Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  After Talia had so nearly died in the icy water of the river, Alberich had assigned Sherrill to give her the same kind of swimming lessons a child of the Lake would have. Sherrill’s last act before going out on her internship was to surprise Talia on the bridge and toss her into the same spot she’d been thrown before. The water was almost as cold, though the ice was scarcely more than a thin skin among the reeds. Sherri stood ready to haul her out if she had to, but Talia “passed” this impromptu exam with flying colors and chattering teeth.

  Skif met her coming back to her room, laughing, shaking with cold, barefoot and dripping and wrapped in a horseblanket.

  “Holy stars!” he exclaimed in shock. “What happened to you?”

  “Sherri pushed me in the river—no, wait,” she forestalled his rushing off to meet out the same treatment to the innocent Sherrill. “It was on Alberich’s orders. She’s been teaching me what she knows, and she wanted a foolproof way of testing whether I’d learned or not.”

  “Some test,” Skif grumbled, then to Talia’s surprise, picked her up and carried her to her room.

  “They don’t ever let up on you, do they?” he complained, helping her out of her sodden clothing and building up the tiny fire in her room. “Holy stars, you do twice the work of the rest of us, and you never get a break, and then they turn around and do things like this to you ....”

  She turned unexpectedly and stumbled. He caught her, and she found herself staring into his brown eyes at a meager distance of an inch or two. He froze, then seized his opportunity and kissed her.

  They broke apart in confusion a long moment later.

  “Uh, Talia ...” he mumbled.

  “I like you, Skif,” she said softly. “I like you a lot.”

  “You do?” he flushed. “I—you know I like you.”

  “And you know who my next-door neighbor is. Nobody’d notice if we—you know.”

  “You mean—” Skif could hardly believe his ears. Or his luck. “But you’ve got your good uniform on—you’re going somewhere. Tonight maybe?”

  “I’ve got a Council meeting, but after that ....”

  Alas for poor Skif—the Council meeting was long and boring, and Talia was a good deal more tired from Sherri’s “trial by water” than she realized. She arrived at her room a little before him and sat down on her bed to rest. By the time he got there, much to Skif’s chagrin, she was fast asleep.

  He bit his lip in annoyance; then his expression softened. He covered her carefully with a blanket and gave her a chaste kiss on one cheek; she was so weary she didn’t even stir.

  “No matter, lady-o,” he whispered. “We can try again another time.”

  “Bright Havens, little one!” Jadus exclaimed, seeing Talia’s strained expression as she arrived for her nightly visit “What ails you?”

  “I—I’m not sure,” she replied hesitantly. “But everyone’s so angry—I thought I could keep it out, but it won’t stay out—”

  “You should have said something sooner,” he scolded gently, using his own Gift to reinforce her shielding. “Elcarth could have helped you.”

  “Elcarth was busy, and everybody else was too angry to get near. Jadus, what’s wrong with everyone? I thought Heralds didn’t get angry—I’ve never felt anything like this before!”

  “That’s because you weren’t in any shape to sense the mood of the Collegium last winter, dear heart.”

  “You’re changing the subject,” Talia said, a bit tartly. “And if this affects Selenay or Elspeth, I need to know what it’s all about.”

  Jadus hesitated, then sighed and concluded that she was right. “It’s not a pretty tale,” he said. “There’s a young Herald named Dirk who became infatuated with one of the Court beauties. That’s not too uncommon, especially the first time a Herald is assigned to the Court or Collegium, but she apparently played on it, built it into something a great deal more serious on his part. And all the rime she was simply toying with him—intended using him for the rather base end of getting at a friend of his. When she was found out, she said some very cruel things—deliberately came very close to destroying his fairly fragile ego. She totally shattered his self-esteem; she’s got him convinced he’s worth less than a mongrel dog. He’s been sent back to his home for a while; hopefully in the company of his family and friends, he’ll recover. I pray so; Dirk is a good lad, and a valuable Herald, and worth fifty of her. I knew his father at Bardic, and the lad did me the service of visiting me now and again to pay his respects. The anger you feel is largely due to the fact that we are legally and ethically unable to mete out to that—woman—the punishment she richly deserves. And child, we do get angry; we’re only human—and it hurts to know we are helpless to avenge what has been done to one dear to us because we obey the spirit and the letter of the law.”

