A Midwinter Fantasy

by Leanna Renee Hieber; L. J. McDonald; Helen Scott Taylor

  Once it reached the border of Eferem, the stone highway that cut across the Shale Plains turned into a rough, twisting dirt road heavily marked by potholes and ruts from the progress of wagons and horses. Mace doubted it would be used at all if it weren’t the quickest way to both Sylph Valley and the mountainous kingdom of Para Dubh to the east. The fact that it was in such bad shape was a sign of what Solie had been saying. The kingdom of Eferem wasn’t at war with them, but they’d rather ignore the Valley than be friends. Solie was working to change that, but it was slow going.

  The road needed so many repairs that after a few moments of thought, Mace abandoned it and led Ruffles up a deer path into the woods. Here, for them, the way would be quicker. There wasn’t much point in staying on the road in hope of tracking Jayden, anyway. The boy had gone through a week before, long enough for the best tracking hound to lose him, and while Mace looked like a dog, he wasn’t one. His sense of smell was heightened, as was his hearing, but he didn’t know what scents would be helpful to pick up. He didn’t even know what Jayden smelled like, so he just ignored his nose. He’d only find the boy by questioning humans. If the boy had left the convoy, an angry youth traveling alone at this time of year would attract notice. Or so Mace hoped. At any rate, even if he hadn’t, the convoy itself should be remembered. Humans liked mail.

  It had been almost twenty years since Mace last came this way, and he’d never expected to return. His last visit had been when he was a bound sylph, traveling with his master in pursuit of a woman Mace never wanted to harm. That wouldn’t have mattered, though, if they’d found her. Mace would have killed her on command, no matter his personal feelings. After all, he’d done it before. Luckily, things hadn’t happened that way, and instead everything had changed. The only orders floating in Mace’s mind right now were Solie’s admonition not to take his original form except in an emergency and Lily’s commands to bring Jayden back without killing any people. He would succeed, even if it was just the boy’s body he returned, even if it was just the boy’s bones and it took a thousand years. Lily thought she understood sylph behavior, but she didn’t. Not really. Even without the soul tie, after nearly twenty years of being hers, her slightest wish was his command.

  He and Ruffles made good time through the woods, pausing only to help her hunt down a rabbit to eat. It was easy. Ruffles sniffed the beast out, and the instant it bolted, Mace used the tiniest amount of his fighting energy to kill it. While Ruffles feasted, he shifted to the form of an eagle and flapped his way up into the dim, gray sky to take a look at their surroundings.

  There wasn’t much. The clouds were dropping a steady stream of snow that made it hard to see anything other than the dimmest, closest outlines of trees. Mace didn’t bother with sight, though. Though his ability to do so was limited outside his natural shape, he looked at the patterns of life instead, dismissing any vegetation and animals for the more complex patterns of human beings.

  There were a great many only a few miles farther on. Circling there, Mace remembered. When he’d come this way before, there had been a town in the woods, a place called Falloweld, which served the men who trapped animals in the surrounding forests. Mace hadn’t thought of the place in a long time. At least, he hadn’t thought of the town itself. There were other things about it that he did remember with great, unspoken fondness.

  He dropped down, landing in his human form again beside Ruffles and retrieving his clothes. As an eagle, he’d been too small to carry them inside of him. She glanced at him and continued with her meal, used to seeing sylphs change shape. Anchor animals were acclimated to that from puppyhood, even if they were never called on to serve, and they faced everything unique about sylphs except for a battler’s hate aura. It was considered cruel to expose them to that. They also weren’t trained to ride inside a sylph’s mantle, since no battler in the Valley would volunteer to help teach them.

  The battler dressed while he waited for her. The clothes were real, and while the eagle was too small, his dog form was just big enough that he could carry them inside, since he only needed to look like a dog on the outside. There were battlers skilled enough to shift and have their clothes simply appear real, but Mace had never bothered to gain that kind of competence. Lily had made both his shirt and pants for him, and while they were plain cotton, they served him well. Better yet, they smelled of her from when she washed them. Other than his uniform, he couldn’t imagine wearing anything else.

