A Midwinter Fantasy

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

  A strange itch burned between Mace’s shoulder blades as he presented the bandit chief his back. Standing behind him were more of the bandits, watching silently, weapons pointed with varying degrees of confidence. Among them was someone Mace recognized immediately. He was dirtier than Lily ever would have allowed back home. His hair was a mess, and there were bruises on his cheek that Mace didn’t like. He was terrified.

  “Mace!” Jayden shouted, then winced. Someone had a grip on his arm, one tight enough to silence him.

  Mace eyed the man who held Jayden. He was older than the boy but just as dirty. His eyes were hard with the hatred and bitterness Mace had already felt, and his pattern was so close to Sally’s that there was no way he could be anything but her son.

  “So you’re Mace,” Travish spat. “The one my mother keeps saying is my father.” He laughed, the sound fraught with pain. He’d spent a lifetime paying for his mother’s love. “What a joke that’s been.”

  “Are you saying he ain’t your da?” the bandit leader mocked.

  Travish glared. “Do I look like I’m half freak?”

  “Mace,” Jayden whined. “I want to go home.”

  Travish shook the boy’s arm. “Hey, you volunteered to join us.”

  Jayden looked desperate. “They said they’d kill everyone if someone didn’t!”

  Mace remembered what the townspeople had told him: Jayden’s had been a noble sacrifice. But the bandits didn’t respect it. The bruise on Jayden’s cheek was days old, forcing one eye closed, and Mace didn’t like the way the boy held himself. He could feel the youth’s pain, and he knew Jayden would need the healer as well. Lily had been right to send him here.

  He eyed the boy, really studying him for the first time, with his unnatural male energy and his terror that he’d be left here to rot. Under it all, Mace felt Jayden’s endless admiration for him and his desperate need to be acknowledged, if only once. He regarded the child, his expression softening for a moment. Then he lifted his gaze to the angry young man who held him. The one he’d promised Sally he’d bring back.

  “Let him go or I will kill you.”

  Terror flashed through Travish, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He had his mother’s courage, tainted with bitterness, and instead he pulled a knife, holding it to Jayden’s throat. “You want to try?” he snapped. Jayden froze.

  Mace frowned.

  “This is how it’s gonna be,” the bandit leader said from behind him, making Mace turn. “You do what we say an’ we’ll let the kid live. Don’t, an’ we’ll gut him like a fish.”

  Mace just stared at the brigand, well aware of Jayden’s terror behind him. “What makes you think it matters to me?” he asked.

  Jayden’s terror increased, his surety that he was being abandoned after all sending him on a downward spiral faster than the battler could have imagined. Mace actually felt him give up, and something he hadn’t known was there cringed in the depths of his own soul.

  “Fine,” he growled, acquiescing before the boy could feel worse. “But if you hurt him, nothing will stop me from killing every man in this camp.”

  Nothing except Lily’s order.

  The bandit leader nodded, smirking, but the hope infusing Jayden’s pattern told Mace he’d made the right decision. He was of limited use to the bandits with Lily’s order anyway. He couldn’t kill for them, and without Ruffles he’d run out of energy and die. He just had to get both Jayden and Travish out of here before that happened.

  Jayden would be hard enough. He didn’t know how he was going to reach Travish at all.

  Chapter Ten

  They put him in a small building that had once been a stable, though now it was filled nearly to the rafters with stolen goods. The irony of being in a stable again didn’t escape him, though the company wasn’t nearly so good as the last time.

  The bandit leader called himself Raven. His hygiene was appalling, but Mace had to admit that his mind was sharp and he was willing to take risks. Mace honestly didn’t think the man realized the danger of what he was playing with—or perhaps he didn’t care. He was an amoral killer after all. Mace had encountered such a monster before, and he could see this man’s lack of a soul. Raven’s enterprise fed nothing but greed and a lust for power, and the man saw the potential for that power increasing with the acquisition of a battle sylph. Mace could kill every single other person in the camp and Raven would still be willing to use him.

