Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Talia hauled the packs and bedrolls inside, then began to get them set up while Kris ducked inside long enough to get grain for the Companions and the chirras who were now in the stabling at the side of the building. She took a rushlight from her saddlebag by feel, and lit it from her bit of tinder. To her immense relief, the place seemed to be quite sturdy, and well maintained and supplied. She threw the bedrolls into the twin bedboxes, then proceeded (wistfully wishing for just a touch of Griffon’s Gift) to get a fire going. It took several false starts, but eventually she managed to get a respectable blaze on the cold hearth. Once the flames were high enough to provide illumination as well as warmth, she extinguished the light she’d lit; no sense in wasting what wasn’t really necessary, and the rushlights took up so much space in the packs that they didn’t carry many of them. She unpacked some of their food supplies and unsealed the vermin-proof cendal-wood bins the Station staples were kept in to put together a reasonable meal, then took two of the larger pots outside to the well to get water for washing and cooking.

  Kris seemed to be taking overly long with bedding down the chirras and Companions; she’d managed to heat enough water for both of them to wash, had fixed a meal, and had cleaned herself up and changed into a worn shift and old breeches she kept for sleeping in before he finally appeared. She was about to chide him for being so slow, when she realized that he’d dawdled on purpose.

  “Kris, you don’t have to be so thrice-blessed chivalrous, you know,” she said instead, feeling his reticence sharply, and being irrationally irritated by it. “All the children on the Holdings sleep in the same room until they’re thirteen, and you know very well I’ve shared Waystations and tents with my whole ear-group while we were in training. I can’t possibly have something you’ve never seen before—and the same goes for you.”

  “I’m… just not used to having a woman as a partner,” he said.

  “Then stop thinking of me as a woman,” she yawned, bundling herself into her bedroll and blinking at him sleepily through the firelight. Her irritation was gone as quickly as it had come, once she’d reinforced her shielding—although the fact that she’d had to do the latter bothered her; she shouldn’t have needed to.

  “That’s easy for you to say!” he retorted.

  “Then pretend I’m Keren, with no interest in men whatsoever. Because if you don’t, one of these evenings I’m going to find an ice statue waiting outside the door—and it’ll be you!”

  He chuckled, and admitted that she just might be right.

  * * *

  Her heart pounded a little the next day as they approached their first village of their Sector. There was no telling what reception awaited them—or what requests. This far from the capital, a village often didn’t even boast its own priest, but shared one with several other villages; and the only representatives of Kingdom law were the Heralds.

  Her shields were so very thin; she’d discovered that last night. She couldn’t fathom why; shielding had always been second-nature, nearly instinctive—and now they seemed to be eroding, slowly, inexorably. She was frightened by the loss of control and was afraid to tell Kris, afraid her confession would simply reinforce his own doubts about her, and create more stress than she already had.

  As they rode in, it appeared as though the entire population of the area had assembled to meet them. Talia thought they must have had lookouts posted, perhaps for the last week or so, waiting for the Heralds they knew were replacing the injured one. The emotional atmosphere—which she felt in spite of her best efforts to shield—was tense, with no hint of why. The village was a small one, single-storied houses of gray wood and darker gray stone, topped with tile roofs, all clustered about a central square. There were no bright-painted shutters here; the wind-driven ice of winter storms would have etched the paint off in a single season. The inn was so small it obviously had no guest-rooms; those overnighting would have to sleep in the common room on the benches when the inn closed for the night. There was no sign of damage to any of the buildings, no hint of disorder; whatever had these folk anxious had nothing to do with their material life. The village folk, though—they were dressed in gaudy colors, as if for a festival. So why the feeling of apprehension so thick she could almost smell it?

  “Thanks be to the Lady, you’ve finally come!”

  A plump woman who reminded Talia for all the world of a hen bustled forward, pushing before her a young couple of about sixteen or so until they stood less than a foot from Kris’ stirrup. Both were dressed in heavily embroidered finery, and the girl was roundly pregnant. They clutched each other’s hands as if they were afraid, and neither of them would look at the Heralds. Talia was puzzled beyond her own worries. What was it that could be wrong—that she hadn’t sensed?

  “The priest took sick and hasn’t been able to make his rounds since eight weeks ago,” continued the plump woman, tucking a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “and in any case, he hasn’t been here since before Midsummer. There hasn’t been anyone to marry these two in all that time!”

  “Were they properly year-and-day handfasted?” Talia asked, knowing the Border custom, meant to ensure fertility before a permanent bond was made.

  “Bright Stars, yes—the priest did it himself last Midwinter!” the woman exclaimed impatiently, while the other villagers nodded in agreement.

  Enlightenment dawned on Talia, though Kris was obviously still perplexed about the reason for their obvious apprehension.

  “You’re both still willing?” he asked. Both gave a very shy assent, but one obviously unforced.

