Crucible

by Mercedes Lackey

  Hektor turned to Paddy. “You an’ Kassie find a tray of . . . something for the three of ’em, an’ bring a . . . clean bucket of water for the Companion, will you?”

  With a look of stunned wonder that he knew was mirrored on his own features, the younger Dann headed inside the watchhouse, and Hektor returned his attention to the soilmen. “All right,” he said. “Watchmen, the littles didn’t do the best job of cleanin’ up the street yesterday. Have our . . . guests here finish it up.”

  When both Kaiden and Rae opened their mouths to protest, he shot them a caustic look. “Unless you’d all rather wait in the cells?” he demanded. When the men shook their heads, he nodded. “Thought not. An’ now, anyone else who doesn’t have a home or a business to get back to . . .” he added more loudly, knowing full well that no one was going to leave the street willingly with a Companion and a new Herald Trainee still gracing cobblestones of Iron Street. People around here would be talking about this afternoon for a century, so he might as well make use of them. “ . . . can also help clean up.”

  • • •

  As the adults around them reluctantly turned their attention to buckets of soap and water, Tayn, Sevi, and Jacca continued their quiet conversation, some of the other apprentices leaning in or back as they were called on. Kassie, two pigeons perched on her shoulders like guardsmen, brought out a tray from Nessa piled high with fruit, buns, and an actual pot of jam that Hektor suspected she might have liberated from the Captain’s private larder. Paddy followed in her wake with a bucket of water and a jug of soft cider. The two youngest Danns slid effortlessly into the conversation, they or Tayn glancing Hektor’s way now and then before huddling back down again.

  Finally, as the town bells tolled three, Kassie detached herself and made her way back to her older brothers.

  “Tayn’s twelve,” she told them before they asked. “He’s just small for his age. His people are soilmen in Waymeet.”

  “That’s . . . convenient,” Hektor noted.

  She nodded. “’Parently this sorta thing happens all the time, Heralds bein’ chosen as they’re needed.”

  “He was chosen ’cause he was needed to sort out a dung-collectors feud?” Aiden asked incredulously.

  “No, of course not,” she replied, failing to keep the scathing tone from her voice. “That was jus’ a bonus. Tayn’s real good at makin’ people see the good side of each other. Always has been, ’parently. An’ when he saw that Sevi and Jacca were together, it were jus’ natural that they take the lead in mendin’ the bad feelins ’tween their two families.”

  “Together?”

  Kassie rolled her eyes. “Anyone who looks properly could see it a mile away,” she retorted. “They’ve been keepin’ it secret from their folks for a year now, but most of their sibs and friends knew all about it. They been coverin’ for ’em so they could get some time together, but now they won’t have to anymore ’cause Tayn figures they should close ranks, make it public, an’ work out a deal ’tween themselves that’ll make their elders see some sense.”

  “Make their elders . . .”

  “If the apprentices won’t fight, the littles won’t fight,” Kassie explained patiently. “Most of those like Orrin have older brothers an’ sisters they look up to. They take their cue from them, not from their folks. Tayn’ll take their deal to the Heralds when he gets up there, an’ a course, the adults’ll have to agree on paper, but without the apprentices an the littles, there can’t be no work done an’ no money made, so . . .” She smiled at her brothers before turning and heading back to the huddle of youths.

  Hektor glanced over at Aiden, who was watching their sister with an expression of both concern and pride. “D’you feel like we just got outmaneuvered on somethin’?” he asked.

  Aiden gave a snort. “I got two littles,” he replied. “I get outmaneuvered all the time. But it’ll be all right now that they’ve got it sorted.” He turned. “I’m goin’ inside where it’s cool. You comin’?”

  Hektor returned his gaze to the Companion, placidly eating an apple that Tayn held out for her. Her coat shone like a star, and he smiled, feeling the tiniest of breezes begin to work its way past the watchhouse to cool his cheeks. “Think I’ll stay for a spell,” he answered almost sleepily. “Keep the crowd in order, you know?”

