Choices

by Mercedes Lackey

  A rattle of dishes and a knock on the door. “Come,” Cera called. Gareth entered with a tray and a murderous expression.

  Cera blinked. “Thank you, Gareth. On the desk, please.” She rose to pour. Gareth bowed and then went to stand by the door. She shot him a warning glance as she pressed a mug of cool ale into Cition’s hands.

  Cition sighed. “I fear our family has not made the best of impressions on you, Lady Cera, and for that I am sorry.”

  Cera offered a mug to Athelnor, but he waved her away with a silent nod toward Cition. So she poured her own mug and settled back in her chair. “Nothing could be farther from the truth,” she responded firmly. “The foodstuffs you sent with Emerson were goddess-sent, and we blessed you for it. And Emerson was honest with me,” Cera continued. “From the beginning. There was no pretense.”

  “Well, at least there is that.” Cition took a grateful gulp.

  “I don’t think his interests lie with me,” Cera said as delicately as she could. One never knew how a parent would react or how much they knew.

  “Aye, that too.” Cition grimaced. “His mother laid into me about that as well. But I’d hoped perhaps—” he stared into his mug. “Well, these are not your troubles, Lady. Emerson will return home with me. If you’ll lend me a wagon, we’ll load up the loom and his weavings. My apologies for all of this.”

  Gareth stirred by the door, and Cera glared at him even as she spoke to Cition. “Emerson came here for the opportunities that Sandbriar could offer. There are prospects for lands and hearths left cold by the war.”

  “Aye,” Lord Cition nodded. “We were all tested, but Sandbriar bore the brunt.”

  “And there is the matter of the debt,” Cera continued.

  “Debt?” Cition looked at her over his mug.

  “Emerson is under formal contract with me to create a tapestry for my halls when he is finished with his grandmother’s,” Cera kept her voice cool as she lied. “There has been a debt incurred for room and board and sundries. One that I expect to be repaid, in the form of a tapestry.”

  Lord Cition’s eyes narrowed. “This is so? You would require the work? Not coin?”

  “Yes,” Cera said. “Gareth, if you would fetch Emerson?”

  Gareth slipped out the door.

  Lord Cition gave her an appraising look. “I heard tell you were a merchant’s daughter before being awarded these lands. It would appear that you have a merchant’s soul.”

  Athelnor coughed. Cera just gave Lord Cition a slow, sweet smile.

  Lord Cition quirked his lips. “And I’m thinking that’s not an insult to you.”

  “No, Lord Cition,” Cera smiled wider. “It is not.”

  The door cracked open, and Emerson slid in, his face at once both timid and hopeful. Cera caught a glimpse of many bodies in the hall.

  “Lady Cera. Father.” Emerson gave a slight bow to both of them.

  “Is this true, lad?” Lord Cition asked. “You’ve contracted your services to Lady Cera.”

  “Y-y-yes, Father.” Emerson straightened up, and his voice took on a defiant tone. “I didn’t want to deceive you—” his voice cracked, “—but you wouldn’t even let me set up the loom.”

  “Well . . .” Lord Cition sat back in his chair. “What’s done is done. You must honor your agreements, I’ve always told you that. Even if I think Lady Cera will not do well by this. Still, you do well by her, yes?”

  “Yes, Father.” Emerson’s face still held a hint of fear, but his smile was brilliant. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Just write to your mother, lad.” Lord Cition said gruffly. “She worries so.”

  “Yes, Father. Thank you, Father. Lady Cera.” Emerson bowed and slipped out, pulling the door behind him. Cera could hear muffled cheers beyond.

  “Please, Lord Cition, stay the night before you journey back.” she offered.

  “I will, and thank you.” Cition picked his mug back up. “I think we might have other things to discuss, Lady. Who knows what opportunities lay between our lands. But please, if you would,” the lord sighed in resignation. “Make sure he writes his mother?”

  “I will.” Cera smiled. “I have some experience with that.”

  To Lady Cera of Sandbriar, in the Kingdom of Valdemar

  Dearest Daughter,

  Forgive me, child, but I know little of your mother’s stillroom methods, the Trine rest her soul in peace. I doubt that Reinwald will share his trade secrets. Perhaps you could write to the Healers’ Collegium in Haven? One hears wondrous things about their skills.