  “They’re just victims of very bad timing,” Talia whispered to him. “And they’re afraid we’ll disapprove—maybe even refuse to wed them—because they left the formal ceremony so long. They should have wedded as soon as they knew she was with child, but I’ll bet a pretty they were so busy with planting that they put it off until after Midsummer, assuming the priest would get here in plenty of time—except that they hadn’t counted on him falling ill. Poor babies! They’re terribly in awe of us, and they’re afraid we’ll make difficulties for them because they didn’t take care of it right away. We’d be within our right to do so… by the letter of the law.”

  “But not by the spirit,” Kris whispered back, relieved that it was so simple. “Well, since everyone’s agreed,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, smiling broadly, “what’s holding up the celebration?”

  There was a general sigh of tension vanishing, and trestle tables and food began appearing as if conjured by a spell. Before very long the square had been transformed and a proper wedding celebration was in full swing. To save them any further embarrassment, Kris took the young couple off to one side and witnessed their vows, signing their wedding contract as officiating Herald in lieu of a priest.

  The young couple returned to enjoy their feast, their shyness nearly gone. They were obviously comforted on two counts: that the Heralds had made no difficulty over the lateness of their vows, and that now their firstborn would have no taint of illegitimacy about it.

  The remainder of that day they spent in relative idleness, since there was no use whatsoever in trying to get any official business conducted. The press of people was putting a considerable strain on Talia, but she thought she was succeeding in keeping the strain from showing, even to Kris. She sat mostly on the edge of things, speaking pleasantly when spoken to, but letting Kris take the lion’s share of the attention.

  And she was even more worried than when they’d first entered this village; her shields hadn’t been this fragile since before she’d learned the full use of her Gift. Virtually anything would bring them down, and she had to expend ridiculous amounts of energy to put them back up again.

  If only she’d never heard those filthy rumors…

  The thought of the rumors brought her back full circle to her self-doubt and fear, and the press of emotions became almost painful, until she finally resorted to an old expedient; drinking enough wine to blur the ed
ges of her sensing, and make it all bearable. It was rather too bad that it left her sober enough to negotiate the dark path back to the Waystation with no trouble at all—for that meant she was still sober enough to think.

  * * *

  They returned the next day, ready for business. The people of the village had no grievances that needed settling, but they were eager to hear the news from the capital and the other towns of the Sector. The common room of the inn, dark and smoky as it was, was the only “public” room in the whole village, so that was where they conducted their business. The village storyteller—who doubled as the clerk—sat drinking in every word they spoke, and making copious notes, for it would be his duty to repeat all that the Heralds related for those who were absent from the village, or for those small holders who seldom came to town.

  They gave the morning to the decisions of the Queen and Council, how and why those decisions had been reached, and what, if any, laws had been passed to uphold and enforce those decisions; and the afternoon they spent relating the news of the Court and events of major importance to the entire Kingdom—all of which took them until darkness fell, and they returned to the Station again.

  This day had lain easier on Talia’s wire-taunt nerves, for there was nothing to excite anyone’s emotions in the dry news they recited, and even if there had been, the storyteller/clerk was too intent on memorizing every word to allow his feelings to intrude. When the two of them returned to the Waystation, Talia made herself a cup of double-strength shamile tea, a strong soporific. She was determined to get to sleep, and to sleep deeply, thinking perhaps weariness was part of the cause of her troubles.

  But her dreams were uneasy, and she woke feeling more drained than she had been when she’d gone to sleep.

  * * *

  They spent the third day on the reports of the headman and clerk, and taking the verbal news of the village to be passed on up the line. Kris would carry the headman’s written reports until they came to a center of population large enough to boast a messenger, or until they arrived at a Resupply Station, at which point he could send what he had collected south to the capital, together with his own observations on the probable truth or falsehood of the information contained in them.

  That was Kris’ job. Talia remained in the background the entire time, hoping to be noticed as little as possible, for it seemed that the strain was worst when she was interacting with someone.

  But that evening at the Waystation, Kris insisted on hearing Talia’s opinion on the reports they’d been given, and the reliability of the headman and clerk who had given them.

  “They seemed honest to me,” she told him, hoping he had no notion of how much she had sensed, against her will. “I didn’t have any feeling they were trying to mislead us, hide anything, or hold anything back. As far as I can judge, the only mistakes in their records are honest errors. They were quick enough to correct them, in any event, when you pointed them out.”

  “Good,” Kris said with satisfaction. “That tallies with what I saw. I’m just as glad; I hate calling people out—even when it’s blatantly obvious that they’re lying to me.” He noted both their observations on the cover page of the reports, and sealed them in a waterproof wrapper.

  To Talia’s relief, he had not seemed to note how much strain she was under.

  “I didn’t realize we took tax records, too,” she said, attempting to distract herself—and him—with questions about routine.

  “Always, in Border Sectors; almost never in the interior. We take a duplicate of what they’re supposed to give the taxmen when they come next spring. This way, if some disaster should destroy their records, they have at least a partial reckoning on file. It’s to their advantage, since if there’s a disaster of that magnitude, the village may have lost quite a bit more than the records, and the Queen will be able to judge what aid to give them based on what would have been taxed.”

