Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  She pressed her ear briefly against the door and giggled. “I think it’s safe enough to go out now, but I’ll bet it wasn’t a few minutes ago. Let’s go show off.”

  As far as Skif could tell, neither Talia nor Dirk had moved an inch since they’d left them—although Talia’s hair was a trifle mussed, and both of them wore preoccupied and dreaming expressions.

  “Well, what do you think?” Elspeth asked, posing dramatically.

  “I think it looks wonderful. No one in their right mind is going to be watching me with you and Jeri around,” Talia said admiringly.

  “Well, Elspeth and I are agreed; we’ll take care of the wedding arrangements,” Skif said with a proprietary air. “That will free you up a bit more, Dirk—that is, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all, and I think it’s very good of you,” Dirk replied, surprised. “Especially since you know very well that I don’t have to be freed up to do anything except spend more time up here.”

  “That was the general idea,” Elspeth said mockingly.

  “Enough, enough! It’s settled then,” he laughed, “and much thanks to you both.”

  “Remember that the next time I do something wrong!” Elspeth giggled back.

  * * *

  She teased Dirk for a few moments longer—then her face clouded with anxiety when she realized that Talia had fallen asleep. She’d been doing that a great deal lately, sometimes right in the middle of a conversation. Elspeth was afraid that this was a sign that she would never be quite well again.

  But Dirk and Skif just exchanged amused glances while Dirk settled the sleeping Herald a little more comfortably on his shoulder. Elspeth heaved an audible sigh of relief at this; surely if anyone would know if something were wrong, Dirk would.

  Dirk hadn’t missed the anxious look or the sigh of relief.

  “It’s nothing important,” he told her; quietly, to avoid waking Talia.

  “He’s right—honestly!” Skif assured her. “Dirk’s mother told us she’ll be dropping off like this. It’s just a side-effect of speed-Healing. It has something to do with all the energy you’re using, and all the strain you’re putting on yourself. She says it’s the same kind of effect you’d get if you ran twenty or thirty miles, swam a river, and climbed a mountain or two, then stayed up three days straight.”

  “According to mother,” Dirk continued, “It has to do with—fatigue poisons?—I think that’s what she called them. When you speed-Heal, they build up faster than the body can get rid of them, and the person you’re Healing tends to fall asleep a lot. When they stop the speed-Healing, she’ll stop falling asleep all the time.”

  “Show-off,” Skif taunted.

  Dirk grinned and shrugged. “See all the useless information you pick up when you’re a Healer’s offspring?”

  Elspeth protested; “Useless, my eye! I thought for sure there was something wrong that nobody wanted to tell me about—like there was when she wouldn’t wake up. Nobody ever thinks to tell me anything anymore!”

  “Well, imp,” Dirk retorted, “That’s the price you pay for poking your nose into things all the time. People think you already know everything!”

  * * *

  The Border was officially closed, but refugees kept slipping across every night, each of them with a worse tale to tell than the last. Selenay had had a premonition that Ancar wasn’t quite through with Valdemar, and had stayed on the Border with a force built mainly of the defectors from Hardorn’s army, now fanatically devoted to her. She had been absolutely right.

  This time the attack came at night, preceded by a storm Selenay suspected of being mage-caused. There was a feint in the direction of the Border Guardpost, a strong enough feint that it would have convinced most leaders that the attack there was genuine.

  But Selenay had Davan—a Farseer—and Alberich—a Foreseer—with her, and knew better. Ancar meant to regain some of his lost soldiers—and plant some traitors in Selenay’s new Border Guards. And to do both, he was going to use some of the other talents of what was left of his army of thieves and murderers.

  But the force of black-clad infiltrators who attempted to penetrate the stockade-enclosed village that housed the defectors and their dependents met with a grave surprise.

