Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  He's so driven - but I can crack that shell. I have to. Just enough so that he'll let me come with him . . . but it's a mistake to bring up Savil again. That's what's driving him.

  “I'm coming with you,” he said stubbornly, moving away from the door and toward Vanyel. “If you won't take me with you, I'll follow you. If you set somebody to watch me, I'll get away somehow. If you won't let me stay with you, I'll ride an hour behind you.” He stopped for a moment, then made the last two steps in a rush, taking Vanyel in his arms before the Herald could evade the embrace. Vanyel held himself away, as stiffly as the night they'd first met, but Stef hid his face in Vanyel's jerkin anyway. “I don't care what you do,” he said into Vanyel's shoulder, his cheek pressed tightly against the smooth leather. “I love you, and I'm following you. I don't care what happens to me, as long as I can be with you.”

  “What about Randale?” Vanyel asked in a strange, hollow voice.

  “I'm not in love with Randale,” Stef replied, a little defensively. “I'm not a Herald, you said that yourself, and I don't see that I owe him anything. There're a dozen Healers that can pain-block now; three of them can do it while Randale's awake and talking. I'm just a convenience; he doesn't need me any more, and with Treven taking over full Heir's duties, he won't even have to do anything he doesn't feel up to.”

  “Shavri would probably dispute that,” Vanyel said dryly, but his rigid posture was softening.

  “She did,” Stefen told him, encouraged by that tiny sign. “And I told her she could force me to stay, but she couldn't force me to play. She looked like she wanted to throw something at me, but she didn't. She just told me what she thought of me. It started with 'traitor' and went downhill from there.”

  “I imagine it did,” Vanyel replied with a little cough.

  “She told me she'd have me demoted, that she'd have me banned from the Bardic Circle,” Stef continued, feeling that Vanyel was relaxing further. “I told her I didn't care. And I don't.” He released Vanyel a little, and looked up into the Herald's face, lifting his chin defiantly. “It doesn't matter to me. If I wanted a high position and all the rest of that, I could have gone with that gem-merchant. I used to want that kind of thing, but I don't anymore.”

  “What do you want, Stef?” Vanyel asked softly, his strange silver eyes full of pain, and haunted by thoughts Stef could only guess at.

  “Besides you? I don't know,” Stefen said truthfully. He'd intended to say “just you,” but something about the way Van had asked the question compelled him to the exact truth. “I only know that without you, no rank or fame would be worth having.”

  “And what would you have done if Randale had still needed you?” Vanyel continued, holding Stefs eyes with his.

  Stefen swallowed. His throat tightened again, and a cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach. “I d-d-don't know,” he replied miserably. “It's too hard a choice, and I didn't have to make it, so does it matter? He doesn't need me, and he told Shavri so.”

  “He did?” For the first time since Savil's death, Vanyel smiled - a very faint smile, but a genuine one. “You didn't tell me that part.”

  “You didn't let me get to it,” Stef reminded him, with an uncertain grin. “Randale told Shavri that he didn't need me, and that I'd only pine myself away to nothing if I had to stay. He said I should follow my heart, and that I shouldn't let you stop me. And that we needed each other.”

  Vanyel's arms came up and slowly closed around Stefen. “I guess we do, at that,” he said in a whisper, and held Stef so tightly the Bard could hardly breathe.

  “Will you let me come with you now?” he asked, when he was certain Van wasn't going to let go of him any time soon.

  “Don't you ever give up?” Vanyel asked, amusement waning with exasperation, and amusement winning.

  “No,” the Bard replied, sure now that he'd won. “I already told you that.” He felt Van's hand stroking his hair, and sighed, relaxing himself, the cold lump in his stomach vanishing.

