Mercedes Lackey: Winds Of Fate

Kerowyn was certainly an amazing person. Lithe, strong, and with a face even her critics had to call "striking," she would have had dozens of suitors if it hadn't been for the fact that she and Herald Eldan discouraged even the most persistent with their devotion to one another.

The Captain had been blessed with a head of hair as bright as newminted gold and thick as a horse's tail. And despite the fact that she was literally old enough to be Elspeth's mother, it showed no sign of graying.

Whatever Kerowyn's past life had been like, it had left no outward marks on her. And from the stories Kero had told over the past few years, she'd been through enough to gray the hair of four women.

For that matter, her present was just as hectic, and it hadn't left that much of a mark on her. She juggled two dedications, Herald and mercenary Captain, either one of which would have been a full-time career for anyone else.

And there are plenty of folk who think she should stick to one or the other... Elspeth smiled to herself. Those were the same folk who were mightily annoyed that the Herald Captain wouldn't wear Whites unless it was ordered by the Queen herself. She compromised-if one could call it that-by wearing the same kind of dark gray leathers the Weaponsmaster favored. And the Queen smiled and held her peace. Like Alberich, Kerowyn was a law unto herself.

"Besides, you have all the resources of the armory at your disposal," Kerowyn said over her shoulder, as she hefted another corselet in need of repair-this one of metal scale, a mending task Elspeth didn't even want to think about. "You wouldn't have that in the field. Be grateful I don't demand that you fix it with what folks carry in their field kits." Elspeth bit back a retort and spread the shirt out over the bench she was sitting on, giving the armor the kind of careful scrutiny she imagined Kero must have.

Well, it isn't as bad as I thought, she decided, after a second examination proved that some of the worst places had already been repaired.

Evidently the Captain had taken that much pity on her...She bent to her task, determined to make as good a job of it as Kerowyn would.

Her determination did not last more than a few moments.

Someone distracted her as soon as she turned her attention to a tricky bit of stitchery that had to be picked out without ruining the leather. A whisper of air was all that warned her of the attacker's rush-but that was all the warning she needed. What Weaponsmaster Alberich had not pounded into her, the Herald Captain was making certain she learned, and in quick-time, too. And Kerowyn was a past master of the unconventional.

:Gwena!: she screamed mentally, as she acted on what had become reflex. She tumbled off her bench, hit the hard wooden floor with her shoulder, and rolled. She came up on the balls of her feet, poised and ready, the tiny knife she'd been using to cut the stitches still in her hand. Her heart pounded, but from battle-readiness, not fear.

She found herself facing someone who had recovered just as rapidly as she had; he stood in a near-identical pose on the opposite side of the bench, and she sized him up quickly. Taller and heavier than she, an anonymous male, in nondescript clothing, his face wrapped in a scarf and head covered with a tight hood, so that all she could see were his wary eyes.

A thousand fleeting thoughts passed through her mind in that moment of analysis. Uppermost was a second mental scream for help to her Companion Gwena. Hard on the heels of that was the sudden question: Why doesn't Kero do anything? She glanced out of the corner of her eye. The Captain stood with arms crossed, watching both of them, no discernible expression on her handsome face.

The obvious answer was implied by the question. Because she was expecting this.

And because Kerowyn was a Herald and her Companion Sayvil would never permit her to betray another, and further, because Elspeth's own Companion Gwena was not beating down the doors of the salle to get in and help her stand off this attacker, it followed that the "assassin" was nothing of the sort.

Her heart slowed a little, and she dared a mental touch. Nothing: her assailant was shielded. Which meant he knew how to guard his thoughts, which only another Mindspeaker could do.

And a closer look at the bright brown eyes, and the additional clue of a curl of black hair showing outside the assailant's hood gave her all the information she needed to identify him.

" Skif," she said flatly, relaxing a little.

"Good girl," came the voice in her mind. "I told Sayvil you'd figure this out before it got anywhere, but she didn't believe me." She shifted her gaze over to Kerowyn, though without taking Skif out of her line of sight. "This was a setup, wasn't it?" she asked the older woman. "You never really intended for me to fix that armor." Kero shrugged, not at all discomfited. "Hell, yes, I did. And tomorrow, you will. But I also intended for you to figure out that you could," she temporized as Skif relaxed minutely. "That's a good thing for you to know if you're ever in the situation I described. If you don't know you can do something, it doesn't occur to you as an option. But don't relax," her voice sharpened as Skif started to come out of his crouch and Elspeth followed suit. "Just because you've identified him, that doesn't mean that the rest of the exercise is canceled. Take it up where you left off."

"With this?" Elspeth looked doubtfully at the tiny knife in her hand.

"With that-and anything else you can get your hands on. There're hundreds of things you can use in here, including that bench." Kerowyn frowned slightly. "Anything can be a weapon, child. It's time you learned to improvise." Kerowyn did not have to outline the reasons for that statement; even if the current interkingdom situation had been full of light and harmony, there would always be the risk of someone with a grudge or grievance-or even a simple lunatic-who would be willing to risk his life to assassinate the next in line to the throne of Valdemar.

And with at least two enemies on the borders, Hardorn and Karse, the political situation was far from harmonious.

Still-Anything can be a weapon? what on earth is she talking about?

But she didn't have time to question the statement in detail. Elspeth went back on guard just in time to dodge Skif's rush for her.

She sidestepped him and reversed the knife, not wanting to really hurt him, and feinted for his eyes with the wooden hilt. He recognized the feint for what it was and ignored it, Coming in to grapple with her. SO far he hadn't produced any weapons of his own.

So his "orders" must be to capture rather than to kill. That makes my job easier and his harder...Relatively easier. Skif had learned his hand-to-hand skills in the rough world of Haven's slums. Even the capital of Valdemar was prone to the twin problems of crime and poverty, and young Skif had been the godchild of both. Orphaned early, he had apprenticed himself to a thieving uncle, and when that worthy was caught, set up shop on his own. Probably only being Chosen had saved him from hanging like his uncle-or death at the hands of a competitor, like his mother.

His "style" was a mixture of disciplines-a kind of catch-all, "anything that works," devious, dirty, and deadly. The Queen's Own Herald, Talia, had learned quite a bit from him, but no one had ever thought to have him teach Elspeth as well. At least-not that. He had taught her knife throwing, which had saved her life and Talia's, but even Queen Selenay had been horrified a few short years ago at the notion of her Heir learning street-fighting. Elspeth had begged but to no avail.

Many things had changed in those few years. Among them, the arrival of Kerowyn, who had sent one of her commandos to prove to Selenay that she and her daughter needed the kind of protection only instruction in the lowest forms of fighting could provide. Alberich undertook the Queen's instruction; Kero and Skif got Elspeth's. The lessons were frequently painful.