Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  The guard chuckled, his eyes disappearing in the smile-crinkles. “Young miss, it’s us who’ll remember you with thanks, come tax-time! Anything else you need?”

  Rolan seemed to think it was time they were on their way again, and began moving impatiently off. “No, nothing,” she called over her shoulder as he waved a casual farewell.

  Rolan quickly resumed his normal pace and the village fell rapidly behind them, so quickly that Talia had only just realized that she didn’t even know the name of the place or her benefactor when it was gone from view.

  “Oh, well,” she said to Rolan as she bit hungrily into a lightly spiced meat pie, “I’m not likely to forget the baking of Darowife, Even Isrel never made anything that tasted like this, not even for feastdays!”

  She looked with curiosity at the brass “chit.” It bore a number, and the word “Sweetsprings.”

  “Sweetsprings?” she mused. “That must be the town. I wish I knew what was going on! I’ve never read or heard anything about Companions running away before, but he acted like it happens all the time.”

  She passed through another village near to suppertime. This one was much smaller than Sweetsprings had been; mostly a collection of houses and huts around a blacksmith’s forge. It was apparently too small to warrant one of the blue-clad Guards, but the people seemed just as friendly. They waved at her as she cantered past, bridle bells ringing, and didn’t seem to find anything at all disturbing in the sight of a slightly grubby girl atop a Herald’s Companion. Talia could not help contrasting their friendliness with the reaction she’d have gotten from Holderfolk. At best, her own people would have stared, then coldly turned their backs on such unseemly behavior from a girl-child. At worst, they’d have tried to stop her; tried to pull her from Rolan’s back to incarcerate as a thief.

  Once again, as night was about to fall, Rolan found a Waystation. The Road and the River had parted company not long since, but this shelter boasted a well, so they didn’t lack water. Talia discovered among the odds and ends the guard had assembled for her a little box of soft, homemade soap and a washcloth, as well as a currycomb and brush for Rolan. When the moon rose, both of them were much cleaner.

  She decided (somewhat reluctantly) to save the pies for her midday meals and manage with porridge for the rest. Once again she fed the two of them, and fell soundly asleep in spite of the relative discomfort of the primitive Waystation.

  On the third day of the journey, Talia was sufficiently used to the novelty of riding Companion-back that she found her mind drifting to other things. The position of the sun would remind her that at home she’d have been at some particular task, and she found herself wondering what the Holding was making of her disappearance. There wasn’t anyone in her extended family she was really close to anymore, not since Andrean had been killed in a raid and they’d sent Vrisa as Underwife to old man Fletcher. Of all her kin, only those two had ever seemed to really love her—even Father’s Mother hadn’t cared enough for her to stand up for her when she’d done something that truly enraged Keldar. Only those two had dared to brave the Firstwife’s anger. Vris acted covertly, smuggling forbidden meals when punishment included doing without dinner. Andrean had been more open, demanding she be allowed to do something or coaxing Father to forgive her sooner. It had been at Andrean’s insistence that she was allowed to continue her reading, for as Second son, his words had carried weight. And she and Vrisa had been closer than sibs; almost like twins in spite of the difference in their ages.

  Tears stung her eyes at the thought of Andrean—so gentle with her, protective; always with a smile and a joke to share. He had been with her such a short time—he’d been killed when she was only nine. She could still remember him clearly, looming over her like a sheltering giant. He’d been so kind and patient—so ready to teach her anything she wanted to learn. He was everyone’s favorite—except for Keldar. Truly the Goddess must have wanted him with Her, to take him so young—but Talia had needed him, too. They’d scolded her for crying at his wake, but it had been herself she had been crying for.

  And poor Vris; she’d been terrified at the prospect of Marriage to old Fletcher, and it seemed she had been right to be so fearful. The few times Talia had seen her at Gatherings, she’d been pale and taut-looking, and as silent as one of the Lady’s Handmaidens. All the sparkle had been snuffed out of her, and nothing was left but the ashes.

  Talia shuddered—Vris’ fate could so easily have been her own. The Companion’s timely arrival seemed little less than miraculous in that light.

