Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight

by Mercedes Lackey

  He was probably right—definitely right, so far as Starfall was concerned. Vordon would side with what benefited his clan.

  And as far as I’m concerned, that is right too. Darian understood completely what Lord Breon meant, when he’d spoken of the neglect that this part of the country had suffered. Granted, there had been an excuse for it—the war with Hardorn had drained Valdemar of every able-bodied fighter, putting them out on the front lines—but excuses didn’t make things right, and one Herald-in-residence wasn’t going to make up for it.

  “Then I would very much like to accept the offer, Lord Breon,” he replied firmly. Breon smiled broadly.

  “Hah!” the Shaman said, getting their attention. “If you make this Knight-business, we will make Darian-of-the-Owl a Clan-brother! Yes, and at the same celebration!”

  “An excellent idea!” Snowfire said with enthusiasm. “A very good idea! Let Herald Anda be on the right footing with all of us from the moment he arrives!”

  Now Darian was more than surprised, he was stunned. “But—” he began. Isn’t this an awful lot of commitments to make? Can I honestly honor them all?

  Snowfire chuckled, and made a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “It’s all right, Darian; Clan-brother is the equivalent of Wingbrother. The ceremony is a bit different, but you’ll enjoy it.”

  Darian gulped down his protests. If Snowfire, who had spent more time with the Ghost Cat Shaman than all of the rest of them combined, said it was all right, then he would have to take his word for it.

  :While we are at it, perhaps my herd ought to hold the rite that makes him the king stag’s prime doe,: Tyrsell said into their minds, his tone as dry as old papers. :Then again—perhaps he wouldn’t enjoy that particular ceremony.:

  Darian blushed a furious scarlet. Lord Breon, Val, Barda, and Harrod, who had no idea what Tyrsell meant, looked blank. But the Tayledras and the Ghost Cat representatives, who had an altogether too healthy taste for the bawdy, laughed themselves into exhaustion. Even Kel howled with laughter.

  And Darian was not about to offer the confused ones any kind of explanation. Not then. Not ever.

  Two

  Us soon as the meeting was over, Darian was co-opted by Starfall and Ayshen. He’d expected it; the burden of planning for this celebration would fall on Ayshen’s shoulders, with Starfall handling the rest of the details. Ayshen had no more notion of what would serve to “honor” a Herald than a fish would know how to honor a bird. Starfall had worked with Heralds, but had only a sketchy grasp of what one would expect socially.

  Darian was used to the appearance of the hertasi after all these years, but he took a moment to consider what the Herald’s reaction might be. Ayshen was a typical specimen of his race; he came to just about chest-high on a human; his blunt, lizardlike head boasted a formidable set of teeth, a rounded cranium, and eyes set so that he had binocular vision, like an owl or a human. His tough hide, covered with pebble-scales, was a healthy blue-gray. His stubby hands and feet had talons that he had used to good effect in the past. What would Herald Anda make of all that—when the owner of these attributes was also the chief cook for k’Valdemar?

  Shandi will have warned him, he reminded himself. Besides, anybody who partners with a talking horse shouldn’t look crosswise at a talking lizard—especially if he wants second helpings.

  So Darian allowed himself to be dragged off to Ayshen’s little “den”—a quasi-office space behind the main kitchens, from which he ruled over all things domestic in k’Valdemar. He had maps and models of the entire Vale, with a complex of hertasi tunnels marked out in pale blue—for, like a good general, Ayshen kept careful track of the terrain. His offices had been built, along with the rest of the kitchens, from rock dug from the cliffs. Those who live intimately with forests are uniquely conscious of the devouring power of fire, and there was as little that was flammable in the kitchens as was possible. Water, flour, and sand were near at hand in the event they would be needed to smother any errant flame. The chief piece of furniture was Ayshen’s desk; low, and suited to his size. Besides Ayshen’s desk chair, there were three adjustable stools with hinged seat backs; Starfall and Darian each took one, revolving it until it was comfortable for them to use.

