Santar had to keep reminding himself that he spoke with a Herald, one who desperately needed his help for survival. The idea that he might become stuck fast grew into obsession. Santar realized he alone could make that judgment: the Herald could not know the size of the man who had come for him. :I can't make it, Orrin. I'm sorry.:
:Do what you must.: Simple words, brave words, from one who had just condemned himself to death.
Santar knew he had to try. He could not banish his fear, but he could choose to ignore it. He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out fully, tightening his muscles and huddling into the smallest area he could manage. Then, he forced himself into the opening.
The rock crushed in on him, tearing furrows of skin from his chest and arms. He closed his eyes, trying to trick his senses into believing this deliberate act was the source of the darkness. He felt pinched, squeezed in all directions. Crushed empty, his lungs spasmed, seeking air. Panic trickled through him, sending his wits scattering. He forced himself onward, gathering his thoughts and binding them together into one solid goal-the rescue of a stranger for whom he had already risked so much.
Then, suddenly, the pressure disappeared. Santar popped into a cavern that seemed enormous after the constriction that had nearly held him fast. :I'm coming,: he sent. :You were right. I made it through.: His tunic had torn and now hung in two rags from his shoulders. Though irritating, he did not remove them. He might need the fabric to cushion some other movement or to use as bandages. For a moment he wondered how he would get back, especially towing another man. He brushed the thought side. First, he had to find that injured Herald.
When Orrin made no reply, Santar forced conversation. He had once seen a Healer do the same thing, keep his patient talking to assure he did not lose consciousness. Obliged to respond, the wounded man had had little choice but to attend the questions, no matter how silly or obvious the answers, which kept his mind working, awake, and focused. :Your Companion brought me here.: The Herald did not seem impressed.
:I'd guessed that. Next right, please.:
Undeterred, Santar continued. :A remarkably handsome creature, in addition to being loyal and intelligent.:
:Best there is.: Orrin's voice itself seemed to smile, distracted from the pain. :I'm very lucky.:
:What's his name?: Santar took the indicated right and suddenly found himself bathed in moonlight. Though still night, the contrast with the depthless cave interior seemed blinding. He blinked several times, gradually taking in the spray of stars across the blue-gray sky, the skeletal hulks of trees waving in the wind, and the snarl of weeds and bushes that defined the Tangled Forest.
The Companion lifted his head and looked worriedly in Santar's direction.
"Oh, no!" Filled with a tense mixture of alarm and despair, Santar dropped to a crouch. :I messed up. I lost you.: Santar whirled, rushing back into the cave. :I've gone in a circle. I'm sorry. You'll have to start over.:
:The Companion's name...is Orrin.:
Santar froze. :Orrin. But that's your-: Shoulders drawn up to his ears, he turned slowly to confront the stallion. :You?:
The horse nodded. :Yes.:
Santar could only stare incredulously. "Why?"
:I needed to know you were up to the job, someone who can push himself to his limits, who will do so for the good of a sick or injured stranger.:
:Why?: Even as he asked the question, Santar understood the answer. :Your Herald-:
:My Herald,: Orrin repeated, then added, :is you. I Choose you.:
"Me?" The reply was startled from Santar. :Me.: he repeated internally. :Herald Santar?: He shook his head to awaken himself from what had to be a dream, then looked into the blue eyes of the very real, dazzingly gorgeous white stallion in front of him. He had aspired to owning a horse half this fine, and now he had a Companion as a lifelong friend, so much more than a possession or a mount.
"Thank you," Santar breathed. "Thank you for Choosing me."
Orrin lunged like a striking snake, caught Santar's britches, and hurled him into the air. Santar barely managed to twist before he found himself, once again, unceremoniously dumped, belly first, astride the Companion. :Come on,: the horse sent. :Let's go home.: Turning toward Valdemar, he trotted into the forest.
Mounted on "the best there is," Santar scrambled onto the stallion's withers and forgot to worry about demons.
IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
by Josepha Sherman
Josepha Sherman is a fantasy novelist and folklorist, whose latest titles include: Son of Darkness; The Captive Soul; Xena: All I Need to Know I learned from the Warrior Princess, by Gabrielle, as translated by Josepha Sherman; the folklore title Merlin's Kin; and, together with Susan Shwartz, two Star Trek novels, Vulcan's Forge and Vulcan's Heart. She is also a fan of the New York Mets, horses, aviation, and space science. Visit her at www.sff.net/people/Josepha.Sherman.
Toward the end of the second day of struggling her way through the forest, Marra was certain she was being followed.
The question was, by what?
I don't need this. Really, I don't.
Marra was not exactly young anymore, not exactly slim and heroic in shape or manner. Just an ordinary woman, she thought wearily, not anyone to be followed by, well, whatever. A four-legged predator would already have tried an attack, and a two-legged one, the bandit sort, would have had no reason not to have done the same. As for Lord Darick's men...
Marra bit her lip. That was done and over. She was the last survivor of what had been a peaceful village, and if she hadn't collapsed after burying...what she could...she wasn't going to break down now.
She couldn't afford to collapse. Someone had to deliver the story of that unprovoked raid to whatever authorities she could reach, even if it did mean pushing on through she had no idea how much wilderness.
Marra was doing her best to keep heading in the right direction. If she could only reach the shore of Lake Evandim, she could, hopefully, follow it along to civilization, or at least a real road. At least, Marra thought, she knew woodcraft and could forage for food easily enough. And at least Darick had had the...good taste to attack in warmer weather, so she didn't have to worry about freezing to death.
Damn him. Damn him and his men and his idea of-of burning down a village over an accidental insult-ha, no, he burned it down for fun!
For a minute she had a flash of imagined satisfaction, seeing white-clad Heralds declaring Darick's guilt, hearing him proclaimed a criminal and punished as a murderer...
Might as well imagine herself a Herald while she was at it, with one of those snowy-bright Companions, or maybe-Marra whirled, hands clenched on the branch she was using for a walking staff. "All right, whoever you are, I know you're there. So stop being childish and either step forward where I can see you, or get the hell away from me!"
Oh, smart. You've just announced where you are to anyone in earshot.
She waited, heart pounding. The forest had gone utterly still, shocked into silence by her shout.
Then a male voice, low but so musical it gave her a little shiver of delight said, "Your pardon. I shall bother you no longer."
"Who-what-"
No answer. Marra waited, but whoever had been following her really must be gone now, because the birds were resuming their cheerful noise. Warily, wondering, Marra moved on.
But night fell swiftly in the forest, and even though a glance upward told her that the sky was still bright with sunlight, down here it was already twilight. She'd better start thinking about stopping for the night.
Another glance upward, and Marra froze, wonder-struck. Far overhead, two gryphons were sporting in the air, so high in the dazzling blue that they looked small as birds. The sunlight glinted off their golden coats and wings, and for a moment more, she stood motionless, holding her breath.
Then they were gone, soaring down the wind, and with a sigh, she began hunting for a place to camp till morning. It really was growing dark-and in a hurry, too Suddenly, a..
.thing was on her with a roar, hurling her to the ground under a mass of dark fur.
Fangs glinted, and Marra, gasping, managed to get the staff up in time to have them clash together on the branch, splintering it, as she struggled to get free before sharp talons could rake her or-Suddenly the thing roared again, in pain this time, and the suffocating weight was gone from her.
Marra caught a glimpse of a man-no, not a man, not with those curling horns, or those clawed hands. But whatever he as, he was fighting the creature, saving her, and Marra looked wildly about for some way to help him. Pebbles, twigs, nothing like a good solid rock.
She grabbed the largest branch she could find, and whaled the creature over the head with it. The branch broke, and the thing whirled to her, snarling. Marra thought wildly, Wonderful, now it's really mad!
But she'd given the-the man the chance he needed. He had other weapons than claws, evidently, because a blade glinted, then stopped glinting, red with the thing's blood. The creature lunged, the man-whatever he was-cried out in pain
Then the creature fell, twitching, and then lay still. Over the crumpled mound of dark fur, eyes golden as a gryphon's stared at her for an instant.
