If I Were a Herald

Chapter 26

Hangover Song

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. If you don't recognize it, I probably don't own it, either. Like this chapter's song. Yet another one by Michael Longcor. Because he's awesome and he sings awesome songs. And they just fit this story so well. The whole attitude behind them. But I digress. I was disclaiming. I am not Mercedes Lackey, nor do my friends call me Misty. I'd think they were very odd if they did. Ergo, I do not own Valdemar or anything that has been copyrighted to Mercedes Lackey.

A/N (12/4/05): Finals week is hell. I can't bleeding concentrate, and I have a seven page paper to write! Gah. I'm thinking now that Calculus isn't the problem; it's Norman Conquest. Thank heaven I'm allowed to unsat one of my classes. It's going to be one of those two. Chemistry final will be a breeze, and I'm almost finished with my Caribbean History take-home final. Oh, and my Greek teacher referred me to a couple great books on Latin and Greek words not used in polite society. So… prepare for Latin double entendres and Greek expletives as soon as I get back from Winter Break.

Fireblade K'Chona: Thanks for the costume ideas… I am totally putting that in some chapter. Tayledras try to track down evil mage by disguising themselves as pirates, while I shake my head in disgust. As for getting characters drunk… it just happens. And it's such a great thing to put in stories. Drunk people are funny. It's like writing something at three in the morning. It makes no sense, and it's hilarious.

Nawyn: I'm really glad you liked it. I wasn't too sure how well I'd pulled it off. And Jacoby's plenty capable of taking care of me. He can still walk, though probably not in a straight line. He's got a higher tolerance for alcohol than me. He's a pirate, after all. And he is going to find out that I'm a Herald, so good suggestion, but it can't happen yet. The villain does need to show up eventually… but as soon as he shows up, we leave Belt. So I still need a couple more chapters before that happens.

Tempeste-Silere: Mortimer shows up in a few days. So this chapter and maybe one or two more, then Mortimer should put in an appearance. And thank you for the praise. I was really not sure about that chapter.

A knock on the door dragged me out of pleasant dreams of sexy pirates and free-sailing ships. Normal dreams, with normal dream-people, and myself flying over the waves. Another knock shattered the momentary peace of the waking state. It called forth an answering pound in my head. But it was not all bad. I was cocooned in warmth, with a solid wall pressed against my back—

No, not a wall. A chest. And there was a hand tracing lazy circles on my abdomen. It felt good—damned good. And it could only mean one thing.

Fear and shock kept me still for a moment, then anger broke through my paralysis.

:Hold up there, little filly: Lyrna spoke into my mind. :Don't jump to conclusions. I wasn't drunk, and I remember perfectly well what happened. Which was absolutely nothing. After telling him in no uncertain terms that you were not going to go to bed with him, you stood up and fainted. I believe he carried you up to his room to keep you out of trouble.:

:Oh.: More of what had happened last night was coming back, and the memories, along with the fact that I wasn't sore, convinced me that Lyrna was right. I really shouldn't be enjoying this. But I was, and there really couldn't be any harm in lying here—just for a few minutes longer. Maybe drifting off to sleep again.

A third knock shattered my feeling of bliss. Now Jacoby was awake, too, and he stumbled out of the bed. I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Oh—my. He didn't have his shirt on. And that chest! All hard, corded muscle, with a nasty-looking scar rippling on one side. But even the scar was beautiful. No raised tissue, but a streak of silver, the skin looking thin in that area, almost transparent. It covered enough area that I could tell it had been one mean sucker when he'd gotten it, and he must have gotten a Healer for it to have healed so cleanly.

I had all my clothes on, thank the Lord. I really don't know what I'd have done if I hadn't. Something drastic. My boots were—somewhere else, I didn't know where. Not on my feet. Thoughtful of him.

Jacoby opened the door. I saw a spasm flash across the side of his face that was visible—a wince, no doubt, due to the creaking of the hinges. They were in desperate need of some WD-40, or whatever was its equivalent on this backwater planet.

A small head peaked through, with black hair and golden-tan skin to match the pirate's. Oh, dear Lord. A miniature Jacoby. That one was going to be a terror among the ladies in a few short years. I estimated his age around nine, maybe ten. He had a truly amazing Gift of Animal Mindspeech—rare enough for that Gift to show up at all, and I'd never seen it so powerful. And with Mage-Gift in potential in such large quantities—oh my goodness, if that bred true… Look at me, thinking about the kid like a prime stud. He hasn't even gone through puberty yet. But then, I'd always thought about the future. Planned and schemed and hoped that people with good genes would have kids and pass on those genes. Even before I knew where kids came from. "Captain, sir, there's a problem—nothin' major, but we could use yer 'elp."

