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

by Mercedes Lackey

  Vanyel nodded. .-She's found a way to tap the Mage-Gift as well. She's connected to a node out there.: He tried not to think of what else she could have waiting and addressed Yfandes again. :Do you know anything else?:

  Just rumors, that's all. Supposedly one of the many barbarian groups to the far north. But it's said that of outland magicians, these white-skins are more closely attuned to their powers than most.:

  :Thanks for the confidence builder.: Vanyel groaned in his mind.

  As if she could hear their conversation, the pale woman called out, "Spirit of the Forest, hear me. One of my own has become lost in your woods. I know of you and what you are. Return him to me, and the forest will be left unharmed. Hide him from me, and I will find him, no matter what it takes. I will not wait long upon your answer, for I know you are nearby."

  Her gaze swept the line of trees, pausing for a moment as her eyes passed over the three figures in the treeline, invisible to all save her. A humorless smile creased her

  mouth, then disappeared as she crossed her arms and waited.

  Vanyel contacted Yfandes. :I'm going out.:

  :Van, you can't. What about Treyon?: :

  :Someone has go out and give her what she wants, or she'll make her threat real. You're going to have to stay here and watch over him. 'Fandes, you're my back-up. If that construct is out here, you'll have to guard Treyon while I deal with her.:

  :Well, what if something gets by both of us?:

  :Then we'll just have to play it by ear, I guess. This could take a while, she's stored up a lot of power, both in blood-magic and from the node.:

  :Worried?:

  :No, just angry at all that destruction.:

  :Vanyel. . . be careful.:

  :Always.:

  Turning from them, Vanyel started to step around a tree, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

  "Where are you going?" Treyon whispered.

  "To face her."

  "Alone? Are you crazy? You're one against more than a dozen."

  "No, this will be between me and her. Stay here with Yfandes."

  "What do you want me to do if ... something bad happens?"

  Van looked at him. "I don't suppose you can ride?" Treyon shook his head. Vanyel thought for a moment, than continued. "If something does go wrong, I want you to run into the forest as fast and as far as you can. Yfandes will stay with you as long as possible, but you should be safe enough until I can find you afterwards, just keep moving. And no matter what happens, I'll make sure Ke'noran can't come after you, all right?"

  Treyon nodded, looking past him at Ke'noran and her brigands, "Van, I don't see the construct anywhere."

  Van nodded, pleased the boy was still able to think clearly, even when so obviously frightened. "I don't either, but I don't sense him anywhere as well. Either she's not using it for this, or it's shielded so well I can't sense it. Either way, trust Yfandes to protect you, for she will, with her life if necessary."

  Treyon nodded silently as the silence of the forest was cut by the sorceress's voice. "Spirit, I grow weary of waiting for you. Return him, or I will begin the search. And I will leave no rock unmoved, no tree living where I look."

  Vanyel winked at Treyon, then stepped around a large oak and disappeared. Treyon looked for him walking through the forest, but in vain. A gentle touch on his cheek from Yfandes' warm nose brought his attention back to the plains and the bandits before him.

  Suddenly, there he was, standing just outside the forest's boundary, the sunlight making his silver hair flash and glitter. All was quiet save the two magicians, so their conversation easily carried to Treyon and Yfandes.

  "I am here." Vanyel said.

  The Northern sorceress' ice-blue eyes narrowed for a moment, then she smiled again. "You are not a simple forest spirit. There is much power within you. But I am sure neither of us wishes for conflict, so I will be blunt. You have what I want, forest-walker. Give him to me and I will leave in peace. Deny me, and be destroyed."

  Both Treyon and Yfandes watched silently, hanging on every word. Vanyel was impassive. "If I give my life in defense of another, so be it. What you want from this forest you shall not have, for he is under my protection."

  "Then once you and this forest fall, he shall have no protection." With that Ke'noran swept her arms outward and a wall of mage-fire appeared, not anywhere near Vanyel, but for dozens of paces on either side of the two mages. Driven against the wind into the forest, the blue-green flames began to grow rapidly as they licked at the trees and underbrush.

