If I Were a Herald

Chapter 44

One Way to Go

A/N (1/6/06): This song is by Julia Ecklar. Meaning (disclaimer) I don't own it. Just like I don't own most of the songs in this story. And I still don't know why ff.mort outlawed lyrics. I can almost understand the no replies to reviews rule, though. Almost.

A/N (1/11/06): I've broken 200 reviews! Woot! Cyber-party! Here, have some cyber-rum. It's about as good as that empty bottle we're drinking in The Tempest. Dance to the music in your head. I love you all!

Spidersting: She's a Herald, of course she gets in fights. And I do so love that sword. And thanks for the complements about my grammar—I do try to keep it understandable.

Tempeste-Silere: Well, the quote was "Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet," and "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" kicks butt. I love the knife-throwing scenes.

Krystalis Xanaria: Unfortunately, PotC 2 won't be in theaters six years from now, but I'll be sure to have them watch both 2 and 3. Probably rent them from Blockbuster—there's one of those within biking distance of my home. I know 'cause I've biked there.

Fireblade K'Chona: Ah, okay. Yeah, Bardic wannabes. That'll be fun. And of course they'll insist upon singing their songs for Kali and Jacoby's benefit. And yes, there are some really nice Sun-Priests—especially the ones who aren't in Karse.

No plan ever survives first contact. Be it with the enemy, or whoever else you meet first after making it. I know this, and yet I keep making plans. You'd think I'd learn.

But then, having a plan helps me understand my priorities. I actually improvise better when I have a plan, because I know my goals.

There wasn't too much for me to do in a town like Belt. Hang out in taverns, listen to the local gossip. Belt wasn't a part of Valdemar. It was under the protection of some other government. The Evendim Confederation, if I remembered aright.

Jacoby hadn't had any success finding a shirt that didn't look and smell like it had been dipped in a vat of beer. Seems he was about as careful as me when it came to drinks. Which meant not at all.

As for me, someone had been picking up after me during my drunken binge—probably Jorjie; she was such a dear. I vaguely remembered her saying something about practicing for when she had children of her own. So my clothes were, at least, washed.

In my guise as a minstrel, it was easy to get people to talk to me. It seemed that the troubles between Valdemar and the Evendim Confederation were even worse than I'd thought at first. The Confederation was demanding that Valdemar turn over—someone—to them, and Valdemar was doing its best to stall negotiations.

"Word has it one of the people the government's after is a Herald," my informant told me. "Now that'll make a tale. I don't see a Herald goin' quiet-like. They're fighters."

A wave of cold washed over me. A Herald. There was only one Herald who'd been in these parts recently. Only one Herald the Evendim Confederation could want.

Me.

"Yeah, some tale," I agreed, trying not to show my dismay. "Them Heralds are a pretty powerful bunch. I don't see the king handin' one over, no matter what he's done. Got any news as to why they're after him?"

"Something about pirates. Dunno what the fuss is all about. There's always been pirates in these parts an' there always will be."

Had to be me.

Looked like it was about time for me and Jacoby to return to Valdemar.

I excused myself after a sufficient interval of time had passed so that no one would associate the information with my reason for leaving. Probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. Spy work was second nature to me. Best to keep it that way.

Just to be sure, I took a roundabout way back to the Gentle Doe. No sense keeping to a routine, even if I was wrong about the Confederation being after me. Paranoia had kept many a person alive over the years. It would stand me in good stead now.

Just my luck that a couple of thugs recognized me from when I'd spoken with Yendo. The type whose loyalty could be bought, traded, or sold—as long as you had someone else to guard your back. Exactly the sort who'd turn bounty hunter at the drop of a hat.

There were about five of them, all told. I only recognized the two—they'd been lurking in the background while I made my deal with Yendo. The dim light—and the fact that they hadn't at the time seemed too important—hadn't allowed me to make a detailed perusal of their features, but part of the training at Bardic Collegium was recognition of facial features. So I could be certain of their identities, but they couldn't be certain of mine. They could guess—but if I played my cards right, I could bluff my way out of this, and them none the wiser.

"Kali, isn't it?" one of the two I recognized said.

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Herald Kali."

