfully.

:True, though: I countered, and she had to agree with that.

The Council had given me an extra week to rest; then they'd sprung this assignment on me. "We've got an unsolved murder in the little town of Caracos, and we need someone to go solve it for us. The catch is, you can't let them know you're a Herald. We've already sent one Herald there to find the murderer, and he came up empty-handed. The victim's name was Brendon, and he was well-liked by the townsfolk."

"So basically you want me to spy."

"You could say that."

"Wonderful." I grinned. Apparently after my miraculous escape from Karse (neither Lyrna nor I had thought it wise to tell about the pirate's involvement; we'd have seemed daft), the Council trusted me much more than they had before. Apparently now I'd earned my rank as a Herald. It probably helped that the whole experience had matured me. And there were those two songs circulating about me. No, three. At least three, one of which mentioned my name. "When do I leave?"

Caracos, it turned out, was a little town whose only importance was its location on a major trade route.

So now here I was, undercover as a bard, and hating every minute of it. It's one thing to pretend to be something you're not for the sheer hell of it. It's another thing when justice depends on you not slipping up.

I sighed. The kid wanted an answer, and he wasn't going to like mine. "No."

"No? What's that supposed to mean?"

N-O. Nitrogen monoxide. No, I don't have to prove that I'm a man, because I'm not a bleeding man, though I think I may have been in a past life. God knows I've been having the strangest dreams. "No, I'm not going to fight with you."

He sneered, and punched at my stomach. I absorbed the blow without comment. Maybe it would make me less of a stranger if I did get into a fight with him, but lost intentionally. Certainly wouldn't hurt worse than what the Sun-Priest had done to me.

I punched him back, but not hard. Just enough to send him stumbling back a step. I swung wildly, not putting any force behind my blows. He swung almost as wildly, but he had muscle, and his blows hurt. My head rang.

He lunged. I ducked, but not fast enough. He pummeled my back. I elbowed him in the stomach. He got in one really good blow to my head. I fell to the ground.

Stars danced before my eyes.

"That's why I don't like to fight," I mumbled to the three versions of him that I saw. My right arm hurt like hell. It was still sore from being broken. I could only be thankful that the Healers at the Collegium were as good as they were, or it likely would have broken again.

He laughed and left, having determined that he could walk all over me. Let him think that. I'd teach him better manners once I'd caught the murderer.

You know all those mystery books you've read? C'mon, you know you've read them. This mystery? Not so much.

I stumbled back into the tavern to talk with the bartender. In my capacity as bard, I could ask probing questions, and no one would think it odd. The bartender sympathized over my beating, and pointed me toward a table in the back. "You want to know about the murder, ask him. It was his brother who was killed."

Not exactly very promising, but he would, at least, be able to tell me who might have had a grudge against his brother. If he wasn't himself the murderer. In a situation like this, one had to be extremely paranoid.

:He's clean: Lyrna informed me.

:Thanks, love, but whoever it was already managed to fool one Herald. And his Companion, I might add. Did he use the Truth Spell:

:He tried, of course. But whoever it was is very good at dancing his way around the truth.:

:Oh, fun. We've got a bleeding Aes Sedai for a murderer.: So I'd just have to ask some very probing questions. And make use of my natural Gifts.

Empathy was at the top of that list.

I read the brother's emotions as I sat down opposite him. Suspicion. Grief. An aching loss, an internal wound that hadn't healed and wasn't likely to heal until the culprit had been brought to justice. I smiled at him. "Name's Taileffer. I'm a bard. If you don't want to talk about it, I don't blame you, but I heard there was a murder in town, and your brother was the victim."

"True enough." He studied my bruised face. "Why'd you let them walk all over you?"

"Never was much of a fighter," I said with all the frankness I could muster.

:That's an out-and-out lie. You were born fighting.:

:Kicking and screaming: I confirmed.

Apparently the brother didn't believe me any more than Lyrna had. He held himself like a professional soldier, his eye constantly roving the dim interior of the tavern, same as mine. "Odd to hear that from a man who carried himself like a trained fighter."

"Oh, I was trained, sure," I said glibly. "But it never stuck. I try to keep away from trouble. I'm a firm believer in turning the other cheek."

Of course he had no idea what that meant. They didn't have God or Jesus Christ here on Velgarth. At least, not that I had found. But he didn't ask, although curiosity radiated from him in waves. At least the suspicion was gone.

Time to bring the conversation back to my topic of choice. "I was just wondering if your family had any blood-feuds or anything."

"Oh, I know who did it," he assured me darkly. "What I need is proof. From the bruises on your face, you've met our town bully, Andor. The murderer is his father, the only bleeding noble in town."

"You're accusing Lord Jundor?" I asked, just to be sure. Jundor had already struck me as a wholly unsavory sort, so I wasn't unduly surprised by the accusation.