  As she rode, she found her hands itching for something to do. Never since she could remember had there ever been a time when her hands hadn’t been filled with some task. Even her reading was only allowed so long as she was occupied with some necessary job at the same time. To have empty hands seemed unnatural.

  She filled her time with trying to take in as much of the changing landscape around her as she could, attempting to make some kind of mental map. Small villages appeared with greater frequency the farther she went toward the capital. The apparent lack of concern people showed over her appearance had her baffled. One could almost suppose that the sight of a strange adolescent riding a Herald’s Companion was relatively commonplace. The only answer seemed to be as the Guard had hinted, that this sort of thing happened all the time. But why hadn’t her tales made any mention of this? Companions were clearly of a high order of intelligence; look at the way he’d been caring for both of them all along this journey. Her first thought, that he’d run away like a common farmbeast, was obviously incorrect. At this point there wasn’t much doubt in her mind as to which of the two of them was truly in charge. The tales were all true, then—Companions were creatures of an intellect at the least equaling that of their Heralds. She weighed the little she knew of Companions against her experiences of the past three days. It wasn’t enough to help her. The Holderkin held themselves aloof from the Heralds, forbidding the littles to speak of them, and dealing with them only when they must. Only the Elders had any contact with them. And the little illicit gossip she’d heard had concerned only the Heralds and their rumored licentiousness, not the Companions.

  But if you had to draw conclusions—Rolan must have chosen to have her accompany him, for there was no question that he could have returned to the Collegium perfectly well on his own. And if that were the case—could he have purposefully selected her for some reason? Perhaps even arrived at the Holding with the express intention of acquiring her and escorting her off to the capital? That was almost too like a fable. Talia simply couldn’t believe that something like that was possible. Not for her—for some mage-gifted youth like Vanyel perhaps, but for a plain little girl of Holderkin? No one in his right mind would even consider such a possibility.

  Yet—the questions remained. Why had he appeared when he had; why had he inveigled her into his saddle, and why, of all whys, was he carrying her off to the one place she wanted to go more than anywhere else on the earth or all five Heavens? The puzzle was almost enough to make her forget her idle hands.

  When the sixth day of her journey arrived, she’d finished the last of the meat pies, and had decided to make a test of the instructions the guard had given her. Perhaps she would learn more from the next Guard, now that she knew that there was far more going on than she had any hope of puzzling out for herself.

  The next village—perhaps—would hold the answers.

  Three

  Toward nooning she found they were approaching the outskirts of a very good-sized village. It lay in a little valley, well-watered and green with trees. Like the others Talia had seen, the shops and houses were colorfully painted with bold trim and shutters in blues, reds, and yellows. The bright colors contrasted cheerfully with the white plaster of the walls and the gold of fresh thatching. The scene was so unlike a faded gray Holding that it might well be in another land altogether. In the distance Talia could clearly see another guard-shelter; it appeared diminutive in contrast to the two�
��and three-storied buildings that stood near it. This was the first such shelter she had seen since early morning—it appeared that as she drew closer to the center of Valdemar, the overt presence of the Roadguard decreased. It seemed that this was the logical place for her to attempt to learn what this mystery was about and to reprovision herself at the same time.

  The guard-shelter was placed in the deep shade of an enormous tree that completely overshadowed the road. Of all the buildings around, it alone was not brightly painted; rather, it was of plain wood, stained a dark brown. As they neared, Talia saw movement in the shadows, but the bright sun prevented her from seeing the Guard clearly at first. Her mouth fell open in amazement when she saw that the Guard who emerged from the shade was a woman—and one who wore a uniform identical in every respect to the first Guard’s. For one bewildered moment she thought that she must surely be mistaken—certainly the idea was preposterous. She shook her head to clear her eyes of sun-dazzle, and looked again. The Guard was a woman. Impossible as it seemed, there was no mistaking the fact that women seemed to be part of the Army as well as men.

  Before she could collect herself, the Guard had walked briskly to where they had halted and was standing at Rolan’s head.