  Surprised by the unorthodox attack, Vanyel hesitated a bit before beginning his defense. Quickly he weather-magicked the nearby clouds to grow, making them suck up the water vapor in the atmosphere, swelling into gray thunderheads that covered the sky. With a flick of his hand, the water poured down, drowning the flames in the forest. Fully on guard now, Vanyel went on the offensive, calling all of the power at his command and sending it at the woman before him.

  As soon as Treyon saw the flames appear at the forest's edge, his bandit's intuition knew that a trap had been laid and they had walked right into it.

  A whinny of alarm turned his head toward Yfandes, just in time to see a dark, blurry shape, all claws and teeth, leap out of the surrounding woods at him.

  :VANYEL!:

  "Van!"

  Until he heard the mind-cry and shriek of terror simultaneously, Vanyel had actually been enjoying the battle. Ke'noran was extremely strong, but it was the strength of blood-magic, easily gained and stored, but not so easily replenished once used. Eventually, if he and Yfandes had read her right, the Mage-Gift she had Siphoned from some unfortunate soul would eventually be exhausted, and he could make her forget all about using blood-magic forever. That had been the plan, but Ke'noran had seen fit to change the rules.

  Boosting his shields enough to hold off Ke'noran's next assault, Vanyel turned at both cries, one of alarm, one of pure terror, and saw something explode out of the forest in a spray of leaves and branches. It would have been as tall as a man, save for its hunched back. It moved as fast as a wyrsa, but on two legs, and appeared to be a mix of human, bear, and wolf, with ursine features and thick, gray-brown fur. What was most frightening was what it carried in its mouth. Treyon, the collar of his shirt tangled in the beast's teeth, was being borne toward the battle with magic-fueled speed.

  Behind the beast, but at a safe distance, galloped Yfandes. Vanyel thought he had never seen her look so frustrated.

  :Vanyel, she's going to get him.: she sent angrily.

  :Can't you stop it from reaching her?: Vanyel asked.

  :No,: came the fear-tinged reply, .7 can't even get close to it. She's laid a trap-shield on the construct, and now Treyon's inside, so it's around him as well.:

  :Trap-shield?: In that instant Vanyel realized just how ruthless Ke'noran really was, remembering that if any magical or physical attack was directed at the construct, the shields would react instantly, destroying whatever they surrounded by lethal backlash. .-Great good Gods, maybe I can Fetch. . . :

  :No, Vanyel, any Gift will set it off, even mind-magic!: Yfandes sent.

  :Hells, that thing moves fast. Come to me then. She may have the ability to steal these powers, now let's see if she knows how to use them:

  In the time the two had Mindspoken this much, the construct had already reached Ke'noran, and had been admitted inside her shields. Vanyel bit his lip in frustration and he saw Ke'noran take the boy as she snapped a guttural word at the construct, causing it to sit back on its haunches, its hooded eyes becoming glassy. With his Mage-sight, Vanyel saw the sorceress' shields flare even brighter now as she added the power the construct had been using to her own protections.

  By this time, Yfandes had swung away from her pursuit and ran over to Vanyel, coming around to stand behind him. Vanyel put one hand on her mane as he watched the barbarian.

  :Get ready to give me power on my signal,: he sent to her.

  .7 hope you know what you're doin
g.:

  :Now that she has him, it's the only way. I just need a little more time

  Ke'noran slammed Treyon down on the cairn, knocking the wind out of him and effectively preventing any struggle. Holding him down with one hand, she reached underneath her cloak with the other and brought out a dagger-sized wooden wand covered in rough runes and glowing brightly with power. Ripping open Treyon's shirt, she touched the focus to Treyon's chest, outlining his heart, the wand leaving a glowing trail wherever it touched the boy's skin. Looking up, Vanyel once again saw her feral smile as she said, "Spirit, you have defied me, and for that you will be destroyed. Once I have taken this one's Gifts, I will take everything else you hold dear."

  "Ke'noran, hold!" Vanyel threw out his hand as if offering it to an unseen person. Recognizing the gesture, Ke'noran looked down at Treyon, who was still lying motionless beneath her. Her head snapped up to look at the silver-haired mage before her. At that moment she felt her shields actually buckle as the impact of Va-nyel's magic hit them. For a moment, everything stopped as the two mages' gazes met. Vanyel smiled as he saw the sorceress' eyes widen as she realized what was about to happen.