Then the man, too, had crumpled.
Oh, no, you don't! Marra thought, and hurried to his side. I've seen enough death lately.
But then she froze, looking down at him. His face was finely drawn, almost thin, handsome in its own way, but rimmed with russet...fur. The tips of sharp fangs showed between human lips, and the tips of pointed animal ears poked through the tangled russet...hair? The horns she'd noted rising from his forehead were elegant, like twin spirals of ivory maybe a hand's breadth long, definitely not what one expected to see on a human head.
Marra swallowed dryly. His hands were such normal hands-but they ended in powerful, curving claws. Yet the rest of him seemed utterly human, clad in tunic and trousers that were tattered but clearly of fine weave. And he-And he was going to bleed to death if she didn't stop maundering and did something to help him. A slash crossed his chest, and as Marra pulled the torn tunic aside to get at the wound...it was no longer bleeding. In fact, it was no longer there.
A clawed hand caught her own. Before Marra could pull away, the man's eyes shot open. They were that brilliant gold, wild and confused, and Marra said hastily, "It's all right. You killed the-the thing."
The wildness faded, and suddenly those were purely human eyes despite the odd color, the eyes of someone who has lived with despair so long that it has become a companion.
"Yes," he said. "I remember now."
Releasing her, he sat up in one fluid movement. That voice! That musical voice-
"You were the one following me! Why?"
"I wanted to be sure you came to no harm."
"Oh, please. I'm not some fine lady with a noble protector." Marra closed a hand about a rock, just in case. "Why were you following me?"
The...man sighed. "If you must know, I was lonely. I...don't get to see too many of my kind these days."
"Your kind?" she echoed warily.
"Human, lady! I am-was a human, even as you!"
"Of...course."
He stood, shuddering. "The night is almost here. Come, I'll lead you to a safer place to camp."
Marra glanced about, wrapping her arms about herself. Forest, forest, and more forest, and all of it growing dark. With a sigh, she followed him since there didn't seem to be much of a choice. Besides, he had saved her life...for whatever reason.
"Who are you?" Marra asked suddenly.
"No one."
"Oh, don't be cute! If you really are as human as you claim, you have a name."
Was that a reluctant chuckle? "I can see that you have scant patience for fools. I am Albain Tandarek," a slight, ironic bow, "at your service."
"Ah." That was clearly a noble's name. "I'm Marra."
He glanced back at her, as though about to ask what a village woman was doing wandering in the wilderness by herself, but said nothing.
They walked on through the growing darkness in silence. But then he-Albain-whatever he was, stopped suddenly. "This looks like a good place for you to camp."
With that, he vanished into the gloom.
"Hey! You can't leave me like that! Hey! "
Albain returned in only a few moments, his arms full of wood. "Surely you wish a fire?"
"Surely I wish to know what's going on. Who are you? I mean, really, not just a name. And why were you following me?"
He sighed and squatted down, making a big show of arranging the firewood just so, clawed fingers neatly snagging stray tinder and putting each bit in place. "The second part I already told you: I was lonely. Besides, I didn't like the idea of a woman alone, not here."
He clearly didn't mean in an ordinary forest. "The, uh, thing?" Marra paused in the middle of lighting the fire. "The one you killed?" She heard her voice rise. "There are more of those?"
"Very possibly."
"But then, but then," Marra stammered in a rush of sudden, desperate hope, "officials, warriors, Heralds, someone's bound to be coming to investigate!" And I won't have to go so far to tell them about Darick!
"How would they know?"
"Wouldn't you send word that...oh." They'd think him a monster, too, and probably slay him before he could convince them otherwise. "They would. Magic, or..."
Marra clicked flint and steel together once more in fierce determination. The fire burst into life, tinder first, then branches. As the light blazed up, Albain shrank back into the shadows, an eerie figure in the night.
