Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  No, it didn’t; for now Ancar’s regular troops were charging Selenay’s line. The bowmen showered them with arrows—no few of which found their marks. Ancar’s own crossbowmen had long since expended their own bolts—uselessly, it might be added—and had switched to charging with the rest, swords in hand. Selenay’s Guardsfolk braced themselves for the shock, for now the first step of their battle plan was about to take place.

  When Ancar’s line hit Selenay’s with a clangor of metal on metal and cries of battle-rage and pain, most of their force was concentrated on the middle, where Selenay’s standard was. She waited, ignoring the sight and sound of her people killing and being killed, for several long moments—for she, not the Lord Marshal, was the field commander. Her Gift of Foresight was not a strong one, but it was an invaluable one, for it operated best on the battlefield. It would not tell her what was to happen, but given that there were plans already made, it would tell her when the exact instant occurred that those plans should be set into motion.

  She waited, listening for that insistent inner prompting. Then—“Tell the left to pull in,” she said to Kyril.

  He Mindsent, with a frown of concentration, and almost instantly the troops on the lefthand side of the standard began making their way toward the center.

  As she’d hoped, Ancar sent his cavalry to the left, with foot following—supposing that he could encircle their line at that point, or even capture the supposed Heir.

  “Wheel—” she told Kyril. And relayed by the Heralds with each group, the entire force pivoted on the center, with the leftmost end being on the very edge of the swamp, where some of Ancar’s cavalry were even now discovering the two and three feet of water and mud.

  She waited another long moment, until all of Ancar’s forces were between her line and the woods on the left.

  Then—“Now, Kyril! Call them in!”

  And pouring from the woods came the troops that had hidden there all night—fresh, angry, and out for blood; the defectors from Alessandar’s army, and the Heralds that were their link to the command post. The defectors looked a little odd, for each of them had spent a few moments of his hours in waiting cutting away the sleeves of his uniform tunic so that the sleeves of the white, padded gambeson showed. There could now be no mistaking them on the battlefield for Ancar’s troopers.

  Caught between two forces, with a morass in front of them, even Ancar’s seasoned veterans began to panic.

  After that, it was a rout.

  * * *

  Griffon was the first to reach the Keep, half-blind with reaction-headache. He had stayed only long enough to assure himself that the victory was indeed Selenay’s, then pulled himself onto his Companion’s back and sought the Healers.

  “We did it; we pulled it off,” he told Elspeth, downing a swallow of headache-potion with a grimace. “Those extra troops from Hardorn turned the tide. By now what’s left of Ancar’s army is probably being chased across the border with its tail between its legs.”

  “What about Ancar himself?”

  “Never got into the thick of battle; probably he’s gotten away. And before you ask, I don’t know if Hulda was with him, but I’d guess not. From what I’ve been able to pick up from you and Talia, I’d say she isn’t one to put herself at any kind of risk. She’s probably safely back at the capital, consolidating things for her ‘little dear.’”

  “What about—”

  “Elspeth, my head is about ready to break open. I think I know why Lavan called the Firestorm down on himself—it probably felt better than his reaction-headache! I’m going to go pass out for a while. Thank Talia for me. We couldn’t have done it without her. And you stay ready; they’ll be bringing battle casualties back any minute now. The Healers will need every hand they can get, and there’ll be plenty of fellows eager for the privilege of having the Heir listening to their boasts while they’re being patched up.”

  * * *

  So it proved… and Elspeth learned firsthand of the aftermath of battle. She grew a great deal older in the next few hours. And never again would she think of war as “glorious.”

  * * *

  Selenay remained on the Border, as fresh troops came to help with mopping-up, but Elspeth, the Councilors, the wounded, and most of the Heralds (including Talia and Dirk) returned to the capital.

  Just before the Councilors left, Selenay called them all together.

  “I must remain here,” she said, feeling gray with exhaustion. “Elspeth has full powers of regency; in my absence she heads the Council—with full vote.”

