Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Gods—I don’t think he’s left anything to chance—

  There was no superficial reason for the violent feeling of animosity that struck her; as they exchanged courtesies the Prince seemed perfectly amiable. He was darkly handsome with smooth, even features and a neat black beard and mustache. He spoke to them fairly enough and accorded them every honor. As he rode beside them, back into the city and toward the palace, he discoursed on neutral topics—the harvest to come, the recent spring floods that had occurred in both countries, his wish for continuing good relations between the two Kingdoms. All perfectly natural topics, and all spoken in tones of good-will.

  None of this made the slightest bit of difference to Talia. There was something indefinably evil about the man, something cold and calculating, like a snake judging when it would be best to strike.

  He was paying very little attention to Talia, who was riding with Kris between them; as if, because of her sex, she was not quite of an exalted enough station for him to bother with. That was all to the good; since he was busy directing his attention to Kris, she decided that this was no time for ethical quibbling; she would try to probe him. This was neither diplomatic nor particularly moral, but she didn’t much care. There was something lurking beneath the smooth, careful surface of this cultivated Prince, and she was determined to discover what it was.

  She was stopped by a powerful shield—one unlike anything she had ever touched before. There were no cracks in it that she could discover, not by the most careful probing. Startled, she cast a surreptitious glance at Ancar; he continued his conversation without seeming the least disturbed. So he was not the one doing the shielding. Who was?

  Then her sharp glance was intercepted by a nondescript man in gray riding to the left of the Prince. He looked at her with eyes like dead brown pebbles, then permitted himself a faint smile and a nod. She shivered, and looked hastily away.

  * * *

  They couldn’t reach the Palace grounds any too soon for Talia, who only wanted out of the Prince’s presence. When they reached the courtyard of the Palace the entire entourage dismounted and dozens of liveried grooms appeared to lead the horses away—and with them, their Companions. Shaken by the encounter with the Prince’s mage, Talia scanned the grooms quickly for any evidence of harmful intent.

  Thank the gods—

  To her relief there was nothing there but admiration for the beautiful creatures and the honest wish to make them comfortable. She tried to link with Rolan, and caught an impression of concern, but in the confusion it was hard to make out what the concern was for.

  Kris began to say something—the Prince interrupted him before he’d even gotten a single syllable out.

  “The Palace is quite remarkable,” said Ancar, a kind of glint in his eye that Talia didn’t understand and didn’t at all like. “You really must see it all.”

  What could they do but consent?

  And the Prince seemed determined that they see every inch of his father’s Palace, conducting them all over it himself. He kept himself at Kris’ side, and one of his ubiquitous toadies at Talia’s, effectively separating them. They couldn’t even signal to one another—and Talia was nearly stiff with apprehension before the enforced tour was over. Her anxiety, carefully concealed, redoubled every moment they spent in his presence, and she longed for one single moment alone with Kris. It almost seemed as if the Prince were deliberately attempting to prevent any contact between the two Heralds that did not take place under his gaze, for he kept them at his side until it was nearly time for the state banquet that was to welcome them.

  * * *

  At last they were left alone in their sumptuous suite.

  Talia scanned about her for listeners, but could detect none. But then—could she if they were shielded?

  Make discretion the better part, then.

  “Lord of Light,” she sighed, “I didn’t think I could ever be so tired…”

  Hand-sign; Trap—listeners? She sat down on a couch, and patted the fabric next to her in invitation.

  He took a seat next to her, and her hand. Squeezed. Gift?

  She squeezed back. Shields?

  His eyebrows arched in surprise. How?

  “Did you see that odd little man on the Prince’s right?” she asked. Him. “I wonder what on earth he could be.” Shielded Ancar. Maybe more.

  “Who knows? Some sort of tutor, maybe.” Trouble.

  “Hm. I could use a little air.” For true.

  They moved to the open window, arms around one another, loverlike.

  “Little bird,” Kris whispered in her ear, “There’s another problem—there aren’t enough guards visible here.”

  Talia giggled and nuzzled his neck. “I’m not sure I understand you,” she murmured back.

  He laughed, and kissed her with expertly feigned passion. “Look, Selenay is well-loved, so she keeps a minimum of guards about her for safety—but they’re still there, still visible. Alessandar is just as highly regarded, so I would expect to see about the same number of guards. I didn’t see them. If they’re not in sight, they must be out of sight. Why should he hide his guards? Unless he doesn’t know that they’re hidden—and if you can hide one, you can hide a dozen just as easily. I don’t like it.”

  “Kris, please—” Talia whispered urgently. “I’ve changed my mind about staying. I think we should get out of here. Now. Tonight.”

  “I agree; I think we’ve walked into a bit more than we can handle by ourselves.” He led her back to the couch, where they continued the mock-loveplay. “I’ve got no doubt now after seeing that magician and watching the way people react to Ancar that every one of the rumors is true. So we’d better leave tonight—but not quite yet. I want to find out what’s going on with Alessandar first.” He stayed quiet for a moment, deep in thought, hands resting in the small of her back, and face buried in her hair. “I think we should send substitutes into the banquet and do some spying before we leave.”