  From the look of it, they’d arrive in Falloweld shortly after noon, sooner if they continued cutting through the woods. It would be better to go by the road from here, he decided at last. He’d have to interact with the humans in the town, and he didn’t want them to think he was anything other than one of them. Even humans back home sometimes reacted oddly to battle sylphs, and in the Valley they weren’t used solely as mindless weapons, as in the other kingdoms. No one in Eferem who was outside their capital had likely seen a battle sylph in years, and even before then they’d been rare, so he wasn’t sure what they thought about his kind. Likely they only knew rumors of the truth, and he didn’t know what any of those were or how much they were believed. Mace didn’t even want to imagine how awkward it could get here if they realized what he was. It was entirely possible the Fallowelders would refuse to help.

  Ruffles finished her meal and lifted her head, her tail wagging and her muzzle bloody.

  “Come on,” Mace told her, and he set off, his big shape vanishing in the misty light of the snowy woods, the dog padding patiently by his side.

  Chapter Four

  Falloweld had grown since Mace last visited. What had been a rough collection of buildings and a single inn had become a fair-sized town. It was also far less rough than it used to be, the homes well built and cared for, though the entire place was surrounded by a log wall that looked both very strong and new, and also as though it didn’t belong. There was a single-gate entry on the side he approached.

  While he was allowed to pass, Mace was watched by the guards as he did. He was observed pretty closely by the people in town as well, even as they moved around in that annoying visiting routine that marked the Winter Festival. Mace frowned as he trudged through the snowy streets. He had his orders to be discreet in his mission, and he looked like an ordinary human, but he wasn’t used to actually pretending to be one and had forgotten some fundamental truths about how frail they were. It was December, snowing, and cold, and he’d arrived as a stranger in town with no wilderness gear or even a cloak. Even as they went on their way, invading their neighbors’ homes and forcing their gifts on each other, they shied away from Mace. It wasn’t that these folk were suspicious of him—not so much—but they seemed almost frightened to see him. Not for who he was, he realized after a time, but for what his arrival seemed to mean. It was almost as if they’d seen him before in their streets, or someone like him.

  A few looked as though they wanted to talk, but Mace wasn’t interested in their concern. His plan had been to start his search at the inn. He didn’t see a reason to change that.

  Despite Falloweld’s growth, Mace still saw a few buildings he recognized, and it wasn’t long before he reached the center of town. There, the same inn that his master had stayed in all those years ago was still standing, though expanded now with an extra wing and a new stable in the back. Its walls were clean and well mended, and despite the snow, light showed in the windows. Mace heard laughter from inside. The exterior was decorated for the Winter Festival, and he could see that someone had taken an entire small tree in and set it up. In the Valley, people went visiting each other’s private homes, but from the numbers he could sense inside, it appeared Falloweld spread the tradition to businesses as well.

  He went inside, Ruffles padding contentedly at his side. Back in the Valley, anchor dogs were allowed in any building their sylph might go into, but he learned the inhabitants of Falloweld didn’t feel the same way the moment he stepped through the door.

  “Hey! Whoa! Get that d
og out of here!” the innkeeper shouted from behind the bar, gesturing with a large mug. “No animals allowed!”

  Mace hesitated. If the man had been brandishing a knife, he would have been tempted to blow him to pieces, though of course Lily’s orders wouldn’t have allowed that. As it was, everyone was staring. With an annoyed frown, he backed out the door and settled Ruffles in a sheltered spot with a very firm “Stay.” If she was frightened by anything, he’d know and come for her. She licked his hand and he went back inside.