"There's a price on your head," the first informed me.

Well. I'd always wanted to be wanted. Curiosity as to the amount of the reward consumed me. Professional pride demanded that it be high—and survival demanded that it be low. For now, survival came first. And a hard-learned lesson it was.

"I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong goddess," I informed them regretfully. They looked at me blankly. "I'm Minerva, not Kali," I expanded, using the nickname I'd acquired in Latin IV. "Lucky for you. You're gonna need a lot more people if you want to survive a confrontation with Herald Death."

"Herald Death?" There was some uneasy movement among the ranks.

"You mean you don't know Kali's nickname?" I raised my eyebrows. Damned if I was going to let these scaredy-cat bullies scare me. In fact, this could be fun, now that I was in control. While it lasted, I was going to milk it for all it was worth. "Herald Death. There's a song about it. Herald Death is calling. Your time is drawing near. Our enemies are falling, and like you they know the fear." Someone—I couldn't remember who—had insisted upon singing the entire blasted thing to me after my return to Haven. Lucky for both of us I'd been drunk at the time. Lucky for me because it meant I didn't notice how absolutely horrendous his singing was. Lucky for him because it meant I couldn't track him down later and force-feed him good music.

The song sucked.

"Shut up," one of them (who had until now been silent) snapped. By the way he carried himself, he was the leader of this raggedy band of misfits. "There's a price of twenty gold crowns for your capture."

Twenty gold crowns? Impressive. I whistled through my teeth. "They must really want her bad. But like I said, I'm not Herald Kali. And I'm not crazy enough to tangle with her, not for all the gold in the world. Did you hear what she did to the Sun-Priest who captured her in Karse?" My grim gaze traveled from one to another. "First, she cut off his privates and shoved them down his throat, then she eviscerated him and hanged him with his own intestines." Okay, so I hadn't really done that, but I'd imagined it often enough. And there's nothing like a bad reputation to get people to leave you alone. John Taylor had the right idea. Too bad Heralds had to be compassionate, or I'd have been well on my way to having a reputation to rival Taylor's. Okay, so maybe I wasn't quite on his par, but that awesome trick he did with the bullets wasn't much more than Fetching. I'd figure it out quickly enough if I had to. And acting like a bastard was right up my alley. Part of how I'd earned the name Herald Death.

A memory came to me of a long-ago dream. "Death himself could not hold her then."

"How do you know so much?" Leader-Boy demanded.

"She's Herald Kali, that's how," the first speaker replied with certainty. I hadn't even phazed him. Damn.

The other one whom I recognized wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to admit his mistake. "Even if she's not, they'll give us the gold if we bring her in. We'll be long gone before they find out we duped 'em."

Okay, so that bluff wasn't working. Time to switch tactics. I crossed my arms and tilted my head. "Aren't you forgetting something, boys? In order to turn me in, you first have to catch me."

"So you are Herald Kali," the leader said.

"I go by many names. Herald Kali. Herald Death. Lightning. Mortimer's Bane."

:Mortimer's Bane: Lyrna asked.

:I made it up. Nothing like a little inflation of my reputation to bluff my way out of trouble. I'm gonna write a song about it, soon's I'm back in Haven. Since that business with Mortimer has got to be the weirdest heroic deed ever.:

:If you get all the details correct, it'll be a bit hard to fit in "Mortimer's Bane.":

:No it won't. I'll just have me going off about how great I am. I do that anyway. So maybe I didn't really do it with Mortimer, but hey, I was a bit busy at the time.:

"You don't scare me," Leader-Boy sneered.

"Then you're even more a fool than I thought," I replied. "What are they going to do? Hang me? Sounds like fun. Almost as much fun as beating the lot of you to a pulp."

"We outnumber you," the talkative one from the tavern said. Now that I'd admitted my identity, he seemed a little less sure of himself.

"Yeah, I'd noticed that," I said dryly. "I happen to be very good at math. Five of you, one of me. If I was just an ordinary person, that'd make us just about even. Unfortunately for you, I'm nowhere near ordinary. Now, you can leave, or you can all die." I smiled, hoping my bluff wouldn't work. If they left, they'd spread the word that I was in town, and I'd have to leave, pronto. If they stayed, I could kill them all. Besides giving me a few extra days' leeway, it would be a good way to work off my lingering frustration over Jacoby's rejection. Even though he'd apologized and accepted me back into his life, some anger remained.

