Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  He didn’t think any of that surface was a deliberate act—but he also couldn’t tell what lay below the surface, either.

  Was she capable of the kind of deliberate misuse of her Gift that Orthallen had described?

  “I’ve got to ask you a question,” he said at last. “And please, I don’t mean this as any kind of insult. There are some rather unpleasant rumors circulating the Court, and I’d like to know the truth. Have—have you ever used your Gift to influence Elspeth?”

  Her reaction was far more violent than he would have expected. “No!” she shouted, sitting bolt upright, and actually startling Companions and chirras into shying. “How can you even think such a thing?”

  Her eyes were hot with anger; her face as white as her uniform.

  He met that angry gaze as best he could, acutely aware of how still it was, of the grass under his hands, of the sun on his head. “It’s a rumor, I told you; I have to know.”

  “I have never—I would never—do anything like that to anyone. It’s—the whole idea is perverted,” she choked. “Dammit, I knew there had to be some odd things being said about me. I mean, I could tell, people were acting very strangely when they thought I wasn’t looking. But this! It’s—it’s disgusting. Does Elspeth know about this?”

  “Not so far as I know—” He broke off at the sudden, pained look she gave him.

  She rose to her feet, abruptly. “I’ve—I’ve got to go back; I can’t leave her to face that alone.”

  “That’s just what you can’t do,” he said, jumping up and catching hold of both her arms. “Don’t you see? If you did that, you’d just be confirming the idea in people’s heads. Besides, you’ve been given an assignment, and a set of orders. It’s not up to you to decide whether or not you’re going to obey them.”

  She buried her face in her hands for a moment; when she took her hands away he could see her fighting to exert control over herself. “All right,” she said, sinking back to the ground. “You’re right. You said that there were other rumors. What are they?”

  “That you’ve been using your Gift to influence other people—specifically Councilors on crucial votes. The kindest version of that rumor says that you’re not doing it consciously, that you don’t realize you’re doing it.”

  “Good God. How am I supposed to answer that one?”

  Kris didn’t have an adequate reply, so he continued. “Another rumor is that you’re using your Gift just to read people, then using the knowledge of their emotional state to manipulate them into doing what you want.”

  “Goddess. That’s almost close to the truth…”

  “Again, the kindest version is that you don’t realize that you’re doing it. People are frightened; your Gift isn’t one they’ve seen outside of a Healer; Mindspeakers have an ethical code they understand, but this?”

  “So far as I know, there is no ethical code,” she said, and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of a pain he didn’t understand, and a confusion he wished he could resolve. “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t it enough? They say you’re young, you’re inexperienced—some say too young to be in the position of power that you are, and to be wielding such a strange mindGift.”

  “As if,” she replied bitterly, “I have any choice in the matter.”

  And she did not speak to him again until long after they had mounted up and gotten back on the North Road.

  * * *

  Kris bore with her lack of communication up to a point, but finally decided to try and break the deadlock himself. He Mindtouched Tantris, asking him to move in closer to Rolan, until he and Talia were almost knee to knee.

  “Just exactly how does your Gift work?” he asked, unwilling to bear the tense silence.

  “I feel emotions the way Farspeakers hear words,” she replied, after turning in her saddle to give him a sober look, one that seemed to be weighing him for some quality. “If the emotions are connected with something strongly enough, I See that. If they’re twisted or wrong, or very negative, sometimes I can fix them, like a Healer with a wound. Ylsa said it’s a pretty rare Gift to see crop up alone, that it’s usually tied up with the Healing Gifts. As you know.”