  She did not make the same mistake with the tea this night, but instead lay in the darkness of the Station, staring up at the blackness above her head, listening to Kris’ quiet breathing and going back to her earliest lessons in shield-discipline. She thought, when she finally was weary enough to sleep, that she might have reinforced her shields enough to carry her through the final day.

  * * *

  The fourth day they went over the clerk-storyteller’s accounts of what they’d told him, making corrections or elaborations as required. When the fifth day dawned (much to Talia’s relief), they were back on the road again; headed through the village on their way out, but not to do more than pick up their laundry and visit the village bathhouse.

  * * *

  By the time they were well past the village and out into the wilds, it was growing noticeably colder, and both of them were wearing their heavier winter cloaks. The trees were now totally barren of leaves, and the warm, friendly scents of autumn were gone from the wind. Although it seldom rained anymore, the skies continued to be overcast—a featureless slate-gray. They crunched their way through a carpet of dead, brown leaves that had collected on the roadway. Most of the birds and beasts were gone, hibernating, or in hiding now; the loss of foliage and cover made them cautious and quiet, those that were left. The Heralds seldom saw more than the occasional rabbit or squirrel, and never heard much besides the wind in the naked boughs of the trees and the scream of a crow or two. The Companions’ bridle bells made a lonely chime against the silence of the sleeping forest.

  So far as Talia was concerned, that was all to the good; at least she wasn’t having to be continually on guard against her shields failing. But her nerves continued to fray; and as they traveled onward through the bleak woods, she wasn’t sure which was worse, being alone in this gloom-ridden wilderness, where the gray and empty forest only fed her depression, or being surrounded by people, with shields slowly going to pieces.

  * * *

  Kris wasn’t much happier; he kept wondering if—and how much—of his general feelings of approval toward Talia were manufactured. Was she consciously or unconsciously augmenting them? He was beginning to examine every nuance of feeling, trying to detect if she had had a hand in it.

  He liked her—Bright Havens, he wanted to like her, she was so much like him in so many ways. She was a good partner, taking on tasks without complaining, without needing to be prompted, striving to be a full equal and pull her own weight… and yet, and yet…

  Yet there were those rumors, and his own feelings that he could well have been tampered with without his ever noticing it. “No smoke without fire?” Perhaps. It was so damned hard to tell… and the way she was withdrawing wasn’t helping.

  * * *

  The next stop was two days distant, which meant an overnight stay in a Waystation midway between the two villages. Kris was no longer even thinking of his partner in terms of being female; now the strain on his nerves was because of his suspicions. They repeated their routine of the first night; Talia readying the shelter while Kris took care of the four-footed members of the party. His night-vision was much better than hers; it only seemed logical. And it gave him a chance to consult with Tantris without her around.

  Tantris was puzzled, and worried. :I haven’t felt anything, little brother, but…:

  “But?” Kris asked aloud.

  :I am not certain that I would. Rolan is disturbed, and refuses to discuss it.:

  “Great.”

  :He is senior to me, as you are senior to Talia. If he does not wish to discuss the private affairs of his Chosen, that is his business, and his right.:

  “I know, I know. Look, at least tell me if you pick up anything, all right?”

  :You have my word,: his Companion replied, but I think perhaps…”

  “Perhaps what?”

  :You need more expert aid,: came the reluctant reply.

  “Tell me from where, and I’ll get it! There isn’t anybody in the Circle with a Gift like hers—and I rather doubt that Healer’s Empathy is identical.”

  :True,: came the s
igh in his mind, and after that, he could coax nothing more out of Tantris on the subject.

  It troubled him deeply. If a Companion didn’t feel up to the problem…

  * * *

  And they did not even have time to reach the gate of the next village before they were met on the road by two different parties demanding justice.

  They saw it coming easily enough. “Steady,” Kris said as they rode into a press of farmers in heavy brown homespun, who crowded up against the sides of the Companions with their petitions. Talia went pale and strained, and sat on Rolan’s back absolutely motionless and with lips tightly compressed. Kris did his best to sort out the arguments, then finally lost patience and sharply ordered them all to hold their tongues.

  When the clamor died down, he finally managed to ascertain that there were two aggrieved parties, both as alike to his eyes as a pair of crows—brown hair, thick brown beards, nearly identical clothing of brown homespun. After listening to both sides, and putting up with each one interrupting the other until he was ready to take a stick to both of them, he decreed that the argument was moot until third parties could be questioned.

  The dispute was a trivial one by his lights, over a cow and her calf. The facts were that a bull had somehow made its way into a field containing a cow in season; not surprisingly, the calf resulted. The calf was quite plainly the offspring of the bull in question, nor did the cow’s owner deny this. What was under dispute was how the bull had gotten at the cow in the first place.

  The cow’s owner claimed angrily that the owner of the bull had allowed it to stray, and that it had found its own way there, and thus he had incurred no stud fee. He pointed to the damage done to his hedges, and inquired with self-righteous wrath if anyone thought he’d ruin his own enclosure to save himself the fee.

  The bull’s owner claimed just as vociferously that the owner of the cow had enticed the bull into the pasture with the express purpose of saving himself the stud fee.