  They got all the way to the foot of the stockade, when suddenly—

  Light! Blinding light burst above their heads, light nearly as bright as day. As they cringed, and looked up through watering eyes, four white-clad figures appeared above them, and out of the darkness at the top of the stockade fence rose hundreds of angry men and women armed with bows, who in no way wished to return to the man who called himself their King. Suspended from the trees by thin wires were burning balls of some unknown substance that flamed with a white ferocity.

  “You could have knocked,” Griffon called down to them, “We’d have been glad to let you in.”

  “But perhaps it is that this is no friendly visit—” Alberich dodged as one of those below threw a knife at him in desperation.

  “B’God, Alberich, I believe you might be right,” Davan dodged a second missile. “Majesty?”

  “Take them,” Selenay ordered shortly.

  A few were taken alive; what they had to tell was interesting. More interesting by far was the assortment of drugs and potions they had intended to use on the village well. Drugs that, according to those Selenay questioned under Truth Spell, would open the minds of those that took them to the influence of Ancar’s mages—and Ancar himself.

  That told them much about what Ancar was currently able to accomplish. What happened next on Ancar’s side of the Border told them more.

  He fortified it, created a zone a mile deep in which he allowed neither farm nor dwelling place—then left it. And neither Foreseer nor Farseer could see him doing anything offensive for some time.

  So for the moment, Ancar’s knife was no longer at Valdemar’s throat—and Selenay felt free to come home to resume her Throne, and in time for Talia’s wedding.

  * * *

  Companion’s Field was the only suitable place within easy reach of the Collegium that could hold all the people expected to attend. The wedding site had to be within easy reach, because Talia’s feet were still not healed. The Healers were satisfied that the bones had all set well (after so many sessions of arranging the tiny fragments that nonHealers had begun to wonder if her feet would ever be usable) but they had only begun to knit, and she had been absolutely forbidden to put one ounce of weight on them. That meant that wherever she needed to go, she had to be carried.

  The Healers had chosen not to put the kind of plaster casts on her that they had used to hold Keren’s broken hip in place. This was mostly because they needed to be able to monitor the Healing they were doing on a much finer level than they had with Keren, but also partially because such casts would have been a considerable burden on a body already heavily taxed and exhausted. Instead, they constructed stiff half-boots of glue, wood strips, and hardened leather, all lined with lambswool felt. These had been made in two halves that laced together and could be removed at will. Talia had been much relieved by this solution, needless to say.

  “Can you imagine trying to bathe with those plaster things on your feet?” she’d said with a comical expression. “Or trying to find some way of covering them during the wedding? Or finding someone strong enough to carry me and all that damned plaster as well?”

  “Not to mention Dirk’s displeasure at trying to deal with them afterward—” Elspeth had teased, while Talia blushed.

  * * *

  Elspeth was waiting in Talia’s room, watching Keren and Jeri put the final touches on her hair and face. The Heir privately thought that Talia was lovely enough to make anyone’s heart break. She was still thin, and very pale from her ordeal, but that only served to make her more attractive, in an odd way. It was rather as if she’d been distilled into the true essence of herself—or tempered and honed like an heirloom blade. They’d taken great pains with her dre
ss of white silk and silver, designing something that draped well when the wearer was being carried and extended past her feet to cover the ugly leather boots. By the same token, nothing would fall far enough to the floor that the person carrying her would be likely to trip over it. Jeri had given her a very simple hairstyle to complement the simplicity of the dress, and her only ornaments were fresh flowers.

  “‘Nobody in their right mind is going to look at me with you and Jeri around,’” Elspeth quoted to Keren under her breath, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Bright Havens, next to her I look like a half-fledged red heron!”

  “I hope after all this time you women are finally ready,” Dirk announced as he came through the door, for once in his life totally immaculate, and resplendent in white velvet.

  “Dirk!” Jeri laughed, interposing herself between him and Talia. “Tradition says you’re not supposed to see the bride until you meet before the priest!”

  “Tradition be damned. The only reason I’m letting Skif carry her at all is because if I try and manage her and her ring, I’ll drop one of the two!”

