Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Mercedes Lackey

  I wondered if she would ask me what was happening, but the changing expressions on her face led me to believe that the damn horses were just talking to her directly, and I wouldn’t need to say anything. I’m sure the mean one was giving her an earful. Mindful. Whatever.

  Bastard.

  I thought hard about glue, dog-food, and fiddle bows.

  I could have sworn I heard a snicker.

  She was a little apologetic later. But when I tried my signature smoldering look on her, she threatened me with another dish, so I gave up that as a bad idea. Obviously she was going to be immune to my considerable charms.

  Perhaps she favored other women . . . ?

  :Or maybe you aren’t as charming as you think.:

  I grimaced sourly, and the gall was even more bitter when she giggled. Obviously that miserable bone-rack Destin hadn’t bothered to keep his thoughts “private.”

  Was there no way to keep my thoughts private?

  A very faint “whisper,” almost so unobtrusive that I didn’t even “hear” it, drifted into the back of my head.

  :Order him to stay out of your mind.:

  I didn’t wait; I just looked out the night-darkened doorway and barked, “Stay out of my head, dammit! A man is entitled to some privacy! Talk to me if you want, but keep your snooping out of my thoughts!”

  There was a sense of shocked silence. I looked over at the other bunk, where the girl was nursing a cup of some sort of noxious medicinal tea that she’d told me how to brew. She was looking back at me. With a certain amount of approval.

  “He’s right, you know,” she said aloud. “Just because you’re Companions, that doesn’t give you the right to breach Mindspeaking ethics.”

  Well, that was a bit of a surprise.

  “Do they often do that sort of thing?” I asked tentatively. “Rummage around at will in a stranger’s head, that is.”

  She took another difficult gulp of tea before answering. “Not usually. In fact, Companions generally don’t Mindspeak to anyone but their Chosen Herald. Destin’s something of a law unto himself, though, and I can’t always predict what he’s going to decide to do.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fabulous. And this is what you have laying down the law of the land?”

  “Not . . . exactly,” she said, finishing the tea. “Let me see if I can explain. Or at least, better than they did.”

  Her explanation did make better sense, and I could see now why the gods of this kingdom would have figured out a way to properly answer the particular prayer they’d been petitioned with. And it did prevent some pretty awful abuses of power. I mean, I did know history, and for every good monarch, you generally get a nasty one and an entire herd of mediocre ones. This at least made for a stable form of government.

  What? You don’t think I should have an interest in politics? I promise you, you would be amazed what constitutes pillow talk for some women.

  Still, I don’t think I would be even remotely comfortable with something rummaging around in my head on a regular basis. A man likes to keep some secrets.

  After that, Millissa and I started to get along a bit better. I was feeling positively brotherly toward her as we both drifted off to sleep. Or at least, I was able to feel a lot more sympathy for her. She was putting up with injuries that would have had most people incoherent with pain and was not really complaining about it. Some of that was the tea, but most was that she was either really quite brave or really quite well controlled. In either case, I admired her.

  Now, I am not the sort that tends early to bed and early to rise, so the cold, wet nose shoving insistently at me at the crack of dawn came as a literal rude awakening. The kind that makes you start up out of sleep with an incoherent noise.

  : Up,: said the cross voice in my head. :We need sleep.:

  He needed sleep? I needed sleep! Evidently that didn’t matter, and I knew better than to try to just turn over and attempt to ignore him. He was quite capable of hauling me out of the bed just as he had hauled me over to the cabin.

  Now . . . I’ve been a little less than honest. Just because I haven’t done the usually lowly chores you’d need to do in and around a little cottage—well, other than the farming ones—it doesn’t mean that I can’t or that I didn’t know how. It was because as soon as I was able, I ran away to avoid those very chores, heading straight for the city, which I saw as my natural home. So my skills might have been a little rusty, but other than the cooking part, I pretty much knew what to do.

