Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100

by Mercedes Lackey

  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 Campanion 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, Yfan-des." 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, kneel-Jng 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 pre-ceeded 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 / 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.

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

  / 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.

  Vanyel opened the cloth, revealing a massive, perfectly formed rose quartz crystal the size of his fist. The Herald-Mage stared at its perfection for a long time before saying anything.

  "This is the largest rose quartz crystal I've ever seen," he said. "Are you certain you want to part with it?"

  Jonne beamed with pleasure. "I'm certain, Herald-Mage. Just, whenever you see it, think of me, would you?"

  Vanyel looked like he was about to cry. Instead, he took Jonne's hand in his own, then wrapped his arms around him in the tightest embrace yet.

  "I will never forget you, Guardsman," the Herald-Mage whispered in his ear.

  Sword of Ice

  by Mercedes Lackey and John Yezeguielian

  Hailing from the Chicago area, John Yezeguielian began his writing career at 14, when an article of his was published in a local paper. Since then he's written a music review column and various other pieces of journalism. This short story marks his first published fiction. Previously he has worked in fast food, owned and operated three businesses, trained animals, programmed computers, and been a bodyguard to celebrities and princesses. His hobbies include sailing, scuba diving, motorcycling, aviation, Aikido, and falconry. (Yes, he's a real-life Hawkbrother.) Prose and music, however, remain his highest passions. He lives near Tulsa with a cougar, a bobcat, two German shepherds, and, of course, a mews full of hawks and falcons.

  :Downwind,: the voice in Savil's head demanded, and Savil followed in the direction of the falcon as it changed trajectories. The huge bird pulled its wings in tightly now, an arrow slicing through the sky.

  :Hurry!: the raptor pleaded, and Savil felt the urgency in the falcon's mental message.

  If only it could give me more than vague concepts. Savil mumbled imprecations under her breath as she scrambled over yet another boulder in this miserable craggy landscape.

  All at once, as if in answer to her unspoken wish, Savil's mind flooded with images. Sensations of speed overwhelmed her as her vision was superseded by the bird's point of view as it twisted and gyrated, plummeting recklessly from the heavens. Vertigo swept Savil's footing from beneath her. She scrambled blindly now, her fingers clawing desperately at the granite face, struggling for purchase as she slid down the side, dangerously close to a ledge.

  Shut it down. Center, she reminded herself. This is novice stuff. Regain control. In an instant, Savil was back in charge of her perceptions. Then she slowly let the bird's sendings back in, until they were vaguely superimposed on her true sight.

  She couldn't see a man yet, but from the bird's eyes she could see what lay over the next rise. Rock scorched and molten, trees burst, their trunks still smoldering. The scene was one of rampant havoc, implying power turned loose to run wild in a way that sent atavistic chills up her spine. And then the falcon swiveled around one last boulder. Kicking its feet out before its body, the bird flared its long, pointed wings and set down gently upon firm ground.

  Or what? In her mind's eye, Savil could see the falcon looking in what must be her direction, the raptor's sure, steady gaze finding her amidst the mass of upthrown debris, still quite some distance off. But the bird's vision was wavering, rising and falling. And then the falcon cast its gaze downward, and Savil saw the burned face of a man.

  The rising and falling must mean she's perched atop his chest. He's alive and breathing, though the gods only know why.

  Her resolve hardened, Savil reached out with her special Gifts, locating the man and probing swiftly and delicately at his mind. Gently, she pulled back a layer of unconsciousness, moving deeper, and pulled back as if stung. This man, this strange one somehow linked with a hawk, was able to function while the full, raw power of a major node of magical energy flowed in and through his body. Though still young, Savil was decidedly a master, a full Herald-Mage, and she could not do that for even an instant. He must be like a sword of ice to channel such power and still be alive, Savil thought to herself.

  Still wondering what peculiar sort of being it was which she was being called to aid, Savil scrambled across the tops of the last few boulders and began climbing down into what used to be a mountain glade.

  :Tayledras, beloved,: Savil's Companion spoke into her mind. :This is a Hawkbrother.:

  Until Kellan had Mindspoken, Savil had all but forgotten her Companion amidst the excitement and shock of a bird's-eye view of flight. As she was reminded, Savil realized Kellan's voice had been conspicuously absent during the usurpation.

  .7 was blocked,: Kellan pouted, feigning a sulk, :by your whirlwind rapport with that bondbird creature.:

  Oh? Really? And just how did that come about? Savil thought to question her Companion further, but the descent was over and she had other concerns now. Before her were the charred, breathing remains of the only Hawkbrother she had ever seen.

