The Demon's Den and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Tanya Huff

  *

  Inar, given his head, had disappeared southward almost too fast for the eye to follow. One moment he and his Herald were a white blur against the gold of summer-dried gasses, and the next, they were gone.

  Gone. Leaving Jors alone with Alyise.

  Alone with an attractive nineteen-year-old girl.

  No. Alone with another Herald.

  One he just happened to be responsible for.

  The four years between them felt more like four months.

  I’m too young...

  :She’s a Herald. That makes her responsible for herself.:

  :I was broadcasting?:

  Gervis snorted. :Donnel probably heard you.:

  Jors doubted that since Donnel – with a fair bit of that long-legged colt in him still – was dancing sideways away from a bobbing yellow wildflower. Alyise was laughing, probably at something Donnel had said. Their mule, right out at the end of the lead rope, turned his head just far enough for Jors to see that he looked resigned about the whole thing.

  Which reminded Jors of something he'd meant to ask Jennet and forgotten. No matter. Alyise would know what had happened to their second mule.

  “Spike?” She giggled. “Oh, Jennet left him back at the Waystation Supply post saying you'd have enough on your plate without having to deal with Spike too. He's not a pleasant fellow, although, honestly, I think most of it's an act and he's really much nicer than he pretends. You know?”

  Jors had no time to answer. He suspected she hadn't intended him to as she rattled on without pausing.

  “She left a lot of her gear there, except for the bits she gave to me. I seem to go through soap really, really quickly, I can't think why, I mean, we're all in Whites, but if there's something to smudge on, I'll smudge. I may be the only Herald ever who really appreciated her Greys. So Jennet gave me her extra soap, and a tunic that was getting too tight for her – across the shoulders of course, not in front, because I'm well, a little better endowed there – but no worry about her being caught short, because she didn't leave behind or give me anything she'll need because she's heading home. But you knew that didn't you, because you were there when she left.”

  The punctuating smile was dazzling.

  *

  The Waystation outside Appleby was much like every other Waystation; there was a corral for the mules, a snug lean-to for the Companions, a good-sized, well-stocked storeroom, and a single room for the Heralds. The biggest difference was that the fireplace had been filled in with a small box-stove, flat-topped for cooking and considerably more efficient at heating the space.

  “Not to mention there'll be a lot less warm air sucked up the chimney,” Jors observed, examining the stove-pipes. This was new since the last time he'd been by.

  “I think it's less romantic, though.”

  “What?”

  Alyise smiled as he turned. “I think a stove is less romantic than an open fire. Don't you think there's just something so sensual about the dancing flames and the flickering golden light?”

  “Light.” Jors cleared his throat and tried again. “We'd better light the lanterns.”

  She pushed russet curls back off her face with one hand, grey eyes gleaming in the dusk. “Or instead of lighting the lanterns, we could just leave the doors of the stove open and sit together close to the fire.”

  “Fire.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You light the fire.” His palms were sweaty. “In the stove,” he expanded as she stared at him, head cocked. “So we can cook. I have to go check on Gervis.”

  :I'm fine.:

  :Good.: He got outside to find his Companion standing by the door and gazing at him with some concern. :She's... I mean, I'm supposed to be teaching her.:

  :Donnel says his Chosen is glad you are an attractive young man. She’s been with Jennet for seven months and had little opportunity to share her bed.:

  :Hey, I've been on my own for eight, and I’ve…: He paused as Gervis snorted. :Yeah. Sorry. Way too much information. The point is, it wouldn't be right.:

  :If that's how you feel.:

  :It is.:

  :Good luck.:

  :Oh, that's very helpful.:

  :Thank you.:

  “Never let anyone tell you that Companions can't be as sarcastic as cats,” Jors muttered to himself as he turned and went back inside. The curve of Alyise's bare back stopped him cold. Her pants hung low on the flare of her hips, low enough to expose the dimples just below her waist.

  She smiled at him over her shoulder as she pulled a long, sleeveless tunic out of her pack. “I just had to get into something that wasn't all sweaty. I don't know what it is about spending the day in the saddle that makes me so damp since Donnel's doing most of the work, but from my breast bands right on out everything is just soaked through. I guess the good news is that, at this time of the year, I can rinse them out tonight and they'll be dry by morning, unless it rains, of course, but I don't think it's going to. There's really no point in having the village laundry deal with them.” Her brow wrinkled as she pushed her head through the tunic's wide neck. “Does this village even have a laundry?”

  “Laundry?” He tried not to stare at the pale swell of her breasts as she pulled the tunic down, and turned to light one of the lamps with shaking hands. He was not ready for this kind of responsibility.

  “Men.”

  Was she allowed to laugh at him? There was too much about this mentoring that he didn't know.

  “I don't suppose you even noticed,” she continued, slipping out of her pants. “Ah, that's better. Shall you cook or shall I?”

  “Me!” Cooking would be a welcome distraction. “You can tell me about your time with Jennet. So I know what you've covered... done.”

  “Okay; how much of...”

  “Everything!”

