Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  For a brief moment, he felt uncertainty; did he really want the rest of his life decided for him? Hadn't he been trying to escape his own parents' plans for his life? But then he looked into Kalira's eyes and knew that she was worth any sacrifice.

  "At least you know what Heralds do," Elenor continued. "Some Trainees don't even know that. Poor things. They are terribly confused; they've got no idea why they're here or what they're supposed to do, and when their Gifts start emerging—"

  She stopped abruptly, and blushed, as if aware that his Gift was the source of a great deal of trouble, anguish—and tragedy.

  "Gifts," he said bitterly. "That's what they're called, isn't it? But it's hardly a Gift if you don't want it and can't control it. It's not a Gift if all it does is bring harm."

  She gazed at him solemnly for a little, as if she was thinking. "I suppose it seems that way, but I can think of a lot of ways that your Gift could be used for good. If there was a war—" She shook her head. "I'd rather not think about a war, but if there was a forest fire, a bad one, you could use it to start backfires in places it would be too dangerous to send firefighters to."

  He had to nod reluctant agreement to that. He had lived in the country, and he knew how devastating a forest or grass fire could be. Sometimes the only way to stop a fire was to set another fire in its path, but that was a very dangerous thing to do, for there was always the chance that the ones setting the fire would find themselves trapped between two fire lines. People had died that way.

  "You could herd wild beasts away with a line of fire, too. I'm sure there are other things your Gift would be useful for." She continued hopefully, "We'd just have to work at thinking of them. I mean, the only reason nobody has thought of useful things for Firestarting before is because it's so rare."

  Kalira nuzzled him, silently reminding him of her presence and help. :Pol and Satiran are coming,: she told him. :We will have a great deal to discuss.:

  "Kalira says that your father and his Companion are coming," he told the young Healer. She nodded, and gave him a hand to steady himself with as he got to his feet.

  "You'll want to talk with them outside," she said immediately. "Like you did last night. That way, Satiran and Kalira can be right there with you."

  Yes, and if I lose control again, I won't burn down the building, he added sadly to himself.

  :You won't lose control. I am with you, and I will not let that happen.: Kalira answered his unspoken doubt with such passion that he blinked in surprise.

  "You know," Elenor continued, as she hovered at his elbow, ready to steady him if he wobbled, "I think Father was hoping that I'd be Chosen by your Kalira instead of becoming a Healer. Then he'd have a double-family team to help train."

  "What?" Lan responded, not very cleverly, but that didn't seem to bother Elenor.

  "We'd have been entirely family—Kalira is Satiran's daughter, and Pol is my father, you see. The daughters partnered and the fathers partnered. It would have had a nice symmetry."

  By this time they were in the garden and saw that the Herald and his Companion were waiting at the bench, so Lan was saved from having to answer, which was just as well. So his Companion was daughter to Herald Pol's Companion? He only hoped that there was not as much friction between stallion and filly as there was between himself and his parents.

  :There isn't—other than Satiran wanting to protect me too much,: Kalira responded, highly amused.

  :If my parents had been half as willing to protect me—: he told her ruefully, not needing to finish the thought. She knew; already she knew him, inside and out, good and bad, and she loved him anyway.

  "Good morning, Lan," Pol hailed him with a half wave. "How are you feeling?" This morning all of the sternness seemed to have melted away from Pol's expression; his manner was easy and casual.

  "Kind of shaken, sir," Lan replied, then spotted the Guardsman stationed discreetly out of earshot. The man was trying to look as if he was there for some other purpose, but his eyes kept straying back to Lan.

  :Is he there because they don't trust me?: he asked Kalira, not at all surprised. :I can't really blame them for that, I suppose....:

  :It's the Guard's doing, not the Heralds'. When nothing happens for a while, they'll take the watchdog off of you,: she told him, indirectly confirming his guess. :But there is this—he's there as much to keep people from upsetting you as anything else. If anyone starts to make you unhappy, he's to take them away.:

  Lan wished devoutly that he had gotten the benefit of such a watchdog a long time ago.