"What?" I asked immediately. The kid wasn't panicking, so it obviously wasn't too bad, but if there was any way I could help….

The kid invited himself all the way into the room. He wore old clothing, full of badly-mended tears, threadbare in spots, especially around the knees and elbows. It was a motley assemblage of different styles, with even a bit of Tayledras in the form of a feathered belt worn at the waist.

The way he looked at me, I felt like a slut. Not contempt, quite, just—like he'd often found the captain in bed with a strange woman—or man. And like he was surprised I possessed mind enough to speak. He addressed his answer to Jacoby. "Ellis an' Kory are at it again. I figured maybe I should fetch ye afore they hurt thesselves."

I reached automatically for a dagger that wasn't there—Jacoby must have taken off my sword-belt, as well. I reassured myself that my other knives were still in their usual place. Yes, I had the set of lightning throwing knives strapped to my left side, and more knives up my sleeves. Jacoby was moving, too, pulling on a shirt and a pair of boots. He tossed me my boots, then handed me the pair of Vertinian daggers and swordbelt.

"'Oo's she?" the kid asked, indicating me with a toss of his head. He sounded more bored and in want of something to pass the time than truly interested in the answer. Curse kids and their perceptiveness, I thought grumpily. I wasn't in any mood to be charitable, and this child was insulting me at every turn. And now he'd figured out that I was a woman with a single glance.

I hadn't even been in the best of moods to start out with. It wasn't the mother of all hangovers—to be honest, it didn't even come close—but at the moment, that's what it felt like. Dry mouth, jumpy stomach, and pounding head. I felt like hell. The saying should be, "Hell hath no fury like a hangover." It's even alliterative. "You do realize that it's very rude to talk about someone as if they're not there," I commented to the boy. "Dangerous, too, if that person has a knife and a hangover." I strapped on the sword-belt and slipped my feet into the boots, tucking in the daggers once they were comfortable. My nose chose that moment to protest that it wasn't getting enough attention. I felt it gingerly. Not broken—there wasn't enough pain—but I'd certainly bruised it something good. Must have been when I banged it on my mug. It didn't hurt at the time, but—

I talked with Jose Cuervo, and I danced with Irish Rose. I went two out of three with old Jack D. and I think he broke my nose. Even though I'm thirty-somethin', and I love to have my fun, I guess I can't party as hardy as I partied when I partied at twenty-one.

Well, I was only twenty-three, but I'd never been able to party as hardy as most of my friends. But then, I didn't need the alcohol to make me do crazy stuff. I'd put that lampshade on my head stone-cold sober, and dance on the bar while I was at it.

"Ye couldna 'urt me," the kid said. He drew himself up with a swagger he could only have acquired from Jacoby.

Between the pounding in my head and the arrogance in his stance, something snapped. Before he could blink, I dropped a knife from its arm sheath into my hand and threw it at the wall near his head. Not too near, and a good deal above, but close enough to give him a scare.

Thud.

He jumped. About three feet straight up. And threw himself out of my line of fire.

"Careful," Jacoby said to the boy. "This be…"

"Lightning," I supplied. A nickname I'd used once upon a time, and to which I would still respond.

"An' she be dangerous. Treat 'er with respect. Lightning, meet me son, Jimmy. Now, where's this fight takin' place?" Son? Well, it made sense, but Jimmy was nine-ten, and Jacoby was—what? Twenty-eight? Then again, I'd had cousins who had kids when they were younger than nineteen. A first cousin once removed, to be exact—technically of a younger generation than myself, but in fact about three years older. I couldn't even find it in my heart to blame Jacoby. The genes again. Jacoby had good genes.

For a moment I entertained the thought that Jacoby might be married. Then—

No, not possible. I just can't see him tying himself to a wife. Not unless he were madly in love with her. And by the way he's been chasing me, he's not madly in love with anyone.

Jimmy led his father through the winding streets of Belt. Neither protested when I invited myself along, after pulling my knife out of the wall. It wasn't far—only a couple of blocks. I even managed to keep track of where we were. I'll admit that it helped that I'd been scouting the entire town for ambush points and dead-ends, things that could all too easily turn into traps—or be made into them by yours truly.

The site of the battle was a small back alley overshadowed by the backs of two-storey buildings on either side. And battle it was. Aside from the original Ellis and Kory, there were three others who had joined the fray. That was assuming that Ellis and Kory were still among the combatants. Since I'd never before seen either of them—or any of these youngsters, for that matter—I couldn't rightly say.