  “Interesting,” he replied as casually as he could. “So that’s how you were able to lead me to where Ylsa died. Most Heralds are Mindspeakers, you know, and most of the rest are Farseers, like me. Only a few of us have odd Gifts like yours and Dirk’s. And Griffon’s—brrr!—that’s one I wouldn’t want.” The sun lost some of its warmth for him as he thought of the demonstration Griffon and Dirk had given him. “Firestarting is a terrible burden, and it’s so easy for the power to get out of control… and when it does, well, you end up with barrens like at Burning Pines. And it isn’t really useful at all except as a weapon. I hope his being born with it now doesn’t mean something; Heralds with the really odd Gifts tend to appear when there’s going to be a need for them. The last Firestarter was Lavan Firestorm, and you know what his era was like—” He flushed, beginning to realize that he was pontificating—but, damn—he wanted to get her mind off the rumors so she’d act normally again. “Sorry. I tend to get carried away when I start discussing Gifts. It’s a hobby of mine, one I share with Kyril. It’s fascinating to see what kinds of Gifts we have, and to try and see if there are patterns.”

  “Really?” She perked up a little, a bit more color coming into her cheeks. “Has anybody else ever had my kind of Gift before?”

  “Not that I’m aware of among the Heralds, but I must admit that I’ve only looked into the Gifts of living Heralds, or the really spectacular ones of the past. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of that ability to Heal the mind, except in a true Healer, but it wouldn’t surprise me much to discover that this one’s the Gift that distinguishes the Queen’s Own from the rest of us. And you seem to have it mostly by itself, and maybe much stronger even than in Healers. Probably the others have had it, but not so strongly that anyone noticed it. Nobody seems to have made a study of the Monarch’s Own—not like they have with the more ordinary Gifts. And now that I think about it, your primary job is to ensure the mental stability of the Monarch—an ability like the one you have could come in very useful if something really went wrong.” He was doing his best to imply that he believed her—that he was certain the rumors weren’t true. He only wished that he really could be that certain.

  “I can see that.” She was silent, and seemed to be thinking hard. Late afternoon sun was gilding everything, and the early breeze had died. The chirras’ eyes were half-closed in the drowsy warmth, and the few sounds to either side of them were those of farmworkers cutting hay and grain, and insects droning in the grass. “So you See, and Dirk Fetches?”

  “Right. That’s why we work together, and generally don’t ride Sectors except when we’re shorthanded, the way we have been lately. To put it bluntly, we’re Selenay’s thieves.” He laughed a little. “If I know what I’m looking for, I can generally find where it is from several miles away—more, if I get a ‘ride,’ like I got from you. Once I know exactly where it is and can fix the location in my mind, Dirk can read the location to Fetch whatever it is to where we happen to be. That’s how he retrieved Ylsa’s arrows.”

  “That seems to be a lot harder than it sounds… rather wearing, too, from the little I’ve seen.”

  “Gods, that’s an understatement. In a lot of ways, it would be less tiring to run on foot to where it is, get it, and run back. And the heavier the object, the more difficult it is to Fetch. We haven’t tried anything much larger than a building brick—and that gave him a reaction-headache that lasted for a week. I was pretty surprised when he had enough energy left to carry you to your room after retrieving those arrows.”

  “Aha!” She seemed pleased that it had been Dirk who had cared for her. “A mystery solved! I’ve wondered about that for the last two years. So he was the one!”

  “He was like a hen with one chick—wouldn’t let me do more than trail along, and I was in better shape th
an he. Said that with all those girls in his family, he knew better than I did what to do with a sick one.”

  “Can he work with anyone but you?”

  “We don’t know; he’s never tried, since he gets such a good ‘fix’ from me. Probably, though. One Farseer’s a lot like another.”

  “How long have you two been working together?” she asked curiously.

  “Since we both got our Whites. That was another year they were shorthanded, and sent us both out to intern with the same counselor—Gerick. Well, you know Gerick, he’s absentminded; he left a small, but valuable ring at one of the Waystations—it was the Queen’s gift to one of the Guildmasters. Rather than spend two hours going back for it, Dirk offered to try Fetching it. I Looked for it, found it had rolled under the bed while we were packing, and gave Dirk the location. That was when we discovered that I gave him the clearest ‘fix’ he’d ever had to work from. He Fetched the ring, no problem; we started working as a team, and we’ve been doing things that way ever since.”