  Lord Gartheser looked as if he was about to protest, then subsided, sullenly. The Councilors who had been Orthallen’s advocates—with the exception of Hyron—were angry and unhappy and would be Elspeth’s first problem.

  “You have no choice in this, my Councilors,” Selenay told them, fixing her eyes on Gartheser in particular. “In war the Monarch has right of decree, as you well know. And should there be any trouble…”

  She paused significantly.

  “Be certain that I shall hear of it—and act.”

  * * *

  Elspeth called a Council meeting as soon as they were all settled, but sent messages that it would be held in Talia’s quarters.

  With the more aged or slothful of the Councilors grumbling and panting their way up the stairs to the top story, the meeting convened.

  Talia was by no means well; she was healed enough to manage an hour or two undrugged, but no more than that. She was propped up on her little couch, positioned just under her window. She wore bandages everywhere except her head and neck; her ruined feet were encased in odd bootlike contraptions. She was nearly as white as the uniform she wore. Elspeth sat next to her, with one eye on her at all times.

  Lord Gartheser (predictably) was the first to speak. “What has been going on here?” he snapped angrily. “What’s all this nonsense about Orthallen being a traitor? I—”

  “It is not nonsense, my lord,” Talia interrupted him quietly. “I heard it from his co-conspirators, and his own actions when confronted merely with their names proves his guilt.”

  Simply, and without elaboration, she told the whole story of what she and Kris had learned about Ancar, of the massacre at the banquet, of Kris’ death, and her confrontations with Hulda and Ancar.

  When she paused, obviously tired, Elspeth took up the tale, relating what Talia had told them after Dirk had brought her back, and the scene with Orthallen.

  Lord Gartheser sat silently through it all, mouth agape, growing paler by the moment.

  “So you can see, Councilors,” Elspeth finished, “why my very first act as regent must be to ascertain your loyalty under Truth Spell. Kyril, would you be willing to administer to your fellow Councilors? I have only one question to put to all of us—where and with whom do your first loyalties lie?”

  “Certainly, Elspeth,” Kyril replied, nodding his gray head toward her obediently. “And Elcarth can administer the test to me.”

  “But—I—” Gartheser was sweating profusely.

  “You have some objection, Gartheser?” Lady Cathan asked with honeyed sweetness.

  “I—uh—”

  “If you prefer not to take the test, you could resign your position—”

  Lord Gartheser looked from face to face, hoping for a reprieve, and found none. “I—Lady Elspeth, I fear the—the stress of my position is too much for me. With your leave, I should prefer to resign it.”

  “Very well, Gartheser,” Elspeth said calmly. “Does anyone else object? No? Then, my lord, you may leave us. I would suggest you retire to your estates for the quiet, peaceful life you have so richly earned. I do not think, given the stress you have been through, that it would be wise to entertain many visitors.”

  She watched Gartheser rise and stumble out the door with an impassive expression not even Selenay could have matched.

  “Kyril,” she said when he was gone, “you may begin with me.”

  “And after Elspeth, I should
like to be tested,” Hyron said, shamefacedly, “being as I was one of Orthallen’s stronger supporters.”

  “If you wish. Kyril?”

  The testing took a very short time; not surprisingly, all passed.

  “Next, we have two Council seats to fill, speaker for the North, and speaker for the Central districts. Any suggestions?”

  “For the Central, I would suggest Lord Jelthan,” said Lady Kester. “He’s young, he’s got some good ideas, but he’s been lord of his holdings for nearly fourteen years—his father died young.”

  “Anyone else? No? And the North?”

  No one spoke, until Talia’s whisper broke the silence. “If no one has any other notions, I suggest Mayor Loschal of Trevendale. He’s quite able, he knows the problems of the North intimately, he has no private axe to grind that I am aware of, and he has enough years to balance Lord Jelthan’s youth.”

  “Any other suggestions? So be it—Kyril, see to it, will you? Now, the other matter facing us is Hardorn and Ancar. We are going to have to increase the size of the Guard; that means a tax increase—”

  “Why? We beat them, right soundly!”

