Under The Vale And Other Tales Of Valdemar v(-105

by Mercedes Lackey

  Damn. That ruse, a trick Ree had used to frighten soldiers away, had come back to bite more than once. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been able to think of any other way to get the soldiers to leave and not come back—and they hadn’t come back, so Ree supposed he’d scared them good. It had worked. But he’d still left himself with a nasty mess that didn’t ever go away.

  The warmth of Jem’s hand on his didn’t help. Sometimes he had to remember there were other people and other places outside their special, protected relationship. “I don’t suppose you could tell them the Hobgoblin King isn’t happy about this but these creatures aren’t his or in his territory.” It wasn’t a question—Ree knew very well Lenar wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of that.

  “I’ve tried,” Lenar said, making Ree blink with surprise. Lenar had tried?

  Lenar laughed a little at Ree’s expression. “Of course, I tried, son. I want to keep you from trouble if I can, and Jem too, of course. Only I’m not a diplomat. I’m just an old soldier who got into more than he planned for.”

  Ree nodded. Well. Life, like raising children, was trouble, wasn’t it? But it had his compensations. He squeezed Jem’s hand, gently, making sure his claws weren’t unsheathed.

  The sun was setting when Jem climbed up to the attic bedroom to fetch little Garrad. He returned soon after, grim-faced. “They’re not there.”

  “How . . . They never came through here!”

  “No,” Jem said, his mouth set. “They opened the roof hatch and got out through it. You know Meren did that last week. Down the rain pipe to the shed roof.”

  And down the shed roof to the chicken house, where he’d tried to collect the eggs, only got the wrong ones. The poor broody hen would never recover from the shock.

  Ree swallowed. He half stood before he even thought of the words. His mouth was dry. the trouble those two could get into . . . It didn’t bear thinking. If he was lucky he’d just find them trying to ride one of the goats or driving the cow to distraction.

  If he wasn’t lucky . . . “I’ll check the outhouse. Maybe one of them had to go.” And at this time of year neither of them would use the chamberpot. Not that Ree blamed them. He preferred the outhouse even in the cold of winter. He wouldn’t blame them for not coming through here, either, because Garrad was as likely to yell at them as not, in the mood he’d been.

  He doubted he’d find either child in the outhouse, truth be told. There were much more interesting things to do and places to go than the outhouse. But they might have gone there first, and there was a good chance of catching a scent. Besides, he didn’t want to see Lenar’s expression or hear anything Lenar said. His face had clouded when Jem said that Meren had got out that way before. Ree didn’t want to know if he was mad at them for not telling him or mad at Meren. And he didn’t want anyone to be mad at Meren.

  Meren was no more mischievous than any other four-year-old, but taking little Garrad with him . . . that was new. Normally when they were in bed, they stayed in bed, talking and giggling in half-intelligible baby-language, until they fell asleep.

  Ree snatched the belt with his hunting knife and the slingshot on his way out the lean-to, then paused to scan the ground. There wasn’t anything obvious, but he hadn’t expected anything. Neither child was heavy enough to leave much of an impression on thick grass.

  The outhouse was empty, with no trace of either child’s scent—or at least none that Ree could determine under the overpowering outhouse smell. From there, he circled the house, to where the air hatch on the roof was propped open. They’d open that in summer, to let breezes through and keep the house from getting too hot during the day, but it was closed at night to keep insects out.

  Ree had closed both the hatches when he’d put the boys to bed. His throat tightened, threatening to choke him. And realized Lenar was keeping pace with him.

  “I’ll tan that boy’s hide so hard he won’t sit down for a week,” Lenar growled. “He knows he’s to stay in bed once he’s put there. And following that damn hobg—” He stopped, but his glare said everything his voice didn’t.

  Ree didn’t say anything. How could he? Lenar had to be as worried as Ree. Maybe more: sometimes Ree caught Lenar looking at Jem as though he’d never really forgiven himself for losing Jem. Rather than worry at Lenar’s anger, Ree traced the line of the roof with his eyes, to the lean-to and the stone wall butting against it. Oh, yes, an agile little boy could get to that wall without any difficulty. And walk along it, too, until he got to one of the trees with branches hanging over the walls, where he could climb to the ground. The question was, which one?