That was the final strain on Marra's already over-worked nerves. "You enjoy being mysterious, don't you?" she snapped. "Or is it that you're busy feeling sorry for yourself?"
He lunged forward with a snarl, fanged face clear in the firelight. "Shouldn't I be?"
Marra refused to flinch. "Look, I just lost my whole village to a bastard who thought it would be fun to wipe us out."
"Oh. I didn't realize..." He sat back, staring. "I am sorry, truly."
"I wasn't married, or anything like that, but, but..." Marra fiercely wiped her eyes. "I don't know what happened to you, but I don't think you have the corner on self-pity."
"It's not self-pity to mourn for others." But then his voice hardened. "Who was it? Who led the attack?"
Surprised, Marra said, "Lord Darick." Damn him. "Why, do you know him?"
She saw the faintest of flinches before he caught himself. "No," Albain said, a second too late to be convincing. "But then, I've been alone in this forest long enough to be doubtful about a good many things."
"You do know him!"
He sighed. "Put down the rock. I'm not his ally. The very opposite, in fact. Much to my disgust, he and I are related. And yes," Albain added sharply, "I meant disgust. When I last saw him, he was a sadistic boy."
"And now he's a sadistic man."
"Ironic that he's the one who's human."
"Self-pity," Marra prodded.
"Don't I have the right? I don't belittle your loss, truly. But at least you are not a monster."
She sniffed. "And you are?"
"What do you call this?" A fierce sweep of clawed hands took in fangs, pointed ears, horns. "Just a few blemishes?"
"Look, whatever happened to you, you clearly started out human." She paused. "Which brings us back to my first question: What did happen?" When he looked at her in what might have been annoyance or surprise, Marra added honestly, "I know I'm prying. It's none of my business. But, well, you're not the only one who's been alone and lonely."
"Ah. understandable." Albain shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "The worst of it is that what happened was my own damned mistake. I'm not a wizard or a sorcerer, or anything so grand, but I do have some tiny powers. I...well, when the creatures started to appear, the result of a greater mage's battle or experiment gone wrong, I thought I could be a hero. I thought I could take on some monstrous powers that would help me defeat the things.
"As you see, I
succeeded far too well."
"You can't change back."
He snorted. "I can't even kill myself. You saw how quickly my wounds heal."
"You didn't answer me. There's no way for you to change back?"
Albain gave a sharp little laugh. "Oh, there's one. Someone has to want to take on this appearance. Not very likely, is it? Never mind, Marra. On my word, which at least is still wholly mine, I'll see you safely through the forest, and that's the end of it."
No, it's not, Marra thought with a touch of pity. You're not the first man to make a mistake while trying to do the right thing. And I've never yet seen a mistake that couldn't be corrected.
One way or another.
It was startling to realize that she cared. It was even more startling to realize that she still could care.
Albain caught them dinner-rabbit, which Marra was secretly relieved to see he ate cooked. After that, well, after that, she was just too tired to stay up all night worrying about what he might or might not do. Curling up, she slept.
She woke with a start in the first dim light of morning, a clawed hand over her mouth. Before Marra could struggle, she saw Albain frantically gesture with his free hand. Silence! She relaxed ever so slightly, and he removed the hand from her mouth, whispering, "We're not alone."
"Monster?"
"Humans. We're near a trail."
She sat bolt upright, mouthing, Darick? At his nod, Marra scrambled to her feet, suddenly so overwhelmed with rage that she was blind and deaf to all reason. She rushed forward, hardly aware of Albain trying frantically to stop her. They crashed out of the underbrush together, out onto the trail, right in front of men on horseback-Darick's men, who were fighting horses gone mad with terror at Albain's nonhuman scent.
Good! Get them out of the way!
It was only when she was looking up at Darick, who had managed to stay on his horse, that the truth penetrated Marra's mad rage-she was trying to attack an armed man with nothing but her bare hands. He couldn't have recognized her as one of the villagers, just as a madwoman trying to tear him apart, and Marra saw the glint of the sword that was about to cut her down-
"Oh, hell," said a voice.
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