No True Way: All-New Tales of Valdemar (Tales of Valdemar Series Book 8)

by Mercedes Lackey

  She squashed her bitter thoughts. The twins would feel her anger, and she didn’t want to disturb their birthday. She smiled at the boy and girl who looked like each other and felt a mother’s love for them. No matter what, with their special gifts, they would rise above their lot.

  “Orun, Milla. Wash up for breakfast. Then we’ll have presents.”

  As one, the twins looked at her and smiled, their faces shifting from the Mindspeaking blankness into childlike joy. Fey and strange they may be, but they were still children, and they loved the brightly ribboned gifts.

  * * *

  The twins’ birthday was usually chaotic. Between a special breakfast, the entire family arriving for the gift giving, the catching up, and of course, the unwrapping, the main hall was a riot of people, laughter, and ribbons (carefully collected and saved for the next celebration). In the middle of it all, Orun and Milla sat with their presents around them. A real sword, his first metal one, and a shield for Orun. A new overdress and pretty slippers for Milla. Knitted socks for both. And the carefully carved set of Horses and Hounds pieces and board. Most of the family had chipped in to get the twins an actual game board and pieces, carved from stone, of the twins’ favorite game.

  It was the thing that had their attention now. They sat huddled, going over each piece, examining and admiring them. Milla held each piece first, turning it over in her delicate hands. :This one is Margrave.: She handed over the hound.

  :A good name.: Orun took the hound and looked it over. :I like it. Got dignity.:

  Milla gave him a sly smile. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. A name like a Companion.”

  The twins gave each other a knowing smile. Then looked up.

  :They’re here.: Orun looked toward the hall doors a moment before they burst open.

  “Companions! In the courtyard. Riderless!” Erbeck, one of the guards, gasped for breath; it was clear that he had sprinted from the courtyard, across the hold, to the main hall. He looked at the twins. “Two of them.”

  * * *

  Cedric headed the procession to the courtyard flanked by his children. He walked with a spring in his step and triumph in his eyes. “For you?” he had asked his twins under his breath. Their father had come to trust their foresight flashes. When they had nodded, they both heard his mental cry of joy and wistful thought. He’ll have to acknowledge me now. My children, his grandchildren, Heralds!

  They didn’t respond to his joy. They didn’t want to ruin the moment for him. All Orun and Milla could do was walk the path, for good or ill, toward their fate.

  * * *

  Where once there were only two, there were now four. Then, the four split back into two again, the twins separating more than they ever had in their short lives as they bonded to their Companions. One look into those sapphire eyes had told both twins that they were no longer alone. No longer dependent only on each other. They still Mindtouched, a habit they were unwilling to break.

  Orun clung to Torin’s neck in the stable where Companions were given berth. :I didn’t know it would be like this. I didn’t know we . . . :

  : . . . weren’t alone. No one else has Mindspeech, and we stopped looking for it.: Milla finished. She and Sorcha were in the next stall over. Sorcha nickered and nuzzled the girl.

  :You will never be alone again, Chosen. I will always be here for you.:

  Torin’s wave of love and care echoed the emotion to Orun. :Now, Chosen. Tell us why you two feared our coming. You both know who and what we are. We could feel your expectation.:

  :And your dread.: Sorcha’s mind voice was tinged in concern.

  Without words, Orun gave over control of the telling to Milla. She had always been better at explaining what they both foresaw. Milla took a breath and spoke, not wanting to sully the mental closeness with the imagery. She knew it would be at least a candlemark before anyone came for them.

  “All our lives, we have touched mind-to-mind. No one else has the gift of Mindspeech. For a long time, we couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t talk to us.” She touched her head as she leaned back against Sorcha’s side. “Then we realized they couldn’t. Realized we were different.”