  Not that it was any hardship to be ensconced in the hertasi den. Though the aromas of the evening’s supper offerings mingled into a single mouthwatering perfume that would have driven a hungry man mad, Starfall and Darian were not left for a moment to suffer that particular torture. They hadn’t even sat down before hertasi came out of the kitchen bearing platters of their particular favorites, all the tastier for being fresh from the cookstove and oven.

  It’s a good thing that Tayledras live in trees, Darian thought, as he juggled a hot filled pastry from hand to hand until it cooled. Otherwise we’d all be as fat as geese ready for market!

  Starfall did not look as if he had ever lived on anything more substantial than air, but Darian knew that beneath his fancifully embroidered and cut robes, that body wasn’t thin—it was lean, lean and hard, and superbly conditioned. It took great physical conditioning to handle node-magic; a mage that was flabby in body was likely to be flabby of mind as well. Starfall’s silver hair wasn’t the result of age, it was the result of handling and using node-magic, and the slightly tamer magic of Tayledras Heartstones, all of his life. Starfall would find it no great task to run up the stairs to the highest ekele in the Vale, and run back down again within moments.

  “We’ll have a feast, of course,” Ayshen stated, shoving aside recipe books and menus. “You can’t have a celebration without a feast. But should we have high tables and all that? I’m not certain there’s anywhere central that we could set up that many tables.”

  “Have the usual sort of Tayledras feast, with food set out all over the Vale, Ayshen,” Darian recommended soothingly. “One thing, though; have a set of our clothing done up in white—Herald’s Whites for inside the Vale. Leave them out in the guest lodge for him.”

  “Good notion,” Starfall seconded, nodding, with the customary soft clattering of his hair beads. “Welcoming ceremony first, then we take him to the lodge to get settled. He won’t feel as out of place if he has time to change into clothing of our style.”

  “He’ll like our sort of feast, I think; he’ll expect something different, and I think he’d be disappointed if he didn’t get it,” Darian told the hertasi. “Besides, I’m sure Breon will have his own welcoming feast after ours, and he’ll get all the etiquette and high tables he wants there.”

  Ayshen’s body language showed relief in the relaxation of his tail and stubby-taloned fingers. “So be it, then. If different is what he’s expecting, we can supply that. What do you say to setting up a particular place just for this Herald fellow—a short platform with food-tables nearby, of course—and move entertainment in and out. We could put him in the Council House, for instance. We’ll have the new roof trim done by then, and it is a good central location.”

  “That would be a good idea,” Darian replied, as Starfall nodded. “I remember how easily I got lost the first time I was in k’Vala. When he gets tired, the guest lodge is right on the same path, within shouting distance. Is the deck on the guest lodge finished yet?”

  “It will be by the time the Herald arrives; they’re putting the finishing touches on it now,” Ayshen replied without even consulting his schedules. “This afternoon they’re sanding the hand-rails and setting the steps. Tonight the greenery will be placed.”

  “We’re the hosts; it would be courteous if we all came to him, rather than trotting him about from entertainment to entertainment,” Starfall agreed. “We can arrange things so that the people he will need to know spend a good portion of time with him in the beginning, then anyone who is curious can come to meet him. Will that make preparations easier for you, Ayshen?”

  “Oh, yes, and after I’ve had a look at him, I can decide which hertasi to assign to him.” The hertasi sighed. “Only one fancy, decora
ted serving table to set up. The rest of you never notice my artistic efforts anyway.”

  “We do,” Starfall insisted. “You just overwhelm our ability to praise with a superfluity of talent!”

  Ayshen simply gave the Mage a withering look by way of reply. “So—how does this strike you—we have the actual welcoming ceremony at the entrance of the Vale. Everyone will fit there easily enough since the weeds were cleared out last season. Then, we take the Heralds and our other guests to the Council House and feed them. We let them talk for a while, and when it sounds as if the talk is running out, I run in some entertainment. Then a little more food—and so on, until he gives up for the night. We can pick foods that will make him drowsy quickly, which reduces the amount of entertainment needed on such short notice. He’ll leave to doze after just a few hours.”

