No Quarter by Tanya Huff

any sane person would desire?"
    Usef frowned as he attempted to follow his Emperor's line of thought. "Control of an Imperial assassin?"
    "Immortality, Marshal. Immortality."
    *… first time was an accident. When the brigand speared me, I only knew that I didn't want to die. When oblivion began to close around me, I fought it—fought my way through it and out the other side. The next thing I knew, I was in the brigand's body and he was in mine. When I tried to go home, they only saw the body I wore.*
    Perched on the edge of the bench, forcing herself to remain still, Vree repeated Gyhard's story. Not until she finished, did she turn and look at Magda.
    The apprentice healer sat, bare feet up beside her, legs tucked into the circle of her arms, chin resting on her knees. Her dark eyes were locked on Vree's face.
    "What about the second time?" she said softly.
    *The second time?* Vree felt Gyhard move restlessly within the limits he'd set on himself. The second time,* he repeated, *was no accident…*
    He'd been Hinrich for seven years and that was seven years too long. In the beginning, hunted away from his home because of the body he wore, he'd thrown himself into his new identity. If his own family would treat him as a brigand, than a brigand he would be. He suspected that he hadn't been entirely sane those first few years although as he could remember every excess, every disgusting or violent act, insanity didn't seem like much of a defense.

    Later, after thieving and whoring had lost its appeal, he'd made a living of sorts from an ability to brutalize those smaller and weaker than himself. Finally, he'd ended up as a caravan guard for traders too poor or too stupid to hire anyone better. He'd crossed the mountains into Cemandia with two ramshackle wagons full of junk and after drinking away his pay, such as it was, in a Cemandian tavern, he found himself heading back into the mountains again. He didn't know why. He only knew he didn't want to be Hinrich any longer.
    Three nights later, sober, cold, and hungry, he followed a stream to a shadowed pool, drawn by the smell of woodsmoke and roasting fish.
    "Lord and Lady!" The young man behind the fire snatched up a staff. "Where did you come from?"
    He turned and pointed back along the stream. "From Artis Falls." He thought that was the name of the town, but he was so hungry he wasn't sure.
    "Are you lost?"
    Was he lost? Clamping his teeth around a bitter laugh, he nodded, then, drawn by the smell of the food, he staggered forward another two steps.
    "Are you hungry? No, wait." A luminescent smile flashed in the dusk. "That's a stupid question. You're obviously starving. Well, the dogs caught their own dinner earlier on, so there's plenty for two." The crooked staff pointed across the fire. "Sit.
    It's almost done."
    Sitting turned into a barely controlled fall and a few moments later he was stuffing fish into his mouth too fast to taste it. Some kind of roasted roots followed
    — their Cemandian name meant nothing to him—and by the time he finished all he was offered, his brain had started working again. "Shepherd?" he asked as the sounds drifting in from the night began to make sense.
    "That's right." Again the smile. "Tomas."
    "Hinrich." But not for much longer.
    Tomas stirred the embers, a shock of dark hair falling forward over brilliant eyes. "You talk funny. You're not Cemandian, are you."
    "From Shkoder."
    The shepherd laughed. "If you're heading home, you've missed the pass."
    "I have no home."
    "Oh. I'm sorry." Tomas shifted about, then launched into a long story about his own home to cover his embarrassment.
    He didn't want to know about the shepherd's home. Or his past. Or his life.
    Knowing he was a shepherd was almost too much. He stood.
    Tomas paused and looked a question at him.
    "I need to wash." That was undeniable. He stepped toward the pool.
    "Be careful, it's deep."
    That would make it easier. Heart pounding, he knelt and stared at the water.
    The