  “Welladay!” she exclaimed before Talia could think what to say, “This is Rolan, isn’t it?” She patted his neck as he nuzzled her graying black hair; she laughed, and slapped his nose lightly, then bent to examine some marks that Talia had noticed earlier on the saddle. “It certainly is! You’ve been a long time out, milord,” she continued, dearly speaking to the horse. “I certainly hope it’s been worth it.”

  Rolan lipped her sleeve playfully, and she laughed again.

  “Now,” the Guard turned her attention to Talia, squinting a little in the noon sun, “What can I do for you, young miss?”

  Talia’s confusion was doubled; however could she have guessed this Companion’s name? And “Rolan” was hardly common—to have thought of it purely by accident all on her own—it seemed to hint at a great deal more than coincidence. “His name really is Rolan?” she blurted—then hung her head, blushing furiously at her own rudeness. “I’m sorry,” she said to the pommel of the saddle. “I don’t understand what’s been happening to me. The—the Guard in Sweetsprings said other Guards could help me—”

  “Sweetsprings!” the woman was plainly surprised. “You’re a long way from home, childing!”

  “I—guess I am,” Talia replied faintly, watching the Guard out of the corner of her eye.

  The Guard studied Talia as well, and the girl thought she must be appraising what she saw. Talia was wearing her original clothing, after doing her best to wash the worst of the travel stains from it, and keep it from drying with too many wrinkles in it. The loaned outfits had been of a heavier weight than was comfortable, riding all day in the sun—and at any rate, she hadn’t felt quite at ease in them. Once everything had been worn once, it had seemed better to try and clean her own gear and return to it. Now she was glad she had; the Guard seemed to recognize exactly what she was just by the cut of it.

  “Holderfolk, aren’t you?” there was ready sympathy in her voice. “Huh. I’ve heard a bit about them—I’ll bet you are confused, you poor thing. You must feel all adrift. Well, you’ll find out what this is all about soon enough—trust me, they’ll set you right at the Collegium. I’d try and explain, but it’s against the rules for me to tell you if you don’t already know, which is probably just as well—you’d probably end up more confused than ever. As to how I knew this was Rolan, well everybody on Roadguard duty knew he’d gone out; all his tack’s marked with his sigil, just like every Companion—see?” She pointed to the marks she’d looked at, carved into the leather of the saddle skirting. Now that Talia knew what those marks meant, she could see they were a contracted version of Rolan’s name. “Now, how can I serve you?”

  “I’m afraid I need some provisioning.” Talia said apologetically, half expecting a reproof. “They gave me some lovely meat pies—I did try to make them last, but—”

  “How long ago was that?” the woman interrupted.

  “Four days—” Talia replied, shrinking away a little.

  “Four days? Hellfire! You mean you’ve been stretching your food for that long? What’ve you been eating, that dried horsecrap they keep in the Waystations?”

  Talia’s expression must have said plainly that that was exactly what she’d been doing, as the Guard’s mouth twisted a little, and she tightened her lips in annoyance.

  “Rolan,” she said sternly, a no-nonsense tone in her voice. “You are letting this poor childing off your back for an hour, you hear me? You know damn well you can make up the time, and she needs a decent meal inside her before she comes down with flux, or something worse! Then where would you be?”

  Rolan snorted and laid his ears back, but he didn’t move off when the woman reached up to hand Talia out of the saddle. Talia slid down, feeling awkward under the eyes of the Guard, gawky and untidy—and once off Rolan, uneasy. Rolan followed close on their heels as the Guard led Talia by the hand to the Inn at the center of the village.

  “I suppose the Guard back at Sweetsprings was a male, hm?” she asked wryly, and the woman nodded a bit at Talia’s shy assent. “Just like a man! Never once thinks you might be more frightened by all this than excited, never once thinks you might not know the rules. Totally forgets that you may be Chosen but you’re also just a child. And you’re no better, Rolan!” she added over her shoulder, “Men!”