  Everyone was still staring at him, murmuring now. Mace was used to that but still irritated, and to add to the matter, everyone he saw was male, showing none of the fearful respect he was used to getting. He was tempted to just walk out, but this was still the best place to start. The mail convoy he sought would have gone through this town. If the convoy hadn’t stopped at this inn, the innkeeper still should know where it went. It was even possible that Jayden was still here, though Mace couldn’t sense him. He’d never paid much attention to Lily’s male orphans, but he knew them well enough that he could identify their patterns. That was true of Jayden especially, since the boy was always around. Mace only had to get within a few hundred feet of the youngster to spot him.

  He went across the room to the innkeeper, who’d just had one of the patrons at his bar whisper to him and was now regarding Mace with rather more concern than before. There was a bit of fear under the bluster, but it still had nothing to do with any realization of what Mace actually was. Mace couldn’t read minds, only emotions, and right now that didn’t help him much.

  He stopped on the other side of the bar, looking down at the man.

  “You lost your cloak,” the innkeeper noted. “You get attacked by those bandits?”

  “What?” Mace said, surprised. He hadn’t heard anything about bandits, though of course he wouldn’t have cared, so long as they stayed off sylph land. “I’m looking for a boy. His name’s Jayden, about fourteen. He would have come through here a week ago with a mail convoy out of Sylph Valley.”

  To his surprise, the man’s expression turned to dismay, and the talking started up in the inn again. Mace looked around in bemusement, listening to the conversations for information, but it was the innkeeper who said something that made sense. Sort of.

  “Oh, hell. Look, we didn’t know where he came from. The postmen didn’t stay long enough to say much. I mean, we knew about it, but we didn’t know who to tell.”

  Mace eyed him. “What are you talking about?”

  The innkeeper took a deep breath, obviously not happy with what he had to say next. “A mail convoy got attacked by bandits on the road a few days ago. They came through here afterward and didn’t stay long; they’d lost everything, and no one wants to stay here anymore, thanks to those damn murderers.” He paused. “They said that the bandits told them that if they didn’t get a recruit, they’d kill everyone. They said a boy volunteered to go with them. No one’s seen him since.”

  “Damn bastards,” a patron growled. “Just wanted to toy with him, I bet. They don’t need recruits. They got enough already.”

  “Won’t be long before they attack us, I tell you. That wall won’t be enough to keep them out.”

  “Someone’s got to petition the king for help!”

  “We’ve already sent to him. Won’t see nothing until spring, if we see anything at all.”

  Mace looked around at the different speakers until an older man with sparse hair and a facial similarity to the innkeeper leaned over and patted his arm. He smelled of ale. “He was a brave, brave lad. He your son?”

  “No.” Mace pulled his arm free. This was going to take longer than he’d hoped. “Where are these bandits?” He didn’t ask why the townsfolk hadn’t risen up themselves against them. They weren’t battle sylphs.

  The innkeeper’s brow lifted. “Are you planning to go after them? By yourself?”

  “Of course.”

  They laughed. Mace would have been annoyed if he’d cared. They seemed to think he was crazy, though, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to reveal his identity just to get them to take him seriously. This whole “discretion” approach really wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped.

  The innkeeper howled, wiping his eyes. “You’re going to go after them. Bandits. In winter. Alone. Just who the hell do you think you are?”

  Mace frowned. “My name is Mace, and I need to know—”

  “Mace?” The man gaped, his emotions flipping instantly to surprise. A complex twist of emotions overlaid with disgust replaced this as his entire personality changed, faster than Mace would have thought possible. His eyes narrowed. “Have you been here before? About nineteen years ago, in the winter?”

  “Yes,” Mace said, having no idea why the man was asking. He’d been a giant, silent suit of armour then, and he’d never stepped into the inn. He’d been left out in the stable for the night, with only a single visitor.

  “Bastard!” the man thundered, his face flushing red as he reached under the bar. Surprised, Mace just stared at him until the innkeeper brought out a cudgel and swung it hard against the side of his head.