  Everything took them through dinner and into bed. Separate beds. Alyise seemed fine with that, Jors noticed thankfully, since he wasn't certain his resolve would stand up against a determined assault. Long after her breathing had evened out into the long rhythms of sleep, he lay staring up at the rough wood of the ceiling and wondered just how authoritarian he was supposed to be. All Heralds were equals, that was a given. Except when they weren't, and that was tacitly understood. I'm just not ready for this yet.

  :Sleep now, Heartbrother.: Gervis's mental touch was gentle. :Many tasks seem less daunting in the morning.:

  *

  Jors woke just after sunrise to discover that Alyise had already gone out to feed and water the mules.

  “I can never stay in bed after I wake up,” she explained with a sunny smile. “My mother used to say it's because I was afraid I'd miss something, but I think it's because I didn’t want to get bounced on by my younger sisters, and I'll tell you, that habit stood me in good stead when I was a Grey, because you know how hard it is to get going some mornings, and the first up has the first shot at the hot water and there were mostly girls in my year; six of us and one boy. What about yours?”

  “My?” When did she breathe?

  “Your year; how many boys and girls in your year?”

  “Oh. Three boys, two girls.”

  “How... nice.”

  He heard Donnel snort, realized she was staring at him, and a moment later realized why. He'd gotten a little panicked when he'd seen her bed was empty and raced outside wearing only the light cotton drawstring pants he'd slept in. With the early morning sun behind him, he might as well be naked. :Oh, yeah. This is going to help me maintain some kind of authority.:

  :Authority does not come from your clothing.:

  And that would have been more reassuring had his Companion not sounded like he found the entire situation entirely too funny. :Maybe not, but it sure doesn't come from...: It occurred to him that while he was standing talking to Gervis, Alyise was still staring. Smiling appreciatively. “I'll just go and get dressed. We'll be heading into Appleby right after we eat.”

  And thank any Gods who may be listenin
g for that, he thought as he made as dignified a retreat as possible into the Waystation.

  *

  Appleby wasn't so much a village as it was a market and clearing center for the surrounding orchards that gave it its name. Jors told the younger Herald all he knew about both the area and the inhabitants as they rode in from the Waystation, but since his available information ran out some distance before they arrived, Alyise took over the conversation.

  Her mother made a terrific apple dumpling, but wouldn't give out the recipe no matter how much Alyise or her sisters begged.

  Donnel was very fond of apples, especially the small, sweet, pink ones that grew further north.

  She loved apples sliced and dried, and hoped she'd be able to buy some of last years if they had a moment before they left town.

  Her grandfather used to carve apples and dry them whole and they turned into the most cunning old men and old women dolls' heads.

  Just when Jors was about to suggest she stop talking, she finished her story about how an apple peel taken off in one unbroken spiral would give the initial of one’s true love when tossed over a shoulder and fell silent, straightening in the saddle and transforming from girl to Herald.

  :Neat trick.:

  :Why does she need to be anything but what she is when she is with you?: Gervis asked reasonably.

  :She doesn't.:

  :And why do you...:

  :Because I'm her teacher!:

  :Herald Jennet was also her teacher. Do you think Herald Jennet behaved differently than herself?:

  :Herald Jennet has had more time to be herself!: Jors pointed out.

  Gervis tossed his head, setting his bridle bells ringing as they passed the first of the buildings. :You are not Herald Jennet,: he said as the first wave of laughing children broke around them.

  :That's what I keep saying!:

  The Companion carefully sidestepped an overly adventurous and remarkably grubby little boy. :Maybe you should try listening.:

  And that was all he was willing to say.

  “Go not to your Companion for advice,” Jors muttered under his breath. “For they will tell you to figure it out for yourself.”

  *

  Judgments in Appleby were, not surprisingly, mostly about apples. More surprisingly, Jors found Alyise to be an attentive listener – both to the petitioners and to him. Although she deferred to Jors as the senior Herald, she expressed her opinions clearly and concisely when asked for them and, in turn, asked intelligent questions when she needed more information. Having been more than a little afraid of what the day would bring, Jors was impressed and grateful that he could set aside personal doubts and concentrate on the job at hand.

  Late that afternoon, when they'd finished with official business and had moved on to the more social aspects of being a Herald – trading the gossip that kept the far-flung corners of the kingdom telling the same stories – Jors glanced over at Alyise within a circle of teenage girls and wondered if it counted as a conversation when everyone seemed to be talking at once.

  “Herald Jors.”

  He turned to see the eldest of the village councilors holding out a cup of cider.

  “Don't worry, it's one of this year's first pressings. Windfall from the early apples. It has absolutely no trade value, so you needn't fear you're being bribed.”

  A tentative sip curled his tongue. “Tart,” he gasped.

  “A little young,” the councillor admitted, grinning. “And if you don't mind my saying, you seem a little young yourself to be teaching the ray of sunshine there.”

  “I've been doing this for a while, Councillor.” On the outside, Jors remained calm and confident. Inside, a little voice was saying, Oh, that's just great. It's obvious to everyone. “And Alyise is a trained Herald. I'm only here to help guide her through her first Circuit.