  Talia left Jadus deep in thought, wondering if she’d ever truly be worthy of that kind of caring.

  Skif slipped Talia a note at breakfast. “My room, tonight?”

  She smiled and nodded very slightly.

  He arrived at his room, Talia and the proposed rendezvous temporarily forgotten. He was battered, bruised, and sore from his head to his heels, and all he was really thinking about was whether or not he could coax Drake or Edric into bringing him something from the kitchen so that he wouldn’t have to drag his weary body to the commonroom.

  He blinked in surprise to see food and hot tea waiting on his desk. He blinked again to see Talia sitting on his bed.

  “Oh, Lord of Lights—Talia, I forgot!”

  “I heard,” she said simply. “But I thought you could use food and a friend—and we’ll see if we can’t get you in shape for other things with those two.”

  “He’s a sadist, that Alberich,” he moaned, lowering himself, wincing, into the chair, and reaching for the tea.” ‘Time you had some responsibility,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be my assistant,’ he said. ‘It’ll give you less time for picking of pockets and evil habits.’ He didn’t say he’d be giving me extra lessons. He didn’t say that he was going to make me the sparring partner for hulking brutes who’ve already gotten their Whites. He didn’t tell me I was going to be teaching three giants who never saw anything more sophisticated than a club. Holy stars, Talia, you should see those three! They were farmers, or so they tell me. Farmers! Talia, if you asked directions from one of them, he’d probably pick up the plow, ox and all, to point the way!”

  Talia murmured sympathetically, and massaged his shoulders.

  “I hurt in places I didn’t know I had,” he complained, eating his dinner with what, for him, was unnatural slowness.

  “I might be able to help with that,” Talia smiled, continuing to massage his aches.

  It was a short two steps to his bed; she got most of the clothing off him—and not so incidentally off herself. She had gotten hold of some kellwood-oil and warmed it to skin temperature, using it to help get the knots out of his bruised and battered muscles. Under her gentle ministrations he was even beginning to feel somewhat revived; then he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

  Talia realized it was hopeless when she heard his gentle snores.

  She sighed, eased herself out of his bed, tucked him in like a child, and returned to her own room.

  This Midwinter, she stayed at the Collegium quite gladly, enjoying the unusual freedom to read until all hours of the night if she chose, and greatly enjoying Jadus’ company. She discovered that this year Mero and Gaytha were remaining over the holiday, along with Keren and Ylsa, and the six of them often met in Jadus’ room for long discussions over hot cider.

  Keren and Ylsa took her out with them on long rides into the countryside outside the capital. They even managed to persuade Jadus to accompany them on more than one of these expeditions—the first time he’d been off Collegium grounds for years. The three of them had found a pond that had frozen with a black-ice surface as smooth as the finest mirror. While Ylsa and Jadus stayed by the fire they built on the shore, la
ughing at the other two and keeping a careful eye on the rabbit and roots they were roasting for a snow-picnic, Keren taught Talia how to skate. With runners made of polished steel fastened to her boots, Keren glided on the surface of the pond with the grace of a falcon in flight.

  Talia fell down a lot—at least at first.

  “You’re just trying to get back at me,” she accused. “I never got a sore rear from riding, so you’re trying some other way to make it hard for me to sit down!”

  Keren just chuckled, helped her up again, and resumed towing her around the pond.

  Eventually she acquired the knack of balancing, then of moving. By the time they quit to return home, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, even if she looked, as she said, “more like a goose than a falcon!”

