The Demon's Den and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Tanya Huff

  :Wiggle your toes!:

  Gervis somehow managed to sound exactly like the Weaponsmaster, and Jors found himself responding instinctively. To his surprise, his toes still wiggled. And it still hurt. The pain burned some of the frost out of his brain and left him gasping for breath, but he was thinking more clearly than he had been in some time. With his Companion's encouragement, he began to systematically work each muscle that still responded.

  * * *

  The biggest problem with digging out the Demon's Den had always been that the rock shattered into pieces so small it was like burrowing through beads in a box. The slightest jar would send the whole crashing to the ground.

  Her eyes in her fingertips, Ari inched towards the buried Herald, not digging but building a passageway, each stone placed exactly to hold the weight of the next. Slowly, with exquisite care, she moved up and over the rockfall that had nearly killed Neegan. She lightly touched the splintered end of the shattered support, then went on. She had no time to mourn the past.

  Years of destruction couldn't erase her knowledge of the mine. She'd been trapped in it for too long.

  * * *

  “Herald? Can you hear me?”

  Jors turned his face towards the sudden breeze. “Yes...” :Gervis, she's here!:

  :Good.: Although he sounded relieved, Jors realized the Companion didn't sound the least bit surprised.

  :You knew she'd make it.:

  Again the strange tone the Herald didn't recognize. :I believed her when she said she'd get you out.:

  “Cover your head with your hands, Herald.”

  Startled, he curved his left arm up and around his head just in time to prevent a small shower of stones from ringing off his skull.

  “I'm on my way down.”

  A moment later, he felt the space around him fill, and a rough jacket pressed hard against his cheek.

  “Sorry. Just let me get turned.”

  Turned? Teeth chattering from the cold, he strained back as far as he could, but knew it would make little difference. There wasn't room for a cat to turn, let alone a person. To his astonishment, his rescuer seemed to double back on herself.

  “Ow. Not a lot of head room down here.”

  From the sound of her voice and the touch of her hands, she had to be sitting tight up against his side, her upper body bent across his back. He tried to force his half-frozen mind to work. “Your legs...”

  “Are well out of the way, Herald. Trust me.” Ari danced her fingers over the pile of rubble that pinned him. “Can you still move your toes.”

  It took him a moment to remember how. “Yes.”

  “Good. You're at the bottom of a roughly wedge-shaped crevice. Fortunately, you're pointing the right way. As soon as I get enough of you clear, I'm going to tie this rope around you, and your Companion on the other end is going to inch you up the slope as I uncover your legs. That means if anything's broken it's going to drag, but if we don't do it that way there won't be room down here for me, you, and the rock. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” One piece at a time she began to free his right side.

  :Gervis, she doesn't have any legs.:

  :I know.:

  :How did she get here?:

  :I brought her.:

  :That's impossible!:

  The Companion snorted. :Obviously not. She's blind, too.:

  “What!” His incredulous exclamation echoed through the Demon's Den.

  Ari snorted and jammed a rock into the crack between two others. It wasn't difficult to guess what had caused that reaction, not when she knew the silence had to be filled with dialogue she couldn't hear. She waited for him to say something Herald-like and nauseating about overcoming handicaps as though they were all she was.

  To her surprise, he said only, “What's your name?”

  It took her a moment to find her voice. “Ari.”

  “Jors.”

  She nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see the gesture. “Herald Jors.”

  “Are you one of the miners?”

  Why was he talking to her when he had his Companion to keep him company? “Not exactly.” So far tonight, she'd said more than she'd said in the five years since the accident. Her throat ached.

  “Gervis says he's never seen anyone do what you did to get in here. He says you didn't dig through the rubble, you built a tunnel around you, using nothing but your hands.”

  “Gervis?”

  “My Companion. He's very impressed. He believes you can get me out.”

  Ari swallowed hard. His Companion believed in her. It was almost funny, in a way. “You can move your arm now.”