  She paused, forming their fears into words. “For a couple of seasons now, we’ve both begun to see what lies ahead. Little things. A lost sheep. A broken bone. A found love. A new baby. Then, we started to see us. Our path. It always starts with joy. Then . . .” Milla stopped, afraid to continue. She bowed her head as Sorcha radiated care, love, and support to her, bolstering her. “There are two paths now. One where we continue, where we have long lives in service. The other . . . darkness takes us.”

  :Do you know what this darkness is?: Torin’s question was colored with his alert concentration.

  Orun shrugged. He still hugged his Companion’s neck. “No. But it’s because of what we can do. A gift not yet born.”

  :Gift?:

  “The spark . . .” Milla groped for the words, trying to explain something she didn’t quite understand. “We will do what the songs say Herald Vanyel does on the Karsite border. We can see the energy around us and in the land. You both are shining blue.”

  :Magecraft,: Sorcha supplied.

  “Yes. That. The spark. Something hunts those with the spark.”

  The twins felt the surprise and shock of their respective Companions. Felt it morph into sudden understanding and determination.

  :That explains something we had not yet understood.: Sorcha tossed her head, agitated. :We need to return to the Palace and tell the Circle.:

  “Explains what?” Milla turned to look into those sapphire eyes.

  :Why there are almost no Herald-Mage trainees. What is happening to those with potential and why they have not been Chosen.:

  Fear blossomed anew in Milla’s heart. “Someone has been killing us before that could happen.”

  :Yes.:

  * * *

  When it came to arguing with their father, Orun took the lead. He was more apt to listen to his son than his daughter. While Orun and Cedric had words—Orun’s quiet and firm, Cedric’s rising with frustration—Milla explained the situation to their mother.

  “You can’t come with us. No one can come with us. That’s not how things are done. Not with newly Chosen.” Milla folded the clothing she would take with her as she spoke. “Chosen don’t have entourages. And Sorcha says it would look bad on us if we did. We’re already unusual enough with twins being Chosen.”

  “It means so much to your father. You know why.” Betta packed Orun’s things while they spoke.

  :Sorcha?:

  :Yes, it’s usually highborn who are chosen, but blood really doesn’t matter. It’s the heart.:

  :What do I tell her?:

  :That they may come in a moon to see how you are settling in.:

  “Are you . . . talking . . . to her now?” Betta’s voice was soft and wistful.

  Milla nodded, trying to ignore her mother’s pain. “Sorcha says you can come in a moon to see how we’re settling in. That would be best. Plus, we can let the other chosen Trainees and Heralds know so they can prepare for Father and you. But you must make Father understand that we belong to the Crown now. Our first duty is to Valdemar. Besides, Sorcha tells me that they move a lot faster than normal horses. Instead of a fortnight to get to Palace, it’ll be half that. Father’s horses couldn’t keep up.” It was an exaggeration—like much of her explanation—but it got her point across.

  Betta looked uncertain for a moment, then understood the unspoken message of not wanting to embarrass Cedric with his inability to match speeds with the Companions. “One moon?” Then she nodded. “That will give us enough time to prepare and to get appropriate clothing made. Think of it, the Palace!” She finished packing Orun’s bag and hurried off to stop the argument between her husband and her son.

  Milla smiled, but it was false. That wou
ld be long enough for them to make it to the Palace . . . or not. It also would make sure whatever was hunting them wouldn’t get their family.

  * * *

  The attack came on the second night away from the hold with no warning. No flicker of foresight or even uneasy dreams. Just after sunset, as they set up their camp, sinewy creatures of shadow and teeth with glowing red eyes, barely seen in the firelight, appeared. Torin screamed a challenge and charged the swarming creatures.

  :Wyrsa!: Sorcha joined Torin with her own challenge and flying silver hooves, pummeling the creatures.

  Both children reacted to the mental feel of the monsters as much as their visage. Orun wrenched his new sword from its sheath and set to guard Milla as she dug for her sling and iron stones. The hold was so far from the Palace and so near the borderlands, every child was taught to fight as best they could from the time they could walk.

