Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

“They’ll go looking for my body,” Torgon objected. “If they want to be hired by Jhasko again, they can’t return to Sunhame without some proof they killed me.”

Beckor nodded. “Then we’ll give them proof you died.”

“But that be lying!” Sosha exclaimed.

“There are worse things than lying in the Sunlord’s sight. Murder and attempted murder offend him far more than a lie spoken to protect another person from death.”

The following morning, Zaltos’s parents still asleep and her attendance at the rising sun celebration over, Sosha gathered up grain for her chickens. The sun rose in a sky rinsed clear by nighttime rain. She opened the door to the henhouse and slipped inside, greeted by happy clucking and rustling of feathers. Scattering the feed, she picked up her wooden pail, shut the door, and eased inside the barn. Her horse lifted its head and nickered softly from its stall.

“Torgon?” she called softly. “Be you awake?”

“I am,” came his voice from the shadows. He crawled out from a pile of straw, strands of it clinging to his hair. The swelling had gone down from his face and he moved less stiffly.

“Brought you some breakfast.” She pulled a large sausage and a piece of herb-bread wrapped in cloth from the bottom of the pail. “Hope you don’t mind a few kernels of grain. Had to feed the chickens.”

He unwrapped the bread and sausage. “That’s good,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

She watched him eat, her mind wandering to the night before. Beckor had hidden Torgon in his room, out of sight from anyone who might come looking. After sharing the evening meal with Zaltos’s parents, Sosha returned to the chapel to find Torgon clad in different clothes. Gone were his boots, his blood-stained tunic, as well as his breeches. Beckor was off somewhere, so she waited with Torgon for him to return. They said little to each other, she still somewhat shy in his presence and he wrapped in what must be his memories of violence.

When Beckor reappeared, he refused to say what he had done to give proof Torgon was dead. If she didn’t know, ignorance would provide protection from questioning. Then, under the cover of night, she led Torgon to her house and left him in the barn. Unsheathing his sword, he placed it close at hand and settled down half-hidden by the pile of straw.

Now, as she stood beside him, she felt a creeping unease. Last night, she had trusted Beckor and whatever it was he had planned, but that was then. Today was now, and she feared the two assassins might come to Sweetwater searching for their prey.

“Just ain’t right,” she said, looking up into Torgon’s face. “Nobody should kill nobody for no reason.”

“I certainly won’t argue with you,” he replied. He touched his forehead, wincing slightly. “Some things are even too dark for a lout like me.”

“Don’t think you be a lout,” she protested. “Now keep quiet in here. Sorry for such a boring place.”

“Boring’s good when the alternative is facing frustrated assassins.” His eyes met hers. “You need to take care. Go about your business as if it was a day like any other. And don’t hover around the barn. I’ll be all right. If anyone passes by, forget you ever saw me.”

The sun hung low on the western horizon when two men rode into Sweetwater, to all appearances travelers headed in the direction of Sunhame. Beckor watched them from the front door of the chapel. Big men both, clad in leather and fully armed. Oddly enough, they led a riderless horse. Then, from his vantage point, he could see one of them had his right thigh wrapped in a torn rag. Sunlord protect! he thought. It’s the assassins who tried to kill Torgon! Beckor studiously avoided looking in their direction. They halted by the tavern, dismounted, and went inside—simple wayfarers looking for a place to spend the night before continuing their journey.

Beckor murmured a prayer to Vkandis Sunlord. The game had begun, and he hoped he had prepared a proper ending to it. Something strange had been set in motion when Sosha had found Torgon wounded by the side of the road. And he couldn’t discount the dream that had come shortly before sunrise. He had seen Sosha standing next to Torgon, and between them, tail curled around front paws, sat a large golden cat. Golden? For a brief moment, the cat had grown in size, to be transformed into a Firecat! Words that were not words filled Beckor’s mind: Keep these two together.

Dusk approached, and he entered the chapel to prepare for the sunset service. He clad himself in his vestments, slipped the heavy gold chain of a sun-priest around his neck, and returned to the altar, waiting for the villagers to assemble. One by one, they filed through the open doors and took their accustomed places. He sought and found Sosha, met her eyes and nodded. But arriving last of all, the two assassins entered the chapel, quiet and respectful as any resident of Sweetwater would be.