  “Actually,” he gasped, trying not to writhe, “no I can't.” He felt her reach across him, tuck her hand under his chest, and grab his wrist. He could barely feel her touch against his skin.

  “On three.” She pulled immediately before he could tense.

  “That wasn't very nice,” he grunted when he could speak again.

  She ignored his feeble attempt to tug his arm out of her hands and continued rubbing life back into the chilled flesh. “There's nothing wrong with it. It's just numb because you've been lying on it in the cold.”

  “Oh? Are you a Healer then?”

  He sounded so indignant that she smiled, and actually answered the question. “No, I was a mining engineer. I designed this mine.”

  “Oh.” He'd wondered what kind of idiot would put a mine in a place like this. Now, he knew.

  Ari heard most of the thought and gritted her teeth. “Keep flexing the muscles.” Untying the end of the rope from around her own waist, she retied it just under the Herald's arms. It felt strange to touch a young man's body again after so long. Strange and uncomfortable. She twisted and began to free his legs.

  Jors listened to her breathing and thought of being alone in darkness forever.

  :I'm here, Chosen.:

  :I know. But I wasn't thinking of me. I was thinking about Ari... Ari...: “Were you at the Collegium?”

  “I was.”

  “You redesigned the hoists from the kitchen, so they'd stop jamming. And you fixed that pump in Bardic that kept flooding the place. And you made the practise dummy that...”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long,” Jors protested, trying to ignore the sudden pain as she lifted a weight off his hips. “You left the Blues the year I was Chosen.”

  “Did I?”

  “They were all talking about you. They said there wasn't anything you couldn't build. What happened?”

  Her hands paused. “I came home. Be quiet. I have to listen.” It wasn't exactly a lie.

  Working as fast as she could, Ari learned the shape of the stone imprisoning the Herald, its strengths, its weaknesses. It was all so very familiar. The tunnel she'd built behind her ended here. She finished it in her head, and nodded, once, as the final piece slid into place.

  “Herald Jors, when I give you the word have your Companion pull gently, but firmly on the rope until I tell you to stop. I can't move the rest of this off of you so I'm going to have to move you out from under it.”

  Jors nodded, realized how stupid that was, and said, “I understand.”

  Ari pushed her thumbs under the edge of a rock and took a deep breath. “Now.”

  The rock shifted, but so did the Herald.

  “Stop.” She changed her grip. “Now.” A stone fell. She blocked it with her shoulder. “Stop.”

  Inch by inch, teeth clenched against the pain of returning circulation, Jors moved up the slope, clinging desperately to the rope.

  “Stop.”

  “I'm out.”

  “I know. Now, listen carefully because this is important. On my way in, I tried to lay the rope so it wouldn't snag, but your Companion will have to drag you clear without stopping – one long smooth motion, no matter what.”

  “No matter what?” Jors repeated, twisting to peer over his shoulder, the instinctive desire to see
her face winning out over the reality. The loose slope he was lying on shifted.

  “Hold still!” Ari snapped. “Do you want to bury yourself again?”

  Jors froze. “What's going to happen, Ari?”

  Behind him, in the darkness, he heard her sigh. “Do you know what a keystone is, Herald?”

  “It's the stone that takes the weight of the other stones and holds up the arch.”

  “Essentially. The rock that fell on your legs fell in such a way as to make it the keystone for this cavern we're in.”

  “But you didn't move the rock.”

  “No, but I did move your legs and they were part of it.”

  “Then what's supporting the keystone?” He knew before she answered.

  “I am.”

  “No.”

  “No what, Herald?”

  “No. I won't let you sacrifice your life for mine.”

  “Yet Heralds are often called upon to give their lives for others.”

  “That's different.”