  “All right - but only because I think you're right.” Vanyel pushed him away enough so that the Herald could look into his eyes. “You're probably a lot safer with me than here. I can put better protections on you than I've ever put on anyone else, including myself, you'll be invisible to Mage-Sight because I'll make them all passive defenses that don't manifest unless you're attacked, and it's harder to find a moving target. But Stef - please, please promise me that if it comes to a physical battle, you'll run. You don't know anything but street-fighting, and I don't have the time to teach you enough of anything to do you any good. I've lost Savil - if I lost you -”

  The look in Vanyel's eyes was not altogether sane, and reminded Stef uneasily of the expression he'd seen once in the eyes of a broken-winged bird. Stefen shuddered, and pulled the Herald back into an embrace. “I promise,” he said. “I told you, I value my skin. I won't risk it doing something stupid.”

  “Good,” Vanyel sighed. “Well - I guess I should let you go pack....”

  He let go of Stef, reluctantly. Stefen backed a step away, and grinned up at the Herald. He returned to the door, opened it, and pulled his packs in from the hallway. “I already have,” he said simply.

  Vanyel was awake at dawn, and Stef somehow managed to shake himself into a facsimile of alertness, even though his body protested being up at such an unholy hour, and his mind refused to admit that he was actually moving about.

  Van had gone completely over his packs the night before; fortunately Medren had helped Stef put his kit together, and there was nothing Vanyel insisted upon that he did not already have, and very little he insisted Stef discard. Stef had already been in bed and asleep by the time Van finished his own packing, but he could be a very light sleeper if he chose, so the night had not been entirely wasted.

  Although as he yawned his way through a sketchy breakfast, he wondered if the night might not have been better spent in sleeping, after all.

  It was so dark that the stablehands were working by lantern light. Vanyel saddled Yfandes with his own hands, but suggested absently to Stefen that he stand back and let the experienced grooms deal with his little filly;

  They placed a different sort of saddle on her than Stef was used to; one identical to Vanyel's, with the rear and front a little higher than his riding saddle, and rings and snaffles all over the skirting. He couldn't imagine what all those fastenings could be for; especially when there weren't any straps in evidence to be attached to them.

  But then he didn't know much about horses, anyway. If that was the kind of thing Vanyel wanted him to use, he and Melody would cooperate. At least, he hoped Melody would cooperate; she looked rather affronted by the rump-band.

  Then the grooms brought out two of the oddest animals Stefen had ever seen. Horse-tall, spotted brown and white, as hairy as the shaggiest of dogs, they had long necks and rabbit like faces with big, round, deep-brown eyes. One of them craned its long neck in Stefen's direction, its nostrils widening and its split upper lip lifting.

  Stef tried to back out of its reach, but Melody was in the way and he was hemmed in by stalls on either side. The grooms were so busy loading the beasts with packs that they didn't notice what the one nearest Stef was trying to do.

  He braced himself, waiting for the thing to try and bite him, hoping he could dodge out of the way before it connected.

  But the creature only snuffled at him, stirring his hair with its warm, sweet breath. Melody twitched the skin of her neck and turned her head to see what was disturbing her. Stefan fully expected her to have a fit when confronted by the odd beast, but she didn't even widen her eyes. She just snorted in equine greeting, and the beast stretched its neck still further to touch noses with her before going back to snuffling Stefen's hair as if in fascination.

  Finally the groom looked up from strapping the last pack down, and saw what the creature was doing. “Here now,” he said, slapping its shoulder lightly. The beast pulled its head back, and turned a gaze full of disappointment on its
handler.

  “Don't you go a-lookin' at me like that, missy,” he said. “Them's not roses you was a-smellin', 'twas the young lad's hair.”

  She sighed, as deep and heartfelt as any crestfallen maiden, and closed her eyes. The groom pulled the final strap tight, and turned toward Stef. “Chirras,” he said, shaking his head. “Curious as cats, they are. You watch this 'un; she likes flowers, an' anything that's bright-colored she'll go sniffin' at just in case it might be some posy she ain't never seen afore.” He grinned. “Some fool Herald name of Vanyel gave 'er a snow-rose once, an' ever since she's been lookin' fer flowers where there can't be none.”

  “She'd just carried my packs through a blizzard, Berd,” Vanyel replied without turning around. “I thought she deserved a reward, and I didn't have any sweets with me. Listen, we plan to leave these two at the Border, at the last Guard post. Is that all right?”