  "Elenor, is Lan ready to move to Heralds' Collegium?" Pol asked, transferring his attention to his daughter.

  "Not yet; a few more days," she told him, with all of the authority of a Healer twice her age. "We want him to have his meeting with his family here, before he gets surrounded by strangers."

  "Meeting?" he squeaked, taken entirely by surprise. "What meeting?"

  "Lan, your parents have to talk with you at some point," Pol chuckled. "You can't escape having a family by being Chosen, you know."

  Actually, he hadn't known; somewhere in the back of his mind he must have hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with his parents until he was all trained and a Herald in full Whites, with all the authority of the office behind him. How was he going to explain what had happened to them? They'd blame him for all the horrible things that had happened—

  But Pol apparently understood his reluctance to face his family. "Don't worry, I think you'll find that they are so overwhelmed by the fact that you've been Chosen that they won't have a great deal to say to you," Pol told him, an amused sparkle in his eyes. Evidently the Herald wasn't at all worried at what Lan's parents might say or think.

  Lan blinked and considered that statement. He wondered, now, what they'd been told about the fire and about being Chosen. Did they even know it was his Gift that had caused the fire?

  :No,: said Kalira. :Outside of a very few people, no one has been told. It is being said that the fire was a terrible accident, caused by the boys who were beating you. Which it was, never doubt it, just not in the way that outsiders are assuming.:

  Lan swallowed, and bit his lip. :Why?: he asked, as Pol watched him patiently. Was the Herald able to overhear this conversation?

  :Because we are protecting you; the real story won't help anyone and will hurt you.: She tossed her head. :Now, your parents will have nothing to reproach you for, will they? I think you just might actually impress them.:

  Well, becoming a Herald was a great honor, and it wasn't the sort of thing that his parents would have predicted for him. For that matter, it was the sort of surprise that could set them off-balance. He felt his spirits start to rise. This might not be so bad after all.

  "Do you feel up to seeing them this afternoon?" Pol continued. "After that, I can explain what you're about to go through and get you ready to move into the Collegium with the others, figure out what sort of classes you'll need to take, that sort of thing."

  Classes! He didn't sigh, but the idea of facing more classes so soon was a trifle depressing. He was so tired of being stuck in the middle of a bunch of children—

  "You'll probably find that you're the youngest in some of your classes, the oldest in others, and smack in the middle in the rest," Pol continued, apparently without noticing Lan's reaction. "We get Trainees from every possible nook and cranny of the Kingdom, from fisher folk from Lake Evendim who can barely read to some of the highborn who've had tutors from the time they could talk. And all of them wind up being the worst in their classes at something. You'll also be learning things like fancy riding, tracking, path finding, weapons' training—those are all classes as well."

  Lan brightened considerably at that thought. "If you can get my family to interrupt their work to come here, I would like to see them as soon as it can be arranged," he said carefully.

  Elenor smiled. "You're doing them a disservice, Lavan," she chided gently. "They've been here every single day. They're very co
ncerned about you."

  "They have? They are?" That thought left him as bemused as the idea of being a Heraldic Trainee.

  Herald Pol nodded. "They have, every single member of the family; in fact, they were all here until they knew that you were going to be all right. Since then, each of your parents has been here at some point every day to find out how you were."

  "Then I guess I'd better see them," Lan finally responded. He was still trying to wrap his mind around that, when Kalira suddenly looked up, off into the distance.

  :Actually, they're here now,: she told him. :I didn't expect them so early.:

  "I didn't either," Pol responded with surprise, and it was only at that moment that Lan realized that Kalira could talk to both of them, if she chose to. Well, that could turn out to be very useful.

  "Are you up to seeing them right now?" Pol asked him.

  He shrugged; what other possible response was there? "I suppose," he said dubiously. "Just as ready as I would be this afternoon, I guess."

  Elenor jumped to her feet—did the girl ever do anything at a leisurely pace?—and ran off, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll have them sent out here!"

