Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Then he started hearing stories about others, this Herald-Mage in particular, and he began to wonder if perhaps he might meet someone like himself, who would want more than a single night of physical pleasure. When his captain asked for volunteers to be the Herald-Mage's guide, he raised his hand immediately. Given Vanyel's mysterious and frightening reputation for destroying armies at a glance, no others offered their services. Which was just as well, as Jonne was the only one who knew the area, having grown up in this very forest.

  Vanyel and other important Valdemaran officers had made camp on a hillside. Jonne looked back at the camp, now visible as a campfire in the forest; when Jonne had asked them why the camp was so far from the troops, Vanyel had replied that it was to draw any magical attack toward him, the Herald-Mage, and away from the troops, who were ill equipped to deal with such an attack. Jonne thought this a great act of bravery, or stupidity; since he had little experience in magical warfare, he withheld judgment. After all, he was a mere country lad, trained as a soldier, whereas Vanyel was a full Herald, and a Mage to boot, educated at the Collegium and, it was rumored, a close friend of the King himself.

  Vanyel has survived many battles, magical and otherwise. He must know what he's doing, Jonne reasoned. Or he would not be here, filling in for five Herald-Mages.

  After his brief introduction to Vanyel, the guardsman sensed something familiar behind the younger man's eyes. It was a look, a spark of recognition, that Jonne had seen maybe a dozen times in his life. It was a lingering gaze, normally brief between most men, but between shay'a'chern the gaze lasted a moment longer, just long enough to let the other know that yes, I know you, too. We are both... different.

  The Guardsman also felt Vanyel's power behind the sexuality; Jonne had a slight Gift for Empathy and Mind-speech, but it was so unpredictable that he did not qualify for training. Occasionally the Gift would surface when his emotions were charged, as they were this evening.

  Jonne bid him good evening with promises to return the next day. Yes, he knows. He is, he thought, trying not to let his joy show to the others gathered there.

  The next day they would properly scout the Karse border, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the enemy, way off in the distance. War seemed to be a distant prospect now, as more pleasant thoughts occupied his mind as he made his way back to his company. Nearby was a system of caves he would show the Herald-Mage.

  The path Jonne had taken passed along a ridge, below which was a sea of tents housing Valdemar's forces. Here and there was the occasional revelry, as this was Sovvan, which some insisted on celebrating despite the circumstances. The tents looked like shingles on a tiled roof, reflecting pale light from a full harvest moon. His own tent was down there somewhere, and as he began the descent to the valley, he even fantasized that some night very soon he may not be sleeping in it alone.

  So long, Jonne thought. So very long. The Guardsman didn't want assume too much. After all, Jonne was no spring chicken anymore, and he had no way of knowing if the Mage would find an older man attractive, even if he was only five years his senior. Many years of sword training and a dislike for wine left him leaner and younger than his years; he made a point of staying in shape, not only to maintain his strength and stamina, but to keep himself physically appealing for that special man, wherever and whenever he might happen along. Jonne wanted so much to believe that Vanyel was that man.

  The path led downward, into a thicker part of the forest where the shadows darkened. Jonne hesitated before starting down it. Something felt wrong, very wrong... the hair on his neck stood up.

  Above the hill where Vanyel's group was camped, a dark stormcloud blotted out the moon. Lightning raced from it, striking the ground, rippling through the sky. There had been no sign of rain a mere hour before; wind whipped up from the south, racing up the valley and through the forest. Trees swayed around him, and he felt a surge of magic, evil magic, coming from Karse.

  Jonne saw the magic for what it was, an attack from the south. On this night, of all nights, when we would least expect it, he thought in panic.

  His first duty was with the company, but the rest of the army was still some distance away, and Vanyel's tent was much closer. Something called to him, drawing him back the way he came. From the thunderclouds came another streak of lightning, followed by an enormous fireball, which struck the hillside, sending a cloud of sparks high in the air.

  Gods, was that their camp? Jonne thought, breaking into a run. Have they been destroyed?