  “What're you gonna do for supplies?” the groom asked skeptically.

  “What I generally do; live off the land.” Now Vanyel turned to face them. “I wouldn't have asked you for them now except that Stef isn't used to this kind of trip, and I don't want to make it too hard on him at the beginning.”

  “Whatever you say,” the groom replied. “The Guard post is fine. Next replacement to come back down can bring 'em with.”

  “That's pretty much what I thought.” Vanyel took the lead-rope of the other chirra from a young boy and fastened it to the cantle of his saddle, while Berd did the same with the flower-loving chirra and Melody's saddle. Van mounted once his chirra was secure, and Stef followed his example.

  “You take care, m'lord Van -” Berd called after them, as they rode out into the dark and cold. Vanyel half-turned in his saddle to wave, but he neither replied nor smiled.

  Outside the walls of the city, there was nothing to be seen except snow-covered hills and a farmhouse or two. By the time they were a candlemark from Haven, the sky was as light as it was likely to get for the rest of the day. The clouds hung low, heavy, and leaden; the air felt a little damp, and the only place Stef wasn't cold was where his legs were warmed by contact with his horse.

  Vanyel lifted his head and sniffed the light breeze, a few strands of silvered hair escaping from the hood of his cloak. “Smells like snow,” he said, the first words he'd spoken since leaving the Palace grounds. Stef sampled the air himself, but it didn't smell any differently to him. “How can you tell?” he asked, his voice sounding loud over the snow-muffled footfalls of the beasts on the road.

  “It just does,” Van replied. “Like rain, only fainter and colder.” He looked back at Stef, and got Yfandes to slow so that they were riding side by side. “I won't stop for you, and I won't hold my pace back for you, Stef,” he said warningly. “I don't dare. I'm holding back enough as it is, taking chirras for the first leg. The only reason I'm catering to your inexperience on this first stage is because my enemy is going to assume I'm coming straight for him at a Companion's pace, and I hope this will throw him off.”

  “I understand,” Stef hastened to say. “I won't hold you back. I'll keep up.”

  “You might, but your filly isn't a Companion,” Van began. Then he got that “listening” expression that meant his Companion was talking to him. “ 'Fandes says she'll help,” he replied, looking a little surprised. “I don't know what she plans to do; maybe do something so that Melody can keep up with her. I hope so; a Companion is good for a lot more in the way of speed and endurance than an ordinary horse. I bred both those qualities into Star's line, but there's still only so much a horse can do.”

  “I'll keep up,” Stef repeated, vowing to himself that he'd die before he complained of soreness or fatigue.

  He's so strange, he thought, so cold. It's like there's nothing in the world that's important except getting this enemy of his. I've never seen him like this before. Is he always like this when he's working, I wonder?

  “I have to stop this mage,” Vanyel said quietly, as if he'd heard Stefen's thoughts. “I have to, Stef, it's the most important thing I've ever had to do. Can you understand that? I'm sorry if it seems as though I'm being cold to you -”

  Stefen shook his head. “No, it's all right,” he said hastily, even though it didn't feel all right. “I told you I wouldn't fall behind, and I won't. You'll have no reason to feel that bringing me along was a bad idea.”

  “I hope you're right,” Van replied bleakly. “Although I must admit that it looks as though the weather is going to be a bigger factor in our progress than you are.”

  Even as he spoke, the first big, fluffy flakes began falling from the lowering clouds. Stef looked up in puzzlement. “It doesn't look that bad,” he protested, shifting in his saddle to relieve strained muscles inside his thighs.

  Vanyel's eyes were closed, and his brows knitted with concentration. “It's not bad now,” he said slowly. “But it could get that way very quickly, very easily. This storm system goes all the way up to the Border, and the balances in it are quite delicate. Right now it looks as though it's going to snow steadily, but things can change that balance all too easily.”

  “Oh,” Stef replied. “I didn't know you could predict weather like that.”

  Vanyel opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. “I can't,” he said. “I can only read weather, I can't predict what it's going to do. It's one of the first things I was taught after I got control of my Mage-powers. The kind of magic I can do often disrupts weather patterns, and I need to know if I'm going to kick up a storm if I build a Gate or something of that nature.”