  "She has plenty of other things to take care of at this time of the day," Pol explained, as if he needed to supply an explanation for her abrupt departure.

  A few moments later, Lan's mother and father appeared in the doorway nearest them, and approached tentatively down the sanded path. Tentatively! They looked at him with expressions he had never seen directed at himself before; they had nearly reached him before he recognized it as respect. Archer looked as he always did; well-groomed and dressed in tunic and trews of fine cloth of a subtle indigo. But Nelda's auburn hair had been carefully bound in a knot on the top of her head with silk ribbons, her gown was one she usually wore only for parties, a handsome, deep-scarlet wool with panels of her own embroidery set into the bodice, the front of the skirt, and the sleeves. She had taken a great deal of care with her appearance; probably because of the setting in which her son had found himself.

  He stood up to meet them; his father extended his hand stiffly, as if Lan had become a stranger. Lan took it gingerly.

  "How are you?" his father asked, anxiously. "How are you now, I mean? Are you feeling better? Do you remember anything of what happened to you?"

  Lan shook his head, not trusting his voice. "Mostly the fire," he said truthfully, "and not much of that."

  His parents exchanged an unreadable glance, and some of the tension ran out of them. It was his mother, though, who flushed an unbecoming plum color, and said, "I—Lan, I'm very sorry that I didn't believe you."

  That was the closest she was ever going to come to an apology, and Lan knew it. He also knew how much it cost her to say that much, and he sensed a different sort of strain building up among the three of them.

  :Hold out your arms, silly,: Kalira whispered in his mind, as he stood there awkwardly and feeling completely at a loss for what to do or say next. Clumsily, he obeyed her, and that did, indeed seem to be what they were waiting for. They both embraced him, just as awkwardly as he.

  The embrace didn't last long, but he felt much better after they broke it. He even managed a tentative smile for them.

  "So. You're going to be a Herald, then." His father rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and looked from him to Kalira and back again.

  "Not immediately," he told them both, and scrubbed the toe of his gray boot in the dirt a little. "I have an awful lot to learn first."

  "Still." His father smiled slowly; his mother didn't exactly beam at him, but she certainly gave him a healthy dose of silent approval. "A Herald! We're proud of you, Lan, that we are! It's hard to think of you being a Herald, but there you are in your uniform, and with your Companion and all—"

  "Her name is Kalira," he replied proudly, and Kalira stepped to his side and nodded her head to both of them.

  :Suggest that you all walk in the garden,: Kalira prompted.

  "Why don't we all take a walk while we talk," he echoed. "There in the garden—" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the Palace gardens with their ornamental torches.

  His father gaped. "Us? Walk in the Royal gardens?" he stammered.

  "I don't see any reason why not," Pol put in casually. "That's what they're there for." He turned his attention pointedly to Lan. "A walk for about a candlemark wouldn't be too taxing for you, and I have some things I must do that will keep me for about that long. I'll meet you back here when I'm finished; you go show your parents where you'll be living for the next couple of years."

  Herald Pol took himself off as quickly as his daughter had—little doubt where she'd gotten that trait from—and Lan was left alone with his parents and Kalira.

  He took a deep breath, and stood up as straight as he could manage.

  "Well," he said to them. "Shall we go?"

  ELEVEN

  WITHIN a week, false summer had collapsed, and autumn returned with a vengeance. There were no more afternoons sitting in the garden for Lan, but Pol found plenty of things to occupy his time. A storm in the night blew most of the leaves away, and Pol began to look forward to the day when he could move Lavan to the Collegium; his own walks to and from Healer's were bleak and uncomfortable.

  Meanwhile, he tested Lan on a variety of subjects to figure out what classes he needed to take. One area surprised him; the boy knew the maps of Valdemar as thoroughly as any full Herald, and how to dead reckon by the stars or sun equally well. All in all, Lavan Chitward was no farther behind or ahead than any other Trainee his age.

  On a cold, gray, windy day, Pol helped his young Trainee move into his room at Herald's Collegium.