  They repeated this trip nearly every other day, until by Midwinter itself Talia was proficient enough to be able to skate—shakily—backwards.

  Once again they shared the revelry in the Servant’s Hall, this time with the other four as additions to the group. It was altogether a most satisfactory Midwinter holiday.

  When classes resumed, she added one in law and jurisprudence and another in languages and lost the free hour in the library. Often it seemed as if there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything, but somehow she managed.

  Her bond with Rolan, if anything, continued to deepen; now it seemed as if he was always present at the back of her mind. She knew by now that he was the source of some of the wisdom that she’d had spring unbidden into her mind when the Queen needed it, and that it had been Rolan who had guided her when she’d needed to bail Skif out of Orthallen’s ill graces. Rolan, after all, had the benefit of living in the mind of a man of great ability—the former King’s Own, Talamir—for all of Talamir’s life as a Herald, and made all of that wisdom available to his new Herald. Yet some of it, at least, was all Talia’s own; the instinctive judgment that only the Monarch’s Own Herald possessed.

  Before she realized how much time had passed, the trees were budding again. There was a new crop of trainees, and Talia was amazed at how young these children looked. Sometimes she was just as surprised, when looking in a mirror, at how young she still looked—for she felt as if she must appear at least a hundred years old by now.

  Spring did bring one respite; Keren had taught her all she knew. There would be no more equitation classes, as such. From time to time she would help Keren with the younger students who needed individual help, but it was not the steady, draining demand that the class had been.

  Now that Keren was no longer Talia’s teacher, their relationship ripened into an incredibly close friendship, closer even than the relationship Talia had had with her sister Vris. For all of the difference in their ages—Keren was slightly more than twice Talia’s age—they discovered that the difference was negligible once they really began to talk with one another. The closeness they had begun over the Midwinter holiday began to deepen and strengthen. Talia found that Keren was the one person in the entire Collegium with whom she felt free to unburden herself—perhaps because Keren was strongly sympathetic to the weight of responsibility on the shoulders of the Queen’s Own, having had that burden in her own family. Being able to say exactly what she pleased to somebody made life a great deal easier for Talia.

  As for Keren—Talia was one of the few people she’d ever met, even in the Heraldic circle, who was willing to accept her, her relationship with Ylsa, and all that this implied, without judgment. Once Talia’s loyalty was given, it was unswerving and unshakable. Most Heralds liked and admired Keren, but many were uneasy about getting too close to her, as if her preferences were some kind of stain that might rub off on them. Talia was one of the few who gave her heart freely and openly to one she considered to be her best friend. And with Ylsa so often away, life up until now had been rather lonely—a loneliness Talia did much to alleviate, simply by being there.

  Talia learned something new about her friend, something that few guessed. The outward strength and capability of the riding instructor masked the internal fragility of a snowflake. Her emotional stability rested on a tripod of three bonds—the one with Teren, the one with Dantris, her Companion, and the one with Ylsa. It was partially because of that that the Circle had assigned the twins to teaching full-time at the Collegium when the advance of middle years made it time to think of taking them from field duty (although the primary reasons were that they were experts in their areas—Keren with equitation and Teren for his talents in dealing with children and true gift for teaching). There was very little chance that anything untoward would occur to either Dantris or her brother here. Ylsa had been given her own assignment as Special Messenger because of the unusual endurance of Felara, second only to Rolan’s—though it was true that the duty of special messenger was not as hazardous as many of the others, which had again been a minor consideration. Still, Talia often thought with a vague dread that if anything ever happened to Ylsa, Keren might well follow.

  The night was warm; it was too early for insects, the moon was full. It was an altogether idyllic setting. There was even a lovely soft bed of young ferns to spread their cloaks on. Talia had met Skif quite by accident when she was coming back from walking with Elspeth in Companion’s Field. With unspoken accord they had retraced their steps, and found this ideal trysting place ....

  “Comfortable?”