  Seated on a crate marked as containing pottery from Para Dubh, Mace watched the bandit leader circle him, rubbing his hands. Mace kept his hate aura up, but Raven didn’t care. He leaned over Mace’s shoulder, his breath foul as he promised, “I’m going to use you to destroy every little shit town in this kingdom.”

  Mace didn’t bother to respond or question why. It wasn’t going to happen.

  “It’ll be beautiful,” Raven continued.

  Distantly Mace could feel Jayden, still in the camp but somewhere out of sight. The bandits likely didn’t realize that Mace could feel him. Most people didn’t know much about sylphs, after all, and it was just as good that they didn’t. Mace would know immediately if Jayden was hurt, and if the boy was taken out of his reach, he wouldn’t be quite so willing to sit here. Right now, Jayden felt nervous but willing to wait, his courage returning again now that he wasn’t completely alone.

  “Soon,” Raven purred.

  Mace barely acknowledged him until the man clapped a dirty hand on his shoulder; then he turned his head to stare. The brigand just laughed and went out the door, leaving a lackey standing watch. His guard was sweating despite the cold, and Mace focused his hate on him, making him shudder even more. They stayed like that for some time.

  Another man opened the door and came in. “I’ll take over for a while,” he said, and the first guard stammered thanks before fleeing.

  Mace tilted his head to one side, pulling the hate aura back a bit as he studied his new guard. Travish hadn’t inherited his mother’s fair hair. His was dark and wavy, hanging down to his shoulders and badly kept, bangs in his eyes. He had a beard growing roughly in, and his clothes were filthy. No one here seemed to bother with hygiene. His teeth at least were good.

  Travish was affected by the hate aura, but more than the fear in him there was a need to know, something akin to a ravenous hunger. “When the boy told me a battle sylph named Mace was going to come and rescue him, I wanted to beat him for being a liar. Now you’re here.” Sally’s son crossed his arms, still standing by the doorway. “I never thought you actually existed.”

  “You thought your mother lied?”

  Travish rolled his eyes, though guilt flickered deep inside him. “Of course I thought she lied! Everyone thought she lied! I spent half my childhood banished to the kitchens because no one wanted to listen to her, and they sure as hell didn’t want to see me.”

  “And now I’m here,” Mace said.

  “Yeah. Now you’re here.” Travish stared at him, and Mace let the hate drop a bit more, determinedly trying not to project it at him. None of the tension left either of them. “Are you saying you’re my father?”

  Mace couldn’t quite make out the emotions running through the youngster. Part of Travish didn’t want to believe. Another part, deep inside of him, desperately wanted Sally’s words to be true, wanted her story to give him a place that he hadn’t been able to make for himself. To be the son of a battle sylph would make him special, Mace realized, which had to matter to a man who’d been treated as a pariah his entire life.

  The only problem was, Mace still didn’t understand how such a thing could be possible. He wasn’t human, and he couldn’t be human, no matter how he refined his shape. He hadn’t even been shaped as a human when he’d loved Sally. All he had was her word that he was the father.

  “I believe your mother,” he said. “If she says I’m your father, then I am.”

  Travish gaped at him, obviously not expecting such a calm, assured reply. His tension returned a moment later, though
, and his mouth firmed. “That wasn’t a yes.”

  “Do you want me to put you over my knee and spank you to prove it?”

  Travish blinked at him and then laughed, the sound of it open and honest, amused. The reaction seemed to catch him by surprise. Mace blinked and continued to watch, his hands flat on his knees. He pulled back more of the hate and saw Travish relax.

  “It’s crazy. It can’t be.”

  “How did your mother explain it?” Mace asked.

  Travish shrugged. “She just said it was a gift.”

  “It’s the Winter Festival. It’s all about celebrating the magical gifts the Gift Giver gave and that you humans now give each other, isn’t it?” It made sense to say this, even though he’d never thought of the festival that way before.

  Travish glanced around at the stacks of goods. There weren’t any Winter Festival ornaments in the stable; the entire camp was bare of them. “Yeah, well, this certainly isn’t the place for any magic gifts.”