  A carter had brought a box of Lan's personal gear the day before, a luxury many of the Trainees never had. Lan was inclined to tire more quickly than he thought he should, largely because he attempted more than he was ready for, but the Healers were confident that he was ready for the active regime of classes and training. A stack of new uniforms and other basic necessities waited for him in his new room, and Pol had walked him all over the Collegium the previous day. He met Pol at the door to the gardens, and the two of them bent to the wind and plodded cheerfully enough to his new home.

  A ground-floor room had just fallen vacant, and Pol had quickly claimed it for Lan before anyone else did. The window opened onto a sheltered nook of the garden, so if it became necessary at any time, Kalira could even be temporarily housed there, right within reach. The view was somewhat restricted, but he didn't think that Lan would mind.

  In fact, Kalira watched them with great interest through the window as Pol introduced Lan to his new quarters, with the still-packed box in the middle of the room. It was very much an average room, depersonalized by the removal of the belongings of the previous occupant who was now on her first circuit in company with an older, experienced mentor. A small but adequate fireplace in the center of the right wall held a cheerful, clean-burning fire of seasoned oak, protected behind a metal fire screen. The furnishings were entirely utilitarian: bed, desk, chair, bookcase, and wardrobe. The bed was tucked in beneath the window with a pile of Trainee Grays and linen piled atop it, the wardrobe and desk arranged on the left wall. The bookcase, which had done double duty for the previous Trainee as a nightstand, was still next to the bed. Lan's class books were already in it, and a candlestick atop it. There was one oil lamp on the mantle, and a second on the desk. The walls themselves were whitewashed plaster—freshly whitewashed for the new tenant. White canvas curtains covered the window, and when pulled back, hid the shutters that could be closed against the worst storms, although in this sheltered corner it wasn't likely that Lan would ever use them. The youngster looked around, and smiled slowly.

  "I like this place, Herald Pol," Lan said. "I like it better than my room in my parents' house; this one has a view. All I saw from my old room was the wall of the next house. Better than that—it's a view with trees in it."

  "Good, I'm pleased to hear
it," Pol replied. After learning just how well-to-do Lan's parents were, he'd been a bit apprehensive about the boy's reaction to what was a very small and unexceptional room. Some of the highborn Trainees reacted poorly to being assigned to live in something that was the size of a closet by their normal standards.

  On the other hand, the largest houses in the well-off Merchants' Quarter were not likely to come vacant, which left a newly-wealthy merchant the option of either taking a relatively smaller house in the fashionable district or building a bigger one in an unfashionable district where no one of any note would ever see it. His parents must have opted for the former.

  "Your schedule is on the desk there, and a map of the Collegium—" Pol nodded toward the small stack of notes resting on the surface. "I've already given you the tour, so you know where everything is, and you'll start in your classes tomorrow. Don't hesitate to ask anyone you might meet for directions or help, and if you need me, you know where to find me."

  He wanted to encourage independence in the youngster, and the best way to do that was to leave him to his own devices before he developed any dependencies.

  :He'll be fine,: Satiran said. :He's got my daughter, after all.:

  "Thank you, Herald Pol," Lan said, and offered another of his slow, careful smiles. He opened the door himself, and waited politely for the Herald to take himself out, a good sign that the Trainee was ready to stand on his own feet.

  Which was a very good thing, since Pol had a class to teach. No matter what disaster transpired, no matter who descended on the Collegium, the classes went on.

  *

  WHEN Pol closed the door behind him, Lan turned his attention back to organizing his new room, although with Kalira right outside it already felt more like home than the place he had inhabited since arriving in Haven. The one thing that he didn't have to put up with was his mother's hand at decoration. She wanted reds and yellows, relentlessly cheerful colors that irritated him rather than raising his spirits.

  He wasn't particularly neat by nature, but he didn't want to start things off with a bad impression, so he quickly stowed away all the clothing in the wardrobe, the towels on the wardrobe's shelf, and made the bed with the linens he found folded there. Virtually everything was spotless but showed some wear, and that was oddly comforting, suggesting that no one was treated with any more deference than anyone else here.