"I'm not accusing, I'm saying."

"What was his motivation?"

"Brendon stumbled onto something he was doing. He said he had evidence to bring Jundor down, evidence of something illegal. I'm going to find that evidence."

"Well good luck with that—say, I never did catch your name." Not that it really mattered. I wouldn't remember it for more than a minute anyway.

"Josef."

Josef suspected Lord Jundor was doing something illegal. If nothing else, I had to investigate him for that. But the last Herald had questioned Jundor—he must have.

:Not thoroughly. Or at least, he allowed himself to be misled.:

"I'm not too big on subtle, so I'll just have to see if I can figure out what he's not saying. I will, at least, know when I'm being dragged around by the nose."

:That's my girl.:

Wearing slightly less raggedy clothes, I raised my hand to knock on the door to Lord Jundor's mansion. And mansion it was. Situated smack-dab in the middle of town, it rose above the lesser dwellings in terrible majesty, proclaiming its power to all within sight.

Fear, pain, doubt. Despair.

"Whoa," I whispered. "What's going on in there?" It was something sketchy, whatever it was. How come the last Herald hadn't felt it?

:He wasn't an Empath.:

Ah. That would explain it.

:I'm going to check this out: I told Lyrna. :It's got to have something to do with the illegal activity Brendon discovered.:

The door opened. "I'm Taileffer the bard, looking for patronage," I announced to the butler. He left me standing there while he went to find his master. At that point I really began to wish that I had the real Bardic Gift. With the real Bardic Gift, I could subtly weave a melody that would suggest to him that he at least see me. Instead I had to settle for the more heavy-handed mental suggestion, inserting a thought into his head. :You need a bard to play at the parties you throw for your friends. At least check this fellow out. You can throw him on his rump if he turns out not to suit.:

The butler once more opened the door. "You may come in. The master will see you at his pleasure."

Of course. He had to show off just how powerful he was. Real impressive. Ha!

I spent the time trying to discover from whence came the sad emotions. Lost and confused, a tendril of thought reached toward me. :Lady, please. Send us an angel to comfort us. The younger ones are frightened. And so am I! Please, don't leave us here to die.:

Children. There were children here, trapped and despairing. My heart went out to them.

But where? Where were they? Down. I got a sensation that they were under my feet. But that was impossible.

No duh, Dorothy. You're not in Florida anymore. People here have things called basements.

So now how to get to them? I looked about for a promising doorway, but there were people beyond each one. People who, from their emotions, had no idea what was going on beneath their very feet.

Lord Jundor swept into the room. He eyed me down his overlarge nose, so that I got a wonderful view of his nostrils. They were hairy and needed to be cleaned.

:Such wonderful observations.:

:Try to talk with those kids, would you? I'm going to keep Mr. High and Mighty here occupied.: I adopted my best fawning expression. "Good sir, I had heard of your most notable generosity in throwing parties for all your friends and acquaintances, but that you had to hire bards for each one. I thought that, since I am looking for a permanent position, and you have no bard in residence, we might come to an agreement. I am most desperately in need of work."

In the background, I heard Lyrna's Mindvoice. :Who are you, children? How did you come to be here:

:Are you the Lady bright: the youthful Mindvoice asked.

:No, I am not. I am a Companion.:

:I thought Companions only spoke to their Chosen.: Now the tone was accusatory.

I could feel Lyrna's grin. :This one is slightly eccentric.:

"I could use a bard," Lord Jundor allowed after careful deliberation. "Of course, I could only pay you fifty gold crowns a year."

Well, that was better than being a peasant, but hardly the price a bard of my talents could command. Still, I needed to stall. Just in case I got thrown out, I studied the locks on the doors. Every door had a lock, and a rather complicated one. Jundor didn't want thieves to be getting into his luxurious abode and stealing his ill-gotten wealth. Still, I should be able to pick the locks with the pocketknife I still carried with me. I had discovered that a Swiss Army Knife worked almost as well as a set of lockpicks on most locks in Valdemar, and no one asked awkward questions if they caught me with one—other than the usual "What the hell is this supposed to be?" I had an idea for a lockpick that would turn normal key-locks into combination locks which could then be broken even easier than normal combinations, but I hadn't yet had time to implement it.

:We were stolen off the streets in Haven. We don't know where they're taking us. Please, we need help.: It was the child's voice again, sounding pitiful and lost. If only I could use some psychic power to determine where the entrance to the cellar was located—but of course, things like that only happened in stories. If I could do that, I wouldn't ever get lost myself.

Now, to stall him. Bargaining usually worked, if I played my hand right. I couldn't demand too much—not even the usual minimum wages I could have commanded, had I been what I claimed—but if I asked too little, the bargaining wouldn't take long enough. I settled for quadrupling his offer. "Two hundred gold crowns. I'm a bard, not a penniless street singer."