  One of the wyrsa got past the Companions’ guard position and came for the children. It dodged Milla’s expert shot and dove for Orun. He swung his sword, catching it in the shoulder as it clawed his arm. Milla pelted it with a handful of iron stones, half-panicked, half in response to Orun’s cry of pain. The creature backed off and charged Orun again, this time avoiding the sword and catching the boy’s already wounded arm in its wicked teeth.

  “Orun!” Milla’s scream was high-pitched and frantic. The Companions couldn’t help, as they battled the rest of the pack. Orun punched at the creature as it savaged his arm and raked claws down his leg. Milla grabbed a log out of the fire and thrust it into the wyrsa’s side. It screamed its own pain, released Orun, and turned on her.

  Holding the burning log like a sword as she had seen Orun do, Milla swung at the creature as it snarled. The fire drove it back, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long as the wyrsa dodged, charged, and dodged again, trying to get to her.

  The sudden slashing of hooves at the wyrsa’s backside sent it running to the underbrush, keening in pain. It took one look back, just long enough to see that it was quite alone and both Companions were coming for it, then disappeared into the forest. Sorcha gave chase as Torin came back to guard the twins.

  Milla was still clutching the burning log, ready to fight, when Sorcha returned.

  :It’s gone. It escaped. I don’t think it’ll be back now that it’s alone.:

  “Orun. He’s hurt.”

  Torin pressed his long forehead to the boy’s brown hair, and a soft glow surrounded them. Milla felt the sympathetic pain in her arm and leg lessen and fade into an itchy sensation. Orun looked up and smiled wanly. Despite the healing, he was still pale under his tanned skin. “We survived.” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  Milla matched his smile. “We did survive.”

  :These aren’t wyrsa.: Sorcha’s mental voice was filled with revulsion. :They’re some sort of demon that look a bit like wyrsa.:

  Milla and Orun looked at each other.

  :Explains why there’s no poison in Orun’s wounds.: Torin walked over to look at the body Sorcha was examining. :Camouflaged to look like wyrsa?:

  :I think so.:

  “Why?” Orun watched the Companions, rather than his sister, who was examining his arm. Unlike the scratches on his leg, it wasn’t completely healed.

  Torin shook his head, silver mane flying in agitation. :I don’t know. These are blood-fed demons. That means the Mage who called them is still out there.:

  Sorcha flicked the body she had been looking at into the underbrush with a gore-spattered hoof. :And one got away.:

  “Was it coming for us?” Milla wrapped Orun’s salve-covered arm with strips of cloth torn from one of her underskirts.

  :Coming for the Mage talented. I don’t think for you two specifically. However, now that it knows there are four of us, if the Mage attacks again, he’ll summon something bigger, I fear.: Sorcha returned to the fireside.

  “Then we’ll be ready for it.” Orun looked determined as he held his bandaged arm. “We’ve got no other choice.”

  * * *

  They pushed hard for two days, stopping only when they reached a defensible Waystation. The twins, unused to being in the saddle all day at a full run, were exhausted by the time they stopped. Knowing that something was hunting them—that it could, and would, attack at any moment—was as draining as their physical exertion. No uneasy dreams troubled their sleep. They were too tired for that.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Milla looked around. “I think . . . I think we’re all right. I think we’re going to make it. I don’t feel the darkness.”

  Orun shook his head. “I don’t know. We saw it for so long.”

  “We saw two paths. And we fought off the attack. I can’t feel anything anymore. Fate is only written in the wind until it’s the past.”

  :The Mage knows you are Chosen now. He could be shielding.: Torin shook his mane. :He could be readying an ambush.:

  Milla scrunched her face up in a scowl. “Why do you say such things?”

  :Because we must, Chosen.: Sorcha’s mental voice was gentle. :It is the lot of a Herald to be in danger.:

  “But we saw two paths. Are we destined to fall to darkness?”

  :Destined, no. But it is likely. Herald-Mages have many hard duties. There’re so few of them now, with so much to do.:

  :And now we know why.: Torin’s anger washed over them all before it settled back into its usual determined feel. :That is our first duty, inform the Palace.:

  “I wish we were Farspeakers.” Orun sighed. “Then we could tell them now, and not have to worry about that, too.”

