Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “Everything in good order?” Kris asked. She nodded an affirmative, feeling awkward and tongue-tied now that she was less than twenty-four hours away from a long journey spent mostly in his company.

  “Kris and I haven’t taken care of requisitioning your supplies yet,” Dirk said, giving her an encouraging, lopsided grin, as if he sensed how she was feeling, “We were waiting for you to catch up with us.”

  “We?” Kris lifted an eyebrow at his partner. “What’s this ‘we’ all about? She happens to be my trainee, you know.”

  “And who’s the one who can’t ever remember how many furlongs it is to his Sector, and whether or not you need high-energy rations, or even where he’s going, half the time?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine—I don’t know of anybody answering that description,” Kris grinned.

  Dirk heaved a heavy sigh. “No gratitude, that’s what it is. All right, sieve-head, let’s you and your trainee get over to the Quartermaster and show her how it’s done.”

  They arranged themselves with Talia walking between them, and strolled out of the Collegium area of the Palace to the area reserved for the Guard. That is, they strolled—Talia had to stretch her legs no small amount to keep up with them. All the time she was constantly aware of the little, warm, sidelong glances Dirk kept throwing at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. She wasn’t used to being under such intense scrutiny, and it made her a little—not uneasy, precisely—unsettled was perhaps the better word.

  Like the Heralds, the Guard had their own area of the Palace, although they had nothing that was quite like the Collegium. They did have a training center, and a communal barracks, as well as officer’s quarters, and they maintained a number of small rooms as offices. Since the needs of the Heralds and the Guard were quite similar in some areas of supply, the Quartermaster of the Guard also dispensed initial supplies to outbound Heralds. Any other supplies were taken care of at special Resupply Stations in the field.

  The Offices of the Guard were entered by a door directly under the shadow of the wall that encircled the entire Palace/Collegium complex. There were a dozen or more officers seated at desks literally crammed together in the relatively small room, all busy with piles of paperwork, but Kris and Dirk seemed to know exactly where they were going. Talia followed as they threaded their way through the maze, while the officers whose work they inadvertently disturbed gave them either glares or friendly winks. Their goal was a desk at the very rear, whose occupant, a grizzled old veteran, looked rather out of place among the younger, obviously townbred officers. He seemed to be hard at his paperwork, but looked up and grinned broadly at the sight of them.

  “Wot, ye tired of our faces alriddy?” he jeered. “Or is’t ye’ve got somebody’s daddy ’twould like t’see if Heralds bleed red?”

  “Neither, you old pirate,” Kris replied. “We’ve got a gap to fill up North, and Kyril, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed that we’re best suited to fill it.”

  The man’s face grew serious. “Ah didna hear the’ Bell—”

  “Relax, Levris, it wasn’t fatal,” Dirk assured him. “A pair of broken legs, or so I’m told. Talia, this is Levris, he’s the Quartermaster of the Guard, and as such, those of us on circuit see a lot of him.”

  The wizened man stood, took her hand like a courtier, and bowed gracefully over it. “’Tis a pleasure,” he said gravely, while Talia blushed. “An’ a privilege. Ye be Queen’s Own, I’m thinkin’—”

  “Absolutely right,” Kris said, corners of his mouth twitching. “She’s my internee.”

  “Oh, so?” Levris let go of Talia’s hand, rested both hands on his hips, and gave him a stern look. “Ye’ll not be tryin’ any of yer seducin’ tricks on her, m’lad, or if Ah come t’ hear of it…”

  Now it was Kris’ turn to blush, and Dirk’s to hide a grin.

  Talia decided to come to his rescue. “Herald Kyril surely wouldn’t have assigned us together if he thought there was any harm in the pairing,” she pointed out. “And this is duty, not a pleasure-jaunt.”

  “Well, an’ that’s true,” he admitted reluctantly, seating himself again. “So—what Sector?”

  “North Border, Sorrows Two,” Kris told him. “And since we won’t be meeting the outgoing Herald, we’ll need the whole kit.”