  Have no fear for my safety, child. For all of Lord Thelkenpothonar’s wealth and lands, he is a poor man, deflated, angry, and sore of heart. I encourage him to visit, to drink tea in my gardens, and I listen to his woes. I also remind him of the strength there is to be found in our womenfolk.

  I am sorry to hear of your troubles. I would remind you of something your wise mother would say whenever we faced obstacles or felt overwhelmed.

  ‘No matter what tears are shed, no matter what trials are faced, some things stay the same. There will always be day and night, stars and sky, hope and rest. There will always be compassion, always be friendship, and always, always, love.’*

  I’ve enclosed some packets of jasmine tea. Mind that you take the time to drink a cup or two and enjoy a quiet moment.

  Be well, beloved Daughter,

  Your Father

  Beyond Common Sense, She Persisted

  Janny Wurts

  Chased to the ragged edge, three surviving Companions, two Heralds, and Kaysa rode through the outer gate and entered the city of Haven. The confined clatter of hooves hammered through the alarmed challenge of the posted guards. Answering their urgent questions, Lara confirmed the horror of Jess’s death. She reported Arif’s deep wound, bleeding yet through a field bandage. Repeatedly tracked and assaulted by Change-Beasts, Kaysa and she had been lucky to suffer no worse than bruises and scrapes.

  Kaysa herself was no fighter. Before the Mage Storm beset her village and led her to rescue a stricken Companion, her livelihood as the weaver’s daughter had been spinning yarns by touch. Unprepared, blind since birth, she had weathered the harrowing journey from the Pelagiris Forest. Nights of tense watch broken often by ambush had forced their desperate flight off the road. Kaysa had clung to Lark’s tangled mane as they fled, scarcely able to stay astride to bear warning to Valdemar’s Queen. For an unknown enemy had felled two brave Heralds, with one Companion killed outright and the other left too deranged to communicate.

  “We were tracked by dark spells set into the bloodstains left on Lark’s saddlecloth,” Lara explained. Her gesture cautioned the gate guard. “In that bundle, yes. Be careful! Heralds are susceptible! The lethal taint’s been kept constantly wrapped after Kaysa’s sensitivity fingered the cause.”

  But there was another, somewhat weaker, lure. The strikes had lessened but not ceased. Ensorceled Change-Beasts had hounded them through the open country far beyond the forest verge.

  Kaysa was too tired to think. Though the unresolved threat risked Valdemar’s peace, she could barely sort through the barrage of raw noise to maintain her orientation. Oily smoke clogged her nostrils. Lit torches suggested the hour was well after nightfall. Echoes bouncing down emptied streets went unmuffled by the bustle of late going traffic. Jostled by armed riders as the guard attached an escort for added protection, Kaysa was folded into the party sent on a swift course toward the palace. A messenger galloped ahead to roust council officials and Healers from sleep.

  Exhaustion flattened the thrill of success, that against all odds, Kaysa’s critical role had salvaged the Heralds’ mission. Weariness stifled her curiosity, even as Haven’s exotic scents enriched every drawn breath. Kaysa sampled the fragrance of baked bread and acrid dust; of cured meat, empty beer barrels, and reeking dye vats. Past the lower town, tin
ged by lingering traces of a rich lady’s perfume, the sharper acoustics suggested the buildings on each side rose higher. The dew dampness of foliage and a nightingale’s song winnowed from a walled garden.

  Kaysa was too numbed to interpret for nuance. Battling distortion from sleep-deprived senses and dizzied by surges of faintness, she scarcely noted the guard who braced her upright as their cavalcade swept through the entrance to the palace. The jolt as Lark halted nearly tumbled her from the saddle.

  Kindly hands crowded around to steady her as Kaysa dismounted, stumbling amid a barrage of concerned exclamations. Led indoors, shepherded through strange corridors to a closed hall, a person clothed in the swish of fine silk set her down in a cushioned seat. She mustered frayed wits while more people arrived, also clad in expensive clothes and the fragrance of refined soap. Chairs scraped. A delicate hinge creaked, likely from an opened lap desk by the distinctive musk of goose quill pens and the acrid whiff of an uncapped inkwell. Presented with a readied scribe and surrounded by hints snagged from hushed conversations, Kaysa gathered she was facing an assembly of Haven’s experienced Mages.

