Heroes at Odds Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  THE ULTIMATE IN FANTASY FICTION!

  Praise for the novels of Moira J. Moore

  Heroes Return

  “The characters and the world are wonderful . . . I really love this series.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “[The premise is] a fascinating concept . . . Heroes Return is an excellent addition to the series.”

  —Skunk Cat Book Reviews

  “I fell into Moira J. Moore’s world . . . the moment I started reading, and I did not surface again until the final page . . . another great installment in one of my very favorite series.”

  —Angieville

  Heroes Adrift

  “A lovely installment in a consistently entertaining series.”

  —Locus

  “Good entertainment in the romantic fantasy subgenre . . . Heroes Adrift is well paced, never bogging down . . . a pleasant way to spend the time.”

  —Grasping for the Wind

  Resenting the Hero

  “An enchanting fantasy that introduces two interesting and complex protagonists and a fascinating world . . . The tale has everything—magic, mayhem, a hint of romance and a thread of wry humor that keeps you entertained.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “An entertaining read . . . sure to be a hit with romance as well as fantasy readers.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Ace titles by Moira J. Moore

  RESENTING THE HERO

  THE HERO STRIKES BACK

  HEROES ADRIFT

  HEROES AT RISK

  HEROES RETURN

  HEROES AT ODDS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  HEROES AT ODDS

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / August 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Moira J. Moore.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-52926-3

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To the family and friends who bought my books to give them away.

  To those who reviewed my books on their blogs.

  To those who invited me to write guest posts on their blogs, or interviewed me.

  To the booksellers who put my books in the hands of their customers.

  To the librarians who added my books to their catalogs.

  To those who created pages about me on Wikipedia, TV Tropes and other websites to be tripped over by thousands.

  Thank you, all; this one’s for you.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my family and friends for all of their support and encouragement. I would like to thank my agent, Jack Byrne, and my editor, Anne Sowards, for all of their hard work.

  Chapter One

  I signed the letter “Shield Dunleavy Mallorough” and folded the thick document shut, sealing it with wax and stamping it with the Triple S emblem. More of a report than an actual letter, it was full of evasions, half-truths and omissions. To my regret, I had become adept at hiding inconvenient facts. I’d once prided myself on being honest.

  I ran my fingertip over the emblem. Three capital Ss, slightly overlapping, slightly descending in degrees of the horizontal. The first S symbolizing “Source,” a person able to touch the powerful forces behind earthquakes, tornadoes and other natural disasters, and channel them away, creating stability.

  The second S for “Shield,” the Source’s partner, able to protect the Source from the effects of channeling, the danger of ripping himself apart and being crushed like an eggshell while he worked.

  The third S for “Service,” the organization that housed and raised and trained Sources and Shields, and then watched over them as they performed their duties.

  The Source and Shield Service. The Triple S.

  As a Shield, one of my duties was to write reports about the activities of my Source and me, and the conditions of our environment. Circumstances had taught me that it wasn’t wise to be completely candid in them. I had come to believe the possible repercussions could be nasty. We could do things Sources and Shields weren’t supposed to be able to do. The Triple S suspected this. We’d been subjected to intimidating scrutiny in the past.

  Though recently not so much. No visits, no letters complaining of insubstantial reports. Nothing. It was as though we had, as far as the Triple S council was concerned, fallen over the edge of the world.

  Which was fine with me.

  I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to begin a much more pleasant piece of correspondence.

  A bird screeched just outsid
e my window, making me jump and swear in surprise. Flown Raven was the quietest part of the world in which I’d ever lived. Except for its birds, which were truly obnoxious. If I were crazy enough to believe birds could possess motives, I would think they were going out of their way to startle me.

