“Nia says that there’s something important you need to do.”
Paxia stopped and raised an eyebrow.
“My Companion,” Adouin explained, gesturing the magnificent animal beside him. “Her name is Nia, and she told me that we needed to speak. She has something you need to see.”
This time when Paxia looked over at the Companion, she was surprised to see Nia drop her gaze and look to the side, as if the animal was ashamed. The smith knew the Companions were more than they seemed, but that reaction seemed oddly human.
“What does she need to show me?” Paxia asked. “What is it she wants of me?”
“She says you won’t believe words. We need to show you. It involves your watchers.”
Paxia’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. Adouin’s eyebrows squeezed together as he offered a shrug and held out his hands in front of him with the palms up. But the Companion kept her head turned away. The mere mention of the watchers magnified their intensity, and Paxia had to take a few quick breaths as her skin crawled.
“Please?” Adouin asked. “If not for you, for the children?”
Afraid to trust her voice, Paxia nodded, walking along beside the Herald, his Companion on the far side of them. Their path took them to another horse, this one brown and tethered to a stake in the ground.
“Nia didn’t think you would trust her to carry you,” Adouin offered as way of explanation.
The group set off at a fast pace to the east, crossing over the plains at a steady rate. The entire time, Paxia’s mind rolled over the possibilities, but she couldn’t come up with any idea of what the Companion wanted to show her. The smith’s legs squeezed the mount harder, and her fists squeezed the reins until her knuckles whitened from the strain.
After a few minutes, Paxia realized the strain that had followed her for years lightened as if brushed away by the wind of their travel. With each successive stride it grew lighter until it vanished, and no trace remained. She pulled back on her reins, pulling to a stop that left her mount’s hooves sliding through the grass.
Paxia sat for a moment, feeling a freedom she’d never experienced since she was a child. The world burst into life in a way that she had never imagined possible. The aura around the Companion increased in intensity, but even beyond that, the ground itself seemed alive. The smith saw a current of power running under their feet, something she knew she could touch.
“What . . . ?” she managed to say.
Adouin and Nia came close, just an arm’s reach away. The Herald reached out and placed one of his hands on the smith’s shoulder. She twitched at the touch, but turned her head to look at Adouin out of the corner of her vision.
“Nia says this can be your life. That you will be happier here.”
“How?” Paxia asked. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation of the cost for such a future.
“You can never return to Valdemar. Nia says you’re special, like a Herald, but you can’t live in Valdemar any longer. You’re a threat to others . . . and yourself.”
Paxia froze, not blinking as she stared at Adouin. He continued, talking faster to try to soothe the pain. “You’ll be happier here. You won’t have to worry about the watchers, whatever they are. Nia says—”
“You knew about this?” Paxia growled, cutting him off. Her eyes shifted to the Companion, who twisted her neck to look away.
Adouin opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but Paxia roared and grabbed the Herald’s arm, yanking hard and pulling him out of the saddle to slam against the ground with a grunt. Before Nia could react, Paxia launched herself out of the saddle, wrapping her arms around the Companion’s neck and pulling her to the ground with her sheer weight.
The Companion scrambled, kicking up dirt and making the other horse panic, driving it off a short distance. Paxia rolled over her shoulder up to her feet and yanked her hammer free from her belt. The sheer level of betrayal running through her powered her motions beyond any rational thought.
“You knew,” she growled. “All these years you knew and did nothing. You just let me suffer. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a child and watched all the time and have others think you’re crazy every day?”
Mad with rage, she swung her hammer at Nia. The Companion got her feet under her enough to dance away before the weapon came close to connecting.
Adouin recovered and lunged at Paxia with his sword, moving between the smith and his Companion. She jumped back and swatted at his blade with her hammer, making it ring as it cut through empty air.
“What are you doing?” he screamed.
“How many others have you left behind?” Paxia screamed back as she charged. She whipped her hammer back and forth with a strength and speed only possible through years of working a forge and using the pounding of steel to hide from the feeling of being scrutinized.
Adouin tried to keep up, but he lacked the skills to match her power. The best he managed was to retreat while trying to deflect any blows that came too close. He stumbled, falling back and lifting his sword up to try and stave off her blow.
She brought her hammer down and shattered his sword, sending the broken end into his shoulder. He cried out and she lifted her hammer once again, holding it high above her head. As she started to bring it down, two thousand pounds of horseflesh slammed into her shoulder, driving her across the ground and sending her weapon flying from her hand.
Nia charged forward, the ground shaking under the impact of her hooves as she ran at the smith again. Paxia rose up to her knees and lifted her arms in front of her, pulling on the energy she felt beneath her. The Companion rose up on her back legs and brought her front hooves down. They struck an invisible barrier, making her bounce and slide off to the side. She tried again, but met with the same resistance, unable to get closer to her target.
“Nia . . .” The weak call pulled the Companion from her defensive rage, and she turned to her Herald. Adouin stood with one hand pressed against his shoulder, blood seeping into his clothes around his fingers. “Please . . . stop.”