  “It’s just that you seem so unlike each other, I find it hard to imagine you two staying together.”

  Kris laughed, pleased to have gotten onto a safe subject. “You might be surprised. Underneath that jester mask he wears, Dirk’s a very serious gentleman. And we have pretty much the same taste in music, reading, even food…”

  “In women?” she teased.

  “Well… that, too,” he admitted with a reluctant smile. “And it’s really pretty unfair. Poor Dirk—it doesn’t matter if he finds the lady first. Once she’s seen me she usually goes all ‘sisterly’ on him. He’s mostly pretty good-natured about it, but if I were in his shoes, I’d be damned annoyed!”

  “Well, he knows you can’t help it. You were born looking like an angel, and he… well, he wasn’t, and that’s all there is to say.”

  “It’s still not fair. You’d think that at least one woman would figure out that Dirk the man is worth ten faces like mine.”

  “I expect someday someone will,” Talia replied noncommittally, avoiding his eyes. “Where is he from?”

  Her reply was just a bit too casual; her attempt at nonchalance immediately set off mental alerts in Kris’ mind, especially following all those questions about his partner. Part of him followed up on the puzzle while he answered her question. He had a very faint suspicion, too tenuous to be even a guess. It was rather like trying to remember a name he’d forgotten. It would probably take a while before he had enough information to make a surmise… but now he’d be subconsciously watching for clues.

  “The Sector right next to ours, Sorrows One. He’s got a huge family up there. He used to haul me home with him for holidays—still does when we’re free. Three of his married sisters and their families live with their parents and help run the farm. It’s like a madhouse; people everywhere, babies and cats constantly underfoot. It’s marvelous madness, though. They’re wonderful people, and there’s never a lonely or dull moment.”

  He smiled half to himself as he recalled some of those visits, his earlier thoughts gone on the breeze. Dirk’s family—they should have been gypsies! All of them crazy, and all of them delightful. He’d been looking forward to another Midwinter Festival with them, but it obviously wasn’t going to be this year. Well, there was always another time.

  Talia’s next question broke the strange, apprehensive chill he felt at that thought.

  “What about you?”

  “Well, let me think. My father is Lord Peregrine; I’m the second son, but my brother is ten years older than I am, and I have nephews and nieces that aren’t much younger than you. My parents are both very wrapped up in matters of state, so I was left pretty much in the hands of my tutors, back on the family estate.”

  “I think I know your father; he’s one of the Seneschal’s chief assistants. And your mother?”

  “She organizes the resupply of the Waystations. I think she would have liked to have been a Herald, but since she wasn’t Chosen, this is the closest she can get.”

  “Weren’t there any children your own age on the estate?”

  “Not many; their parents seemed to think mine would be angry if their offspring were allowed to ‘contaminate’ me. I spent a great deal of my time reading.”

  “Like me—only you didn’t have to hide to do it!” she laughed. “You’re wrong there! My tutors seemed to think that my every waking moment should be spent learning something serious, dull, and practical. I had a hiding place up in the oldest tree in the garden. I fixed it up until it was quite impossible to see me from the ground. I smuggled my tales and poetry up there, and escaped at every opportunity.” A breeze that stirred the leaves of the trees lining the road to either side of them seemed to chuckle at Kris’ childish escapes. “Then, when I was twelve, my parents took me to Court. I don’t think it ever entered their heads that the Collegium stood on the same grounds.” He smiled. “Even if they’d forgotten, though, I hadn’t. I hoped—but when no Companion met me at the Palace gate, I gave the dream up. I was supposed to be presented at Vernal Equinox Festival, and I can remember everything, right down to the fact that one of my boot-lacings didn’t quite match the other. I was standing next to my father, outside, in the gardens, you know—when there was an unexpected visitor to the Festivities.”

