Charmed Destinies

by Mercedes Lackey

  Miles startled her by reaching over and touching her gloved hand. “I’ll climb the tree, Druse. It’s something I have to do all the time when the Behemoth is around. Standing out on limbs is something I’m good at.”

  She hated to let anyone else do anything heroic that she could do herself, but it was so very cold right now that her fingers were feeling stiff. She pulled her cloak around herself, trying to create a tighter cocoon, and nodded royally in Miles’s direction.

  He slipped off his horse easily and picked the nearest tree that both looked stout and had limbs low enough to reach. He grabbed one of those limbs and, with a movement that would have done an Olympic gymnast proud, swung himself up. Lickety-split, he disappeared upward into the concealing branches, like Jack on his beanstalk.

  The horses were snorting steam now in the cold air and moving skittishly, as if they feared holding still. Only Miles’s mount seemed oblivious to the threat, nosing around in the shrubs for something edible. He was, thought Druse, probably inured to terror, having seen the Behemoth in real life.

  Her own horse was not so lucky. Or unlucky, as the case might be.

  Up above, a limb cracked loudly. The three on the ground exchanged glances, but no body came tumbling down at them. Drusilla tilted her head back, looking upward, and realized the treetops had vanished into the mist.

  Moisture was now raining down steadily from overhead, dampening their blankets. It smelled strongly of pine, which she thought odd, considering the forest was filled with oaks.

  The River Mopenwachs? Was this the spray from it?

  Tree limbs began to rustle wildly, then all of a sudden Miles appeared on the lower branches. He whistled and his mount came over to him, allowing him to climb into the saddle from the limb he stood on.

  Neat trick, Drusilla thought. She needed to learn that one.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “The river is surrounding us.”

  The frigid, damp air suddenly cut through her cloak like a knife. “All the way?”

  “We need to get to high ground,” Miles said. “Fast.”

  “Where is that?”

  He pointed with a jerk of his chin. “Let’s go.”

  “You know,” Zeke said, muttering from right behind her, “this wizardry thing is all good and well, but moving rivers is beyond the pale. And how can he turn a whole damn river into a circle anyway? Where’s all the water go?”

  “I think,” said Miles, “that he’s just closing a portion of it around us, like an oxbow.”

  “Well why in the name of Pampeus would he want to do that?” Zeke demanded. “We haven’t done anything to him.”

  Drusilla answered him. “We got too close.” That was the only excuse needed, she thought bitterly. After all, look at the threat against Morgania. Had Morgania done anything to the southern tribes? No. Not a thing. Yet they were about to be overrun. “Some people are just that way.”

  “All too sadly true,” Miles agreed.

  And Krusti Olfard had a real reputation that way. An ornery, just-keep-clear-or-else kind of guy.

  “Well,” said Miles, “he can only move the river. I’ve never heard that he can move a hill, and there’s a hill thataway.”

  They started in that direction, but one thing concerned Drusilla. “He may only be able to move the river, but he could keep us trapped on that hill for a long time. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Who does?” Miles asked philosophically. “Life is short under the best of circumstances. You have to seize the day, as it were.”

  She frowned at him. “Don’t pontificate. I’ve got a kingdom to save.”

  “As true as that may be, Princess, a gal can only do what a gal can do.”

  “I’m not a gal, I’m a woman!”

  “Patently.”

  A few rather bloodthirsty images came to mind, but Drusilla wasn’t a bloodthirsty person by nature, and Miles was, after all, a Behemoth Tamer. She would get even with him later. When there was plenty of time to plot her revenge.

  Almost as if he were reading her mind, he laughed. “I could just let the Behemoth eat you.”

  Zeke didn’t take kindly to that and moved forward, inserting himself between Miles and Drusilla. “Take care how you talk to m’lady here.”

  “I’m taking care,” Miles said unrepentantly. “I’m just reminding her that she needs to take care, too. After all, she’s going to need me. If we find the Behemoth.”

  “When,” Drusilla said pointedly. “Not if. Not even Behemoths can hide forever. They are, after all, big. Or else they wouldn’t be Behemoths. It’s hard to hide when you’re big.”

  Oh God, had she really looked at his trousers when she’d said that? Had he seen it? This was spinning entirely out of control.

  She cleared her throat. “Let’s get moving.”

  “Druse? Druse! ”

  She turned from the screen. Cal was once again hanging over the cubicle wall.

  “Do you have a death wish?” she heard herself ask.