  “Mm-hm. And the stars—”

  “They’re gorgeous. I could watch them forever.”

  “I thought,” Talia teased, “that you had something else in mind!”

  “Oh I did—”

  But he had just spent his afternoon dodging Alberich, and she had been up since well before dawn.

  Talia returned his hesitant, but gentle caresses. She was both excited and a little apprehensive about this, but from the way Skif was acting she evidently wasn’t being too awkward. She began to relax for the first time since early that morning, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to go out—

  —and they fell asleep simultaneously.

  They woke with dew soaking them and birds overhead, and the sun just beginning to rise.

  “I hate to say this,” Skif began with a sigh.

  “I know. This isn’t going to work, is it?”

  “I guess not. It’s either the gods, fate, or the imp of the perverse.”

  “Or all three. I guess we’re stuck just being good friends. Well, you can’t say we didn’t try!”

  To Skif’s delight, their classmates seemed totally unaware of the fact that their trysts had been abortive. Talia was thought of as being very hard to get; Skif was amazed to discover that his reputation had been made as a consequence, and proceeded immediately to try to live up to it. Coincident with this, Alberich dropped him as assistant, and appointed Jeri, so he never again had the problem that had plagued his “romance” with Talia. Talia simply smiled and held her peace when teased about Skif, so their secret remained a secret.

  The Death Bell tolled four times that year; Talia found herself in a new role—one that she hadn’t expected.

  She’d attended the funeral of the first of that year’s victims. It was just turning autumn, the air still had the feel of summer during the day, although the nights were growing colder. She had gone to Companion’s Field afterward and had mounted Rolan without saddling him. They had not ambled along as was their usual habit; it was rather as if something was drawing both of them to a particular corner of the Field.

  Companion’s Field was not, as the name implied, a simple, flat field. Rather, it was a rolling, partially wooded complex of several acres in size, containing the Stable for foul-weather shelter, the barn and granary holding the Companions’ fodder, and the tack shed—in reality a substantial building with fireplaces at either end. The heart of the field was the Grove, the origin-place of the original Companions, and the location of the tower containing the Death Bell. There were several spring-fed creeks and pools and many secluded, shady copses, as well as more
open areas.

  Talia’s “feelings” led her to one of those secluded corners, a tiny pool at the bottom of an equally tiny valley, all overhung with golden-leaved willows. There was a Herald there, his own Companion nuzzling anxiously at his shoulder, staring vacantly into the water of the pool.

  Talia dismounted and sat next to him. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked, after a long silence.

  He tossed a scrap of bark into the pool. “I found him—Gerick, I mean.”

  “Bad?”

  “I can’t even begin to tell you. Whatever killed him can’t have been human, not even close. And the worst of it was—”

  “Go on.”

  “It was my circuit he was riding. If I hadn’t broken my leg, it would have been me. Maybe.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “There’s been some odd things going on out there on the Western Border, especially on my circuit. I tried to warn him, but he just laughed and told me I’d been out there too long. Maybe, if it’d been me out there—I don’t know.”

  Talia remained silent, knowing there was more he hadn’t said.

  “I can’t sleep anymore,” the Herald said at last, and indeed he looked haggard. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, the way he was when I found him. The blood—the—pain—Dammit to all the Twelve Hells!” he drove his fist into the ground beside him. “Why did it have to be Gerick? Why? I’ve never seen anybody so much in love with life—why did he have to die like that?”

  “I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t,” Talia replied. “I think we’ll only know the why of things when we meet our own fates ....” Her voice trailed off as she searched for words to bring him some kind of comfort. “But surely, if he loved life as much as you say, Gerick must have made the most of every minute he had?”

  “You know—you’re right. I used to dig at him for it, sometimes he’d just laugh, and tell me that since he didn’t know what was around the corner, he planned to make the most of whatever he had at the moment. I swear, it seemed sometimes as if he were trying to live three men’s lives, all at once. Why, I remember a time when—”