  “All right, but I’ll do the spying. If I unshield I’ll be able to detect people coming long before you would.”

  “Could you tell if there’s a shielded spy watching us by the shield on him?”

  “Alone—no.”

  “I see what you’re getting at. Link—”

  By linking their two Gifts, her Empathy and his Farsight, they were able to scan their entire vicinity for “null” areas. And discovered, to their mutual chagrin, that there were no spies, shielded or otherwise.

  “Well—” he pulled away from her, embarrassed. “I certainly feel like a fool.”

  “Don’t.” She ran her hands nervously through her hair, and smiled wanly at him. “Better we take the precaution needlessly. If we send in substitutes, won’t they be recognized?”

  “No one from the Prince’s party will be at the banquet, remember? There won’t be anyone there who’s ever seen us. And if we use a couple of the servants there should be no problems. After all, no one ever looks at servants. The two they assigned to us should do. They’re enough like us in size and appearance that our uniforms will fit reasonably well. I’ll get their attention, and you deep-trance, and take them over.”

  Talia shivered. She didn’t like doing this, but Kris couldn’t. His Gift of Farsight would do him no good in implanting a false personality. It was only by virtue of the fact that her Gift of Empathy was a particularly strong one that Talia could do it at all—this was normally a trick only Mindspeakers could manage.

  Kris rang for the two who had been assigned to them. As he had pointed out, they were similar enough in height and build to the two of them that the uniforms should fit well enough to cause no comment.

  The servants arrived, and with them, their baggage; Kris instructed them in the unpacking of the formal uniforms. While he engaged their attention, Talia put herself into deep-trance.

  Forgive me—she thought, then reached out and touched their minds—lightly—there—first the man, then the woman—

  Kris caught them as t
hey fell, easing them down onto the bed.

  Talia insinuated herself carefully into their minds, sending their real selves into a kind of waking sleep.

  Now—for the next part she would need help—

  :Rolan?:

  In a moment he was with her, still anxious, but in agreement with the plan, or at least as much of it as she was able to show him without being able to Mindspeak him in words instead of images.

  Together they implanted false personalities and memories in their two substitutes; he could do some things she couldn’t, she could make them believe that they were the foreigners. For the next several hours the servants would be a sketchy sort of Kris and Talia, and remain that way until they returned to these rooms after the banquet. Their behavior would be rather stilted and wooden, but the formal etiquette such occasions demanded would cover most of that.

  Talia let Rolan go, and eased herself up out of trance, feeling very stiff, quite exhausted, and just a bit guilty.

  “Is it—”

  “They’re ready,” she replied, moving her head around to ease the stiffness in her neck, and getting slowly to her feet. “Let’s get some clothes on them.”

  They clothed the pair in the waiting formal Whites as if they were dealing with two dolls, it being easier to handle them in the entranced state. Talia cut their hair in imitation of Kris’ and her own, and applied her skill with makeup to both of them. When she’d done, they bore at least enough of a superficial resemblance to the two of them to get them safely through the doors.

  “All right.” Kris looked at her as they got the two substitutes on their feet. “I’m for the stables. It’s going to take a little time to find the Companions and their tack without being detected. If I can, I’ll get everything and get them all saddled up. If you have the chance, you meet me at the stable doors.”

  “Fine,” Talia replied nervously. “I’m going to sneak up to the second floor and the minstrel’s gallery. I ought to learn something there; with luck I may be able to pick up something from one of Ancar’s toadies, and I’ll definitely be able to probe Alessandar and find out if he knows what his son is up to. I won’t take long, if I can help it.”

  “If the worst happens, and you have to run for it, tell Rolan, and I’ll pick you up on the run in the courtyard.” Kris gave her a tight grin, and she returned it.

  Talia took her substitute by the elbow; Kris did the same with his. Together they led them as far as the doors to the suite; then Talia released their minds and gave hers a little push. The young woman blinked once, then her implanted personality took over. She took the young man’s arm; he opened the door, and led her toward the banquet hall. Kris and Talia followed behind them long enough to be certain that the ruse would work, then separated.

  Thanks to the Prince’s enforced tour they were both familiar with the layout of the entire Palace. Kris made for one of the servants’ stairs that led to the stables; once she saw him safely on his way, Talia headed for the gallery that overlooked the banquet hall.

  She dropped all her shielding and slipped from shadow to shadow along the corridor, taking another of the servants’ stairs to the second floor. The activity in the banquet hall aided her; the servants hadn’t yet had time to light more than a few of the candles meant to illuminate the maze of corridors. She detected no one as she moved to the wall that backed the gallery.

  She sensed the presence of many men as she paused there, hiding herself in the folds of drapery along the wall. This was very wrong. There were to be no minstrels playing in the gallery until much later this evening; at the moment they were playing from behind a screen on the floor of the hall. There should be no one at all in the gallery at this time.

  She closed her eyes and carefully extended her other sense past the wall, hoping that one of them might be nervous enough to let her read what he was seeing, carried on the wind of his emotions.

  It was easy—too easy. The images came charging into her mind—she knew who and what they were, and what their intent was, and her heart leapt into her throat with terror.