  So badly wounded was he that Savil was barely certain where to start. Something had ripped down the Hawk-brother's side, scorching and cauterizing flesh as it apparently continued from his shoulder to the ground. It seemed to be a lightning strike, but that was simply not possible. No man could have survived even that one blow, let alone the other tears and rips in this man's flesh and the agonizing burns across his skin.

  As Savil's hands cleared his clothing from the wounds, her mind sent him energy—healing energy essential to his survival, though she was no Healer. The going was slow as she gingerly pulled the fabric from the Hawk-brother's devastated form. The power was still flowing through him somehow, and Savil knew better than to attempt to touch him or his fragile, dangerous mind again.

  Without warning, the bird let out a scream from deep within its throat. Startled, Savil pulled away and turned to look at the huge falcon. When she looked back again, the Tayledras' eyes were open, breathtaking ice-blue eyes surrounded by a mass of seared flesh which was healing, changing right before her eyes. The Hawkbrother's gaze met hers for a brief moment, then his eyes closed again. Through the aura of pain which she now realized she'd been feeling from him the entire time, she could have sworn she'd felt the faintest of smiles.

  A myriad of sendings from the bird confirmed what Savil had begun to suspect—that the Tayledras could heal himself better if she'd just remain to protect him and continue to transfer energy to him.

  "Well," she said aloud, looking down at him. "It looks as though you and I are going to be together for a while. At least I was ahead of my schedule and there won't be anyone missing me for a couple of weeks." Then she waited for Kellan to catch up with her, picking his own way through the rocks, and prepared for a long vigil.

  Throughout the rest of that day and the next, she remained close to the stranger, imparting as much healing energy as her own reserves would allow. She left his side only to gather wood for the nighttime fires, and to step behind a boulder to relieve herself.

  She could see a gradual but marked improvement over that first day. By the end of the second, she sensed he had recovered enough for her to bathe him. Savil's gentle hands lifted the Hawkbrother's head and washed his neck and face with the meager supply from her water-skin. Even more carefully did she move his body from side to side to wash it, removing his tattered garb and replacing it with a clean set of Whites of her own. At no time during those two days did the Hawkbrother make movement or sound, and his eyes remained shut, as if he were locked in a very deep sleep.

  Early in the morning of the third day, Savil's routine of preparing breakfast was interrupted once more by the falcon's scream. When she looked over at the Tayledras, he was struggling to rise to his elbows. Savil rushed to help him.

  :Thank you, but you have already done more than enough,: the Tayledras said to her in clear and coherent Mindspeech. Then, though not entir
ely steady in his movements, the Hawkbrother rose carefully to his feet. His bondbird began chittering pleasantly at him. His eyes closed again for a moment, and he nodded, a warm smile upon his lips.

  :My friend has been telling me of your vigilance these past few days. It would seem that I am in your debt. . . .: It was a question phrased as a statement.

  The Tayledras were reclusive by nature, even hostile toward strangers. That she knew, though little else. Even though Savil had helped him, and perhaps she had even saved his life, he would probably be suspicious of her motivations.

  By the customs of some of the strange people who dwelled in this wilderness, the fate of one not of one's own tribe was usually left to the gods; it was not for anyone else to interfere or concern themselves with what happened to strangers. That might be the case with the Hawkbrother. It could be that while he was grateful for her assistance, he would also wonder why she had done so, and be suspicious of her motives.

  Savil noticed his wary mood, and was quick to recognize the skepticism in his tone of voice.

  :You may start your repayment by telling me the name by which I am to call you,: she said, smiling, knowing that to some folk, asking for a personal name was tantamount to asking for a weapon to use against them.

  .7 am called Starwind,: he said with much dignity, :And the falcon you have been in rapport with is my bondbird; you might refer to her as my familiar.:

  Savil stole a quick glance in the direction of the bird and thought to herself that she wished she'd had some bit of meat to offer the hawk. As if it had heard her, the bird launched itself from the stone it had been perched on, taking to the sky with swift, powerful beats of its wings. Soon it was circling high above them. Then, all at once, the bondbird dropped its head, folded its wings, and fell, scorching straight downward from the sky toward the quarry its powerful vision had spied. Excited by the hunt, the impressions the bird sent were intense. Once again, Savil was swept up in the bird's aerial pursuit.