  By the time that Millissa woke up, and, poor thing, needed help getting to the privy, I’d gotten things in rough order for the morning. And when I carried her back and installed her in bed again, she looked around with a raised eyebrow.

  “That’s—not bad,” she said. “I—”

  “Didn’t think I knew one end of a broom from the other?” I finished for her. “Oh, I know. I just don’t like it. I’d much rather be waited on.”

  “Wouldn’t we all,” she murmured, but this time with a little, pained smile that let me know she intended for me to hear her.

  “I perform a very valuable service for ladies who for one reason or another need a companion,” I told her pointedly. Her eyebrows arched, but I was not backing down. “Their husbands generally have at least one, and often several, attractive women that they go to. Why shouldn’t they have the same? I’m entertaining, I can tell a good story, I listen, and I mean really listen, rather than pretend to listen and make appropriate noises. I am absolutely faithful for as long as the lady cares to have me about. Sometimes I can even offer advice, although mostly they don’t want that, they just want sympathy. When we part ways, she’s the better for it, and so am I. She knows that she is still worthy of appreciation, which raises her spirits and gives her confidence, and I am heavier in the pockets.” I folded my arms over my chest and looked down at her. “And it doesn’t hurt that I’m a handsome devil, which makes her the envy of her friends.”

  Millissa sniffed a little. “But you don’t love these women!”

  “On the contrary, I do,” I said proudly. “I love women in general, and I make a point of appreciating all there is to admire in my clients.” Believe me, sometimes that was a lot of work, but it was always worth it in the end.

  Millissa’s look of skepticism turned to astonishment. “You sound like you’re proud of what you do!”

  I shrugged. “I am. Why shouldn’t I be? My father taught us to take pride in our work.” Though he would have seven different kinds of a fit if he knew what I was doing now.

  Well, that was his fault, not mine. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten taken in by that priest and his stupid “quiverfull” notion of having your wife squeeze out baby after baby like a prize pig until you had so many children you couldn’t remember their names, and what would have been plenty for a reasonably size family got stretched so thin that no one ever had enough, and everyone was starved a little—

  —especially for attention—

  —then maybe I’d still be there. Or maybe not. Who’s to say? Maybe I would have run away sooner.

  “But that has very little to do with the here and now,” I told her. “I’m not a Healer, but I do have some skills that will probably help you.”

  Now both eyebrows shot up. “I don’t—”

  “Like massage.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  “If you’ve no objection, I’ll take you out on the grass, give you a massage, and then set you so your head is hanging just over the edge of the pond and I can wash your hair.” I knew that would get her. She’d been sweating all during the ordeal of setting her leg, and by now her scalp must be a torment.

  “Really?” Ha. Had her.

  “It’s one of the things I know how to do,” I pointed out. Then ,without giving her any time to think about it, I picked her up and carried her out into the meadow. Then I very carefully massaged all the nonerotic muscles, concentrating on making it soothing rather than actively trying to get the kinks and knots out. It tak
es longer that way, but the last thing she needed was more pain. When she was a nice girl-puddle, I moved her to a rock ledge on the side of the pond, stripped off, and used some of the soap I’d found on her hair. Then I moved her again, combed it all out and spread it on the grass, and left her soaking up sun while her hair dried. I vaguely recalled a Healer telling me once the people got better faster when they had sun. I don’t know about that, but when I moved her back to her bed, a lot of the tension and pain was gone from her face.

  The next few days were pretty much the same, except for the hair washing. We talked a lot; she did most of it while I did the listening, though I did tell a few stories out of my own past. The funny thing was that all those chores that I had loathed as a child seemed far less onerous now. Well, it was probably just because there wasn’t anyone around telling me how I could have done it better and pointing out all the ways I’d fallen short of perfection. Fine, if someone else wants perfection, they can have it, but there’s nothing wrong with just getting the job done competently and correctly and leaving it at that. Destin might have been a sarcastic bastard, but at least he didn’t nitpick me to death.