  “By t’morrow, Ah s’ppose? And ye’ll be wantin’ the special rations. Ye might give a man some warnin’, next time!” he grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  “Sure, Levris. We’ll make certain to schedule our broken legs from now on—and make certain it’s convenient for you.”

  “See that ye do, then,” he chuckled; then pulled out a half-dozen forms, and had Kris and Talia sign them all. That done, he shooed them out the way they had come.

  “That’s all there is to it,” Kris said as they returned to the Collegium side. “He’ll have everything we’ll need ready for us in the morning.”

  “Provided Herald Sluggard can be persuaded to rise that early,” Dirk grinned.

  “Now that you’ve checked over your harness, all you need to do is pack your personal things,” Kris continued, ignoring him. “Keep in mind that where we’re going it gets cold sooner than here, stays that way for longer, and the cold is more intense. The leaves are already falling up there, though they’ve just started to turn here. We’ll plan on staying mostly in Waystations near the villages; we won’t want to get too far from other people if we can help it.”

  “Nevertheless,” Dirk warned both of them, “you’d better also plan on having to spend several nights alone in the wilderness. I lived in that area; you didn’t. The villages are far apart, and winter storms can spring up out of nowhere. You may get caught without a Waystation near, so pack the emergency supplies; if you don’t use them, there’s no harm done, but if you need them, you’ll be glad you have them. Plan for the worst possible snow you’ve ever seen—then overplan.”

  “Yes, O graybeard.” Kris made a face at him. “Holy Stars, Dirk, I visited with your family up there often enough! The way you’re fussing, you’d think both of us were green as grass and totally untrained! Talia’s no highborn fragile flower, she’s a Borderer, too, even if she’s from farther south than you.”

  “Well, better I should remind you needlessly…”

  “Stow it and rope it down, granther! We’ll be fine! Anyone would think you were my keeper, not my partner.” Now Kris cast a sly, sidelong glance at Talia, who was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Or is it someone else you’re worrying about?”

  From the surprise on Kris’ face, even he hadn’t expected the blush that reddened Dirk’s ears.

  “Look,” Dirk said hastily, “I just don’t want you two to get into any trouble. You owe me for too many lost bets, and I’d rather not have to try to collect from your lord father! Is there anything else you’d like advice for, Talia?”

  “N-no,” she stammered. “I don’t think so, anyway. I thank you both. I’d better get back to my quarters and pack.”

  “Don’t forget—take nothing but Whites!” Dirk called after her. “You’re on duty every minute in the field. And nothing fancy! It’ll only get ruined.”

  He needn’t have said that, about “nothing fancy,” she thought a little resentfully. After all, I’m not some silly townbred chit. And then she wondered for a fleeting instant why his good opinion of her should seem so important.

  Dismissing the thought from her mind, she ran back up the tower stairs and ransacked her wardrobe, laying everything white she could find on the bed. That way she wouldn’t overlook a tunic or other article that she might find herself in need of out in the field.

  She packed nothing but the doeskin, with the summer and winter changes both—but she packed every stitch of those she had.

  Though from the way Dirk talks, she thought wryly, you’d think it never got warm up there.

  She added a repair kit for leather and one for harness, and then for good measure added a sealed pot of glue, just in
case. There’d been times enough back on the Holding when she was on sheep-watch that she’d needed a pot of glue, and not had one to hand. She packed her sewing kit, and a brick of hard, concentrated soap—the special kind that you needed for use on Whites to keep them pristine—just in case it ever became necessary to do her own repairs and cleaning of her clothing. Certainly, the village laundrypeople normally tended those jobs, but you never knew. She added a small metal traveling lamp, and extra wicks, because she’d never seen a lamp in the Waystations, and if they stayed more than one night, lamplight was easier on the eyes than firelight. Then her personal gear, her weapons, a precious book or two, some writing supplies. Her bedroll was next, and all the extra blankets she could find; with them, two extra towels besides the others she carried, and a pair of thick sheepskin slippers. Rolan’s gear was all with his tack, but just the same she packed a vial of ferris-oil. He liked it; it was good for his hooves and coat and kept the insects away.