  Cal blanched. “Jeez, Druse, what’s with you tonight? The mouse that roars?”

  She wasn’t about to answer that question. She wasn’t sure she knew the right answer, and wasn’t sure she liked the answer that came to mind. “What do you want this time?”

  “You have a phone call. I’ve tried transferring it to you three times, and you won’t pick up.”

  Only now did she hear the faint bing-bong of the muted ringer and see the light flashing.

  “Sorry,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I’m caught up in my work.”

  “I guess,” he said, dipping below the wall before she could launch another verbal broadside.

  She brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Drusie!”

  “Dad.”

  “How’s my princess tonight?”

  “I’m busy, Dad.”

  “Are we still on for breakfast?”

  Damn. She’d forgotten. “Yes, sure. Casey’s at eight, right?”

  “That’s the plan,” he said. He paused for a moment. “Drusie…I saw the doctor today. He said it looks to be in remission. All the blood counts were good.”

  She let out a long, slow breath. “Thank God.”

  “I did that tonight. Several times. My energy’s back up, too. If I’m feeling this good tomorrow, I may hit some golf balls after breakfast. Wanna join me?”

  “I can’t, Dad. I need to paint in the morning light. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “You’re just afraid I’ll beat you again,” he said, mirth in his voice.

  “Dad,” she said with a chuckle, “you haven’t beaten me since I was in college.”

  “You should’ve gone pro,” he said.

  “Maybe so.”

  She’d had the skills. She’d learned the game hanging around the course when he was the greenskeeper. The club pro had taken a shine to her and given her free lessons whenever she w
as there. But golf was fun, and painting was in her blood. If she’d joined the tour, she would have lost a hobby and a dream, all at once. Her future lay with a paintbrush, not a seven iron. Still, she missed the breath of the breeze on her face, the sun in her eyes, the smell of fresh-cut grass. It had been too long.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Princess?”

  “If you’re up to it, I’ll hit some balls with you tomorrow.”

  She could hear his smile. “I’d love that, Drusie. I’ll see you at Casey’s.”

  “At eight. Get some sleep, Dad.”

  “Now you sound like your mother used to.”

  She laughed. “Somebody has to do it.”

  “Nobody better,” he said. “Night, Drusie.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  It was time for a jolt of caffeine and sugar, Miles thought. The night was deadly dull, except for the one glitch from downstairs. Worse, he’d sat looking at a blinking cursor for the past ten minutes, not sure where to take his story next. With an affectionate pat of the computer and an admonition for it not to blow up in the next ten minutes, he walked down to the break room.

  She was there. The pageboy blonde from data entry, the one with the deep blue eyes that always seemed focused on something far away inside her own head. A bit bloodshot tonight. The strain of looking at a monitor for hour upon hour? Or had she been crying?

  He slid a dollar bill into the machine and punched a button, listening as the can clomped and banged its way to the slot at the bottom. He glanced over his shoulder as he popped the cap and got the beginnings of his energy fix. Her back was to him, and he watched her draw long, slow breaths.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She started. “Huh? Oh. Yes. Fine.”

  Was that the flicker of recognition in her eyes. He held out a hand. “Miles Kennedy. Graveyard sysop.”

  She nodded and shook it briefly. “I know. I’m Drusilla Morgan. Data entry.”

  She’d said the last with an almost apologetic shrug. He met it with a smile. “We get a lot like you.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Sure. People who are obviously too bright to be working down there. University students. Or people who want to do something else and can’t yet.”

  “Well, I’m not a student,” she said.

  He looked toward the chair opposite hers, a brow arched. “May I? I need to be away from my desk for a few minutes. And I’d rather not read yesterday’s newspaper.”

  She held up the back section. “Yeah. Someone already did the crossword and the cryptogram. And I hate chess.”

  “The day shift gets all the fun,” he said.

  She returned a faint smile, then looked down at the bag of cheese crackers between her hands. Smudges of green and blue at the knuckle of her index finger. A fleck of orange on the outside of one thumb.

  “You paint?” he asked.

  She looked up. “How did you know?”

  He pointed. “Your hands.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She scraped at her knuckle with a thumbnail. “It’s hard to get oils off, sometimes.”

  “I could never paint. I can’t draw stick figures.”

  She nodded. “It’s fun. I’ve done it all my life.”

  Her responses were a half degree out of sync. Her mind was elsewhere. And that elsewhere didn’t seem to be a happy place.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  The mask descended. Walls went up. “Yeah. I’m okay. Aftershocks of a problem that went away.”