  The first three days were fine; the fourth, the Companions started getting restless. Destin even forgot to insult me. I remembered that they had said that “something was coming,” and I wondered if that “something” was almost here.

  The fourth day they kept going off for runs, always into the north.

  The fifth day brought it all to a head.

  When I woke up, I could practically cut the tension. Millissa didn’t say much to me over breakfast; instead she had that “listening” look she got when both Companions were talking to her.

  Finally, as I brought her lunch, she broke the silence. “I know you’re not a fighter—”

  “Not even close,” I interrupted.

  “Right, well . . .” she bit her lip. “There’s someone we’ve been waiting for. She’s close, close enough to go get. But there are likely to be complications. It might get physical . . . and we’d planned for me to be the one to deal with that except—”

  “So I take it you want me to go with Ardred and the walking gluepot since you can’t. Right?” I’d already figured something like this was coming. “I have an easy solution for things getting physical. We run.”

  “It might not be that easy,” she said dubiously.

  It was my turn to snort. “Trust me. Take it from someone who’s done a lot of running. You can always run.”

  :He has a point.: That, shock of shocks, was Destin.

  She sighed. “All right, then. Destin, you and Ardred take care of him and the Chosen.”

  Ardred raised his head suddenly. :She’s thinking ahout running.:

  “All right then. Get those saddles on and get out of here. I’ll be fine, you need to get!” To underscore her words, Millissa had me bring her everything in the Waystation that could be thrown. I admired her resourcefulness. And I shuddered a little when she hefted the frying pan.

  I got the saddles on both Companions and started to mount Ardred, but Destin shoved his way in between us. : He needs to be free for his Chosen. Mount up.:

  Once I was in the saddle, we were off, and I realized at once that we were heading for the road. They were pushing it, too. Even through the thick underbrush, they were almost galloping, and when we broke out into the clear, they did. And they were faster than any horse I’ve ever been on.

  : She’s running!: Ardred cried, his mental voice sharp with fear. :He’s coming after her!:

  We hit the real road, the one I’d left several days ago, and in the middle distance I could see what looked like a shabby wagon loaded down with household goods. Between us and the wagon was a girl, a child, really. She had nothing on but a shift, and as we pounded toward her, I could see there was a man chasing her, cursing. We got nearer and nearer. I could see her terrified eyes. Her thin little limbs.

  The bruises.

  Bruises, everywhere.

  Something snapped inside me, and I’ll tell you right now, I have no idea how I did this. I leaned down over Destin’s neck, held out one arm, and . . . I just begged that child to run for me, to jump for me. “Here!” I screamed, “Here! Jump!”

  She should have been terrified. She should have turned right around and run the other way. But something came into her face, a glimmer of hope, then determination, and as we rushed down on her, she did just that. She jumped into my arms. We thundered past the man. Thundered past the wagon loaded with stuff. Which . . . looked all wrong to me in a way I couldn’t put together at the time. We turned, and without a word or thought actually exchanged, I tossed her into Ardred’s saddle, where she stuck like a burr. “Run!” I urged him. “Don’t wait for us. Run!”

  He did. The man was on his way back toward us; he was a huge bull of a man, in a towering rage, and . . .

  I’m no fighter, but I knew it would be a mistake to leave him.

  There was a shovel lying under the wagon seat. I leaned down and grabbed it.

  :Are you thinking—: began Destin.

  “Go!” I shouted, because the man was closing on us.

  Destin launched straight into a gallop and was up to speed in a few paces more. I took a firm grip on the handle of the shovel, and as we charged down on the bastard that would beat a little girl black and blue, I summoned all my rage, stood up in the stirrups, and swung straight for his face.

  I hit him so hard the shock nearly knocked me out of the saddle, and it broke the handle of the shovel. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him go down.

  We kept going.

  I didn’t look back.