  “Which will be long before any Tayledras would give up,” Darian laughed. “That sounds perfect, Ayshen.” He grinned wickedly. “Then, the next day, when he’s been properly softened up for us, we give him to Tyrsell and have him stuffed with our language, Ghost Cat‘s, and Kaled’a’in, all at once.”

  Starfall gave him a look of mock-horror. “I thought you liked Heralds!”

  “I do—that’s why I suggested the languages come in all at once. It won’t take Tyrsell that much longer to give them all to him, and the headache won’t be that much worse, after. Better to get it over with, I say.” Darian mimicked Starfall’s look of horror. “Well? Wouldn’t you rather have it all at once than strung out over several days? I should think that after the first experience, the subsequent dread would make the next sessions worse.”

  Starfall nodded, then turned to face the hertasi upon hearing a low hiss.

  “We were discussing the celebration,” Ayshen reminded them pointedly, baring his teeth for emphasis. “Now just how, precisely, would you suggest we greet him?”

  “Just that,” Darian replied. “Greet him as our guest. Our welcome guest, our equal, who will be joining the leaders already here in their efforts to foster harmony among otherwise different peoples. He’ll already be on best behavior to impress when he rides up, so having a good turn out but little ceremony would make him feel appreciative that he must not endure trial after trial. Getting his disposition in our favor right away would be valuable.”

  “And you thought you didn’t have the talent to become a leader!” Starfall exclaimed. “Listen to you!”

  “I’m just quoting what my excellent teachers would say in the same circumstances,” Darian retorted. “Weren’t you just agreeing with Lord Breon that we’re to make certain Herald Anda understands he is one among equals here?”

  “Huh. The boy finally pays attention,” Ayshen muttered, but when Darian turned to fix him with a sharp glance, he looked as innocent as could be.

  “On the whole,” Ayshen continued blandly, “I am relieved. This is going to be much easier to plan and execute than a wedding, for instance. Should I pull some of the ekele-building crew to go to work on the Herald’s permanent quarters, do you think?”

  Starfall exchanged a glance with Darian, who shook his head slightly. “Not yet,” Starfall told him. “Although Breon said he’s expecting to stay here—I presume as a kind of envoy—he may decide that he prefers to lodge in the village, in more familiar surroundings. For all we know, he may decide to establish himself outside all of our enclaves. I can let him know at some point that we have the hands, and the rest will contribute materials, when he wants to have a permanent residence built, and that he can have it constructed where he pleases.”

  Darian nodded. “Instead, I suggest you pull a couple of builder crews off to add proper accommodations for the Companion; they’ll want to be close to each other, and this will show that we understand that the Companion is as important as the Herald, and that they work together. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have Companion quarters attached to the guest lodge for future visiting Heralds.”

  Ayshen nodded his blunt snout decisively. “Right, then. Won’t be difficult; knock a two-level door into one of the end rooms, add the stabling, bring water in for a fountain—I can have that finished in a few days.” He scratched his nose. “Sawdust floor, I think. Maybe some mats. Outside door with a rope latch, so the Companion can let himself in and out.”

  “That sounds perfect to me,” Darian replied, very much impressed with Ayshen’s forethought.

  “So ... just the welcome to plan for now, and the extra building.” Ayshen wrote out a note in silverstick, folded it into a pyramid, and stuck it on the model of the guest lodge as a reminder. “That’s manageable. Well, are you two going to sit there all day, eating everything in the kitchen? Shoo! I have work to do!”

  Laughing, Darian and Starfall left the hertasi to his own devices, as he began rummaging about for more paper, muttering about menus.