  “There’s no need—”

  “You’re starting at shadows—”

  “I know for a fact your mother gave you no such orders—”

  “Quiet!” Kyril thundered out over the bedlam. When they stared at him dumbfounded, he continued, “Herald Talia wishes to speak, and she can’t be heard over your babbling.”

  “Elspeth is right,” Talia whispered wearily. “I know Ancar better than any of you. He’ll be back at us, again and again, until one of our lands lacks its leader. And I tell you, this kingdom is in more danger now than we were before the battle we just won! Now he knows some of what we can do, and what kind of strength we can raise at short notice. The next time he comes for us, it will be with a force he deems overwhelming; we must be ready to meet that force.”

  “And that means a larger Guard; taxes to support it—”

  “And your help, Councilors. Bard Hyron, the help of your Circle especially,” Talia continued.

  “My Circle? Why?”

  “Because, as you ably demonstrated with Griffon, the Bardic Circle is the only source of information we have on old magic.”

  “Surely you overestimate these mages—” Lady Wyrist began.

  “Look here and tell me I overestimate!” Again Talia pulled gown and bandage from her shoulder to display the handprint-brand, still livid and raw-looking. “I will bear this mark until the day I die, and this was just a parlor-trick for Hulda!” Lady Wyrist paled and turned her head away. “Ask the widows and children and widowers of those slain by demons if I overestimate the danger! I tell you now that what Ancar brought with him is likely to be one of his lesser mages—he would not risk the greater in battle. And Hyron, your Circle alone preserves the tradition of what we can expect and how we can defend against it. If, indeed, we can.”

  “We can,” Hyron said thoughtfully. “It’s in some of the chronicles from Vanyel’s time—when the Gifts were superseding the mage-crafts. It may be that you Heralds and your Companions are all that will be able to guard us from Ancar’s magicians.”

  “Sounds like a rare good reason to have them by us, if you ask me,” said Lady Kester wryly.

  “And we’ll need you and your Circle for your traditional reason as well,” Elspeth said, smiling at Hyron. “Especially if we’re not to end up conscripting for the Guard.”

  “Rousing patriotic fervor and spreading tales of what’s happened and what we can expect? Aye, Lady Elspeth, as always, the Circle is yours to command.”

  “And keeping the spirits of our people high.”

  “Ever in your service—”

  Elspeth took a quick glance at Talia, as she lay back on her pillows, face pinched and drained. “If there’s no more business at hand?”

  “None that can’t wait,” said Lord Gildas.

  “Then I think we’d best dismiss, and let the Healers see to Talia.”

  As the Councilors filed out, Skif slipped in, Healer Devan and Healer Rynee with him.

  “Little sister, Dirk’s waiting downstairs—” Skif began.

  Talia’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. “Please—not now—I’m so tired…”

  “Listen to me—listen—” He caught one of her hands in his own and knelt beside her couch. “I know what’s happening to you, I understand! I’ve seen you trying not to wince away when he touches you. I’ve talked him into going home to tell his parents about you; I’m going with him. By the time we get back, you’ll be fine again, I know you will. Now gather your courage and give him a wonderful goodbye to keep him going, eh?”

  She shuddered; he wiped her tears, and she relaxed. “Is that why you brought Rynee?”

  He chuckled. “You’ve got it. She’ll give you a little mental painblock, as it were. Let her work while I fetch Dirk.”

  She was able to do all Skif had asked and more, but when the two of them left, she crumbled again.

  “Rynee, am I ever going to be able to—be whole again? I love him, I need him—but whenever he touches me, I see Ancar and Ancar’s guards—”

  “Hush, now, hush,” Rynee soothed her as if Talia were twelve years her junior instead of four her senior.

  “It was fine at first, but after the battle it started to build every time a man touched me, and it was worse than that when the man was him! Rynee, I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!”

  “Talia, dear friend, be easy. Yes, you’ll be fine, just like Skif said. It’s just a matter of Healing, inside instead of out. Now sleep.”