  “Why?” Her voice cracked out of the darkness like a whip. “You're allowed to be noble, but the rest of us aren't? You're so good and pure and perfect and Chosen, and the rest of us don't even have lives worth throwing away? Don't you see how stupid that is? Your life is worth infinitely more than mine!” She stopped and caught her breath on the edge of a sob. “There should never have been a mine here. Do you know why I dug it? To prove I was as good as all those others who were Chosen when I wasn't. I was smarter. I wanted it as much. Why not me? And do you know what my pride did, Herald? It killed seventeen people when the mine collapsed. And then my cowardice killed my brother and an uncle and woman barely out of girlhood because I was afraid to die. My life wasn't worth all those lives. Let my death be worth your life at least.”

  He braced himself against her pain. “I can't let you die for me.”

  “And yet if our positions were reversed, you'd expect me to let you die for me.” She ground the words out through the shards of broken bones, of broken dreams. “Heralds die for what they believe in all the time. Why can't I?”

  “You've got it wrong, Ari,” he told her quietly. “Heralds die, I won't deny that. And we all know we may have to sacrifice ourselves someday for the greater good. But we don't die for what we believe in. We live for it.”

  Ari couldn't stop shaking, but it wasn't from the cold or even from the throbbing pain in her stumps.

  “Who else do you want that mine to kill?”

  “This, all this, is my responsibility. I won't let it kill anyone else.”

  Because he couldn't reach her with his hands, Jors put his heart in his voice and wrapped it around her. “Neither will I. What will happen if you grab my legs and Gervis pulls us both free?”

  He heard her swallow. “The tunnel will collapse.”

  “All at once?”

  “No...”

  “It'll begin here and follow us?”

  “Yes. But not even a Companion could pull us out that quickly.”

  :Gervis...: Jors sketched the situation. :Do you think you can beat the collapse?:

  :Yes, but do you think you can survive the trip? You'll be dragged on your stomach through a rock tunnel.:

  :Well, I'm not going to survive much longer down here, that's for certain – I'm numb from my neck to my knees. I'm in leathers. I should be okay.:

  :What about your head?:

  :Good point.: “Ari, you're wearing a heavy sheepskin coat, can you work part of it up over your head?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “Do it. And watch for falling rock. I'm going to do the same.”

  “What about your pack?”

  He'd forgotten all about it. Letting the loop of rope under his armpits hold his weight, he managed to secure it like a kind of crude helmet.

  “Grab hold of my ankles, Ari.”

  “I...”

  “Ari, I can't force you to live. I can only ask you not to die.”

  He felt a tentative touch, and then a firmer hold.

  :Go, Gervis!:

  * * *

  They stayed at the settlement for nearly a week. Although the Healer assured him that the hours spent trapped in the cold and the damp had done no permanent damage, Jors wore a stitched cut along his jaw as a remembrance of the passage out of the Demon's Den.

  Ari was learning to live again. She still carried the weight of the lives lost to her pride, but she'd found the strength to bear the load.

  “Don't expect sweetness and light though,” she cautioned the Herald as he and Gervis prepared to leave. “I was irritating and opinionated before the accident.” Her mouth crooked slightly, and she added, with just a hint of the old bitterness, “I expect that's why I was never Chosen.”

  Jors grinned as Gervis pushed his head into her shoulder. “He says you were chosen for something else.”

  “He said that?” Ari lifted her hand and lightly stroked the Companion's face. She smiled, the expression feeling strange and new. “Then I guess I'd better get on with it.”

  As they were riding out of the settlement to take up their interrupted circuit again, Jors turned back to wave and saw Ari sketching something wondrous in the air, prodded by the piping questions of young Robin.

  :I guess she won't be alone in the dark anymore.:

  Gervis tossed his head. :She never had to be.:

  :Sometimes it's hard for people to realize that.: They rode in silence for a moment, then Jors sighed, watching his breath plume in the frosty air. :I'm glad they found the body of that cat – I'd hate to have to go back into the Den to look for it.: Their route would take them nowhere near the mine. :That was as close to the Havens as I want to come for a while.: And then he realized.

  :Gervis, you knew Ari wanted to die down there!:

  :Yes.:

  :Then why did you let her go into that mine?:

  :Because I believed she could free you.:

  :But...:

  :And,: the Companion continued, :I believed you could free her.:

  BROCK

  “Id's just a code.”