  I had to admit to myself, and no one else, that I wasn’t madly in love with Flown Raven. It was a remote community, bizarre in its combination of tradespeople, whalers, fishers and farmers; people who worked very hard and very long and seemed able to crush iron with their bare hands. Any music, theatre and art were largely created by those same people during their scant spare time, which meant these cultural pleasures demonstrated true talent but lacked the complexity and variety to which I had grown accustomed. I had just moved to Flown Raven from High Scape. High Scape was a huge metropolis, with slews of theatres, music halls, sporting events and fabulous urban art. Flown Raven, well, in its way it was a much more staid place.

  I wrote a lot more letters in Flown Raven than I had anywhere else. It was something to do.

  A few moments later, my Source, Shintaro Ivor Cear Karish, slid into our suite, home from playing cards. I looked at him and smiled. He was so pretty, lean and golden with lightly slanted black eyes and slightly curling black hair. I had once preferred men who would be described as rugged, tall and broad with strong facial features. Taro taught me to love the fine and the slight.

  There had been a little bit of a distance between us until very recently. Immediately upon our arrival in Flown Raven, we had experienced some difficulties, and I had not reacted well to how those difficulties had been handled, needing a little time and space to myself. But we had gotten through that, and I was relieved and pleased.

  He leaned down to kiss me.

  “Did you not win, then?” I asked.

  “Of course, I did. I always win.”

  That was almost true. “Where’s your money?”

  “I felt bad for one of the players. She lost all she had. So I gave her my pot.”

  He didn’t need money. No one in the Triple S did. By law, we were to be given almost any goods we wished—clothing and food and even luxury items like jewelry—and a good many services, from anyone to whom we made the request.

  Which, by the way, made us so very popular with merchants and landlords and the like.

  Taro used coins merely as markers of how well he was playing. “Won’t that just encourage her to gamble more?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but at least I’ll know I had nothing to do with her downfall.”

  “That’s good of you.” But not unlike him. He was not a perfect man, of course, but he was a good one, and more considerate than many of the rumors about him properly demonstrated.

  He picked up the package destined for the Triple S. “What does this one say?”

  “The usual. Nothing much. Everything’s fine.”

  “They might get suspicious if you always say the same thing.”

  “I word it differently every time. I’m very clever, you know.” When it came to writing letters, anyway. I was pretty sure there were whole arenas of human endeavors in which I was completely dense.

  Hester, our new personal maid, came in without knocking and curtsied. I would never get used to that. We were living in the manor of the titleholder, Fiona Keplar, Duchess of Westsea and Taro’s cousin. She wasn’t required to house us in her private home, we could have lived at the closest tavern, but she was a generous person. And she no doubt knew that an extended stay on our part at the modest tavern would create enormous resentment in the landlord.

  “Sir, ma’am, Holder Mallorough, Trader Mika Mallorough, and Trader Dias Mallorough have arrived and are waiting in the sitting room.”

  I stared at her, my mouth open in absolute shock. “What? Did I—?” Get a letter I had forgotten? No, I couldn’t have. A surprise visit?

  I made an embarrassing sound, a whoop of joy, and ran from the room, hearing Taro laughing behind me. I nearly took a header down the stairs and I didn’t care. My brothers were there. I hadn’t seen them since my Matching, which had allowed us only a few moments, and it had been years before that since I’d had a decent conversation with them.

  And my mother? Well, I had seen her much more recently. The visit hadn’t gone well. She was used to children open to parental guidance. I was used to being left alone. We’d never really resolved that conflict, and she’d cut the visit short because of her distress.

  Not that it made me any less pleased with her coming. She was my mother. She was fun. And I had no doubt she would have reconciled herself with the lessons she had learned during our last visit.

  Taro followed me. I was pleased he did so without being asked, without feeling he might not be welcome.

  My mother was small and thin with dark auburn hair. My brothers were both tall and blond, Dias stocky while Mika was slim. My mother hugged me. Dias squeezed me too tight and I ruffled Mika’s hair. “I’m delighted you’re here,” I said. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? Are Father and Kaaren here or on their way?”