  “Oh, like when 'Lendel died -” Stef replied absently, lost in his own worries.

  But Vanyel stiffened, and turned completely in his saddle to face the Bard. “How did you know that?”

  Stefen brushed snow away from his face, and felt an odd little chill down his spine at the tone of Vanyel's voice and the odd expression he wore. Van actually looked frightened. Mostly startled, but a little frightened.

  “Savil must have told me, or maybe Jisa,” he said, trying to make sense of his own muddled memories and Vanyel's reaction. “I remember somebody must have told me there was a big storm caused mostly by the Gate being made. It was probably Savil, since there was a lot of stuff about how magic works involved in the explanation. I know Savil talked to me about it after I asked her -”

  “Why?” Van asked. “Why did you ask her?”

  “Because it's a part of you that's important,” Stefen replied in a quietly defensive tone. “I never asked you about it because it seemed like you avoided the subject - I didn't want to hurt you or anything. So I asked Savil if she'd mind talking about it, and she said no, it had been long enough ago that she didn't mind anymore. That was while you were getting back to yourself after that mage attacked us.”

  Vanyel relaxed, and lost his haunted look.

  “I talked to your parents a lot, too,” Stef said. “I hope you don't mind.” He tried to muster up a hint of mischief. “Treesa and I have a lot in common; she says I'm more fun to have as company than any of her ladies. I helped her get herself settled in when they got here, you know.”

  “I didn't know,” Vanyel replied with a kind of absent-minded chagrin. “I just saw Father taking to the job of Councillor like a hound to the chase, and I guess I just assumed Mother would be all right.”

  She wasn't all right; she got here and found out that she was in the same position Savil said you were in when you first came here - a provincial noble from the backwater, twenty years behind the fashions, with no knowledge of current gossip or protocol, Stef thought. She saw less of you than before. She was terribly lonely, and if there had been a way to get home, she'd have taken it.

  “I thought she was fine. It just seemed like after the first couple of weeks, she was as happy as Father,” Van continued, peering through the curtain of snow at the road ahead. “Every time I'd see her she was the center of attention, surrounded by others.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Was that your doing?”


  “Some of it,” Stef admitted. “I coached her, and I introduced her to Countess Bryerly and Lady Gellwin. You probably hadn't noticed, but there isn't much 'court' at Court with Randi so sick and Shavri's time taken up with it. The real Court, the social part, has pretty much moved out of the Crown section of the Palace and into the nobles' suites. And those are the two that really run it. Countess Bryerly is distantly related to the Brendewhins, so that made everything fine. Lady Gellwin took Treesa under her wing as a kind of protege, put her in charge of a lot of the younger girls once she found out that your mother did a lot of fostering.”

  A month ago, Vanyel would have been deeply upset that he hadn't thought to make sure his mother was well settled in. Now he only said, “Thank you, Stef. I appreciate your helping her,” and continued to peer up the road.

  That's not like him, Stef thought, worriedly. I've never seen him so obsessed before. If he thought we could make any better time by getting off 'Fandes and pushing her, he'd do it. I don't understand what's gotten into him.

  The snow was getting thicker; there was no doubt about that. It still wasn't enough to stop them, or to slow them by too much, but Vanyel was obviously concerned. He spoke in an absent tone of voice whenever Stef asked him a direct question, but otherwise he was absolutely silent and inward-centered. The morning lengthened into afternoon, and Stef was afraid to ask him to stop for something to eat and a chance to warm up, even though they passed through three villages with inns that Stef eyed longingly. He was hungry, but worse than the hunger was the cold. Snow kept getting in under his hood and melting, sending runnels of icy water down the back of his neck. He could hardly feel his hands or his nose. There wasn't any wind, but they were creating their own breeze just by moving, and it kept finding its way in through the arm-slits of his cloak. And Melody was suffering, too; she walked steadily in Yfandes' wake with her head down and her eyes half-closed; she was tired, and probably missed her warm stable as much as Stefen missed his room and fireplace.