Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey

Author:Mercedes Lackey
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA), Inc.
Published: 2010-10-20T04:00:00+00:00

She didn’t try to talk to Jarek, and cautioned Erki with hand signs to keep quiet. She couldn’t have them sounding like children, and nothing was going to warm this man up until she accomplished something.

Of course, when one needed everything to go right, it would invariably go wrong. Shortly, a party became visible ahead. They were on tall horses with no wagons. A patrol.

She’d gain nothing by withholding the information, and it was unlikely they’d suddenly turn east and clear the way.

“Party ahead,” she said clearly and simply.

“I wonder if it’s too late to turn west,” Jarek said loudly. “Men, arm up!”

“Wait!” she called. “I will go and treat with them. Erki, take this,” she said, handing him the map satchel.

She galloped ahead, both to avoid the tension of two armed parties meeting and to get away from Jarek’s scared but derisive laughter.

She slowed to a canter once she had space. She watched the soldiers to see how they reacted. They faced her and kept moving at a walk. That was encouraging so far. She matched that pace. No need to rush to meet death.

Gulping and sweating, she remembered her position. She was the warrior. Her duty was to protect these people. With that in mind, she sat tall in the saddle and approached, doing her best to look casually proud and secure in her status. They weren’t in livery, but that meant nothing. Her own people didn’t wear set colors.

She brushed her bow with her fingertips. She might have to draw, shoot, and drop it before reverting to steel. She wished for one of the short, laminated bows of the plains people. Hers was a longbow of two horns with a center grip, stronger but awkward from horseback. She was a foot warrior, not a plains rider. She wished she had time to don her mail.

Her opposite number was a bearlike man she knew she could never beat in any fight. She might cripple him, but even that was a long roll of the dice. Once inside bow range she had nothing but projection and attitude. Still, his bearded face and shaven head were visible because he was unhelmed. That was a helpful sign. His three compatriots followed his lead.

“I am Riga of the Kossaki,” she said simply. No rankings here. They’d just sound silly. “I am guide and escort for these refugees.” She wondered which languages they spoke.

“Balyat of the Toughs,” the man said in broken Danik. “What is your destination?” She could comprehend.

“I won’t discuss that,” she replied. “It is north, as you see, and away from here. That’s enough for you.” Had she delivered that properly? She wanted to sound firm but not arrogant.

“If you go that way, we won’t call you hostile,” he said. “But we don’t speak for our employer.”

“Good to know we might only be killed for money, not for care, mercenary,” she said. Four of them. She might take the smallest down before she died, if she was quick. She held the shiver to a bare twitch.

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