Changing the World

by Mercedes Lackey

  Ferrin sat next to the Herald, a calculating expression in his dark eyes. Chardo and Jergen had passed out waybread, and everyone had settled down to eat. Doron kept glancing at the Herald. There was something familiar about the man, but Doron couldn’t place it. Chewing the last bit of waybread, he washed it down with a cup of water from the stream. Damn! What was it? Why was this Herald so familiar?

  “What you goin’ t’do with ‘im?” Vomehl asked.

  “What d’you think?” Ferrin answered. “Ransom ’im. ’Magine his folk will pay a pretty price to get ’im back again.”

  Doron wiped his nose to keep his expression hidden. Oh, yes. A pretty price. And just who could they find who’d negotiate that?

  The Herald groaned slightly and stirred as best he could, bound as he was with stout ropes. Ferrin leaned over, grasped the man by his hair, and lifted his face to the firelight.

  “What you be doin’ here?” he demanded.

  “Think he understands you?” asked Jergen.

  “Don’t know,” Ferrin growled, throwing an icy look in Jergen’s direction. “Maybe.”

  “And maybe not.”

  Ferrin hissed something under his breath and let the Herald’s head fall back. But in that short time, Doron suddenly realized why the Herald seemed so familiar. It was his face, the set of his eyes, his chin, his cheek bones. Take away the passage of time that changed the features of anyone who survived childhood and what was left? He could swear he’d seen this man before, years back, when both of them were young.

  When he’d escaped the Fires himself because his own witch-powers hadn’t grown strong enough for the priests to notice.

  The small birthmark over the Herald’s right eye convinced him.

  Vkandis protect! This man was his cousin!

  Tomar opened his eyes and winced in pain from the blow to the back of his head. Firelight flickered across the features of those who had ambushed him. Sitting directly next to him was a big man whose face was unforgiving as a slab of rock. The other men were of all sorts: tall, short, light-haired and dark. One and all, they went clad in rough-spun clothes, their boots scuffed and worn, but their weapons were clean and appeared well cared for.

  He closed his eyes again, tried to ignore his headache and the anxiety twisting his heart.

  :Keesha! You’re hurt! Did they—:

  The response he received from his Companion melted the ice in his soul.

  :I’ll be fine, Chosen. I’m in a little pain, but all right. The arrow grazed the top of my neck. I was very lucky that the archer’s aim was a little off. And you?:

  :Bound. Head hurts. There are five of them, but you know that. Bandits, I suppose. Where are you?:

  Wry amusement filled Keesha’s reply. :Close. Sneaking around in the trees. Unfortunately, there are too many of them for me to be of much help getting you out of there. The man who wounded me is no mean shot. We’ll have to think of something else.:

  The big man sitting next to Tomar said something in Karsite.

  :Don’t let them know you speak the language,: Keesha said. :Play ignorant. That could aid us in the long run.:

  Tomar nodded inwardly. Easy enough. Maybe, just maybe, he could change their attitude toward one they had always considered an enemy. Perhaps they had yet to hear the words of the Son of the Sun that Heralds were not demons. Or they had, and their ingrained superstitions still held them fast. Yet he might be able to use his Gift to ease them from their hatred and fear, to make them comfortable in his presence.

  :I’m going to try it, Keesha. I’m going to project what Gift I have. It could turn things around enough for them to let me go.:

  :I’ll be watching, Dear Heart. And I’ll never be far away. That’s not a bad idea. I wish you luck with it.:

  Ferrin gave up trying to get a response from the Herald. Doron frowned. Ferrin’s reaction wasn’t what he was used to seeing. In the past, he would have tried to beat his victim into talking, sometimes merely to take out his frustrations. But Ferrin only sat staring at the Herald, a somewhat puzzled expression on his face.

  “Now what we goin’ to do?” asked Jergen. “He don’t speak our language.”

  “I’ll think of somethin’,” Ferrin said.