  Ke'noran recovered quickly, however. Raising the wand about her head, she screamed the final word of the spell out as she plunged the stake down at Treyon's unprotected chest.

  The wand ripped through the empty air where Treyon's body had been a moment before to shatter on the rocks of the cairn. Now uncontrollably released, the magic contained by the wand surged back though Ke'tt-oran's body. Held in by her shields, it redoubled in intensity, arcing and snapping as it contacted the restraining magic walls. Ke'noran didn't even have tune to scream. In seconds the wild energies had destroyed everything in the area of the sorceress' shields. As her protections vanished, all that remained was a circle of burned ground and two small piles of ash and bone.

  Vanyel watched, unblinking, cradling Treyon to his chest, burying the boy's head in his chest to prevent him from watching. When it was over, Vanyel just held him while glaring at the brigands, who had watched the fight at a safe distance. Under his stare, they quickly broke and left for the hills, and silence once again fell over the Forest of Sorrows and the small plain.

  "Vanyel... I can't breathe." Treyon gasped from his shirt. Standing up, Vanyel slowly let go of Treyon, watching all around him as if waiting for Ke'noran to suddenly appear from the grave and wreak more havoc. When nothing happened, his shoulders slumped as he relaxed, slowly fading into translucence.

  Seeing this happen, Treyon quickly stepped over to Vanyel, meaning to hug him. But when he tried to wrap his arms around the other's slim body, he met nothing but air. Off balance, Treyon just managed to avoid falling over. Before Vanyel could speak, Treyon waved an arm through the middle of Van's body, watching it pass through the misty form as if there was nothing there at all.

  Treyon was hesitant to say it, but he did anyway, "What happened ... I thought you defeated her." His eyes overflowed with tears again as he thought he realized what had happened.

  Vanyel, realizing what Treyon was thinking, was quick to correct him. "No, no, Treyon, that's not what happened. Using so much power so quickly can drain even a legend for a time." Seeing Treyon's expression as comprehension dawned, he added, "Yes, I am the Vanyel of the legends and songs. I have been like this," he pointed , a hand toward his insubstantial body, "for decades. I have been a part of this forest for over thirty years, guarding the northern border against bandits and mages like Ke'noran. In a way, I am the forest around me, every tree, every plant, every gust of wind that moves through the brush, I feel it, react to it, as far as I can see. And to things that enter the forest. Ke'noran couldn't kill me or Yfandes, not without destroying every last bit of the woods around us, and that, I think, is next to impossible. But she almost got you, and that was something I never wanted to happen. I had no plans to put you hi danger. You deserve better than that."

  "Why?"

  "Why? Just because of who you are."

  "What, I'm just a boy, that doesn't make me anything special."

  "Well, then, how about what you can give back to Valdemar."

  "As what, a brigand? Vanyel, how can I help Valdemar?" Treyon was growing more and more exasperated.

  "As a Herald," came the soft reply.

  "What? A Herald? Me?" Treyon's mouth was gaping like a fish.

  For the first time since the battle had ended, Vanyel smiled. "Don't you remember me telling you about your Gifts? You need training to use them effectively, and, as you happen to be about the right age to begin, you should get started right away. There's a way station about a half-day's journey from here. Usually a Herald passes by every few days, on patrol for the outlying villages, and he can take you to Haven."

  "Training? Haven? Gifts? But I don't know anything about anything. How can I be a Herald? Who's going to believe that I can be anything but a brigand?"

  Vanyel let his hand drop to Treyon's shoulder, and for several seconds, the boy actually felt the older man's hand steadying him. "I do. Treyon, you can't stay here, not with us," he said, cutting off Treyon's startled protest. "You need to be around others, to learn all that Yfandes and I don't have time to teach you. Besides, Haven is the place where you're needed, not here."

  "That's all well and good, but what about my needing someone?" Treyon said, sniffing back his tears and looking away at the ground.

  Vanyel knelt down beside him, catching the boy's downcast stare with his own gaze. "I'm not going anywhere. Granted, Haven is far away, but if your Gifts manifest like I think they will, pretty soon you'll be able to Mindspeak with me as if I were standing beside you. And by that time, maybe you'll have been Chosen by a Companion of your own."