  Ree hurried over to the wall,and jumped up. He bent to the stone to sniff. “They came this way.” Neither boy had been wearing shoes—for once Ree blessed their dislike of footwear. Once, Ree wouldn’t have hesitated to drop to all fours to scurry along that wall, but he wasn’t agile enough for that any more, and besides, he tried to set the right example for Meren. He tried not to think about proving to Lenar that he was more human than animal. If he said anything now, he wouldn’t like the answer.

  Lenar walked beside the wall, cursing in language fit to raise the dead. It certainly made Ree’s fur want to stand on end.

  Jem joined his father, quiet but just as grim-faced.

  Ree walked so he wouldn’t miss seeing anything, even though he wanted to run. If he ran like he wanted to, he could take the wrong fence, because he didn’t know which way the children had gone.

  A cat screamed in the forest.

  Ree didn’t make any conscious decisions. In the time it took for the sound to fade, he was running along the wall, aware of Jem and Lenar sprinting alongside him on the ground and damncats converging from every direction.

  The cats moved ahead of them in a multicolored furry tide, responding to the distress of one of their own. Where the wall ended, Ree jumped off and followed the cats into the forest. Jem and Lenar didn’t take long to catch up with him.

  They didn’t say anything, not that they’d be heard over the caterwauling that echoed up ahead. And under it . . . growls. Not Meren’s growl. And no human screams. Did that mean the boys were already . . . Ree’s stomach lurched, and he wrenched his mind away from the thought.

  The damn boy knew the forest was dangerous! Why had he come out here?

  A cat’s death scream, then Meren’s growl, shrill and childish, but dangerous too. He’d growled like that when he’d saved Amelie from a dire wolf.

  Ree raced around a massive oak and all but ran into two snow bears, one batting ineffectually at the snarling cats attacking it. The other . . . It was covered with cats as well, as though every damncat on the farm had come after the bears. Meren clung to the tree, his weight held by the claws of one hand and both feet. Little Garrad was wedged into the space between Meren and tree, while Meren clawed and snarled at the attacking bear. The bear that seemed to be fighting its own body as it reached for the child.

  Ree caught the first bear’s fur and used that to swing himself between the other bear and the children. If the bear hadn’t been injured—or if the other one hadn’t been trying to fight off the damncats the way this one should have been—both boys would be dead.

  Lenar pushed him out of the way, practically crushing him against the tree. “Get the boys out of here.” Ree didn’t argue. He scrambled up the tree trunk to the first branching, far enough above the bear’s reach to be safe, then leaned down, extended one hand. “Garrad! Come to Uncle Ree.” It took an effort of will to keep his claws in, with the bears and the cats and the smell of blood.

  “Come on.” Neither child seemed to notice. A bear screamed, dying. Ree dug his toe claws and the claws of his other hand in and leaned lower, and lower, until he could get hold of Garrad’s shirt. “Come on, little man, hold onto me.”

  He pulled, praying that the shirt wouldn’t tear, that he wouldn’t lose his grip. Another bear roar and hot breath against his arm. Ree didn’t dare try to look.

  He wasn’t e
ntirely sure how he managed it, but a flurry of small limbs and some needle-sharp little claws later, Ree sat on the branch with his back against the bole of the old oak and Meren and little Garrad trembling in his arms.

  He didn’t try to move or look, just held the boys close. There was a meaty sound, then something hit the ground, hard, and Ree heard scurrying and distressed meowing. The lament in the cats cries made Ree’s eyes burn.

  “Well.” Lenar sounded grim. “Now we know something is using magic.”

  Meren whimpered and tried to bury himself in Ree’s shirt.

  It took a while to get the boys calm enough that Ree could hand them down to Lenar and Jem. By then, Lenar had dragged the dead bears far enough away that they wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention, and Jem had lined up the sad little bodies of three of the damncats.

  More than a few of the other cats were hurt, but they weren’t letting Jem get close. Getting back to the farm just gave Ree more reasons to worry: Little Garrad was acting like any small boy who’d just had the fright of his life, but Meren didn’t seem to be . . . well, there.