  Doron sat frozen, shaken by the knowledge his cousin lay tightly bound by the campfire. When he’d seen the birthmark, that was all he needed to be convinced the Herald was Tomar. It had been a sad day for Doron when he’d learned Tomar and his family had fled Karse all those years ago. Not that they were all that close, though they had become friends. Farms hereabouts lay far enough apart that folk seldom got together unless it was to help each other during harvest. But those days still remained fresh in his memory. He and Tomar had played together, had wound up in the trouble young boys could so easily find. When Tomar began to exhibit his witch-powers, Doron had first reacted in fear. He wasn’t afraid of Tomar—well, not exactly. No, he was more fearful Tomar would be given up to the Fires if any priest recognized what he might become.

  And now Doron faced a terrible conflict. He couldn’t let his long-lost cousin be harmed, yet his loyalty to his companions was all he had left in the world. They were what passed for family, had been for years.

  An odd feeling of ease stole through his mind. He glanced at Jergen and Chardo and saw they’d relaxed some, weren’t as edgy as before. Even Vomehl had set his bow aside, no longer keeping it trained on the Herald. Doron’s own inner power reacted to something he couldn’t place a name to. He felt certain, however, Tomar was its source.

  “You said our luck’s changed,” Vomehl said. “How be that, Ferrin? We got ourselves a demon-rider with nowhere to take ’im.”

  “I said I’d think of somethin’,” Ferrin said, rubbing his stubbled chin.

  “Who we goin’ to take ’im to?” Chardo asked.

  “Maybe one of the priests could arrange for ransom,” Jergen suggested.

  “Don’t think so, Jergen,” Vomehl said. “Likely his fellow demon-riders will come lookin’ for ’im, and then where will we be?”

  “I said I’d think of somethin’,” Ferrin repeated.

  Doron blinked in amazement. Not even a moon-turn before, Ferrin would have backhanded the man foolish enough to question him. Now, all Ferrin could say was he’d think of something.

  “It been your idea,” Chardo complained. “We could’ve just brought ’im down and left. He wouldn’t have knowed what hit ’im.”

  “My idea?” Now some heat entered Ferrin’s voice. “Damned right, Chardo. Ain’t none of the rest of you had any bright ideas lately.”

  Doron shook his head. No group of men living close as they did could go day after day, week after week, without some minor quarrels. But this reminded him of times when he’d seen strong drink lower inhibitions, when men would say things they’d normally keep locked behind their teeth.

  “Our luck’s turned, you said.” Vomehl stared into the fire. “So what we got ourselves now? Got us a demon-rider and nowhere to take ’im. Since you be the one with all the ideas, Ferrin, come up with one for this situation.”

  Doron cleared his throat. “Calm down, everyone. We ain’t got no choice. We got ’im, and we got to figure out what to do with ’im. Vomehl, you think maybe you killed the Herald’s horse?”

  “No, dammit. And I be a better shot than that! Cursed hell-horse must’ve dodged at the last moment.”

  Doron tried to sound utterly reasonable. “Then how ’bout we leave ’im bound here and ride out at first light.”

  “Why d’you say that?” Ferrin demanded, growing more belligerent than ever.

  “Because,” Doron said, keeping his voice level, “if his horse ran off, hard tellin’ where it went to. Perhaps to get help. You want to face down a group of angry Heralds?”

  “Doron’s right.” Jergen sat up straighter. “Been a mistake to capture ’im to begin with.”

  “Whole damned bunch of you gettin’ weak-willed,” Ferrin snapped. “We got ’im and I’m goin’ t
o make somethin’ of it. We got nothin’ but books and paper, and it ain’t sure we can barter that. Least we can try to get a ransom out of ’im!”

  Doron looked away. So much for his attempt to help his cousin. Now Ferrin would be calling all the shots.

  At least that was normal.

  It was not easy, projecting his Gift while suffering from a splitting headache. What was nearly second nature now became an effort. Tomar tried to concentrate harder, but that only made his head hurt worse. However, from what he could tell, the bandits were responding, their mental defenses lowered enough for them to start arguing among themselves. He could only hope this was not normal behavior. If he could just keep trying, he might be able to convince them nothing would be served by keeping him captive.

  He looked at each man in an attempt to see who his Gift had affected the most. Certainly not Ferrin, obviously chief of this band. The bowman who had wounded Keesha had grown peevish, as had the two men named Chardo and Jergen. Tomar thought he had the best chance of influencing the fifth man, who had suggested leaving him behind.