  Ranged at about three-foot intervals around the gallery, which ran the entire circumference of the hall, were crossbowmen. Their weapons were loaded and ready, and each had a full quiver of bolts beside him. These were not members of Alessandar’s guard, nor soldiers from his army; these were ruthless killers recruited personally by Ancar.

  The Prince was impatient, and no longer prepared to wait for his father’s natural death to bring him to the seat of power. He was also ambitious, and not content with the prospect of ruling only one kingdom. Here in one room sat his father and everyone who might be opposed to Ancar’s rule, as well as the two Heralds who might have warned their Queen of his intent. The opportunity was far too tempting for him to pass by. Once the banquet was well underway, the doors would be locked—and all who might oppose Ancar’s desires would die.

  With the exception of the Heralds; Ancar’s orders concerning them were to disable, not kill. And if anything, that frightened Talia even more.

  Ancar must have had this whole scheme planned for months, and had only waited for the perfect moment to put it in motion. The six days’ warning he’d had when they crossed the Border was sufficient for him to mobilize what was already prepared.

  When the slaughter was over he would ride with his own army to the Border, overwhelm the Queen and her escort as soon as they’d crossed it, kill her, seize Elspeth, and present himself as Valdemar’s ruler by fait accompli.

  Talia longed for Kyril’s ability to Farspeak; even at this distance she would have been able to get some kind of warning back to the Heralds near the Border. And she would have been able to Mindcall Kris, and warn him as well. All she could do was to Mindcall to Rolan, carrying her message on a burst of purest fear, and hope he could convey the whole to Kris through Tantris.

  She slipped back to the staircase as silently and carefully as she had come, and made her way down to the lower floor.

  The hall here was lighted well, and Talia feared to set foot in it; feared it doubly when she sensed the presence of more of Ancar’s men standing at intervals along it, presumably to take care of any stragglers. She clung, half paralyzed with terror, to the inside of the door, and tried to think. Was there any other way out?

  Then she recalled the smaller rooms of state, meant for receptions and the like, that faced the forecourt on the second floor. Many of them had balconies, and windows or doors that opened out onto the balconies. For the second time she climbed the staircase, heart pounding, her Empathic-sense extended to the utmost.

  She moved along the wall, between it and the musty draperies lining it, until she came to the door of one of those rooms. Mercifully it was unoccupied and unlocked; not even a single candle was lit within. She crept out from behind the drape, ignoring the itch of dust in her eyes and nose, and slipped inside.

  There was only the gleam of torchlight and moonlight through the windows, but that was enough to show her a room with a polished-wood floor empty of all furniture. She edged around the walls, grudging the time, but not wanting to silhouette herself against those windows for anyone passing by the hall door.

  The door to the balcony was locked, but from the inside. Talia realized this after an instant of panic-stricken struggle with it. The catch was stiff, but finally gave. She eased the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, crouched low so as to be below the balustrade. A moment’s surveillance of the courtyard showed no eyes to be watching it; she slipped over the balustrade and was about to drop to the court, when the killing began.

  With her Empathic senses extended as they were, that nearly killed her along with the rest. She felt the deaths of dozens of people in her own flesh; she lost her grip on the railing and dropped to the cobblestones below. Shock, pain, and fear drove any other thoughts out of her, she could not even move to save herself. She was falling—and couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but react—react to the agony, the terror—and the anguished
guilt of Alessandar’s guards seeing him pinned to his throne by dozens of crossbow bolts before they themselves were cut down—

  But Alberich had foreseen the day when something like this might happen; he had drilled her until some reactions had become instinctive. Though her mind might be helpless beneath that onslaught, her body wasn’t—

  She twisted in midair, rolled into a limp ball—hit the pavement feet-first, and turned the impact into a tumble that left her sprawled and bruised, but otherwise unharmed.

  Her face twisted with agony as she struggled to her feet and staggered toward the entrance to the stable area, trying to shut her shields down and the pain out. It seemed like an eternity between each stumbling step, yet she had hardly taken half a dozen when she heard the pounding of hooves on stone and saw a white form surging toward her.

  It was Rolan—unsaddled. He did not pause as he passed her, knowing that she would not be able to mount unless he came to a dead stop. Hard on his heels came Tantris carrying Kris—who was leaning over as far as he dared, one hand wrapped in Tantris’ mane, the other extended toward her, his legs clenched so tightly she could almost feel the muscles ache. As Companion and rider passed her, Talia caught him, hands catching forearms, as she leaped and Kris pulled her up in front of him. Tantris had had to slow a trifle, and Rolan was ahead of him, but they’d not had to stop.

  But there was one last obstacle to pass—the narrow passage between the inner and outer walls that led to the portcullis and the outer gate. And Talia had succeeded in shielding herself once again—so they had no warning that the walls were manned.

  They galloped straight into a hail of arrows.

  It was over in seconds. Fire lanced through Talia’s shoulder—just as Tantris screamed in agony, shuddered, and crashed to the ground. She was thrown forward and hit the ground stunned, with the impact breaking off the shaft of the arrow and driving the head deeper. But more agonizing than her own pain was what Kris was enduring.