Heroes at Odds

Table of Contents

 

 

 

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

 

RESENTING THE HERO
THE HERO STRIKES BACK
HEROES ADRIFT
HEROES AT RISK
HEROES RETURN
HEROES AT ODDS

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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.

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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

ISBN : 978-1-101-52926-3

 

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Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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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.

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
S
s, 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 outside 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.”