  “Will she Heal?” Devan looked at Rynee somberly, as Talia dropped into Healing-trance.

  “She will,” Rynee replied serenely. “And it’ll be mostly her own doing. You’ll see.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  “I know I am.”

  12

  Skif took the tower stairs at a run, though for all the sound he made, no one would ever have known there was anyone on the stairs at all. He’d been back from the North for several hours now, and he was more than impatient. “You can’t see Talia yet,” they’d told him. “She’s with the Healers every morning, and they’ve left orders that they’re never to be disturbed.” Well, all right, but that didn’t make a fellow any less twitchy, not when he was worried about her. He’d determined to get up to her room as soon as he’d finished lunch; he’d all but bolted his food and nearly choked as a consequence.

  He’d evidently misjudged the timing by a bit, for as he approached the half-open door at the top of the stairs, he’d heard voices inside. He shrank back into a shadow on the landing, and peeked around the corner. From where he was hidden he could see inside the room quite easily. There were two Healers there, both easily identifiable by their Greens, one on either side of a lounge that held someone in Herald’s Whites—Talia, without a doubt.

  He winced inside, for her face was distorted by pain and her eyes streamed tears, although she did not utter so much as a single moan.

  “Enough,” said the Healer on her right; and Skif recognized Devan. “That’s absolutely all for today, Talia.”

  Her face relaxed somewhat, and the woman on her left gave her a look of caring sympathy and a handkerchief to dry her tears with.

  “You really don’t need to be enduring all this, you know,” Devan said, a bit crossly. “If you’d let us Heal you at the normal rate it could all be done quite painlessly.”

  “Dear Devan, I don’t have time, and you know that perfectly well,” Talia replied softly.

  “Then you ought to at least let us work under painblock! And I still don’t understand why you don’t think you have time!”

  “But if you worked under painblocks, I wouldn’t be able to help—and if I can’t help, neither can Rolan. In that case, it would take six of you to do what one does now.” Her voice actually held a touch of amusement.

  “She’s got you there, Devan,” the woman He
aler—Myrim, the Healer’s representative on the Council—pointed out wryly.

  He snorted with disgust. “Heralds! I don’t know why we put up with you! If you’re not out killing yourselves, you’re trying to get us to speed-Heal you so that you can go back out and get yourselves ruined that much sooner!”

  “Well, old friend, if you’ll recall—the first time you ever saw me, I was your patient. There’d already been an attempt to rid the world of me, and I was only a student. You could hardly expect this tabbycat to change color after such an auspicious beginning, could you?”

  The Healer reached out and touched her cheek in a spontaneous gesture of affection. “It’s just that it hurts me to have to put you through such agony, dearling.”

  She caught the hand and held it, smiling at him. The smile transformed her from a simply pretty woman (swollen and red-rimmed eyes notwithstanding) to a lovely one. “Take heart, old friend. There are not many more days of this to come; then whatever Healing is left will all be bone-Healing—and you can’t speed that.” She laughed. “As for why I don’t have time, well, I can’t tell you, because I don’t know myself. I only know it’s true, just as true as the fact that Rolan’s eyes are blue. Besides, I know you. I’m a cooperative patient; unlike Keren and Dirk, I do exactly what I’m told. Since you can’t complain of that, you have to find something to be annoyed about!”

  Myrim chuckled, as did Healer Devan. “Oh, you know him far too well, milady,” she said, standing and stretching. “And we will see you on the morrow.”

  They left the room and passed Skif without ever noticing that he was there.

  But Talia seemed to sense that someone was there. “Whoever’s outside, please come in,” she called out. “It can’t be comfortable on that cold, dark landing.”

  Skif chuckled, and pushed the door open all the way, to see Talia regarding him with her head tilted to one side and an expectant look on her face. “I never could fool you, could I?”

  “Skif!” she exclaimed with delight, and held out both arms to him. “I hadn’t expected you back this soon!”