I stole a glance at Jacoby to see how he was reacting. His face was like a stone, and he looked ready to wade into the fighting and toss children about like sacks of grain—and probably acquire some pretty nice bruises himself in the process. For some reason that thought was unbearable.

"Enough!" I roared, invoking the Voice. I'd learned how to use the Voice of Command at Bardic, but hadn't yet had a chance to try it out, so I wasn't certain what kind of results I'd get.

Everyone froze. Not just those actually involved in the fight. Everyone. There was a small crows of riffraff who'd been cheering them on—now they were silent. Jacoby looked at me like he'd never seen me before. His son stared as if I'd grown an extra head.

"Now, what's this all about?"

That seemed to be the signal for them all to begin speaking at once. "'E started it—"

"Yer a bleedin' liar, ye stole me 'at!"

Now where had I heard that before? Or, rather, written it.

Lyndsay Astra stood behind Captain Jack Sparrow, admiring him for half a moment before speaking. "Ahoy there, Jack."

Finally someone had gotten his name right! All those people calling him Johnny—it was fit to make him go mad. He turned to see who it was. "Oh. It's you. You stole my hat."

"Several times," Lyn agreed. "I meant to give it back to you, but you never came for it."

"Where is it now, love?"

"Your son has it."

"So you've met Junior."

Lyn had, indeed, met Jack's son. "He kidnapped me. An' don' think ye can get rid o' me. I went on the account."

"You're too young," Jack stated.

"I'm seventeen!" Lyn was very proud of the fact that she was seventeen. She had, after all, only had her birthday a few days previously.

"You should be thirty-five."

"That's how old you have to be to be President, not to be a pirate."

"Twenty years ago you were fifteen."

"Oh. That. It has to do with the time-flow, since we live in different times. Ask Tom. He could explain it."

"I'd really rather not." Jack sighed. Lyn's brother Tom was rather overfond of lengthy explanations liberally sprinkled with technobabble. But then, what else could one expect from a Trekkie? "Care for a drink?"

Lyn pouted. "I'm too young."

"I thought we just went over this, love."

"The law says you have to be twenty-one to drink alcohol."

"Who cares about the law?"

"He does." Lyn pointed at the bartender.

"That could be a problem," Jack agreed.

"Meow!"

"Hello Gypsy," Jack said to the cat. "You stole my hat a few times yourself, as I recall."

"Don't forget that she tried to eat it," Lyn reminded him.

"Mreow."

"She says it tasted good," Lyn translated.

Oh, those were the times. Writing "Pirates of the Caribbean" fanfics, when the worst that could happen was I wouldn't graduate from high school. When death was a vague concept, not something staring me in the face every day. Although, even then, I'd known my own mortality. That knowledge reflected itself in my journal. "I don't want to die, but I'm not afraid of death. Not really. I just want to be known. That way I'll live on even after death. And I want to leave a legacy behind me. Children to carry on my legacy, or something that will last. Something that will help people."

Well, I was definitely known now. Even if I died, I would not be forgotten. And I'd helped people, truly helped them. All that left was children. My own flesh and blood. For one brief instant I was jealous of Jacoby for having a child of his own.

The gabble had continued during my musings. I held up a single hand and glared. The children fell silent. Before them stood Herald Death, and she would brook no nonsense. "One at a time. You first." I nodded at a young blonde boy whose tangled hair kept falling in his face.

"Kory—'e stole me 'at. Used that magic 'e's got, kin move stuff about wif 'is 'ead."

Oh, just what I needed. Kory—his hair was a dark brown, and sort of framed his face. A couple stray locks fell in his eyes, and he blew them away. His eyes themselves were doelike, big and innocent. Too innocent. Overall he struck me as a rather well-kempt rogue. Certainly he was much cleaner than the rest of the scamps. Kory had the Fetching Gift. Not enough to cause any big trouble, but enough that he could pull off little pranks like the one that had started this fight. And despite those angel eyes of his, he looked guilty as hell.

"Give—Ellis?—the hat back, Kory," I said. Yes, the blonde boy was Ellis. He and Kory were the only two left. The others had scattered while my attention was on these two. After that Herald Death act, they'd probably decided that discretion was by far the better part of valor. Not a bad move on their part.

"Who be ye?" Kory asked belligerently.

I recalled that, in Magic's Price, the adults in Forst Reach had used the threat of the Hawkbrothers to keep their children in line. Perhaps that would work here as well. "Someone who knows how to find the Hawkbrothers."

"Do as th' lady says," Jacoby interjected. "An' try to behave yerselves, ye ruffians. I got called out o' bed—"

"With her, no doubt," Kory said with a snide glance in my direction. "Lady, me arse."