  It was a blow meant to kill, fueled by a sudden, passionate rage. With a normal man the attack would have been fatal, but Mace’s head only rocked to one side and back. The innkeeper gaped, and Mace reached across the bar, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and threw him across the room. The man howled and crashed into a table, knocking it over and scattering the people sitting around it. A moment later, everyone seemed to be piling atop Mace, joined in some form of semidrunken solidarity that was familiar to a battle sylph, if annoying beyond belief.

  A chair smashed across Mace’s back and an ale mug struck him. Truly annoyed that Lily banned him from killing anyone, the battler grabbed one fist that was speeding toward his face and flung its owner off to his right. He then backhanded another. He didn’t try to kill either man, but his blows were more powerful than a human’s. This didn’t deter his attackers, however. The men in the inn were obviously family, and the more of them he knocked down, the more the rest seemed determined to get vengeance.

  Mace wasn’t prepared to be their victim, no matter how much of this was a fear reaction because of bandits. Stepping forward, he bent down as a man came at him, catching him around the waist and straightening. The man’s roar of anger became an unmanly shriek as he found himself abruptly flipped upside down, held behind Mace’s head. Mace let him go and stepped forward, letting the man crash heavily onto the wood floor.

  By this point, the innkeeper had struggled to his feet, standing unsteadily and waving at the rest. “Bash that guy’s head in!” he shouted. “That’s the bastard who ruined our family’s reputation! Just don’t wreck my inn!”

  Right. There was a table beside him, a heavy thing made of scratched wood. Mace grabbed the end of it with one hand and threw it at a group, careful to aim just high enough that they could duck, much as he wanted to take their heads off. That gave more than a few of them pause, some of them realizing at last that this wasn’t a normal fight. Not that Mace cared. He just knew that he hadn’t come here for this, and he didn’t have the patience for it.

  Throwing the table wasn’t enough. The men kept coming. Seeing no other option, Mace released his hate. Every man in the bar, whether drunk or sober, angry or afraid, froze. The hate of a battle sylph was a palpable thing, an aura that covered and overwhelmed, causing terror in the hearts of humans and the urge to fight in other battlers. For the years when he was bound, Mace had used it to hide his emotions from his master, who was empathic with him. He hadn’t used the aura in years, but even now it marked what he was and made those near him afraid. It was a warning. They wouldn’t accept him as one of them? He wouldn’t pretend anymore.

  “Oh, gods,” the innkeeper gasped, his face utterly white. “She wasn’t lying.”

  Half the occupants of his bar were already running for the door, and the only regret Mace felt was the fear he sensed in Ruffles outside, who
couldn’t understand battler hate and was bolting in terror. He was just turning to go find her when the door to the kitchen banged open, hitting the wall so hard that even Mace turned to look.

  A woman stood there, thin and tired, her hair done up in a messy bun and her clothes faded and worn by toil. Her face was lined with old worries, but even as Mace looked at her, the lines were dropping away, amazement returning her youth as she stared at him, her arms covered in soapy water to the elbows and her apron stained and worn.

  “Mace?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he replied uncertainly, staring at the strangest reaction to his hate he’d ever seen in his life. He let the aura drop.

  “Mace!”

  She screamed and ran forward to throw her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. This close, he could smell her soap and her scent—one he’d smelled many years ago, during a night spent banished to a stable with only a single visitor. Smiling, he put his arms around her.

  “Sally,” he said, and she started to cry.

  Chapter Five

  Sally was seventeen when she came to him that night nineteen years ago. Mace had been standing in an empty stall, though of course the entire stable was emptied of animals to try and accommodate him. Jasar had been especially petty since the journey began, not having wanted to travel in the first place and being angry with Mace for other reasons. He’d tormented his battler to distraction, making him angrier and angrier until, by the time they reached the village, Mace was steaming with hatred and not caring how far he broadcast it. He’d been wallowing, Mace knew, especially since Jasar was too small-minded to be bothered by his hate, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d just wanted to hate, to make sure everyone shared his misery.