The Companion snorted and walked back to Adouin, keeping Paxia within view of one of her blue eyes the entire time. She nuzzled the Herald with a light touch in his uninjured shoulder.
The smith stood up, hands clenched in fists, but not yet advancing.
“I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know why you have such hatred for Nia, but I promise, she did nothing to hurt you.” He paused, and his mouth hung open a small amount. He glanced at his Companion before shaking his head and turning back to Paxia. “Nothing intentional. There was nothing she could do.”
With a wince, he climbed up on Nia’s back. Paxia lowered her head and glared at them through her eyebrows.
“You should not return to Valdemar,” Adouin said.
“So now you banish me after torturing me and driving me to madness?” Paxia barked a laugh without warmth. “I will return home, and I’ll make sure you’re paid your due.”
The Herald opened his mouth to say something but stopped and swallowed, wavering a bit in his saddle. “I’m sorry,” he offered before Nia turned and they galloped back to Valdemar.
Paxia spit on the ground as they left and watched them disappear into the distance. Walking over to her hammer, she snatched it up and went to retrieve the mount left behind.
She would return to Valdemar, but first she needed to learn what she was capable of—and how she could use that to find her justice.
Woman’s Need Calls Me
Mercedes Lackey
Woman’s need calls me as woman’s need made me.
Her need will I answer as my maker bade me.
—INSCRIPTION ON THE BLADE OF THE MAGE-FORGED SWORD, “NEED”
“Why is it that whenever the great powers fight, it’s always the little people that get screwed?” asked Melysatra.
Since she was riding on a tiny,
dusty track over rolling hills covered in grass and scrub, with the only sign of life an occasional wild goat peering at her as she passed, and the horse was not going to answer, this question might have seemed rhetorical.
However . . .
:Because avalanches don’t take votes from the pebbles before they fall,: said the familiar voice that sounded as if it were coming from somewhere in between her ears.
Mel cocked her head to the side. “That—sounds really good,” she said admiringly. “You ought to have it embroidered as a motto or something.”
:Cute. Where would I hang it?:
“I could have it tooled into your sheath?”
:Huh. Not an altogether bad idea. By the way, did you just pick a direction at random when we left the Temple-hostel, or have you an idea of where we’re going?:
“Well . . . you’re the one that picked the Temple as a destination in the first place, if you’ll recall. Not that I objected.” Mel chuckled. “The looks on those bastards’ faces when we carved them into tiny giblets when they thought I was just a single, simple Mage, easily overpowered? Priceless. That would have been worth the trip alone. But to answer your question . . . I sort of picked a direction at random. We’re headed away from what used to be Ma’ar’s Tower, which is all I really care about.” She shuddered. “We’re going to need to put a lot of distance between us and that particular disaster if we’re going to get someplace where the Mage Storms are weak enough to survive.”
:We’re that far now,: Need informed her.
She looked down at the sword at her side and patted the hilt.
“I’d like to get a lot farther,” she replied. “And yes, I know you can warn me in time to get into shelter, but those things are officially not what I consider to be a good time.”
The sword was quiet for a moment. :We’re about to get into forest. And there’s running water crossing the path ahead of us when we get there.:
“You’re making me soft, lazy, and forgetful of my foraging and scouting skills, sister.”
:No, I’m not. I’m just saving you time.:
The conversation, half aloud and half silent, continued until the pair approached the predicted forest. It was idle banter more than actual conversation; Mel had been Need’s bearer for four decades now and was well into a fifth. She’d been a low-level Mage in Urtho’s army, valuable as much for the fighting skills Need gave her as for her magic—although she used the little she had very cleverly. They’d survived the war between Urtho and Ma’ar, they’d survived the frantic exodus of Urtho’s people by jumping through a Gate that dumped them in the middle of the wilderness alone, and so far, they had survived the wilderness and the Mage Storms.
But truth to tell, Mel was getting tired of it all. Given her druthers, she’d “druther” settle down somewhere, start a nice little inn, experiment with some of those beer and wine recipes she’d collected over the years, do a little healing magic, a little hedge wizardry. There was just one small problem with that plan.
The sword, Need. Need had been created, back before the Mage Wars, as an instrument of justice, specifically for women. She was exceptionally special, even among magic swords. If you were a magician, she gave you all the skills of an expert swordswoman. If you were a swordswoman, she served as a magician. But the key to all this was that you had to be a woman. Need could only be used by a woman. And she was very picky about whom she selected. After decades of Need saving her pert ass, Mel felt an obligation to find someone Need really, really wanted to partner with, because there was a price to be paid for the partnership. When Need sensed women in trouble, she had to go there and either she, her partner, or both would have to solve the situation. So far, a woman Need approved of had not crossed their paths.
Then again, if Mel created that inn, maybe such a woman would come to them. It was worth considering and putting to her partner as an option.