  Aiden raised an eyebrow at him, then, after glancing toward the Companion as well, nodded. “Guess we can both wait a spell,” he agreed. “Now that it’s become such a nice day an’ all.”

  Together, the two brothers pulled out their pipes, as Haven’s newest generation of entrepreneurs continued their negotiations.

  Hertasi and Wyrsa and Magpies, Oh My!

  Louisa Swann

  “Is it dead?” Roli asked, staring at the pile of leaves and pine needles and feathers dead center in the path. Yes, the pile had feet and possibly a head sticking out of it, but did they really have to stop?

  He chewed his lip, stifling a desire to poke the pile with the tip of his bow, and shrugged the knapsack on his back into a more comfortable position. His tunic tended to bunch uncomfortably under the straps, even though he’d tied it with a belt.

  The somber gray twilight filtering through the heavy evergreen canopy was still enough to see by, but it wouldn’t last for long. Unseen birds chirped and whistled high among the branches overhead as the birds prepared to settle down for the night. All so innocent. But the Pelagiris Forest was known for its strange creatures and hidden danger. Was this a creature of the utmost strangeness?

  Or was it a danger?

  Roli kicked at the carpet of fallen needles, still glistening wet from the late afternoon rains, taking care not to kick the “thing” Medran thought was important enough to delay finding their own place to settle down for the night, and wrinkled his nose at the scent of moldy damp earth.

  “Is it . . . ?”

  Medran, a hertasi of advanced years and Roli’s guardian, snorted. “It is a human, more than likely a Hawkbrother, and no, he’s not dead. Use your snout, hatchling. Can’t you smell him?”

  Smell him?

  Why don’t we just go around the thing? Roli wondered again, reluctant to put his nose anywhere near the heap of leaves and human. Sure, there were thornbushes and a variety of other bushes and plants in groups here and there along the sides of the path, and the tree branches were lower to the ground here than in other areas of the Pelagiris—at least the areas he’d seen—but the strange pile in the middle didn’t take up that much room. The pine-needle-carpeted path spread out wide to either side of the motionless bundle, forming a corridor between two trees so huge it would take ten hertasi, standing fingertip to fingertip, arms outstretched, to encircle one.

  Yes, they could easily go around.

  But nooo, Medran had to stop to examine what appeared to be a misbegotten tree creature. Or bush creature. Or . . .

  Roli took several short sniffs, then drew in a long breath and let it linger in his nose, sorting the fresh-rain smell from the musky scent of damp earth, moldy pine needles, and some kind of animal dung.

  But he couldn’t find a smell that told him whether the human was alive or dead.

  He never could smell things the way other hertasi could. He couldn’t hear the same things, either. Add in his clumsy legs, long arms, and smooth skin, and the fact he had hair on his head, and . . . maybe a creature covered in leaves and needles and feathers wasn’t any more of a misfit than he was.

  Finally, Roli shook his head, looking away from the thing at his feet and studying the path instead. The way was clear for a distance, then an enormous stump sent the path veering to the left. Although the stump was half-buried by brush, its sheer size made the trees around it look as though they were barely half-grown—

  Medran snorted again. His pebble-scaled tail struck the matted pine needles with a muted thud. “I thought you’d at least recognize the smell you live
with every day, even if that smell is on another.”

  “I’ve never seen—or smelled—anything like this before.” Roli frowned and pointed the end of his bow at the pile. “How would I know what it’s supposed to smell like, dead or alive?”

  “Look closely, hatchling. Use what you have been taught.”

  Once the hertasi set his teeth to what he called a teaching opportunity, no amount of arguing could get him to stop, so Roli stepped closer to the strange creature—if it was a creature—and sniffed again.

  And got the same damp earth/pine needle smell overlaid with the stench of animal dung.

  Another step. Another sniff.

  Same thing. Only this time he got a whiff of something . . . warm?

  Roli wasn’t sure how to identify the smell that really wasn’t a smell, but more of a sensation. He glanced at the elder hertasi and shrugged. Medran didn’t move, just squatted on his haunches with that air of eternal patience that always made Roli want to tear a bush out by its roots. He stepped closer. Swallowed hard against the knot of nervousness suddenly clogging his throat. Carefully, he reached out with the end of his bow and poked at a leaf.

