Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey Page A

in my room.”
    She nodded and hurried off. Beckor helped the man sit, straightened, and glanced up at the sky. Who this man was, what he was doing so far from his usual haunts ... all those questions could be answered at a later time. Now, the most important task ahead was to treat his wound. Vkandis would provide guidance beyond that.
     
    Sosha sat in the afternoon shade, staring at the stranger, who had finished a small meal she had provided from Beckor’s store. The blood cleaned from his face, medicine liberally applied, and a strip of clean cloth tied around his forehead, he looked in far better shape than when she had first seen him. The cut over his left eye proved not as deep as she had feared, but head wounds always bled heavily. His eye and the side of his face were swollen but, after careful inspection, Beckor had announced clear vision would return in a few days. The blood down his side had originated from his head wound, though deep purple bruises showed he had suffered more than one hard blow.
    There was something about this man. She could hardly keep from gazing at him. He still kept silent, having said no more than ten words since arriving in Sweetwater. And yet, she felt oddly comfortable around him now, with Beckor close by.
    The priest sat in the grass as the man drained the last of the water from his cup. Sosha waited patiently for Beckor to ask the questions that filled her mind.
    “You have Sosha here to thank for bringing you to me,” the priest said. “Now, I think it’s time you tell us about yourself. Your name would be helpful.”
    The man looked from Beckor to Sosha and back. “Torgon. My name’s Torgon. I’m from Sunhame. If I tell you more, I could be placing you at risk.”
    Sunhame? Sosha straightened at that piece of information. Sunhame lay over four days’ walk from Sweetwater. What was he doing this far from home? And what risk did he pose?
    “That tells me little,” Beckor said, “aside from your name. Why would you be placing us at risk? Who have you angered enough to ride you down this far away from Sunhame?”
    Torgon’s mouth tightened.
    “It’s ours to decide whether we’ll take a risk by helping you.” Beckor cocked his head and held his gaze steady. Sosha looked from the priest to the man named Torgon, her heart doing an absurd quick beat. Beckor reached out and touched the man’s knee. “Tell us. Perhaps we can help.”
    Torgon barked a short laugh. “Against the two who ambushed me? Unless you have some bully boys or men-at-arms hidden in this village, you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you could guess.”
    Insulted, Sosha drew her head back. “We be not defenseless here,” she said. “Lot of our menfolk be big and sometimes mighty mean.”
    Beckor laughed quietly. “She’s right about that. Get a few of them in their cups, and you’ll behold a sight or two. Who are these men?”
    Torgon spread his hands apart, as if giving in. “All right. The risk is yours. I am, or was, a retainer to Lord Jhasko. He’s a merchant with a heart cold as winter who bought his way to a title. I also served as his bodyguard and messenger.” He glanced around as if he feared other ears could hear. “I doubt there’s a shady deal made under the Sunlord’s eye he hasn’t taken to a level that only the lowest of men would contemplate. I was privy to his secrets, don’t you see. And the last secret I had knowledge of was the worst. Jhasko’s greed for gold had corrupted him past the point I could tolerate. And, trust me, I’d tolerated a good lot before. This time, he wanted me to murder his chief rival.”
    Sosha lifted a hand and covered her mouth. Murder? Sunlord protect them all! There might be rare outbursts of violence in Sweetwater, but those usually resulted from too much ale or downright jealousy. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ended up badly hurt. And, as far as she knew, no one in recent memory had ever contemplated cold-blooded