"I gave you my offer, and I'm not going to change it." His eyes glinted like steel. He was not going to be moved, especially not by any desperate pleas. He has a heart of stone.

:It's okay. We're here to help you. Just be brave. Chosen, you can stop stalling him. We're not going to get any further.:

"Very well. If that's the best you'll offer, I accept." I desperately needed to be in his house and trusted. What I didn't need was the money.

At least my new position as the Fafir family bard (apparently Fafir was Jundor's last name) meant that young Andor couldn't beat me up as much as he might have liked. He could pound on me all he wanted, but he had to be careful about my arms. I had to be able to play.

And play I did. All the freaking time. Jundor didn't leave me any opportunity to go searching after the hidden children. However, I had a nagging suspicion as to just what evidence Brendon had found.

Child slavery. Our dearly beloved Lord Jundor Fafir was involved in the child slave trade. The children were caught in Haven and transported over the trade roads to a dealer. Likely that dealer was Jundor, and his way of dealing was at his oh-so-famous parties.

It was at one of those parties that I finally caught him. I was playing for him and his guests, my mind telling them I wasn't there. Alcohol made them lose their caution, and they spoke in my hearing. "So, whatever happened with that one fellow? The one who was saying he knew something about the children?"

"Oh, I took care of him," Lord Jundor assured his friend. "He won't be causing us any more trouble."

I noted names and faces and fed them through Lyrna to the other Companions back at Haven. :I can take care of Jundor by myself, but I'm gonna need back-up for the others.:

:They'll send others to take care of them: Lyrna assured me. :You concentrate on getting the children free.:

As soon as the others left, I went to confront Jundor. Only he, too, had disappeared. That left me free to search the house for the entrance to the cellar. It wasn't too hard to find—it was in the pantry, the first place I looked. It was hidden, but that wasn't much deterrent to my keen eyes.

I slipped inside. Besides the children, I sensed other presences. Jundor was there—I recognized his emotions—his son Andor, and two others. And pain.

They were beating the children for the pure pleasure of it.

Don't laugh at me, don't call me names, don't take your pleasure from my pain. I went from calm to raging mad in about three seconds flat. "Everybody freeze," I ordered, my voice as hard as iron.

Andor laughed. "Whatcha gonna do? Sing at me?"

Last time I did that, it was no joke. "I'll fight you. All of you."

"You? Fight me?" His grin turned feral in anticipation. "Hey, we've got ourselves a new toy."

"That's right, men," his father agreed. "The bard has just outlived his usefulness." The four of them circled me, no weapons in evidence. Of course, I wasn't about to believe that meant they didn't have any. Still—

Any insult I can throw at them will make them angry, more prone to make mistakes. With a grin, I took out a pair of knives, then tossed them aside in a deliberate insult. These were a pair I'd found at a stall in Haven. Very nice, very fancy, and very wicked. Lots of little hooks and jags.

You gotta kick a little to cause a stir. Sometimes you gotta make some noise to be heard. If anybody ever tries to hold you back—Yeah, you gotta kick a little to be tough. You got to let 'em know you've had enough. Remember that unless you wanna finish last, you got to kick a little—

I spun. Lighting-quick and unexpected, I spun. My foot lashed out. It caught the taller of the cronies in the stomach. He doubled over.

No wasted movement. That foot came down, the other came up. This time I aimed high. The other crony's chin got in the way. There was a slight tussle between my foot and his chin, wherein my foot came out victor.

There. On my left. Bully-boy Andor. I blocked the clumsy punch. He was wide open. No attempt to cover. My fist plowed into his abdomen.

That left Jundor. A round-kick to the temple took care of that problem.

The three I'd already struck were recovering, and mad as hell.

Torchlight reflected in their eyes. Andor reached for his belt. The light glinted off metal.

Knives.

So now he sought to take advantage of my earlier bravado. Fool. They still outnumbered me, but Andor had decided they needed an added advantage.

Advantage. Ha! I'd already surprised them once. I could, if necessary, defeat an opponent with a knife when I myself was unarmed.

If necessary.

I wasn't an idiot.

A knife appeared in my hand. Two and a half seconds later it had embedded itself in the wall. Another moment and there was a knife grasped in each hand, and I faced my three remaining opponents. They attacked from all sides. I spun as quickly as I could, ducking beneath their attacks and striking from the rear. The cronies fell quickly—I didn't need them alive. Andor was another matter. I wanted him breathing, so that he could talk. So I reversed the blade and knocked him on the temple with the hilt. He crumpled.

Quickly, before either could wake, I spun a spell upon both father and son. The children watched me with wide eyes. "It's okay, darlings," I said. "I'm a Herald. Lyrna is my Companion. We're going to take you back home."