  The pile of pine needles, feathers, and leaves heaved upward, batting the bow aside and snatching his wrist. Roli screeched and tried to leap backward, but his wrist was caught in an iron grip. A grip that belonged to what now looked like a small tree. With eyes.

  Medran hissed. The hertasi blurred into motion, a small blade flashing in his scaled hand. He lunged at the strange tree holding Roli hostage.

  The tree squawked almost as loudly as Roli had and let go. Roli stumbled backward. His heel hooked on something behind him, and he went down hard on his backside in the wet needles and mud.

  Sky-blue eyes glowed down at him from beneath a spray of gray-green gooseberry leaves. It took a moment before Roli made out the shape of cheeks beneath what looked to be black mud smeared over the creature’s dark golden skin.

  The tree creature looked at Medran. “Well met, little brother,” it said in heavily accented hertasi, brushing what had looked like a branch back off its face.

  Not a branch, then. Hair the color of raven wings. With leaves and pine needles and feathers braided into it.

  “It seems the Hawkbrothers haven’t changed,” Medran said. “Always trying to sneak up on hertasi, and always failing.”

  Hawkbrother? What in the world was a Hawkbrother?

  The creature shrugged, and a feather drifted to the ground. Suddenly, Roli realized that the pine needles and leaves and feathers were part of a cloak.

  “Looks like I surprised this one, though I’m not sure he counts as hertasi,” the Hawkbrother said, pointing at Roli with a grin.

  Roli stiffened. Just because he was bigger and clumsier than the rest of the pack didn’t mean he was easily surprised. He wasn’t the fastest hertasi in the pack, but he came pretty close at times.

  “I’ve been following you for two days,” the Hawkbrother said, his blue eyes twinkling above the streaked mud.

  Medran nodded. “You make more noise than a fledgling on its first flight.”

  Roli swallowed a snort as the Hawkbrother’s grin faded.

  “I am quieter than a snake in the grass, more silent than an owl on the wing,” he said, putting a hand on each hip, as if daring Medran to contradict him.

  “Even snakes and owls can be clumsy,” the hertasi retorted.

  “I coat myself in muskoil,” the Hawkbrother retorted. “Not even a woodrat, long considered the best nose in the forest, can tell I’m anything other than a forest denizen.”

  “I thought I smelled . . .” Roli started, but Medran held up a hand.

  “You are not Vale-born,” the Hawkbrother said. “What brings you out of your burrow?”

  Medran bowed. “I am Medran, weaver of willows and keeper of stories. This is Roli, my heart-son.”

  “I am Winterwind k’Vala.” The Hawkbrother dipped his head. “What causes you to travel so far from your pack?”

  Medran nodded at Roli. “My heart-son is anxious to find his own kind.”

  The Hawkbrother looked Roli over. He suddenly felt self-conscious. Why was Medran even talking to this . . . creature? Roli tried to ignore the conversation, feeling himself go hot all over.

  Yes, he was different from the other hertasi. He hadn’t known how different until just a few weeks ago, when he’d found out that not only was he larger and clumsier than the others, with arms and legs that looked more like willow branches than usable limbs, but he could somehow make objects move just by thinking about them.

  He’d almost killed a close cousin when he’d gotten angry and a rock had flown through the air, smashing her shoulder. He’d realized what was happening before the rock smashed her skull and had shoved her aside, but it would take months before she recovered the use of her arm.

  The other hertasi thought the rock had fallen from the cliffs high overhead, and Roli hadn’t said anything to contradict that. As far as his brethren knew, he was just like them—except for his looks.

  He’d started asking questions then. There had to be a reason why he was so . . . different.

  At first Medran had been surprised. Of course, Roli was hertasi. He’d been raised as a hatchling. But after constantly pestering Medran, the hertasi had finally told Roli how he’d come to the hollow.

  Medran and a small group had gone foraging in a seldom visited area of the Pelagiris. Hearing a strange sound coming from a hollow tree stump, he had investigated and found a baby.