  He didn't want to consider the possibility that Herald-Mage Vanyel was injured. But when he reached the camp, he knew someone had been hurt. Three of the tents were ablaze, and other Guardsmen were scurrying about, trying to put out the fires. The hair on the back of his neck raised again. Guardsman Jonne dropped to the ground and covered his head.

  The concussion hammered through the ground he lay against. A wave of heat blazed over him, scorching the back of his hands covering his head. Behind him someone was screaming; another Guardsman was on fire, and others tried to wrestle him to the ground.

  "Lord and Lady, what is attacking us?" someone shouted, but in the chaos Jonne didn't see who.

  Jonne started to get up, but before he was fully on his feet, a voice resounded in his head: :Guardsman, come help us,: came the distraught words. In the shadows cast by the flickering flames, Jonne saw a shape, which moved toward him. What he first took for a large man in Herald Whites turned out to be a white horse.

  No, not a horse, Jonne thought. That is a Companion.

  He knew enough about the Heralds and their partners to know that this was no mere horse, and was as intelligent as any man.

  :Vanyel is injured,: the words sounded. :Come help us now.:

  At the mention of the Herald's name, Jonne stood straight up.

  "Vanyel?" he called out. "Where is he?" Then he knew he was speaking to the Companion.

  :This way,: the Companion answered, moments before the next explosion hit.

  Jonne heard nothing as a flash of light illuminated the entire area. The light came from behind him, as it cast his long shadow on the ground before him. The explosion threw him forward, into his own darkness.

  Something solid nudged him solidly in his ribs. When he opened his eyes, the Companion was standing over him, looking down.

  :You survived,: the Companion Mindspoke. :You, and Vanyel. The others are dead.:

  Again, Jonne got up. The camp had been leveled by whatever struck them last. All that remained of the tents were wisps of burning fabric. A forest fire raged, spanning outward, burning away from them, filling the air with thick smoke. The Companion appeared to be singed, and smelled of burned hair, but for the most part unhurt. Items of Jonne's own clothing continued to smolder, and the Guardsman batted them out. He moaned when he touched the back of his neck and hands, the only parts of him that were burned.

  "The others," Jonne murmured, then he saw them. Burned, unmoving bodies lay about like discarded dolls. Then, "Vanyel. Where is he?"

  :This way,: the Companion said, and led Jonne to a clearing just beyond the tents. Above, lightning continued to flash, casting brief moments of visibility on the area. Still, no rain had fallen, but threatened to at any moment. Vanyel lay in the center of the clearing, and the Companion went to him, nudging with her nose.

  :He's alive,: the Companion Mindspoke. :But he is injured. Help him onto my back. This is not a safe place anymore.:

  The Guardsman sniffed the smoky air, remembering that whatever sent that last blast was still out there, somewhere, and was probably getting ready for another attack.

  Jonne easily picked up the Herald, noting his slight weight as he propped him up on the beast. Vanyel muttered something unintelligible as he found his balance on the saddle.

  :He can ride,: the Companion told him. :Take us to safety, please, Guardsman.:

  Lightning struck the campsite, several paces behind him. The blast spattered them with dirt and pebbles, and in reflex Jonne shielded
his face with his arm.

  Time to go. Now.

  "There are caves nearby," Jonne offered. "Will that—"

  :Take us to them,: the Companion ordered. :While you still can.:

  Jonne led the Companion and her barely conscious rider to the mouth of one of the hidden caves. In the distance, he heard battle, and felt an urge to go join it. Torn between his duty to his company and his new assignment to Vanyel as his guide, he had little trouble choosing his course of action.

  This Herald is injured, and if I don't take him to safety, we will lose him, and all will be lost, the rational part of Jonne's mind told him. But beyond his duty, he felt a link to Vanyel, as if they were part of the same brotherhood: the brotherhood of shay'a'chern.

  Jonne had chosen this cave because it had a hot spring pool near the mouth, and also because it had a few provisions they would need, which he'd stored down here in case of an emergency. The Guardsman led the Companion a few paces into the cave, where he paused to light a torch mounted on the cave wall. The sudden light revealed a pair of straw mattresses, lanterns, candles, and a cabinet which, assuming it hadn't been disturbed, had medicines and supplies he would need.