  He wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming, he just lay limply in Jem’s arms and stared at something no one else could see.

  It was full dark by the time they got in, and Loylla was pacing the kitchen looking pale and frightened, but she’d boiled up water and had bandages out in case they were needed, and she didn’t hesitate when she saw Lenar and little Garrad, just ran to them and embraced them both without a care for the blood spattered over Lenar’s shirt.

  “No one’s hurt.” Jem hastened to reassure her. “Is Granddad all right?”

  “I’m perfectly well, and you needn’t treat me like an invalid.” Garrad’s voice was strong enough, coming from the main room.

  “It was the damndest thing, Father.” Lenar shook his head. He strode into the main room and let everyone else trail after him. “All of them headed for the forest, straight for the boys, and they all attacked two bears.”

  The old man paled. “Two . . . They never come this close in summer.”

  “Something was controlling them.” Jem said.

  Ree didn’t want to hear this discussion. And he was worried about Meren. He pulled the boy from Jem’s arms and said, “I’ll be outside with Meren.”

  No one argued. Ree spoke softly as he carried Meren outside. “We’re just glad you’re safe, Meren. That’s all. You two scared us, running off like that.”

  Meren’s hands clenched tight into Ree’s shirt, and he shuddered. The damncats—it looked like all of them—waited outside.

  Ree found himself needing to sit and was cross-legged on the grass before he realized that he hadn’t decided to sit down. Cats were nuzzling Meren, making the little chirp-comfort sounds mother cats made with their kittens. Meren’s sounds were sadder, remorseful.

  Ree would have sworn the cats were reassuring the boy, telling him somehow that dying happens, and the cats who’d died had died well. Whatever it was, it seemed to help, because Meren shuddered again, then started to cry. With words.

  “Ree?” The sound came from behind Ree, and for once Lenar sounded uncertain. “I guess I owe Meren an apology. It was little Garrad who opened the air hatch and climbed out. Meren followed him but didn’t catch up until he’d gotten to the oak . . . and then the bears came.” He made a sound Ree couldn’t interpret. “He’s too scared to say more, but . . . I’m sorry. I said harsh things I didn’t mean. It’s just . . . you know, I lost Jem for all of his childhood, and so many bad things happened to him. Losing little Garrad might kill me. I can’t watch him all the time.”

  Meren’s body relaxed a little but not all the way. He couldn’t understand all the words, Ree was sure, but he’d understand Lenar’s tone, and he almost for sure would understand the hand on his head and Lenar’s voice saying softly, “Thank you for saving my boy.”

  Ree waited till Lenar left. He was thinking of the cats, running like a furry tide, attacking deadly foes to save the boys. He didn’t know much, but he knew that Meren didn’t have the woodcraft to follow anyone. Yeah, he could follow a scent, but he didn’t have enough experience to do it like that, in the woods. If he’d been that far behind little Garrad . . .

  “The cats told you Garrad was going to the forest, didn’t they?” he asked.

  “No,” Meren whispered, but it was a wavering no, lacking conviction. “They can’t talk to me. I’m not an animal.”

  Ree held him tighter. “You’re not an animal,” he said “Some humans can talk to . . . creatures.” Ree had read something about it, once. “The cats told you?”

  There was a long shuddering sigh and then, “Yes. I was asleep. Damncat told me. In my mind.” A long silence. “I didn’t want to . . . but . . .”

  “You’re scared we won’t want you because of it?” Ree knew that feeling too well—and if Meren could understand the damncats that way without words, then . . . he could understand Ree, and that . . . that wasn’t something Ree wanted to really think about. If he knew how scared Ree was, all the time, it would be hard for Ree to appear calmly confident.

  Another nod, a bit shakier this time. Ree pulled Meren closer, hugged him tightly. “It’s just something you do. Not something you are. Being human is here—” He touched Meren’s chest over the heart and tried to believe that, as hard as he could, to believe that Meren having this strange Gift was just . . . well, it was like Mages had their Gift, that was all. Maybe it was an odd kind of magic, but it didn’t make Meren less human for having it.