  “Oh, I'm not criticizing, lad. And given that one's energy, it's probably best you're no greybeard. I imagine she'd be the death of an older man.”

  The councillor obviously believed he was sleeping with Alyise. That was a belief he'd have to nip in the bud. “Heralds aren't in the habit of taking advantage of their Interns.”

  “Advantage?” The elderly councillor glanced over at Alyise and began to laugh so hard he passed a mouthful of cider out his nose. “Oh, lad,” he gasped when he had breath enough to speak again. “You are young.”

  There wasn't a lot Jors could say to that.

  *

  :You seem fine in the villages,: Gervis pointed out as they headed toward the Border.

  :It's different in the villages.: Jors told him. :We have well-defined roles, and I know what I'm supposed to do.:

  :You've always known what to do in a Waystation before. You've always known what to do with another Herald before.:

  He glanced over at Alyise, who'd turned to check on the mules. :I've never been responsible for another Herald before.:

  His Companion sighed and raised his head so Jors could get at an elusive itch under the edge of his mane. :You're beginning to worry me.:

  There wasn't a lot Jors could say to that either.

  *

  Six days later Alyise handed him a mug of tea and said, “Is it because you like boys? It's just that I've been as obvious as I know how without coming right out and saying we should bed down together,” she explained a few moments later, after they’d cleaned up the mess. “I mean, I was with Jennet for seven whole months, and you're cute, and well, it's been a while, you know.”

  He knew.

  “Your ears are very red,” she added. “So why don’t you want to?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to...” Jors held up a hand and attempted to explain about being responsible and not taking advantage of her while he was in at least a nominal position of power. Alyise didn't seem to quite understand his point.

  “I’m fully capable of making my own decisions, and you're a little young to take such a grandfatherly attitude, don't you think?”

  “That's it exactly.”

  She wrinkled her nose, confused. “What's it?”

  She was adorable when she wrinkled her nose, and some of the tea had splashed on her tunic drawing his eye right to...

  “Maybe you should talk to Donnel about it,” he choked out. “I need to check the um... mules.”

  “I just checked them.”

  “I meant the... um, stores!”

  *

  “Gervis explained to Donnel, who explained to me, and I think I understand the problem.” Alyise smiled at Jors reassuringly when he came back inside. “I was kind of dumped on you unexpectedly, wasn't I? I mean, there you were, out riding your Circuit, just the two of you, hearing petitions and riding to the rescue and being guys together, and all of a sudden Jennet finds out her mother is sick and you've got me. I know Heralds are supposed to be adaptable and all, but this is a situation that could take some getting used to for you, so I expect it's all a matter of timing.”

  “Good. So we're, um...” He tried, not entirely successfully, to pull her actual meaning from the cheerful flow of words.

  Her smile broadened. “We're good.”

  “Okay.” Still, something felt not quite right. :Gervis?:

  He could almost see his Companion roll sapphire eyes. :I dealt with it, Chosen.:

  :But...:

  :Let it go.:

  Not so much advice as an unarguable instruction.

  “So...” Jors brought his attention back to the younger Herald. “...there were some tax problems in the area we're heading for next. We should go over them in case they come up again.”

  “Jennet and I ran into a few problems just like this, back last month. Well, not just like this because that's one thing I've learned since I've been out is that no two problems are exactly the same no matter how much they seem to be, and...”

  He let her words wash over him as he pulled the papers from his pack. So they were good. That was...

  ...good.

  Why did he feel like he was
waiting for the other shoe to drop?

  *

  Last year's tax problems didn't reoccur, but new problems arose, and Jors did his best to guide Alyise through them. She was better with people than he was, and as summer passed into fall, he allowed her to hear those petitions that dealt with social problems and tried to learn from her natural charm as she learned from his experience.

  Given her unflagging energy and exuberance, he felt as though he was running full-out to stay ahead of her, and he never felt younger or more unsuited for his position as her teacher as when he saw her in the midst of a crowd of admiring young men.

  Not that she ever forgot she was a Herald on duty, it was just...

  :Just what, Chosen?:

  :You're laughing at me again, aren't you?:

  No answer in words, just a strong feeling of amusement. Which was, of course, all the answer Jors needed.

  *

  Frost had touched the grass by the time they reached the tiny village of Halfrest, grown up not quite a generation before around a campsite that marked the halfway point on a shortcut between two larger towns. A shortcut only because the actual trade road followed the kind of ground sensible people built roads on, rather than taking the direct route more suitable to goats.

  Jors had a feeling that without the mule tied to her saddle, Alyise and Donnel would have been bounding like those goats from rock to rock, Alyise chattering cheerfully the entire time as they skirted the edges of crumbling cliffs.

  The Waystation was brand new, the wood still pale and raw looking. No corral had been built for the mules, but a rope strung between two trees would take the lead lines, giving them plenty of room to graze. While there was no well, the pond looked crystal clear and cold.

  “If you have a Waystation,” Jors said as they carried their packs inside, “you're more than just a group of people trying to carve out an uncertain life. You're a real village.”

  “And that's important to them, to be seen as a real village?”

  “This was wilderness when the elders of this village came here with their parents. They're proud of what they've accomplished.”