  Treyon was silent for several seconds, then raised his head again, feeling truly hopeful for the first time since he had entered the forest. "I guess we'd better get going, then."

  "Let's not rush off quite so quickly. You'll stay with us another night, and we'll set off in the morning." Vanyel said, smiling.

  Treyon smiled in return, and the trio walked into the forest, leaving the charred patch of dirt, and the new leaves of grass that were already sprouting behind.

  Vkandis' Own

  by Ben Ohlander

  Ben Ohlander was born in Rapid City, South Dakota, and has since lived in eight states and three foreign countries. He graduated from high school in 1983, after spending a period of time in military school for various infractions. He enlisted in the Marines, where he served for six years as an intelligence analyst and translator in such places as Cuba and Panama. He has since completed a degree in International Studies, been commissioned as an Army Intelligence Officer, and works as a freelance writer. His hobbies include chess, rugby, fencing (the kind not involving stolen goods), and politics. He has coauthored novels with David Drake and Bill Forstchen for Baen Books, as well as several short stories. He is currently developing several independent projects. Author's Note: This story takes place after the events chronicled in Arrow's Fall and before Storm Warning.

  Colonel Tregaron, commander of His Holiness' Twenty-First Foot, was hot, tired, and very pleased as he surveyed the long line of marching infantry. The regiment had made good time, in spite of a sun hot enough to boil a man's brain inside his skull, thick clouds of choking dust that rose with every step, and short water rations. It pleased him that he had yet to lose a single trooper to the heat, even after nine days crossing the badlands, and another twenty trekking from the Karse-Rethwellan border. Most caravans, fat with water and rich food, couldn't make that claim. He shook his head, grimly amused that His Holiness would transfer regiments in High Summer when "Beastly" was the gentlest adjective useful in describing the heat. Still, when the Son of the Sun called, the army marched.

  An infantryman, seeing him grin, hawked and spat. "You like eatin' dust, Colonel?"

  Tregaron raised his hand, one soldier to another. "It can't be any worse than your hummas, Borlai. I'm surprised your squadmates haven
't strung you up as a poisoner." The troopers around the luckless soldier laughed as he mimed taking an arrow in the chest. "I'm struck!" Borlai cried.

  Tregaron made a mental note to eat with First Battle that evening, the better to ensure no lasting insult came from his ribbing. Morale had remained high, in spite of the miserable conditions, and he had no desire to see even a small wound fester for want of tending.

  He glanced over each rank as it passed, looking for the small signs and minute sloppiness that marked declining morale or increasing fatigue. Some pikes sloped a little more loosely than the prescribed thirty-degree angle and an occasional head drooped, but that was to be expected, considering each soldier carried, in addition to a full fifty-pound kit, three days' extra field rations, water, extra throwing spears, and either a mattock, pick, or shovel to dig fortifications. It was no wonder Karsite soldiers called themselves "turtles," for they all carried their houses on their backs.

  Several veterans, seeing Tregaron, raised their fists in salute as they passed. A weak cheer rose from the ranks as he doffed his plumed helmet and returned the gesture.

  "Aye, lads," he said. "Save your wind for the walk. We've a bit to go before you can laze about." That drew a laugh. There was trouble on the Hardorn border, bad trouble, and even the rawest recruit had heard the rumors of massacred caravans and slaughtered villages. He knew, sure as night followed day, that there would be hard fighting along the frontier before the fall rains swelled the Terilee River and blocked passage. Vkandis willing, he thought, we'll make the Terilee by nightfall and be dug in before the bastards know we're there.

  He unrolled the grimy travel map he used to plot their daily course. Its scale was too small for any real detail now that they were close to their destination, but the scouts had provided good reports of what lay ahead.

  He ran one dirty finger across his short, pointed beard as he studied the map. The Terilee River, hardly more than a stream this time of year, marked the border between beloved Karse and Ancar's Hardorn. It had seen its waters colored red more than once in the past year as the Usurper's bandits raided across its brackish waters. Bodies from those fights were said to have floated as far as Haven, in distant Valdemar.