  A human baby.

  In an area where there were no humans to be found. Even the Hawkbrother vales were a great distance away.

  “Why didn’t you bring him to us then?” Winterwind asked, startling Roli out of his memories.

  Medran dipped his snout in a typical hertasi shrug. “We are here now.”

  The Hawkbrother scratched his head, making the leaves and pine needles in his hair wave as if they’d been hit by a gust of wind. Then he rubbed the end of his nose and grinned. “So you are.”

  Suddenly the grin slipped from Winterwind’s face. He looked up expectantly and raised his left arm, letting the cloak fall aside. A sturdy-looking leather gauntlet covered the arm from wrist to elbow.

  The air whistled, and a huge, black bird with a long, narrow tail sailed over Roli’s head, claws outstretched as if it was going to rake out the Hawkbrother’s eyes.

  Instead, it landed on the gauntlet.

  “A Bondbird,” Medran whispered.

  Roli stared at the bird. It wasn’t completely black as he’d first thought. The bird’s belly was white, and there were white stripes on its long, narrow tail, as well as along both sides of its head. The bill was black and sharp and deadly.

  It reminded him of the magpies back at the hollow, but those didn’t have the dramatic markings on their heads, and they weren’t even a third the size of this bird. The magpies he knew were noisy and troublesome, always stealing things when no one was looking—clothes, fancy stones, sharp knives—anything that caught their attention. They were messy, too, not really particular about where they left their feathers and other offerings behind.

  Winterwind and the enormous magpie stared at each other for a long moment; then the Hawkbrother threw his arm up, launching the bird back into the trees. The air stirred as it beat its wings, disappearing into the forest canopy.

  “Saire says we have to move,” Winterwind said, all humor gone from his face. “Now.”

  Medran went completely still, the way he did when he sensed danger. “What?” he asked, his normally hoarse voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Wyrsa. Three of them.”

  Medran’s tail thumped the ground, and Roli’s stomach flopped. He’d heard tales about wyrsa—monstrous beasts that roamed the night, kidnapping hatchlings and ripping their throats out—but
he’d never considered the possibility that they might be real.

  Guilt soured Roli’s throat. Medran hadn’t wanted to leave the hollow, but Roli had insisted. He wanted to find—no, he needed to find—other beings like himself. Needed to get away from the hollow before he hurt those who’d taken him in and cared for him as if he were one of their own.

  Were they to be devoured by beasts before he found answers to the questions that crowded his mind like a hive filled with angry bees?

  “Three isn’t that many,” he said.

  But Medran peered around as if expecting something to jump out at them at any moment, making Roli’s stomach tighten into a knot. “Is it?”

  “A single wyrsa is one too many,” Winterwind said with a snort. He glanced up into the trees.

  “The trees are not good,” Medran said. “Too many ways they could get around us. We need a place where we can fight them off.”

  “Why don’t we just run?” Roli asked.

  Winterwind shook his head. “They’re too fast. And now they’ve got our scent, they’ll keep coming until they catch us. Medran is right—we need someplace to fight them.”

  The Hawkbrother walked to a nearby cluster of thornbushes. He reached under the bush and pulled a long staff free of the prickly branches. One end sported a large barbed hook, the other end curved into a hook so smooth it almost looked soft. Roli studied the staff curiously. Did Winterwind think to hook the beasts like one would a fish?

  “I’ll be back.” Winterwind whipped the staff over his head. The barbed end dug into the bark, and he scurried up the tree. Roli stared after him, amazed at how quickly the man had climbed.

  “How many arrows did you bring?” Medran asked, his raspy voice loud in the suddenly still air.

  “Twelve at the ready, twenty-four in reserve,” Roli said, picturing the arrows stored in his knapsack. The arrows were long and strong and straight. He’d made them himself, from shoots of young oak. The bow reached about midway up his chest, unstrung, and was carved from Pelagir black pine, a hard yet limber wood. Medran had presented Roli with the bow and a quiver filled with arrows almost two years ago, on the anniversary of his thirteenth summer with the hertasi.