  The fifth man. The one who seemed oddly familiar, but whose name was quite common in Karse.

  He listened to the bandits snipe at each other, aware he had loosened control over their tongues. They probably never confronted their leader this way. Even outlaws needed discipline, especially when away from their stronghold.

  :It’s hard, Keesha,: he Mindspoke, aware without looking that his Companion lurked unseen somewhere in the trees and brush. :My head feels like it’s splitting open.:

  :I know, Chosen. I can feel it. Keep trying.:

  :They’ll have to sleep sometime. Maybe then you—:

  :I doubt it. They’ll take turns watching through the night. They’re away from their base, and they won’t rest easy until they get home.:

  Tomar sighed. Even if all of them slept, Keesha would be hard pressed to take down the entire group. And he was bound tightly, of no help whatsoever. He glanced around the fire at the outlaws who still argued among themselves. The fifth man kept silent, eyes glinting in the firelight. Who was he? Nothing about him stood out to Tomar. He could have been any number of men from this area of Karse. But, aside from being familiar, it was as if he had power of his own, though it lay banked, hidden from all but the most intrusive probes.

  :Keesha, I think I’ve got an idea. These outlaws possess a lot of buried animosity. Instead of making them trust me, as I’ve been able to do with people in the past, I’ve lessened their inhibitions to the stage they’re quarreling. What would happen if my Gift was stronger? If I could lay bare the injustices they feel, their anger at each other over slights in the past?:

  :Then what, Chosen? You’re hoping they’d come to blows and possibly wound each other?:

  :If I could do it, that’s a possibility. And if I succeeded, there might be fewer of them for you to immobilize.: He swallowed heavily. :But my Gift isn’t that strong, and I can’t stand to see you hurt again.:

  :Then let’s try this,: Keesha responded. :I’ll add power to yours and, between us, we could be more than one alone.:

  Tomar inwardly nodded in assent. He felt the touch of Keesha’s mind intensify on his own, added to the familiar warmth that came with the connection. And then, as if he had taken some stimulant, strength poured into him from Keesha, augmenting his Gift.

  :Let’s see how they deal with this,: he said to Keesha. :It’s worth a try and it could work.:

  Doron felt tension mounting again, only this time on the verge of explosion. His own thoughts clamored in a jumble. He remembered times when he’d been pushed aside, when his opinions had been overlooked. Just because he was the youngest didn’t mean he should be—

  He shoved his anger aside. Not that what he remembered was untrue, but he’d always had better control over himself than this. He glanced at Tomar, at the odd expression on the Herald’s face. Maybe that came from the blow to his head, or something else entirely.

  “And why’d you decide to attack that particular caravan?” Jergen asked, staring at Ferrin. “Five men guarded it. You be the one who always said we only go after forces much smaller’n us. Six ain’t all that much of an advantage.”

  “Greedy,” Chardo muttered. “Always wantin’ more and more and more.”

  Ferrin’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “Shut your mouth, you useless piece of—”

  “Call me a useless piece—”

  “Hey, Ferrin, ’member the time you left me behind in our last raid?” Vomehl’s chin jutted out. “Oh, you’ll be all right, you said. Got that damned bow of yours.”

  “And what ’bout you, Chardo?” Jergen growled. “Always runnin’ your mouth. Nearly got us in trouble last village we stopped in.”

  “Who elected you captain?” Chardo’s hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. “You be more insultin’ than Ferrin betimes.”

  “Insultin’?” Ferrin stood. “I’ll show you insultin’, Chardo.” He glared at the men around the fire. “Only reason I put up with you is we be stronger together than alone. I be better’n the whole lot of you. Smarter, faster, and—”

  Chardo jumped to his feet. “Think you be so tough, Ferrin? I could take you down and not breathe hard after. You treat me like I be stupid or somethin’!”

  “Stupid? You be more’n that! Twice stupid, most like!”

  Doron buried his head in his hands. Everyone seemed to be losing control. He glanced up in time to see Ferrin and Chardo stalking each other, knees slightly bent, circling the fire. The dagger in Chardo’s hand glittered in the firelight.