  Even when she’d packed everything as compactly as she could, it still bulked distressingly large. She stared at the clumsy packs in near-despair, trying to think of something she dared leave behind. Kris would surely think she was an idiot for wanting to bring all this stuff!

  “Good packing job,” Keren said from the open door behind her. “I intended to come up here and help you cut down on the flotsam, but it looks like I’m not needed.”

  “Is that meant ironically or seriously?’ Talia asked, turning to greet the more experienced Herald with relief.

  “Oh, seriously. My counselor made me repack three times for my interning trip, and I never did get my packs down that small—I kept thinking of things I was sure I’d miss. Know what? I ended up sending most of them back here.”

  “But how is Rolan ever going to carry all this, the supply pack and me, too?”

  “Easy, he won’t have to. You’ll each have a packbeast, probably a mule. Well, maybe not; you’re going north, they may give you chirras. Didn’t anybody tell you that? You’re riding circuit, not carrying messages, so you don’t need speed. You can easily hold your speed down to match your packbeasts’ without sacrificing anything.”

  Talia heaved a sigh of relief. “Nobody told me. Kris either assumed that I knew, or left it out deliberately to keep me from overpacking.”

  “Well, don’t go crazy now that you know,” Keren warned.

  “I won’t. In fact, other than begging a couple more blankets and a pillow from Supply, packing all three pairs of my boots, and adding a bit more in the way of towels and soap and the like, there’s only one thing more I want to add.” Talia tucked her third pair of boots into a pack, tied it shut, and turned to the hearthcorner. There, where she’d left her last night still in her carrying case, was My Lady. She opened the case, detuned the strings for safety in traveling, and added her to the pile.

  “Good notion,” Keren said. “You may be snowbound at any time, and that’ll keep you from tearing out each other’s throats from boredom. Not only that, folks up there seldom see a Bard except in summer. You’ll be like gifts from the Gods.”

  “Keren—I’ll—” Talia suddenly had a lump in her throat. Now it came home to her; she was leaving, leaving the only place that had ever felt like home, and the only friends she’d ever had. “—I’ll miss you.”

  Keren reached out and hugged her shoulders. “Don’t you worry. You’ll be fine, I know you will. Kris is a good lad, if a bit too conscious of his own good looks. Little centaur—I’ll miss you, too. But don’t you dare cry—” she warned, caught between a chuckle and a tear, “—or I’ll start! Come on, we’ve just enough time to catch the end of supper, and you must be ready to chew harness.”

  Supper was rather subdued; nearly everyone had long since eaten and gone, and of those that were left Talia really knew only Keren well. Talia kept glancing around her, realizing how much she was going to miss this place, that had been her first real home.

  She had expected that Keren would leave her afterward, but to her surprise, the older woman insisted that she come with her to Keren’s rooms. She was even more surprised when Keren insisted Talia precede her through the door.

  Then she saw who was waiting for them there; almost more people than would fit into the room: Elcarth, Sherri, Jeri, Skif, Teren—even Alberich. Devan made a brilliant patch of green among the Whites in his Healer’s robes; the students were well represented by Elspeth. Keren pushed her into the room from behind as she hesitated on the threshold.

  “You really didn’t think we’d let you go without a proper goodbye, did you?” Skif teased as Talia stared in dumb amazement. “Besides, I know you—you were all set to mope away your last night here alone. Goose! Well, we’re not having any of that!”

  Since that was exactly what she’d expected to be doing, Talia blushed rose-pink, then stuck her tongue out at him.

  * * *

  Skif, knowing very well how prone Talia was to isolating herself just when she needed others the most, had accosted Keren as soon as the news of Talia’s assignment had gotten to him. The two of them had put their heads together and quickly put together this little “fare-thee-well” party, designed to keep her from falling into a last-minute melancholy. When Skif saw the expression on Talia’s face as she’d realized what they’d done, he felt more than repaid for his effort.