"D-don't want to go home," said one of the older ones. "Don't got a home."

"Then I'll find you one. A good home. Hell, I'd adopt you myself if I didn't have to risk my life every day."

"You'd do that?" they asked.

I smiled reassuringly. "It's what Heralds do. C'mon."

They were so young. The youngest couldn't be more than four. He clung to my fingers like they were a lifeline and looked at me with big, adoring eyes. I retrieved my knives. Andor had been foolish to believe that I only had the two. Besides those and the ones hidden in my sleeves, I'd had one in a sheath at my neck, and another pair in my boots. The latter were the ones given to me by the pirate. I'd asked about their make, and had been told by Jorjie that this particular style was only made by a certain blacksmith in Vertin.

I scooped up the four-year-old and herded the rest before me. He snuggled his head against my shoulder. So adorable. "What's your name?" I asked him.

"Marky."

A noise, not from one of the children. I froze. Handing Marky to one of the older children and motioning for silence, I crept forward. There was another presence, someone creeping about in the shadows. Someone suspicious and angry.

The brother. "Josef, show yourself," I said impatiently.

He didn't reply, but all noise from him stopped, even that of breathing. Okay, so he didn't think I really knew he was there. That only meant I'd have to find him by his psychic signature. It didn't take long.

"How did you know where I was?" he demanded.

"State secret," I replied irritably. "What the blazes are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked first."

He glared at me in silence. After a while, I gave up. I was quite certain that I could outstubborn him if I really wanted, but that would be a waste of time, both his and mine.

"Okay, I was sneaking. You?"

"I know what Jundor's up to."

"That's nice. So do I."

"You're in his pay, aren't you?"

"That's not a nice accusation. As a matter of fact, I came here to catch your brother's murderer, and that's what I've done. All I need is proof, which I'll get as soon as he and that no-good son of his wake up."

"I thought you said you were a bard."

"I lied. I'm a Herald, and at the moment, I need your help. I've got a bunch of kids who need food and a place to stay. I can reimburse you later—"

"Forget it. I'll take care of them, but you don't have to pay me. Where are they?"

So I passed the kids into his hands, although Marky was most adamant about not being parted from me. Eventually we had to pry his fingers away from my shirt. "I'll come back for you, don't worry. You'll be fine. I promise."

I returned to the cellar. Jundor and Andor were just beginning to stir. They groaned and looked into my face. "Who are you?" Jundor demanded. "If it's money you want, I can give you plenty."

"I'm not interested in your dirty money." Not entirely true. I was quite interested in the money, but not being given it. I preferred to steal dirty money. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Sort of like Robin Hood. I worked the first part of the Truth Spell. "What I want is answers. Did you kill Brendon?"

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing?" Jundor asked, his face a mask of righteous indignation. I could see how he'd run circles around the other Herald. But that wouldn't work on me. Besides being too clever to fall for it, he wouldn't make so much of an effort, not knowing that I was a Herald, not knowing I'd cast the Truth Spell.

"I'm the one with the power here. Ergo, I ask the questions. So. Did you kill Brendon?"

"Of course not."

The cloud around his head disappeared. He was lying. "Well, that's enough for me. How about you, Andor? Were you involved in the murder?"

"No."

Now his head was clear.

"Well, well, well. You're both under arrest for murder and enslaving children." I ignored their protests that I was only a bard, I couldn't arrest them, I had no evidence, and took them to the town jailor. Luckily the jailor was clean, meaning not in their pay and not likely to take bribes. Then I returned for the children.

"Just who are you?" Josef demanded. "And don't tell me you're Taileffer the bard. I'm not going to believe that."

"Okay. I'm not a bard. I'm not even a man. I'm Herald Kali."

His eyes widened in surprise. "A Herald? And Andor was able to beat you?"

I shrugged. "All part of my cover. Trust me, that was the hardest part. I so wanted to kick his ass, and knew that if I did, word would get around that a new badass was in town, and then I'd never get my job done."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

:How's this for truth? I'm a Herald, and no one can lie in Mindspeech.:

He nodded slowly. "So you came here to find my brother's murderer? I thought… after the last Herald left…"

"Well, you were right that they didn't give this much importance—that's why they sent me, rather than someone with more experience—but they did think it worth sending someone to find the culprit."

"You found the evidence, and that's all that matters."

Okay, people. Review. Seriously. This chapter took time, damnit. Time that would have been better spent studying or writing papers. I need feedback on how I write when I'm not inspired. And I'd like some ideas for what to put in the next two chapters. They already have themes—Chapter 17 is "Let Them Be Little," it's about the children I rescued, and it's loosely based off Billy Dean/Lonestar's song by that title. Chapter 18 is called "There's No Business Like Show Business," and it's based off that song. It's supposed to be my theater exploits.