Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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The bear's name was Dof. Mooti wanted to throw him away. "My daughter shouldn't have such
ragged old things! We'll get you a new bear." And they did, but he wasn't Dof. I hid him, and
brought him out to cuddle when she wasn't looking.
"Keep your mind on what you're doing, girl!" Shyll called, watching her with the eyes he had in the back
of his head, while he went through his own drill. Whilekhyd-hird was gone, he'd taken over her
war-training. "Are you going to daydream while you're in a fight? Then you mustn'tnow ."
She allowed herself one last stray thought, before narrowing her concentration to the one steely path.I
wonder what happened to him, when the mob went through the house? Just an old stuffed bear,
not worth anything, no one would want him—burned .
Once I was naked, in front of a crowd of Zak… No, don't think about that, she told herself.
Nothing undoes the past . But somehow, if she woke in the dead of night before dawn—why do I
wake then? I never used to— she couldn't make her thoughts go where she wanted them to, or not go
where she didn't. Sometimes it came because she was half-dreaming, making things happen that weren't
only horrible but strange; sometimes when she was fully awake, she couldn't control her thoughts, as if
the dark of night leeched away her power over her own mind.
I won't remember. The day, blindingly sunny, the cold wind full of the smells of harbor, and sea beyond.
The crowd that had gathered, having heard the news on the street or in inns;they all hate us . That was
usual, but today it was unusually naked on the small Zak faces. Fater, Mooti, Francosz, her, the servants,
all wore their festival best on the draped dais.Fatted cattle; in hindsight it looked that way.
She'd been twelve. All she had heard was that the Zak woman with the steel claws was a witch and an
enemy, with no great regard for the life of anyone in her way; the other woman a plain savage. They'd
race her father's proxies, three Schvait, the stakes—a bond, did that mean the witch and the barbarian
would be her father's slaves, if they lost? In the house; she didn't think that was a good idea. She didn't
like them, never wanted to see them again.Their stake was "a favor". She thought that meant some kind
of errand.
Then came the barbarian's bow-shot, the gull with the arrow through it falling at their feet, her mother
fainting…All anyone ever said was that her head-sounded hollow when it hit the dais. Always
laughing. No one ever asked whether she was hurt .
She couldn't see most of the race, only knew by the hungry whooping of the crowd that her father's
proxies had lost. Then Francosz was chasing the clown—Piatr, she'd find out his name was,
later—around the dais with a knife, feeling somehow that he was somehow the source of all their
troubles. The witch had hexed Franc, then turned him to stone until the judge called her off. But Franc
had been right, it seemed; for as her "favor" the witch asked only the clown.A friend of hers. He was
bewitching us, too .
I guess we go home now, she had thought then.
But instead the barbarian woman seized Francosz and her by the wrist. "That doubles my price," she'd
said, when Fater had called her what she was: barbarian.Else she wouldn't have taken me. Maybe.
She's never really insulted when people call her that; it was just an excuse . That face, so haughty,
carved like stone in smug cruelty as if it could know no other expression, the harsh voice, deep for a