  The Companion only tossed his head and made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

  The inn was a prosperous place, with tables placed outside in the shade of a huge goldenoak that grew in the very center of its courtyard. There were a fair number of folk eating and drinking at those tables already. The Guard sat Talia down at one of these tables that was still unoccupied, and bullied the serving maid into bringing an enormous meal. She ordered Talia in tones that brooked no disagreement to “tuck into that food.” Talia did so, suddenly realizing how hungry she’d been the past few days, while the Guard vanished somewhere.

  She returned just as Talia finished the last crumb, carrying the saddlebags that had been fastened to Rolan’s saddle and which now fairly bulged at the seams.

  She sat down beside Talia, straddling the bench, and laid the bags between them “I’ve replaced your clothing. It’s Holderfolk style and colors; some of the younglings around here wear that sort of thing for heavy work. I know you’ll feel more comfortable in that kind of outfit, and this way people will know when they look at you that you’re not used to being out in the big world; hopefully, they’ll realize that you’re going to be confused.”

  Talia started to protest that this wasn’t necessary, but the stern look the guard gave her made her fall silent again.

  “There’s enough changes there to get you to the Collegium without you having to wash it yourself. Innkeeper’s bringing you some wayfood. I told him no wine; that right?” At Talia’s affirmative nod she continued, “Don’t stint yourself; you’re still a-growing and you don’t want to be falling ill. Don’t eat that crap they keep at the Waystations. That’s supposed to be for the Companions and dire emergencies, no matter what that lazy lout at Sweetsprings told you. I’ll tell you, the emergency would have to be pretty damn dire before I’d stomach that stuff! You stop every day for a hot nooning, unless there’s no towns. That’s an order! Here’s your townchit,” she said, handing another scrap of brass to Talia, who put it safely in her pouch. “Frankly, if it weren’t for the damn rules, I’d keep you here overnight so’s I’d know you’d gotten a hot bath and a proper bed, but—never mind. You’ll have to stop once more for wayfood. Try Kettlesmith. The Dayguard there’s an old friend of mine; she knows about Holderfolk and she knows children; she’ll make sure you’re all right. Ready to go?”

  Talia nodded dumbly. This woman had all the brisk efficiency of Keldar with none of Keldar’s coldness—she had taken charge
of everything so quickly that Talia’s head spun. And it seemed, at least, that she was concerned that Talia was all alone on the Road. Having someone concerned for her well-being was a strange sensation. Talia might almost have suspected an ulterior motive except that the Guard was so open and honest. If there was anything to be wary of in her manner, Talia couldn’t read it.

  “Good enough; off you get.” She gave Talia a gentle shove toward the edge of the court where Rolan was waiting, surrounded by children. They were all vying for the chance to pet him or feed him a choice tidbit, and he seemed to Talia’s eyes to be wearing a very smug, self-satisfied expression.

  The Guardswoman gave Talia a boost into the saddle, refastened the saddlebags to the cantle and the bags brought by the Innkeeper to the snaffles at the front skirting, and gave Rolan a genial smack on the rump to send them on their way.

  It wasn’t until they were far down the Road that Talia realized that she hadn’t yet had a single one of her questions answered.

  At least—not directly. Indirectly though—now that she thought about it, there had been some information there. The Guardswoman had mentioned “rules” about journeys like this; that implied that they were commonplace. And she’d spoken to Rolan as she would have to a person—that implied that Rolan was as remarkable as legends claimed, and that his actions involving Talia were planned and intentional.

  So—-that meant that there was something that the Companion intended for her to be doing. But what?

  To have only bits of information was as maddening as having only half a book! But some of that information was beginning to make a pattern.

  All right; it was time to try putting more of this together. The three books Talia owned always (now that she thought about it) referred to Companions as having some kind of magical abilities; a mystical bond with their Heralds. There had been an implication, especially in Vanyel’s tale, that Companions could communicate sensibly with their Heralds and vice versa. The Guard had spoken to Rolan as if he were a person—actually as if he had taken charge of Talia. That bore out the feeling that Talia had had ever since the first day—that it was Rolan who knew where they should be going and what they should be doing.