  Keisha stood at the open door of Darian’s vine-covered house, hefting first one wicker pannier basket, then the other, to judge roughly which was heavier. Above her head, the trees met to form a ceiling over the house and path; songbirds and colorful messenger-birds chattered and sang, and hummingbirds chased each other around the branches. She had not gone to the meeting; as the chief Healer to both Vale and village, she spent roughly equal time in each—and that left her feeling a bit odd about representing either. Instead, Nightwind served as the mouthpiece for the Healers unless there was some pressing reason for Keisha herself to be there.

  She had to check her packs anyway, for she was about to make another trip back to the village to make sure anyone who needed her services was properly tended to. The baskets were laden with various medications, most of them for animals rather than humans. The villagers were uncommonly healthy this summer, with half the normal number of accidents, even among the children. Perhaps that was due to increasing prosperity; well-fed and well-rested people resisted disease and didn’t have nearly so many mishaps. Ever since the events of recent times, the Crown had sent more funding for rebuilding and renewing the area than it had ever received before in half a decade. Newer tools were invariably more reliable, safer tools out here. Even the old mill had been rebuilt into a safer operation—she had not had to deal with a single injury from it since its reopening.

  She wore full Greens now, the forest-hued colors of a full Healer, with a silk scarf serving as a sash around her waist, laid over a matching one of cotton. Healers always had a use for a scarf—to sling an arm, tie off a cut artery, or dry a child’s tears. They were not official parts of Healer’s uniform, but their use was so common they might as well have been. Keisha paused, considering the Healer’s uniform she wore. It had taken her a while to get used to that—and some persuasion as well. It was finally the argument that it would be better for her patients to see her in the colors of a Healer, because they would be under less stress, that tilted the balance. She refused to don anything elaborate, though; the loose trews and long-sleeved tunic were fancy enough for everyday wear—and when she wanted something festive, she opted for something that didn’t display her status for all to see.

  The good thing about being in the Vale was that she no longer had to make her own medicines unless she really felt like it; all she had to do was give the hertasi instructions, and they would see to the preparation for her, presenting her with neatly labeled pots and jars of anything she needed or wanted. A great deal of her time in the past had been spent in the actual concoction of medicine, time she now had leisure to spend in other ways.

  So now I spend it riding to and from the village, instead! she thought wryly, as she made sure the two pannier baskets that her dyheli would carry were finally balanced as evenly as she could manage without actually weighing them.

  She shared Darian’s quarters—and yes, his bed—when she was in the Vale, and since he had never yet accompanied her to Errold’s Grove when she went on her weekly visits, the touchy problem of whether he would share her home had never come up. Her parents, of course, had no idea that they were anything but friends, and eve
ryone else had the sense not to betray their ongoing relationship to the village. It was true that she was old enough to do as she wished; it was also true, as Kerowyn had remarked before she left, that no child is “old enough” in her parents’ eyes. She could own an estate, command a dozen servants, and have gray hair, yet she would not be “old enough.”

  She ducked back inside for a moment to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then returned to wait in the sunshine for her dyheli to arrive. It’s a given. If Shandi were to come back for more than a fortnight, she’d be treated the same way—as if she was no more than fourteen, and unable to make any decisions for herself. The only reason she doesn’t get treated that way is because before Mother has a chance to get her lectures set fair in her head, Shandi’s gone again.

  Besides, Keisha wasn’t entirely sure how long this particular liaison was going to last. Darian was a very handsome lad, and every village female unspoken for (and some who were) had made it very clear that they found him fascinating. There were plenty of girls who would be only too happy to find out what life was like in a Vale. What if he got tired of her?

  What if I got tired of him? Well, she couldn’t see that happening, but she had a lot of responsibilities, more than she had ever had before.

  And so did he.

  That was part of the problem. His responsibilities kept him here, but that was not so with hers. Yes, she was—for now—the chief Healer for k’Valdemar. She was also still the Healer for Errold’s Grove, and she wouldn’t blame him if he got tired of finding her gone half the time. She couldn’t devote herself to him the way her mother had devoted herself to her family. It just wasn’t going to happen that way.