  “Someone had to stay behind to watch our coffers,” my mother answered. “Shintaro, lad, it’s lovely to see you looking so hale.” She wrapped my Source in an embrace. Taro was obviously surprised but hugged back easily enough. He did the same when Dias and Mika embraced him.

  “How long are you able to stay?” I asked.

  Fiona came into the room then, carrying her son, Stacin. “I was told we have guests.”

  “My lady,” I said formally, and I introduced her to my family.

  “Dunleavy, please, not so stiff. I am Fiona.” She held out a hand to be shaken, and my mother and brothers politely did so. I had been half afraid that they would try to hug her, too, but they restrained themselves. “And this is my son, Stacin.” He hid his face in her neck, and she cuddled him. “I am having rooms prepared for you. I hope you’ll agree to stay with us for the duration of your visit with Dunleavy.”

  My mother smiled broadly. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t protest that she didn’t want to inconvenience Fiona, as I would have, at which point Fiona would have insisted it was no trouble, and I would then have accepted her offer. I found my mother’s easy response a little shocking, but maybe it was a relief to those offering to just get acceptance and a thank you, rather than going through the circles strictly good manners demanded. “That is most generous of you.”

  “There is plenty of space, and Dunleavy is important to us.”

  Oh. Really? Fiona had been friendly with me from the moment I’d met her, but she was friendly with everyone.

  “Is it possible that we could retire to those rooms to wash up?” my mother asked. “We had a rather hard run.”

  She did appear a little windblown, though that could be merely a result of the fact that Flown Raven was a windy place. “You rushed? Why?”

  She smiled almost sadly and touched my shoulder. But she didn’t say anything to me. “My lady?”

  “Of course.” Fiona pulled on a bell cord. “Holder Mallorough, I’ve put you in one of the suites facing the east gardens. I have your sons sharing a room. I hope that is acceptable.”

  “Certainly. Thank you.”

  One of the maids arrived to take my family to their rooms. My mother and brothers appeared calm as they followed her out, but Dias shot me a strange look before stepping through the door. I frowned, wondering what that was about.

  “Anyone for a drink?” Fiona asked rather loudly. “I know I could use one.” She went to the liquor bar and, one handed, poured herself a tumbler of whiskey.

  Fiona had had a hard time recently. Her husband had died while whaling. Flown Raven had suffered some calamities, including the collapse of the wind rock, a necessary tool and considered a symbol of good luck to the local population. And that population wasn’t thrilled to have Fiona as a titleholder, though not because of anything she had done. They thought Taro, the brother of the original duke, should have taken the title. He had ref
used, and that had created a lot of resentment in a lot of people.

  Fiona might not feel awkward if she was the only one drinking, but I would. “Is there any white wine?” I asked.

  Taro grimaced. For no good reason. It wasn’t as though I was going to make him drink it.

  “We haven’t any chilled.

  “I don’t mind. No, no, I’ll get it myself.” Fiona had been trying to juggle child and whiskey in order to pour me some wine.

  So there I stood, sipping at warm wine I didn’t want, trying to figure out why my family was there. I had become a pessimist over the past few years. Surprises were rarely pleasant.

  Bailey stepped in to announce that the evening meal was ready to be served. The four of us silently moved to the dining room. Tarce, Fiona’s brother, was already seated at the table. Next to him was Roshni Radia, the Wind Watcher, who was currently unable to perform her duties, for a couple of different reasons.

  It was the first time I had seen her out of the room Fiona had given her. Her leg had been crushed in a rockslide that had destroyed her home. It was a miracle she’d been able to keep it, that it had healed as quickly as it had, and that she would be able to walk on it again. Still, it wouldn’t have been easy for her to make it down the stairs to the dining room.

  There didn’t appear to have been any discussion between the two, which wasn’t surprising. Radia had little patience for someone as useless and arrogant as Tarce, and Tarce was so madly infatuated with Radia that he didn’t know how to talk to her. It was funny, pathetic and embarrassing all at the same time.