  Torin snuffled his hair. :If you knew who to contact, we could bolster you, but . . . :

  “If wishes were fishes, even holders would feast.” He touched his Companion’s mane.

  Milla touched his shoulder. “We’ll make it. We’ve already come to the fork in the path. We’ve shifted onto the path of duty. The darkness is behind us.” She smiled at him and mounted Sorcha. :Though I wish I could be as sure as I sound,: she sent privately to Sorcha.

  :I wish I could be as well. Foreseeing is a hard gift to have. Even harder to control. It tells you just enough to scare you.:

  Milla leaned forward over the saddle to hug Sorcha’s neck for a moment. :But now I have you.:

  :Yes, Chosen. You always will.:

  * * *

  The next attack wasn’t an ambush so much as a wave of evil headed their way. It was so palpable that they felt it long before they saw any sign of it in the dust stirring on the trade route. As one, the Companions turned from the road and bolted into the forest, Orun and Milla holding on for dear life.

  :There’s a hunter’s trail south. We can take it.: Torin took the lead. :We can use the trail to outrun . . . it.:

  Neither Chosen nor Companion knew what “it” was except that it was wrong in every sense of the word. Whoever was hunting those with the gift of Magecraft had worked a major summoning, and it was coming for them all. For a short while, it seemed as if their plan would work. Then the sounds of breaking branches, heavy footfalls, and snarling calls told them otherwise. Glances back gave glimpses of fang and fur on things almost too big to be real.

  “Split up,” Orun yelled. “I’ll draw them off. They have my scent!”

  Milla realized what he meant—the creature that had bitten him, his blood on its teeth. He was going to sacrifice himself for her. “No!”

  :Yes.: Sorcha and Torin were in agreement. As soon as they made it to the hunter’s trail, the Companions took off in opposite directions. Sorcha back north. Torin to the south.

  :I love you, sister-mine. I’ll see you at the Palace.: Orun’s mind voice was light and false.

  Milla knew he was saying good-bye in the only way he knew how. Through tears she sent her farewell. :I love you, brother-mine. I’ll race you. The loser does the winner’s chores for
a week.: It was the only thing she could think of to say.

  :Deal.:

  Then they both hung on as their Companions ran for all of their lives.

  * * *

  Milla screamed and tumbled from Sorcha’s back as she felt Orun die by claws and teeth, torn limb from limb. The pain of his death was mercifully short. The pain of his loss was something she would never get over. Curled up on the ground, sobbing, Milla thought she’d die then and there. Sorcha nuzzled her hair.

  :Chosen, Milla, we must keep moving. Please, Chosen. Please!:

  Only the tone of fear in her Companion’s voice brought Milla out of grief long enough to clamber back onto Sorcha. Only the Companion’s skill kept the unseeing, inconsolable girl in her saddle as she galloped as fast as she could.

  * * *

  The demon still chased them. It seemed that Torin had killed the rest, but this one came for them when Orun and Torin were dead. This one knew its quarry and would not let it escape. Claws ripped at Sorcha’s hindquarters and she gave an all too human scream of pain, then whirled on the demon, hooves slashing at its face and blazing eyes.

  As Milla slid from Sorcha’s back and hit the ground hard, she saw the demon in all its wrongness. A cross between a bear and a bull, the horned monster had a huge snout full of sharp fangs, a shaggy mane, and glowing yellow eyes. Its claws were as long as her forearm and slashed at the Companion as it went for the girl. Milla stood and stumbled backward. It still caught her side, the claws so sharp Milla didn’t feel the pain of the flesh parting until blood was already spilling down her leg.

  It focused on Milla. It had her scent now. She knew beyond all doubt, the demon was sent for her and would not stop until she was dead. Even as she continued to scramble away, throwing whatever came to hand, Sorcha pummeled it, cutting with her hooves.