  “Oh, all right. I can see you’re too stubborn to argue with.” She stepped aside, and at the sight of one another, they seemed to glow from deep within.

  “Two hours I spend on her—” Jeri muttered under her breath, obviously amused, “—and in two eyeblinks he makes everything I did look insignificant.”

  Dirk gathered her up carefully, holding her in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing. “Ready, loveling?” he asked softly.

  “I’ve been ready forever,” she replied, never once taking her eyes from his.

  The Field was alive with color; Healer Green, Bard Scarlet, Guard Blue—the muted grays, pale greens and red-brown of the students moving among them, the gilded and bejeweled courtiers catching the sun. Most prevalent, of course, was Heraldic White, and not just because even more Heralds had managed to appear for this occasion than had arrived for Elspeth’s fealty ceremony. Half of the white figures in the crowd were Companions, be-flowered and be-ribboned by the loving hands of their Chosen, and looking for all the world as if it were they who were being wedded. Even Cymry’s foal had a garland—though he kept trying to eat it.

  The ceremony was a simple one, though it was not one that was often performed—for the wedding of a lifebonded couple was less of a promising than an affirmation. Despite well-meaning efforts to the contrary, Skif and Elspeth had managed to keep the pomp and ritual to an absolute minimum.

  Dirk carried his love as far as the priest, handing her very carefully to Skif, who felt proud and happy enough when he did so to burst. Elspeth gave him Talia’s ring, and he slipped it onto her finger. Skif and Elspeth both bit their lips to keep from shedding a tear or two at that moment; partially because she’d moved Kris’ friendship ring to the finger next to it, and partially because the wedding ring was still so large for her.

  Dirk repeated his vows in a voice that seemed soft, but carried to the edge of the crowd. Then Talia took his ring from Keren, slipped it onto his ring-finger and made her own vows in her clear, sweet voice.

  Dirk took her back from Skif—and as he did so, the massed Heralds cheered spontaneously.

  Somehow, it seemed totally appropriate.

  * * *

  The wedded couple was enthroned on a pile of cushions brought by every hand in the Collegium, with Talia arranged so that she could see everything without having to strain herself. Elcarth waited until most of the well-wishers had cleared away, and Talia and Dirk were pretty much alone before strolling over to them.

  He shook his head at the sight. “I hope you two realize this display of yours is fevering the imaginations of an entire generation of Bards,” he said with mock-severity. “I hesitate to think of all the truly awful creations we’ll have to suffer through for the next year from the students alone—and every full Bard is going to be determined that he will be the writer of the next ‘Sun and Shadow.’”

  “Oh, gods,” Dirk groaned, “I never thought of that. D’you suppose I could give her back?”

  Talia eyed him speculatively. “We could always have a horrible fight here and now.” She hefted a wine bottle, appraising its weight. “This would make a lovely dent in his skull—not to mention the truly spectacular effect it will have when the bottle breaks and the red wine splashes all over that spotless white velvet.” She considered it and him for a long moment, then sighed. “No, it just won’t do. I might get some of the wine on me. And if I knock him cold, how will I get back to my room?”

  “And if I give her away, who will I sleep with tonight?” Dirk added, as Talia giggled. “Sorry, Elcarth. You’re just going to have to suffer. What can we do for you?”

  “Actually, there is something. I wanted to let you both know what the Circle has decided about Dirk’s assignments.”

  * * *

  Talia stiffened a little, but otherwise gave no sign that she was dreading what Elcarth’s next words might contain.

  “First of all—I am retiring as Dean. I intend to stay on as Historian, but to handle both positions is a little more than I can manage these days. I’m a lot older than I look, I’m afraid, and I’m beginning to feel the years. Teren is replacing me. Dirk, you are replacing Teren as Orientation instructor, as well as working with training students in their Gifts.”

  Talia was stunned; she’d expected to learn that he was being given a new partner, or that he would be assigned Sector duty at the least. She had partially resigned herself to the idea, telling herself that having him part of the time was a distinct improvement over not having him at all.