But first they had to find a town that had figured out how to survive the Storms. They hadn’t been very lucky in that, so far. The nearest they had come had been that Temple they’d just left. Which . . . was a nice place, but they were an Order of teetotalers, and an inn that serves no beer or wine never survives for long. Mel wasn’t a bad cook . . . but she wasn’t good enough to make up for the lack of liquor.
All this went through her mind as she set up a secure, defensible camp, set out subtle alarm traps, and picketed the horse with grass and water in reach and a small pile of oats. Then she got water, started the fire, got one pot of what would be oat porridge started to cook overnight in the coals, and a second of what would be supper with jerky and dried vegetables over the fire. The good thing about being in a forest tomorrow would be that she’d be able to actually see any game that got scared up, and hopefully she would shoot something. Out on the grasslands, rabbits were just movement in the tall grass. And, of course, there would be plenty of fuel. The bad thing was that it would be a lot easier for things to sneak up on her at night.
:Mel, I’m getting a vague feeling of wrong ahead of us,: Need finally said as she was waiting for the jerky to turn back into meat and the water to turn into broth.
“Like calling you?” Mel asked.
:More like a whole village is in trouble,: the sword replied. :I’m hearing the females, but it’s a sense that everyone is involved.:
Mel perked up at that. A village endangered would mean a lot of grateful people if she and Need solved their problem. A lot of grateful people meant a lot of spare beds—or at least, beds by the fire, in a cottage—and a lot of cooked meals before she wore out her welcome. And maybe I can convince Need about settling, starting that inn, and letting her next bearer come to us . . .
“Well, that sounds like an opportunity to me,” she replied. “Obviously it’s more than a day’s ride?”
:Three or four at a guess, depending on how straight and clear that track is.: Need definitely sounded all right with them going in that direction. :It’s a level of urgent concern but not panic at the moment.:
“So we don’t have to ride hell-for-leather. Good, I’m not sure old Sam is up to that.” Sam had been a gift from the Temple, and a princely one at that. He was a genuine warhorse, full stallion and all; he was past middle age, but his breed was good in service until they were thirty, occasionally older. She’d happily left the mule she’d ridden in on with the Temple. The mule had happily stayed. Combat had not suited her; mules are, after all, pacifists by nature.
By this time, the sky was dark and full of stars, and the sunset was just a lingering red line on the western horizon. Mel tasted her soup, decided it was done enough, and polished it off, burying the pot of oats and water in the coals and ashes and covering it to keep any unwanted visitors out. Her bedroll was ready; all she had to do was get into it. She’d done a quick wash when fetching the water. And one thing she never needed to do was set a watch. Need never needed to sleep.
“Good night, partner,” she murmured, patting the sword laid ready beside the bedroll.
:Sleep well, partner.:
* * *
• • •
This is some incredibly old forest, Mel thought, for about the hundredth time since they had entered its outskirts. From the outside, she had not realized just how huge and ancient the trees were, because the margins were first new-growth, then what she would have normally considered “mature” trees. But then . . . then the trees had gotten bigger, and bigger, until most of them had trunks it would take ten or more men, arms completely outstretched, to circle. The trunks went straight up and up, only spreading out into a canopy when they were so high above her that the thought of climbing them made her dizzy.
It seemed impossible that a forest this old could have survived the war, but it had. And now there was no one to ask why it had survived . . . but some of the people who had scouted the first escape Gates had reported back “huge forest,” before they grabbed supplies and started
ushering people through, so maybe some of Urtho’s folk were to be found in here.
:Village should be coming into view about now,: Need warned her. Despite the size of the tree trunks, Mel could still see a reasonable distance down the track. A bright spot between the trunks appeared.
That’s probably the sunlight on the cleared spot where the village is. Need didn’t seem to think there was any more urgency than there had been before, so she kept a Sam to a steady pace—
Or rather, she tried . . . because as that bright area got wider, his ears perked up, he arched his crest, flagged his tail, flared his nostrils, and broke into a trot. Not the most comfortable of paces, but Mel couldn’t blame him. He must have smelled other horses, and he knew that where there were horses, there was hay and oats and maybe mares.
So she rode into the village looking to the untutored eye like a triumphant warrior. As long as you looked at Sam and not too closely at her.
Sam stopped at the dead center of the village and struck a pose, looking around for the other horses. And since everyone in the entire village had just been alerted by the sound of his heavy hooves pounding the track, the curious gathered.
:That’s a good sign,: Need observed, and indeed, it was. In plenty of the villages that Mel had ridden into, the sound of a warhorse drove people into hiding, it didn’t lure them out to see who it was.
While Mel waited for someone nominally in charge to turn up, she got a good look at the village and was both surprised and pleased. There must have been at least thirty to forty substantial buildings, from wooden-shingled cottages to a couple of three-story houses that a relatively wealthy merchant or farmer would not have been ashamed to own. Not surprising in a forest like this, they were all made of wood, although unlike any other house she had ever seen, they were black. After a moment, she figured out that the black was tar that had been used to waterproof them instead of paint. And the very oldest of these buildings looked as though they had been here for at least a couple of centuries.
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