  He fell quiet, as did Mace. Travish was lost in his own thoughts, and Mace reeled the hate back even more, struggling to get the trick of not sending it to this man even as he projected it to everyone else. The trick seemed to be working, though he was certain Travish wasn’t entirely spared. Mace didn’t want to stop projecting to the rest of the brigands, though, and he frowned, wishing for once that he’d bothered to learn it in the first place.

  “What is it?” Travish asked.

  “I’m trying not to push my hate aura at you,” Mace told him. “It’s not simple to avoid a single person.”

  Travish flashed surprise. “Why would you bother?”

  Mace lifted his hands, palms up. “You’re not my enemy. Your mother asked me to bring you home.”

  Travish stared at him, surprised. Then his anger flared up again. “Home? If I’ve got a home anywhere, it’s this place. I’m accepted here. If I’m the bastard son of a whore, then so are half the men here. No one gives a shit.”

  “No one would give a shit in Sylph Valley either,” Mace told him.

  Travish blinked. After a moment, he spoke again. “Sylph Valley is full of nothing but whores.”

  He sounded unsure.

  Mace shrugged, though he loathed the use of the word whore and once would have been driven to violence by it. “Only to men who think a woman should have no choices in her life.” He leveled his gaze at Sally’s son. “Or do you think your mother was happy in that kitchen for your entire childhood?”

  Travish had to look away again. He felt guilt for that, but there was a young man’s bitterness and rage mixed in there as well, a desperate need for someone to blame.

  Mace didn’t know if he was going to reach the young man. He didn’t know if Travish’s bitterness was too deep for him to see any better path than the one he was on now, or if he could—or should—be forgiven for having taken it. Mace didn’t know what his crimes were among these bandits. He’d held Jayden’s arm until it bruised, and he was in a camp filled with stolen goods. How many of the original owners had Travish helped kill?

  Yet Sally wanted him to get Travish out, and Lily wanted him to save Jayden. That was enough—for now.

  “I want you to help me rescue Jayden,” Mace told him.

  “Why would I do that?” Travish sounded incredulous.

  “Because he’s now in the same position you were,” Mace said. “And he doesn’t deserve it any more than you did.”

  Travish laughed, his voice bitter and mocking, but Mace felt his pain as he backed toward the door. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a backstabber—and I’m definitely not stupid enough to cross Raven. Save Jayden yourself if you think you can. You’re the damn battle sylph. Mother was always going on about it. How wonderful you were, how powerful.” He spat on the floor. “Like it mattered. She could have just stopped saying it and kept her head down, and everything would have been easier. They could have forgot I was the bastard son of a whore and let me be part of the family. She’s crazy. The whole family hates her because she’s crazy.” His lip trembled. “All she does is let things happen to her. She’s a coward.”

  The young man went out and closed the door. Mace felt him on the other side, guarding, and he sighed. The boy’s emotions were a mess and he obviously didn’t want to talk anymore. Still, he’d left Mace alone, and that was a very welcome piece of stupidity—or perhaps intent.

  Mace changed shape immediately, condensing his size and form and becoming a large black rat. He had to leave his clothes behind, but he didn’t worry about that as he scurried to the back of the stable, making his way through the stacks of goods. The building was old, not well maintained, and he was easily able to squeeze out through a gap between two wall panels.

  Outside, the sky was lightening toward dawn, but Mace doubted anyone would notice a rat even in full daylight; he could certainly sense enough other rodents making their way through the camp in search of food. Mace was in search of something else. He ran immediately to where Jayden was being kept, racing across the top of the snow along the outskirts of the camp and hoping that Travish didn’t decide to head back in for a verbal rematch.

  He might get blamed for this, Mace realized, but he put that thought aside. He would grab Jayden, get him out of the camp, and come back for Travish. If he had to follow his original, indifferent plan of throwing him over his shoulder and just leaving with him, he would. Travish would surely see the wisdom of not returning to a camp of bandits that the other battlers from the Valley were going to turn into a large crater.