  As he helped Vanyel down, he saw, in the blazing torchlight, the burns. They were three lines, slicing through his Herald Whites, reaching from his neck down past his waist. Jonne gently cradled Vanyel in his arms, hoping he wasn't injuring him more by moving him.

  Lord and Lady, what did this to him? he thought, but deep inside he already knew. Mage-lightning. What was he taking on, out there in that clearing? As he lowered him to the mattress, Vanyel opened eyes wide with alarm.

  "Easy, easy," Jonne said, suddenly concerned for his own safety. "I'm Guardsman Jonne, and I'm here to help you:"

  The brief words seemed to do the trick. Vanyel visibly relaxed, and allowed the Guardsman to ease him onto the mattresses.

  Vanyel's Whites practically fell apart as he lay him on the mattress. The mage-lightning had sliced through his clothes. Jonne reached into the cabinet for some ointment he hoped was still in there; it was, and when he opened the ceramic jar, Jonne found Vanyel eyeing him with a mixture of admiration and, something else, an emotion Jonne couldn't readily identify.

  "We were under attack," Vanyel said. "The camp..."

  The Companion stepped forward, nuzzled Vanyel affectionately, and the Herald looked directly into her deep blue eyes.

  "All of them?" he asked sadly. Jonne realized they were communicating, and the Companion had just told him about the camp. Then, "I have no energy left, Yfandes." A pause. "Yes, I will stay put—ouch!"

  Vanyel had moved sideways on the mattress, raking his arm across his burns. He looked down at his ruined Whites, "I guess this uniform's had it," he said. "That makes the second this month."

  Vanyel sat up on an elbow, regarding Jonne thoughtfully, wincing at the evident pain. "Where is this?" he said, looking around the cave.

  "This mine belongs to my family," Jonne said, kneeling down beside Vanyel. "We are safe for the time being. How do you feel?"

  Vanyel shrugged, leaned back on the mattress. "Dreadful, after that last round," he said. Jonne waited for him to continue. "I wasn't ready for that attack. We had no idea Karse had mages that powerful."

  "Those burns look nasty," Jonne said, looking over Vanyel's mostly naked body. "Mage-lightning?"

  "The worst," Vanyel said, but his tone had changed, from that of a powerful man to a meek boy. "It got through my shields somehow. Just wasn't ready."

  "Lean back," Jonne said, "I'll put some of this on."

  Jonne smoothed the ointment on, starting from his neck and working down to his ankles. Vanyel looked down at himself, then gave an embarrassed laugh.

  "Don't take offense," Vanyel said, through obvious embarrassment. Jonne tried not to laugh, and continued to ignore Vanyel's excitement. "I'm shay'a'chern," he said, flustered. "Sometimes I don't have any control over it."

  "Don't worry about it," Jonne said, suppressing a grin. "So am I."

  Vanyel sat up. "You're what!"

  "I'm shay'a'chern, too," Jonne said, but Vanyel still looked stunned.

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm thirty years old," Jonne said, as he continued spreading the ointment. "I should think I would know by now, wouldn't you?"

  Vanyel looked too tired to discuss it further. "I would never have known," the Herald said distantly.

  "And neither would I, if your reputation hadn't preceeded you. But, given your condition, I doubt you're feeling very romantic," Jonne said reluctantly. "I'm not suggesting anything. At the moment."

  Vanyel reached over and touched his wrist. "But I am."

  Some time later they had submerged themselves in the hot springs near the mouth of the cave; Van took a little more time to get in, wincing as the waters touched his wounds, but in moments he had surrendered to the pool's warmth, and allowed Jonne to wrap his arms around him. The shallow pool was only waist deep, but had a smooth rock surface beneath, and a natural bench for them both to recline on. Steam rose from the surface of the water, forming clouds around their heads.