Even so, they deserved a chance at life.

They drew their knives. I grinned. A moment of concentration and the knives fell out of the air around me. Not quite as impressive as Taylor's bullet trick, but a hell of a lot of fun. Now leave, before I stick you in the stomach with your own knives.. That's what Taylor would say. But not me. I wasn't nearly as smart as Taylor. I wanted to fight.

They still didn't run.

Idiots.

Instead, they rushed me, as if hoping that they could overpower me. Not likely. I drew my own knives, feeling a twinge of regret that I daren't match them on their terms. But no time for that now—if I fought fair, things could far too easily go wrong. If it's worth fighting for, it's worth fighting dirty for. The only reason to follow the rules would be to reaffirm my worth in my own eyes—to prove to myself that I could do it.

Or to show them what a bad-ass I was.

One look at their angry faces had me reassessing my chances.

I can't beat them fair. I'll get over it. And they'll be dead.

Time to slip into Herald Death mode. Drevam ti Nethank. Dancer with Death. That's what I was. I moved like mist on a windy morning, first here, then around back, as I wisped between and among them. In seconds, the deed was done. All five would-be bounty hunters lay dead. Affecting a show of unconcern for my nonexistent audience, I wiped their blood off my knives and completed my journey to the Gentle Doe.

There was a letter waiting for me when I got back. Had to be from King Roald; no one else knew where I was. If my friends had figured it out, they wouldn't risk sending me a letter. I wasn't on a mission—exactly—but it was best to keep undercover anyway. Especially with the Evendim Confederation howling for my blood.

But when I saw the letter, it said "To Lyn from your friend, Rachel."

I opened it. Some sixth sense told me that the news would not be good. I'd been here long enough to trust those sorts of instincts. Maybe they came from my Othersense, or some psychic power I had. Whatever the cause, they were normally right.

My eyes were met by a page full of Khéósin symbols. Nonsense symbols—it was encoded, of course. Assuming she would have used the same code-word, I set to work decrypting the missive.

Dear Lyn,

Thanks for your letter. Things in Haven are going as they always have. The Council has refused funding—yet again—for the steam project. They think it's too dangerous. I just wish they could see the benefits it could bring them!

Yes, the Heralds are still mad at you, but not as much as they should be. It's more the nobles who think you should be left to hang. Especially Johan.

Jimmy's doing fine. All the children miss you terribly. So do your friends. I hope you know what you're doing.

You say you're lifebonded. Well, that would explain the intensity of your reaction. Even so, can I kick Jack a few times? Just because he deserves it, the bastard. No one should get away with hurting you. You'd do the same for me.

I smiled. Good old Rachel. Maybe I would slap Jacoby—just on general principles.

Jorjie's pregnant—just in case you didn't know when you left. Six months—she's swelled up like a melon. But I'm not sure you noticed. You were too busy staring at your bottle of wine.

Now that the important matters have been addressed, I'd like to impart some gossip. The Evendim Confederation is searching for a Captain Jacoby and Herald Kali. I have it on good authority that there are rewards offered for the capture of either or both. The nobles say to let Herald Kali rot—she's in about as much trouble as you are, at the moment. Rumor has it she had something to do with Captain Jacoby's latest escape. King Roald cannot condone the actions of either Herald Kali or Captain Jacoby, and is ordering Herald Vandir to head a search for them. If they plan to get out of this unharmed, they should find a safe place to hide until this blows over.

Hope your wedding goes off as planned!

Love,

Rachel.

Rachel was right. The best way out of this was to hide—if I could convince Jacoby to come with me. More than likely, he'd want to stay and fight. He'd feel betrayed by Roald's turntail diplomacy. Well, that was the way of things, in politics. I'd just have to maneuver him into agreeing to come with me to Earth.

Because Earth was the only place that would be safe from both Valdemar and the Evendim Confederation. Nothing on Velgarth could reach us there.

And…the plot thickens. Again.