  Two brigands flanking him, Jayden sat in a lean-to by a fire, shivering and dozing in the early air. The men were drinking and laughing, waking the exhausted boy whenever they noticed him sleeping. Jayden looked to be too worn out to protest much, though Mace heard him swear at them when they jabbed his ribs, which only made them laugh. The guards were much taller than the boy, even sitting, and his slumped position lowered him even more.

  Mace ran up behind the three, shifted into human form, grasped the heads of the two guards, and slammed them together. Jayden gave a gasp as they tumbled to either side, unconscious. Mace grabbed the boy, yanking him close before he could even turn. Changing shape, a moment later he was in his natural form, darting away from the camp through the trees, racing off in the hope of not being seen. He ached from his wounds, and this couldn’t be a comfortable ride for Jayden, but he felt the boy’s hysterical relief.

  “Mace?” the youth gasped.

  Mace couldn’t answer, not in this form. Jayden would have had to be his master for a telepathic link to be possible. He thought for a moment instead, and formed a tentacle inside the inner pocket in which he carried the boy, reaching out to squeeze Jayden’s shoulder.

  The boy started to cry. He was sobbing, his breath hitching as he gasped out apologies and promises to never run away again. Mace really didn’t know how to deal with that, and finally just stroked the boy’s hair with the tentacle, just as he would have tried to comfort one of Lily’s female orphans. It worked much the same here, doing nothing to stop the crying but helping to ease the hysteria. Mace sighed and kept flying, well aware of his own guilt. It had been easier when he still didn’t care, but that was in the past. He stroked Jayden’s hair and carried him to safety, letting the boy weep.

  He’d left Sally and Ruffles in the woods at the other end of the valley. Mace flew toward their hiding spot, hugging the tree line on the south side so that no one on the ridge would see him. He’d leave Jayden with Sally and Ruffles and head back for Travish. He still hurt, but if all went well they’d be returning to the Valley within the hour. He was more than big enough to carry all of them, and the humans could, he hoped, keep Ruffles from doing anything disgusting while she was inside him.

  Mace darted into the covered clearing where he’d left the females. It was deserted.

  Lurching about with all of his senses, Mace physically froze. There was no sign of Sally, not visually and not patternwise. The ground was torn up, and Ma
ce made a mournful sound, setting Jayden down and shifting to human shape, spinning around with a growing sense of horror.

  “What’s wrong?” Jayden asked, wiping his eyes. “Can’t we just go home?”

  Mace closed his eyes and focused, reaching out with his senses for both Sally and Ruffles. The dog was apparent to him immediately; they must not have frightened her during the capture. But they wouldn’t have to. Sally was brave, but she was also smart enough not to try and fight against a group of armed men. Mace had dropped her here, in a copse only a few miles from the bandit camp. Then he’d gone back, focused on the camp itself, not on his surroundings. How hard could it have been for a few men to skirt the valley and take both Sally and Ruffles? How could he have been so unmitigatedly stupid? He’d never underestimate a human man again, he promised himself. Not if he survived long enough to outlive the world.

  He stared back toward the bandit camp, standing nude among the pine needles and snow, since he’d abandoned his clothes, his mantle throbbing from the pain of his wounds. He couldn’t feel Sally over this distance without a master bond, but he could touch Ruffles. She was there, and Sally had to be with her.

  “Mace?” Jayden whimpered as the battler closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I ran away. I am. I shouldn’t have gone with them, but they said they’d kill everyone.”

  Mace opened his eyes and looked down at the boy, really seeing him this time. There were all the usual male traits that he’d always ignored, feeling they made men inferior to women. Below that, though, he found a desperate need to be acknowledged, to be loved. To be worthy of attention from the person Jayden believed to be the greatest warrior in the world. He wanted to be just like Mace, and he couldn’t because he hadn’t been hatched a battle sylph. Surprisingly, finally realizing that made Mace feel rather small.

  He reached out and clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder, felt him instantly tense. “Going with them to save the others was the right thing to do,” he said. “It’s what a battle sylph would have done.” Well, a battle sylph would have killed the bandits, but the courage was the same, the instinct of hive over self. For Jayden, the courage to do that actually had to be greater than anything a battler would need. “You . . . you honor me.”