  Jergen turned to Vomehl. “And keep your hands off that bow. Don’t want to end up with an arrow in my gut.”

  “S’pose I ain’t thought of that many a time?” Vomehl snapped. “You act like you be the only voice of reason in the whole wide world. Like none of us got sense the God gave a goat to figure things out.”

  Doron felt sweat start on his forehead. A fight between Ferrin and Chardo could leave one of them wounded or dead. The anger he sensed between Jergen and Vomehl could also spark into violence in no time at all. He needed to do something, but he was afraid of what he could do. His witch-powers gave him a solution, but he was half afraid of using them.

  Chardo struck out, nearly knifing Ferrin in the side. That settled it. Doron stood, backed off into the darkness, clamped his jaw tight, and concentrated.

  The grove suddenly filled with the sound of neighing horses—many horses. Their own mounts snorted and shifted nervously. Vomehl and Jergen glanced around, their faces gone tight in fear. Distant shapes appeared off in the gloom, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

  “Hell-horses!” Jergen shouted. “They be comin’ for us!”

  Ferrin’s hand snaked out and grabbed Chardo’s knife hand. “Stop, you idiot! That damned horse gone and got himself friends!”

  Jergen and Vomehl scrambled to their feet.

  “I ain’t waitin’ around to find out!” Jergen yelled. “Stay here if’n you want!”

  “Too many to shoot! Run for it!”

  Chardo looked off into the night. “Oh, crap!” He sheathed his dagger and crashed off into the brush and trees, following Jergen and Vomehl.

  For a long moment, Ferrin stood rooted by the fire. The sound of the approaching horses grew even louder. He aimed a kick at the bound Herald, missed, and sprinted off after Chardo.

  Hidden in the brush, Doron sought to keep the illusion as real as he could possibly make it. When he could no longer hear his outlaw companions, he crept forward, circling around so he approached Tomar from behind. He drew his dagger and began sawing at the ropes binding Tomar fast.

  “Your horse be waiting for you somewhere close,” he said. “You ain’t got much time. Now get out of here, Tomar. They’ll be back soon as I lower the illusion.”

  The Herald’s eyes grew round as an owl’s.

  “Go, dammit! I can’t keep this up forever!”

  Tomar struggled to a kneeling position, sensation floo
ding back into his arms as the ropes fell away. The face of the man before him settled at last into recognizable features. He blinked in the firelight, not trusting what he was seeing.

  “Doron?” he said, his voice cracking. “Cousin? Is that really you?”

  “It be me.”

  :Keesha!:

  :I’m here, Chosen.:

  Tomar glanced over his shoulder as his Companion edged into the clearing. Dried blood stained the utter whiteness of her neck, but aside from that she appeared untouched. He looked at Doron, who slowly backed away, unease in every move he made.

  “Keesha won’t hurt you,” Tomar said. “In fact, she’s fallen in love with you.”

  “What?”

  “You saved me, and she thinks you’re wonderful.”

  “I won’t be if’n you don’t get on that horse and leave! Ferrin and the rest of ’em won’t stay off in the woods ’til morning. And I can’t maintain my illusion forever.”

  Sure enough, the sound of uncanny creatures shrilling their anger still filled the grove, only now seeming to follow the fleeing outlaws.

  “But how did you escape the Fires?” Tomar asked, scrambling to his feet. He rubbed his stiff arms and ankles to get the circulation flowing again.

  “Came late to my witch- powers. And managed to avoid the priests.”

  Tomar threw both arms around Keesha’s neck in a brief hug, then gently traced the bloody track the arrow had left behind. “Come back to Valdemar with me, Doron. You’ll be safe there.”

  Doron shook his head.

  “Can’t.”

  :Don’t force what cannot be,: Keesha said, her Mind-speech tinged with regret. :It’s his decision, Chosen. Maybe in the future . . . .:

  Tomar retrieved his sword and dagger from where Ferrin had dropped them. He met and held Doron’s eyes.

  “Aunt Chalva? Uncle Lomis? Where are they?”