  Trying not to smile at the same protest he'd heard for the last two days, Jors set the empty mug on a small table. “Healer Lorrin says it's more, Isabel. She says you're spending the next two days in bed.”

  The older Herald tried to snort, but her nose had filled past the point it where was possible, and she had to settle for an avalanche of coughing instead. “She cud heal me,” she muttered when she could finally breathe again.

  “She seems to think that a couple of days in bed and a couple of hundred cups of tea will heal you just fine.”

  “Gibbing children their Greens...”

  That was half a protest at best, and as Jors watched, Isabel's eyes closed, the lines exhaustion had etched around them beginning to ease. Leaning forward, he blew out the lamp, then quietly slipped from the room.

  *

  “Oh, she's sick,” the Healer assured him, exasperation edging her voice. “What could have possessed her to ride courier at her age, at this time of the year? Yes, the package and information she brought from the Healer's Collegium will save lives this winter, but surely there had to have been younger Heralds around to deliver it?”

  Jors opened his mouth to answer.

  Lorrin gave him no chance. “If she hadn't run into you riding sector, she might not have made it this far. She needs rest, and I'm keeping her in bed until I think she's had enough of it.”

  Jors didn't argue. He wouldn't have minded an actual conversation – Lorrin was young and pretty – but unfortunately, she seemed too determined to run this new House of Healing the way she felt a House of Healing should be run to waste time in dalliance with the healthy.

  *

  “Have you good as new. You see. Good as new. Soft and clean.”

  Jors stopped just inside the stable door and stared in astonishment at the young man grooming his Companion. The stubby fingers that held the brush, the bulky body, the round face, angled eyes, and full
mouth told the Herald that this unexpected groom was one of those the country people called Moonlings. He wore patched homespun; the pants too large, the shirt too small, both washed out to a grimy grey. His boots had seen at least one other pair of feet.

  He'd already groomed the chirras and Isabel's Companion, Calida – the sleeping mare all but glowed in the dim stable light.

  :Gervis?:

  :His name is Brock.: The stallion's mental voice sounded sleepy and sated. :Can we take him with us?:

  :No. And how do you know what his name is?:

  :He talks to us and he knows exactly – oh, yes – where to rub.:

  Companions were not in the habit of allowing themselves to be groomed by other than Heralds' hands. Jors found it hard to believe that they'd not only allowed Brock's ministrations, but were actually reveling in them. He stepped forward, and at the sound of his footfall, Brock turned.

  His face broke into a broad smile, radiating welcome. Arms spread, he rushed at the Herald and wrapped him in a tight hug. Staring up at Jors, their faces barely inches apart, he joyfully repeated “Brother Herald!” over and over while a large grey dog leapt around them, barking.

  :Gervis?:

  :The dog's name is Rock. He's harmless.:

  :Glad to hear that.:

  “Brock... I can't breathe...”

  “Sorry! Sorry.” Releasing him so quickly Jors stumbled and had to grab the edge of a hay rack, Brock shuffled back, still smiling. “Sorry. I brushed.” One short-fingered hand gestured back at the Companions. “Good as new. Soft and clean.”

  “You did a very good job.” Jors stepped around the dog, now lying panting on the floor, and ran his fingers down Gervis' side. There wasn't a bit of straw, a speck of dust, a hair out of place on either Companion.

  :Better than very good,: Gervis sighed.

  Jors smiled and repeated the compliment. :Did you say thank you, you fuzzy hedonist?:

  In answer, the Companion stretched out his neck and gently nuzzled Brock's cheek, receiving a loud, smacking kiss in return.

  “Okay. We go now.” Brock bent and picked a ragged, grey sweater out of the straw and wrestled it over his head. “We go now,” he repeated, placing both hands in the small of Jors' back and pushing him toward the stable door. “Or we come late and Mister Mayor is mad and yells.”