  “Having Gifts is all on how you use it. This one saved you and Garrad tonight. That makes it good.”

  Finally, Meren relaxed. “Fank you, Papa.” The words were mumbled around a fiercely sucked thumb.

  Damncat strutted over. He gave Meren a headbutt, then rubbed against Ree’s leg.

  “Yes, you and yours did well, too.” Ree scratched the cat behind the ears, and smiled. Everything would be all right. These vessels he’d put his heart into would break it again and again and again, but somehow, it would emerge stronger from each break.

  Human hearts did.

  Chapter 13 - Heart’s Place - Sarah A. Hoyt

  Ree watched, and tried to keep his stomach from knotting up, while Lenar’s Mage examined Meren.

  The Mage was a decent enough fellow, and he wasn’t going to do anything like denounce the boy, not here. It was just . . . after the magic circles, Ree had never really trusted magic.

  Magic had made him a hobgoblin, after all, complete with a coat of sleek brown fur and claws that retracted like a cat’s. And a ratlike tail, which was wrapped around one leg inside his pants.

  That same magic had given Meren a coat of sparse tabby fur in addition to his white-blond curls, and who knew what else. And that, Ree reminded himself forcefully, was why the Mage was here.

  You couldn’t pretend that something like being able to broadcast what you were feeling to all the damncats was just a coincidence, and with the controlled hobgoblins attacking more often . . .

  It was better to have Lenar’s Mage make sure that his Lord’s adopted grandson couldn’t possibly be controlling the hobgoblins, and never mind that those same controlled hobgoblins had attacked the child last summer.

  Scared people didn’t think about things like that. They got themselves worked up and went after anything that was different. That was one of the reasons Ree didn’t go down to Three Rivers village much—while people respected him, and knew he’d help them whenever they needed, and get hurt for them, too, it was better not to remind them just how different he was.

  The Mage leaned back with a sigh, and his eyes focused again.

  Meren drooped; whatever the Mage had been doing had tired him out.

  “I’ll just get Meren to bed, then I’ll be with you,” Ree said. With Jem walking Amelie to the manor to spend the night there—ostensibly to keep little Garrad company, but more because Lenar’s wife was near to term and not really able to keep up with her son—and old Garrad
barely able to move, Ree was the only able-bodied person on the farm right now.

  The Mage nodded. “Thank you.”

  A little later, with Meren not even protesting about being put to bed for a daytime nap, and asleep before Ree had pulled the covers over, Ree returned to the kitchen and filled a bowl with the stew that was always warming on the stove.

  “Here.” He handed the bowl to the Mage. “I heard tell you get hungry after magic.”

  “Thank you again.” The Mage—Ree could never remember his name—was one of those people who looked so ordinary you forgot them as soon as you met them.

  Not that Ree would have been surprised to find that the Mage “helped” that impression a bit with magic; it had to be a powerful advantage to a Mage to be overlooked and even forgotten.

  “Well,” the Mage said after he’d eaten some. “Your son isn’t a Mage, nor will he be. He does have an unusual Gift, something I’ve seen only once before.”

  If the man had seen it before, that was better than completely weird. Ree told his stomach to untie itself, and he made himself ask, “When was that?”

  The Mage smiled faintly. “Oh, that was long ago, in the army. I was posted down south a way, and the tribes there had these people they called ‘beastmasters’ who they claimed could speak with any animal without words.” He shrugged. “The way our horses behaved around them, I got to thinking it wasn’t just one of those myths that grow up when someone knows animals really well.”

  Ree nodded. He knew about those, since he was at the center of a fair few of them, him and the damncats—who maybe weren’t quite as ordinary as he’d thought.

  “After I’d got friendly with one of their beastmasters, we each looked at the other with our Gifts—it’s a sort of compliment, to actually open yourself to someone else’s probing that way—and . . . well. What he had was just like what your son has.”

  “So it’s a human Gift, just very rare?” Now Ree had to throttle hope. Something human, something a Mage had seen before . . . that meant that Meren was human enough to maybe be accepted that way, even if he didn’t look it.