  “Good that it went away,” he said.

  “Very good.” She rose. “I need to get back to work.”

  He picked up his can. “Me, too. Have a nice night, Drusilla.”

  The same small smile. “I’ll try. You, too.”

  “I thought you weren’t taking any breaks?” Cal asked as she returned to her desk. He was nothing if not persistent.

  “I lied,” she said.

  “You mean you changed your mind,” he said. The subtext was in his eyes: if you’ll change your mind about one thing, maybe you’ll change your mind about me.

  Not likely.

  “Cal…”

  He put his hands up. “I know. You need to work. Nose to the grindstone and all that.”

  “Something like that,” she said, settling into her chair and returning to the endless columns of data. And a world she could control.

  4

  “But enough about me,” Miles said. “Let’s go find the Behemoth.”

  Drusilla blanched yet again. So much for fantasy worlds being under control.

  “There’s still the problem of the river,” she replied. “It seems to have wrapped itself completely around us.”

  “Yeah.” They’d reached the top of the hill, which was bald of everything except brush and a few graceful trees, and from their vantage could clearly see that they were surrounded by water.

  “Well,” he said after a moment, “I guess we wait.”

  Drusilla looked at him. “Wait? That’s hardly a heroic response.” Or a heroic adventure. What was going wrong tonight? Why couldn’t she slay dragons, defeat wizards and just generally star in her own video game?

  “Maybe not,” he said, patting his mount on the neck. “But the truth of the matter is, Drusie, Olfard can’t keep this up forever. He’s an old man. He’ll get tired, and the spell will wane, and next thing you know, we’ll be crossing dry land.”

  She scowled at him. “My hero.”

  He laughed. “Brains beat brawn any day. Well, any day you’re dealing with a cantankerous old wizard.”

  She wanted to argue with him but had trouble coming up with a good reason to. Then it struck her. “My dad is seriously ill, you know. I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

  Something in his face changed, surprising her. He was not the typical hero at all. Typical heroes didn’t get a soft look in their blue eyes, or a gentle curve to their mouths. “I’m sorry, Druse. I really am. How bad is it?”

  “He’s doing okay at the moment. But I don’t know how long it will last. And I have to find this key before…before…”

  She was going to cry. But tough warrior princesses didn’t cry, so she looked away and swung down from her saddle. With a quick gesture, she signaled Zeke and Tertio to take up watch a distance away. Far enough away that they wouldn’t see the glistening of her eyes. She wished she could send Miles even farther away. For some strange reason, she did not want him to see her weakness.

  Too late. He was already beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” he said quietly. “I’m really sorry. If you want to cry…”

  “No!” She barked the word and dashed her hand across her eyes. Princesses were tough. She’d been tough all her life, learning to be a fighter rather than a simpering clotheshorse, learning to deal without having a mother. Learning to be a woman in a man’s world because someday she was going to be
alone on the throne of Morgania.

  “You’re strong, Drusie,” Miles said, stepping back. “Tears aren’t weakness.”

  “Maybe not in your world.”

  “Anyway,” he continued, letting the subject drop, “Olfard has gotta run out of steam soon. Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to wield that damn staff of his?”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “No. Do you?”

  “I tried it once. While I was going to Behemoth taming school, I took a part-time job working for a wizard. Had to wield one of those damn staffs up and down and all around, and when you’re doing the water thing, it weighs a ton. I vastly prefer charming Behemoths.”

  “Do you have any other kind of magic?”

  He smiled. “Could be. Maybe you’ll find out.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of that glint in his eye. Deciding it was safest to ignore it, she tethered her horse to a tree near some tasty grass and sat cross-legged on the ground, watching the river that ran all around the base of the hill.

  A minute later Miles joined her, sitting near enough to be present, but not near enough to make her uneasy.

  “Why,” she asked him, “do you think he did this?”

  “Krusti Olfard? Who knows. The guy’s cranky. We’re too close. What other excuse does he need?”

  “Well, if we were too close, why didn’t he just use the river to drive us south? Why did he encircle us?”

  Miles rubbed his chin; she could hear the rasping of the stubble on his cheeks. “Good question,” he said presently. “But there’s no explaining Krusti.”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve met him. Briefly. He doesn’t encourage gabfests. In fact, he’s single-minded, if you ask me. When he gets to waving that staff of his, you’d better get out of his way.”

  “Well, I don’t care what his problem is. I haven’t got forever to get that key.”