  “Elcarth—you can’t be serious—” Dirk protested. “I’m no kind of a scholar, you know that! If the Circle is trying to do us a favor by giving us preferential treatment…”

  “Then we’d rather you didn’t,” Talia finished for him.

  “My dear children! It is not preferential treatment that you are getting. Dirk, you will still be expected to take on the kinds of special jobs you used to, make no mistake about it. The only thing we’re really pulling you off is riding the problem Sectors. We’ve picked you to replace Teren for the same reason we picked him to replace Werda as Orientation instructor; your ability to handle children. Both of you are able to take confused, frightened children and give them warmth, reassurance, and the certain knowledge that they are in a place where they belong and have friends. Dirk, you have demonstrated that over and over in training Gifts—the way you brought Griffon along, giving him confidence without once making him feel that his Gift was a frightening or dangerous one, was nothing short of masterful—and look at the result! He trusted you so completely that he linked with you without asking the why or wherefore; he trusted you enough to follow your directions exactly, and now Griffon is the unsung hero of the Battle of Demons. That kind of ability in a teacher is much rarer than scholasticism, and it’s one we need. So let’s hear no more about ‘preferential treatment,’ shall we?”

  Dirk sighed with relief, and his arm tightened around Talia. She thanked Elcarth with her shining eyes; no words were necessary.

  “That isn’t quite all. You’ll also be working with Kyril—Dirk on a regular basis, Talia as time permits. This is the first we’ve ever heard of the Companions augmenting anyone’s abilities purposefully except in chronicles so old we can’t winnow fable from truth; we’d like to know if it’s something that any Herald can take advantage of, or if it’s something peculiar to you two and Elspeth, or even if it’s peculiar to your Companions. Before Kyril’s through with you, you may wish yourself back in the field again!”

  They laughed a little ruefully; Kyril drove himself mercilessly in the cause of investigating Heraldic Gifts, and would expect no less from them. “Last of all, I bring your wedding gift from the Circle; the next two weeks are yours to do with as you like. We can all get along without either of you for that long. Talia still has to have her sessions with the Healers, of course, but barring that—well, if you should choose to v
anish on a few overnight trips, no one will come looking for you. After all, Talia, you may not be able to walk, but you can certainly ride! Just make sure you schedule everything with your Healers. The last thing I need or want is to have Devan after my head! That man can be positively vicious!” Talia laughed, and promised; she could tell by the speculative glint in Dirk’s eyes that he already had a destination or two in mind. They traded a few more pleasantries with Elcarth, then the Historian—Dean no longer, and that would take some getting used to—took himself off.

  Dirk shook his head. “I never, ever pictured myself as a teacher,” he said quietly. “That was always Kr—”

  He choked off the end of the name.

  “That was what Kris wanted,” Talia finished, watching him. “You’ve been avoiding speaking about him, love. Why?”

  “Fear,” he replied frankly. “Fear that I’d hurt you—fear I’d be hurt myself. I—I still don’t really know how you felt about each other—”

  “All you ever had to do was ask,” she said softly, and drew him into rapport with gentle mental fingers.

  After a moment he raised his eyes to hers and smiled. “And you said emotions don’t speak clearly. So that’s how it was?”

  She nodded. “No more, no less. He tried to tell you, but you weren’t hearing.”

  “I wasn’t, was I?” He sighed. “Gods—I miss him. I miss him so damn much…”

  “We lost more than a friend when we lost him,” she said, hesitating over the words. “I think—I think we lost a part of ourselves.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “Talia, what happened after he died? You said some very strange things when you answered my call and came back to us.”

  She shook her head slightly, her brow wrinkled in thought. “Love, I’m not sure. It’s not very clear, and it’s all mixed up with pain and fever and drug-dreams. All I can tell you for certain is that I wanted to die, and I should have died—but something kept me from dying.”