"No doubt," I agreed, "which makes me liable to be just as pissed as him. And I may not be a lady, but I can certainly give you a whipping you'll never forget. Now, the hat." I held out my hand expectantly. "Or do I have to Fetch it myself?" That was a bluff. I could no more Fetch what I'd never seen than grow wings and fly.

Sullenly Kory Fetched the hat from wherever he'd stashed it. I took it and handed it to Ellis. "Very good. Now the two of you run off and play—and behave yourselves! Or I'll get the Hawkbrothers to take care of you."

They obeyed with alacrity, leaving me and Jacoby alone in the alley. Jimmy had left with the other children once I ended the fight. "Wha' was tha'?" Jacoby asked. "Hawkbrothers? Do ye really know 'em?"

"I know songs," I replied evasively, "and stories. I could find them if I really wanted."

"An' tha' voice ye used—to stop the fight?" Awe, mixed with fear and no small bit of suspicion, colored his voice.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, that. It's something all minstrels learn. It's called the Voice. We use it to control crowds. Useful in a pinch." Now that the crisis was over, my stomach decided to inform me that, although it didn't want me to put anything in it, it was quite empty and wanted me to remedy the problem. Without making it eat.

Gah. Hangovers.

:I did warn you last night: Lyrna said, a hint of smugness in her tone.

"Futue te, caballa."

:Now, now. That's not very nice. And you're going to make that nice, handsome pirate think you're mad.:

A scream rent the air. In a flash, Jacoby was off, running this time. Towards, not away from, the direction of the scream. No one else was paying it any attention—or, if they were, it was only to clear the area. Three blocks away, Jacoby stopped cold, and I nearly bowled him over. He shoved me against a wall. "Be quiet!" he hissed. He peered around the corner, then drew back. Throwing a glare over my shoulder, I also took a look at what it was that had caused the commotion.

A cold feeling gripped my heart. A gang of four ranged around a young woman, kicking and hitting her. They laughed at her cries of pain. Her clothes were torn and her face muddy. Tears drew white lines in the brown mud on her cheeks.

Jacoby pulled me back into concealment. "Stay here."

"Do you have a plan?" I demanded.

"I'll think o' somethin'."

"You sound like MacGyver. Think of something. Honestly!" Not that I actually had any better plan than that.

"I'm goin' to distract 'em. Ye grab th' girl."

Does he really know what he's doing? Is he just trying to impress me? No, he's doing this because it's the right thing—I can sense that much from him. But he's putting himself in danger. I would be far better to distract them—except that would blow my cover. Damn. I can't trust him. Not with a secret like that. Not when he's a pirate. I nodded to show I understood.

Jacoby drew his sword and stepped into view of the knaves. "Leave th' girl alone."

"Oh really? Says who?" Typical bully-voice. Tough, but tinged with a fear that this fish might be bigger than him.

"Says Captain Jacoby o' the Bloodred Falcon. Tha' girl's mine. Ye leave 'er alone."

"We found 'er firs'."

:Idiots.: I caught a flash of yellow-gold laughter in Lyrna's Mindvoice.

:What's so funny:

:Your pirate is going to make mincemeat out of them.:

"Ye wanna fight over it?" Jacoby asked pleasantly.

None of the street toughs had swords. But they did have knives, and the sounds I was hearing now had to be them drawing those knives. Four against one—not good odds.

Oh, screw grabbing the girl. I've got to keep those guys from killing him. But when I spun into view, sword in one hand and dagger in the other, Jacoby seemed to have things well in hand. Certainly he didn't need any help from me. But the girl did. Too terrified even to move, whimpering in the middle of the alley where they'd left her.

I sheathed both sword and dagger and knelt by her side. "C'mon, love. We're gettin' you outta here."

A low moan escaped her lips, and she cringed away.

Oh, for crying out loud. "I'm not going to hurt you," I said, as gently as I could. "I'm one of the good guys. Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

"Wh-who are you?"

"My name's Lightning. I'm a singer." I wished—not for the first time—that I had a bit of the Healing Gift, so I could ease her pain. Curse it all, Empathy without Healing was like vision without talent. I could see what needed to be done, but couldn't do a blessed thing about it.

:If wishes were fishes, we'd walk on the sea.:

:And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride: I quoted back. :How are you, love? I haven't asked in a while.:

:Fine. There's plenty of grass around here for me to eat. You just concentrate on Mortimer. Don't worry about me. And for haven's sake, go ahead and seduce that pirate. He's not going to break your heart.:

I rolled my eyes and smiled. Good old Lyrna. I turned my attention back to the frightened girl before me. "Who are you?"