  Tantris shook his head, making the bells on his bridle sing. Kris chuckled, and reached forward to scratch behind his ears. “I knew what the appearance of a Companion meant, and I kept looking around to see who he had come to Choose. I nearly went out of my mind with happiness, when I finally stopped craning my head around and found he was standing right in front of me! Then, when I looked into his eyes…” His voice trailed off.

  “It’s not like anything else, is it?” Talia prompted softly. “And it isn’t something you ever lose the wonder of.”

  “That it’s not,” he agreed, speaking half to himself. “And I knew then that I’d never be lonely again…” He shook off the spell, and became matter-of-fact. “Well, my parents were both very proud. They had me installed at the Collegium before I had a chance to turn around. Oddly enough, it’s easier to deal with them now that I’m an adult. My father can relate to me as an equal, and I think that my mother forgets half the time that I’m one of her offspring. I really don’t think they ever knew what to do with a child.”

  “They probably didn’t, especially with so much time between you and your brother.”

  “Dirk has no notion how much I envy him his family,” he sighed.

  “You think not?” Talia smiled. “Then why does he keep bringing you home with him?”

  “I never thought about that.”

  They rode silently for a mile or so.

  “Talia, do you ever miss your family?”

  “Not after I found other people who really cared about me. I was the scarlet jay among the crows with them; I was more of an outsider among my own family than I ever was at the Collegium. One of those pretty brothers of mine used to steal my books, and call me ‘Herald Talia’ to make me cry. I’d like to have seen his face when I was Chosen.”

  “Do you ever think about going back?”

  “You know, that used to be a daydream of mine, that I’d somehow magically become a Herald—remember, I didn’t know about being Chosen—and I’d come back dressed in my Whites and covered in glory. Then they’d all be envious, and sorry that they were mean to me.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, I went back long enough to try and ‘rescue’ the sister I’d been closest to only to find she had turned into a stranger. I didn’t go any farther into the Holdings, just turned around and came back home. I didn’t want to see any of them again. Why bother? My parents pretended I was an outsider, my sibs were either afraid or contemptuous; Heralds are very immoral, you know. What is it Mero’s Book says? About how the people you grow up with react to your fame?”

  “‘No one honors a saint on his hearthstone.’”

  “It’s true, too. I’m resigned to letting things
rest as they are, knowing that my example shows misfits that there is an escape.”

  * * *

  He didn’t seem inclined to further conversation, so she turned her attention back to those unsettling rumors.

  Poisonous, that’s what they were. Ugly, and poisonous.

  And true? said a niggling little doubt.

  She wanted to deny any truth to it at all—vehemently. But could she? In all conscience, could she?

  The business about Elspeth—no, she could not believe she’d been fostering dependence in the child, not even unconsciously. Once Elspeth had begun acting like a human being again, she’d been pushing her toward independence, driving her to make her own decisions and take responsibility for the results.

  But the rest—oh, insidious. For a Mindspeaker, it was obvious when he was projecting; it sounded to the recipient a great deal like the Mindspeaker’s normal voice, but as if the words were coming from deep inside his own ear. But when she projected—would anyone be able to tell she was doing so?

  She could tell; sending emotion cost her effort and energy.

  But if she were excited or agitated—would she notice the energy expense?

  Did she even need to be doing it while she was awake? What about when she was asleep? How could she possibly be sure what her irrational sleeping mind was doing?

  And what about simply reading people’s emotional states? Was she transgressing by doing so, and acting on the knowledge?

  How could she avoid doing it? It was like seeing color; it was just there unless someone was deliberately shielding.

  Doubt followed doubt in an insidious circle, each feeding on the one preceding it, until Kris broke the silence.

  “This is our first stop—this close to the capital they won’t be hungry for news, and it’s very unlikely they’d need us to work in any official capacity. Still, it’s only good manners to repay them in some way for their hospitality. Small villages don’t see trained Bards oftener than once a month, so they’re very receptive to even amateur music. Would you be willing to sing if I played?”