  Adred did wait for us, and the little girl clinging to his back looked at me with both hope and fear. “He’s never going to follow us,” I told her. “He’s never going to hurt you again.”

  I certainly hoped he wasn’t, because my arms were still tingling from the shock of that hit. The little thing burst into tears,and jumped out of Ardred’s saddle for me. I realized it at the last minute, fortunately, and caught her, and she clung to me and cried. Ardred’s eyes rolled with alarm, but I just smiled at him. “It’s all right. She just needs someone to hold her.”

  The gods know I’d held plenty of women in my time who’d just needed someone to hold them.

  I held her safe all the way back to the Waystation. It took some coaxing to get her to let go of me, but between us, Millissa and I managed, and we—well, I—got her filthy rags stripped off her, gave her a wash, put her into one of my shirts (which was certainly big enough on her to be a dress) fed her, and put her to bed.

  Over the next day, Millissa got her story out of her. The man had been some distant relative. When her parents died, he’d come and taken everything portable, and her. He’d beaten her and starved her, made her do work that was far past her strength and then beat her when she couldn’t manage it. She had whatever it was that made a Herald, and Ardred had heard her crying for him, but he had known he was never going to be able to get her away on his own, so he’d recruited Millissa to help.

  Her name was Rose, and she stayed glued to me like a day-old chick to its mother. I did what I always do for a female who is hurt and frightened and mourning. I soothed her, I listened to her, I held her and let her cry, I promised her that Ardred would always take care of her, and I let her cry some more.

  The next day, that help finally came. Another Herald and a Healer, who would stay with Millissa until she was fit to travel while the new Herald escorted Rose and Ardred to wherever these Heralds lived.

  Then came the hitch. Rose refused to leave me. She clung to me and wailed, and I couldn’t persuade her to stop. Finally Ardred solved it. :I can carry two,: he said firmly.

  So that was how I arrived in Haven, about a candlemark after sunset, with a weary little girl in my arms who, after a good two weeks of solid work from me, had finally decided that she didn’t have to be afraid any more and could start to leave the terror and learn to live.

  I han
ded her over to the Collegium people, Ardred was led away, and—

  And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I turned around, saw one of those blasted white busybodies, looked into her eyes and—

  Nope. Didn’t happen. No interfering know-it-all with hooves. Just a tired but cheerful fellow in green robes who had come to see to Rose and now was standing next to me.

  “Well,” he said. “I suppose you’ve figured it out?” My bewildered expression told him otherwise. He laughed. “Ah, right. You aren’t used to the Mind-Gifts where you come from, are you? All right. I’ll just tell you straight out. The reason the Companions could talk to you is that you’re Gifted. Like a Herald, but different.”

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. “I am?” I said, feeling stupid.

  He nodded. “I felt you at work from half a day away, and let me tell you, my lad, we are going to be right glad to have you if you care to stay and learn to use what you’ve got properly. You’re a Mindhealer, son. That’s what you’ve been doing all your life—using your Gift.”

  “I thought—” Things I’d never put together began tumbling into place. Things Millissa had told me. The things I’d been doing. How I’d worked with little Rose . . . “Huh.”

  Well, it wasn’t as if I had anything better to do. And there was nothing saying I couldn’t keep, well . . .

  The Healer raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh, yes. You’re still going to be very popular with the women.”

  I found myself grinning. He grinned back and clapped me on the back.

  “Come along then, Healer Trainee Don. We’re just in time for supper.”

  Catch Fire, Draw Flame

  Rosemary Edghill and Denise McCune

  South of the Yvedan Hills, in the places where constant border clashes between Karse’s army and Valdemar’s defenders were merely worrisome news and not terrifying reality, the land softened, spreading itself into rolling hills and lush fields. North of the Jaysong Hills, the farmsteads were built more of wood than stone; the farmstead walls were built to stop wandering chickens and not armed raiders, and shutters were not barred with iron. Here no man or woman slept with a sword beneath the pillow to arm against danger that comes in the night.