  He did his level best the whole evening to project how much his “little sister” meant to him, knowing she’d pick it up. The warmth in her eyes made him feel that he’d at least begun to give her an honest return for the help she’d given him last night. In some ways he was just as glad now that they’d never become lovers, for there was nothing that could have been more satisfying, in the long run, than the open, loving relationship they had instead. He had more than a suspicion that she felt the same.

  “So, songbird, how about a tune or three?”

  While it wasn’t precisely as festive as the celebration the night before had been, everything had been geared to setting her mind at rest and making her feel confident about the morrow. Each of them, with the exception of Devan and Elspeth, had faced the same moment—and each knew some way to make the prospect a positive one. There was a great deal of laughter, plenty of absurd stories, and a palpable aura of caring. They sent her off to bed in good time to get a full night’s sleep, and she left with a smile on her face.

  * * *

  Kris answered the tap on his door late that evening, expecting to see Dirk; in fact, he’d already gotten out a bottle of wine and two glasses, figuring that his partner wouldn’t let the evening pass without coming by for a farewell drink and chat. He got a fair shock to find his uncle, the Councilor Lord Orthallen, standing in the dim hallway instead.

  He managed to stammer out a surprised greeting, which Orthallen took as an invitation to enter. The silver-haired, velvet-robed noble wore a grave expression on his still-handsome, square-jawed face, so Kris had more than a faint suspicion that his visit was not just to bid farewell to his nephew.

  He directed his uncle to the most comfortable chair in the room and supplied him with the glass of wine intended for Dirk before taking the chair opposite him.

  “Well, uncle?” he said, deciding he was too tired to dance diplomatically around the subject. “What brings you here? I know it wasn’t just to bid me a fond farewell.”

  Orthallen raised one eyebrow at his bluntness. “I understand you have the new Queen’s Own as your internee.”

  Kris shrugged. “It’s no secret.”

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Not at all,” he admitted. “I’ve seen her twice, worked with her once. She seems nice enough—quite well balanced, all told. Her Gift is an odd one, but—”

  “That is exactly what is worrying me.” Orthallen all but pounced on the opening. “Her Gift. From all anyone has been able to tell me, it is a very unusual one for a Herald, much less the Queen’s Own. It seems to be one that the Heralds themselves know very little about, and I’m not entirely happy that an i
nexperienced child should be in her position with a power so… out-of-the-ordinary.”

  “Rolan Chose her,” Kris replied warily. “That should be proof enough that she’s capable of handling it.”

  “Yes, but—emotions—it’s such a volatile area. No black-and-white there, only gray. There are rumors in the Court…”

  “Such as?”

  “That she has fostered an unnatural dependence in the Heir. After all, the child is vulnerable to that sort of thing. It was her unnatural dependence on that foreign nurse, Hulda, that led to her nearly being disallowed in the first place. And there are other rumors.”

  Kris bit back an angry retort; best hear his uncle out. “Go on.”

  “That Talia has used her power to influence the Council; you can imagine for yourself how easy that would be. If a Councilor were wavering… it would be very easy to nudge his emotions, make him feel happier about one side or the other. Or not even that… simply sense that he is wavering, and use that knowledge to persuade him in a more ordinary fashion. By knowing how Councilors stood, it would make it quite simple for her to manipulate them just by tone of voice…”

  “That’s absurd! No Herald would ever use her Gift in any such fashion!”

  “So I have maintained,” Orthallen replied smoothly, “but—the only others Gifted with Empathy are the Healers; Healers put it to very specific and humanitarian use. There is no corresponding protocol of use among Heralds. And, nephew—what if she truly were not aware she was using her abilities? These powers are not material properties one can weigh or measure or hold in one’s hand. What if she were doing this sort of thing without even realizing it?”

  Kris felt as if he had been hit with a pail of cold water. “I—I suppose it’s just barely possible. I don’t think it’s at all likely, but I can’t dismiss the notion out of hand.”

  Orthallen rose, a satisfied smile creasing his lips. “That is what I hoped you would tell me. I’m counting on you, nephew, to lay these phantoms of doubt to rest. You’ll be with her night and day for the next eighteen months, and I’m sure you will be able to tell me on your return that all these rumors are no more than smoke.”