"L-Lena." Her eyes, already big and round, widened even more. "Is that man really a pirate?"

"Yep. But don't worry, he won't hurt you. He knows I'd kill him if he tried anything."

"Wh-why are you helping me?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Can you stand? We need to get you out of here."

She nodded uncertainly. After a few abortive tries, I draped her arms around my neck and practically lifted her to her feet. One of the street-toughs screamed—a death scream. My Empathy told me that. I shuddered. Death was what these men deserved, but that didn't mean that I had to like it when I felt them die. The scream ended in a gurgle. Lena cringed.

"It's okay, he can't hurt you now. Come on. One step. Another. That's good," I coaxed. Together we made it out into the open street—deserted, still. No—not quite. A golden-skinned boy came running toward us, out of breath. Jimmy.

"I heard the screaming," he gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. "Is she okay?"

My face was grim, but I kept my voice light so Lena wouldn't hear my worry. "She seems to be holding together pretty well. Go get a healer, okay? We need to see to these bruises." As Jimmy hurried to obey, I felt another of the street-toughs die. Ugh.

Lena shivered in fear and disgust. I wish I had Projective Empathy, at least. So I could give her comfort.

:So sing something: Lyrna suggested. :You do have Projective Empathy, it's just it only comes out through the music. What do you know that's soothing:

Now that was a tough one. I knew a lot of angry songs, but not very many soothing ones. The best I could think of on short notice was "Holderkin Sheep Song." I hummed the lullaby, trying to project comfort. It seemed to be working—at the very least, she began to relax. She even offered me a tentative smile.

"Thanks for helping me."

"Hey, anytime. I specialize in rescuing damsels in distress."

"I—I think I'll be okay now. Is the boy really going to get a healer? And how are you going to pay for it?"

"I have some funds stashed away for things like this. You don't worry your pretty head with it, you hear? I've got everything under control." By this time we were too far away to hear the unequal battle between Jacoby and the street toughs, and just as well. Lena was holding up remarkably well, considering, but I doubted that death-screams would help her composure.

"You wouldn't happen to know any funny songs, would you? I think it would do me good to laugh a bit."

"Oh, I know plenty of funny songs," I assured her. She was right; it probably would do her good to laugh. I launched into a rendition of Mercedes Lackey's "Mis-Conceptions."

"I've got a unicorn's horn in the middle of my forehead and the antlers of a stag on either side. I've got pointed ears that are something like a deer's or something like an elf's, I can't decide. I've got long green hair to match my flowing emerald mane that turns red with the oak trees every fall. With my goat like eyes it should come as no surprise that I've got feathered eyebrows, and that isn't all. My mother never talks about that orgy, and I can't really blame her much although I'd love to read the guest list for that party—and if there's another one like it, let me know!"

Jimmy arrived with the healer, who took one look and Lena and demanded to know what had happened to her. "Street-toughs," I explained shortly. "How much will I owe you?"

He named a figure. I winced slightly; there went the rest of my gold, not counting the single coin I still had to pay the greedy gaol-guard. Ah well. It wasn't like I had any use for the money. "For that much, you need to take care of her until she's completely healed."

"Of course."

With a regretful sigh, I reached into my pouch—which I always wore; it was far safer on my person than left where someone could dig through it and wonder how a minstrel had come by such wealth—and took out the requested amount of gold coins. Jimmy watched with wide eyes. I shook my head, telling him now was not the time to ask questions. I left Lena with the healer and quick-walked away. Jimmy, despite his lanky frame, had to jog to keep up.

"Where did you get that much money?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"Stole it," I replied. "Where else would I have gotten it?"

When we returned to the alley where I'd left Jacoby, we found all four street-toughs dead. Jacoby sported only minor wounds.

"Is the girl gonna be alright?" he asked. His first thought—his very first thought—was for her. A nameless girl he'd risked his life to save. On impulse, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. Before the kiss could turn into anything more, I broke away.

"She'll be fine," I said to a very surprised Jacoby. "I got her to a healer. He'll take care of her."

"Ah, good. Tha's very good."

:Looks like we're finally getting somewhere.:

:Shut up, horse:

Of nineteen people to read my last chapter, only three reviewed. Methinks my readers are becoming complacent in the belief that I will update regularly. It doesn't help matters that they are correct. However, I have made it a policy not to update unless I have received at least three reviews since my last upload. Which means the rest of you have to trust that Fireblade, Nawyn, and Tempeste aren't too busy to read and review. So get your butts in gear and hit that review button!