  If my life ended right now, I would consider it fullfilled, Jonne thought as he held Vanyel closer to him, avoiding the worst of the burns. Fortunately, the injuries were bad only above the waist.

  "I should feel guilty about leaving the war right now, but I don't," Vanyel said, snuggling closer to Jonne. Yfandes had politely excused herself before things had gotten too involved, and Vanyel said he was keeping in touch with her. The Companion had recently returned from a brief recon of the area, and her news had been good. All magical attacks had ceased, and the regular army was on alert, ready for any conventional invasion.

  "The Karsite Mages may think I'm dead," Vanyel said casually. "In which case, I had better keep my head low, and in this cave. I suspect this place is shielding me from them." He shook his head. "All those men, dead. Why was I the only one to survive?"

  Jonne didn't know how to answer him, so he remained quiet. Something dark and sinister haunts this man, and if I pry too much, he's likely to shut me out completely, Jonne reasoned. He will tell me when he is ready. If that time ever comes.

  "You survived so you could be with me," Jonne teased, and nibbled on his right ear. "Otherwise, who would I have had to sleep with? My horse?"

  "Your horse," Vanyel said, with a smirk, "would have had more meat on his bones than I. Not to mention... well." Van turned, and gave him a long, slow kiss. Afterward, he proceeded to wrap Jonne's arms around him again, holding them tightly. "How can you find me attractive?" Van said, after a long pause. "I've lost so much weight in the last year, I'm practically a skeleton."

  The question confounded Jonne. How can I find him attractive? How can I not! I haven't felt this good bedding someone since I was twenty.

  "You are a most beautiful man, Vanyel," Jonne said. "I suspect that you're not very good to yourself." The Guardsman almost regretted saying that last; this was getting into an area Vanyel probably didn't want to explore. But Van said nothing, at first.

  "Savil would agree," Vanyel said at last. "Tell me, Jonne, have you ever had a lover?"

  What, exactly, does he mean by lover? he wondered, and since he didn't want to seem thick, he didn't ask. A one night fling, or a year-long relationship? The farmer he'd known was the closest thing to being a lover, his marriage to a lady notwithstanding. Jonne told Vanyel about him, and the day or two they'd spent in each other's intimate company.

  "It was not what I would have preferred," Jonne added. "But it was what was available." He held Van tighter, as if to emphasize their present situation. "It was better that, than nothing at all." Jonne hoped that he didn't sound cheap; it was how he felt, and he assumed honesty is what Vanyel wanted.

  "Then I suppose I must consider myself fortunate, to have had Tylendel as long as I did," Vanyel said, with only a hint of sadness. "This is Sovvan. The anniversary of his death."

  That was his lifebonded, Jonne thought.
The one he lost. The pain must have been.... He searched, but could not find the words to describe what he though Van might have felt.

  "It was a long time ago, but it still feels like a part of me left when he did. I don't expect to replace him—"

  "But you don't have to be alone the rest of your life either," Jonne blurted, uncertain where his words were coming from. "I don't know what the gods have in mind for me, but I do believe we were meant to be together tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night as well."

  "And after that?"

  Jonne carefully turned Vanyel around and looked directly into his eyes. "Does anyone know?"

  Afterward they slept, and when they woke Yfandes had returned well fed from another trip. The enemy had left the area, as near as she could tell, but Van was uncertain. The brief time he'd spent with Jonne had helped him recover more energy than he said he'd expected, and he appeared to be ready to take on the entire Karsite army.

  "As you are a mage, there is something I must give you," Jonne said, pulling on the last of his clothes. They had made temporary repairs to Vanyel's Whites, but he would still have to replace them as soon as they got back to the camp. "But you must promise to tell no one about this place, because this mine is a family secret, and needs to remain that way. If Karse knew what was down here, they would have invaded in force long ago."

  "Mine?" Vanyel said absently, but Jonne had already ducked back into one of the dark tunnels. Moments later he reappeared, concealing something wrapped in cloth.

  I don't know if I'll ever see him again, Jonne thought, even though he doubted last night would be a one night stand. The Fates can be tricky sometimes.