  Then their questions began. They analyzed everything, in particular the freak storm that struck her remote village on the day she had found the lost Herald’s injured Companion snagged in a wrecked tangle of splintered trees. Kaysa answered from a blind girl’s perspective. She explained again how the likely effect of dark sorcery in the bloodied saddlecloth had attracted the Change-Beasts that killed Jess and hurt Arif. The uncanny susceptibility aimed to harm the Queen’s Heralds—Kaysa recounted the horrific details until sleeplessness impaired her faculties.

  Eyes drooping, shaken awake by someone’s grip on her wrist, she arose and shuffled where she was prompted. Without the stick left strapped to her saddlebags, her weary feet stumbled over the edges of carpets and tripped on the stairs. Doors opened ahead and closed at her heels. More strangers’ voices exclaimed and gave orders, until finally just one quiet helper remained. Kaysa fumbled through the assistance that removed her soiled clothes. But the polite thanks she intended went unspoken. The moment her sore body sank into the blissful comfort of a clean bed, dreamless sleep overcame her awareness.

  * * *

  • • •

  Kaysa wakened to warmth. Sunlight striped her cheek from an open casement. Hungry and stiff, she shoved upright amidst the cotton-thick stillness of solitude. I reached Haven, she acknowledged, amazed.

  Lara and Arif were not with her. Groping failed to locate the stick careful habit would have propped by the mattress. Alone in a strange room, Kaysa pushed off a coverlet finer than any at home. Sliding out of bed, she gasped as her toes sank into a soft carpet.

  The missing stick hampered her tentative movements. Kaysa stood in place and clicked her tongue, reliant upon ambient echoes to detect obstacles in her path. Her impaired effort had managed two steps when a knock sounded at the entry.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Tassie,” a girl’s voice responded. “May I come in?” The latch clicked, and an eddy riffled the air as the door cracked open. “You didn’t hear the bells. I’ve waited until you awakened.”

  Kaysa frowned. “Bells?”

  The draft signaled Tassie’s breezy entrance. “The dawn bell, of course, and summons for breakfast. The housekeeper said you might be too weary to rouse. I’m sent to attend your needs. Since you fell asleep ahead of the soup tray, you’re probably famished!”

  But Kaysa disregarded her growling stomach. “Where’s Lara? Is Arif all right? What about Lark? He’s suffered damage from a brush with dark magic, and I should be with him.”

  “Whoa! Hold up.” Tassie chuckled. “The Collegium’s offered you a student’s place in recompense for your brave service. Lara’s with the Queen, closeted in council. They and the Mages are weighing the disturbance in the Pelagiris Forest.” The girl’s chatter continued to a thump, then the drag of a bulky object across the floor. “Your saddlebag’s here. The Healers have Arif dosed to the eyeballs with jervain. His wound’s expected to knit, given time, and Lark’s hurt is a matter for wiser heads than yours or mine.”

  Steps approached, followed by a breathless grunt as the lifted pack bumped against Kaysa’s chest. “Get yourself dressed. After we find you something to eat, I’ll show you about.”

  Kaysa sorted her clothing by touch and donned trousers and a fresh blouse while Tassie tidied the rumpled bed, still energetically talking. “You needn’t worry. During your stay, you’re invited to attend classes with the students until the way’s safe to send you back to your family.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Kaysa objected. Dismayed that lost weight had loosened her waistband, she asked after the belt left with last night’s trousers and also her missing stick.

  Tassie broke off her scatterbrained musing. “Oh! I’m sorry. Right here.” Realizing her error when Kaysa groped, she exclaimed, “Dear me! You can’t see the hook. Your walking stick’s leaning in the corner.”

  Tassie retrieved both items and resumed her chatter, “You can’t return to Ropewynd just yet. The way through the Pelagiris Forest is suspect until Tarron’s fate has been determined.” Still gushing, she clasped Kaysa’s forearm. “About your course of study, don’t worry! The dean’s scheduled an interview tomorrow to see which classes suit your capabilities. Afterward, you’ll be issued new clothing, color matched to your assigned school. The dean’s kind, and your blindness won’t matter a whit! Many train here with a disability.”

  Kaysa clutched her stick and politely let Tassie guide her. She was hungry. Enough not to bristle at unwanted assistance or stall for what might seem ungrateful questions.

  The kitchen at the Collegium kept food available between mealtimes. Given a piled plate of seed rolls, fresh fruit, and cheese, Kaysa ate. Tassie kept her company and followed up with an inquiry after her friends.

  The Healers refused her request to see Arif.

  “He’s resting and better off not disturbed.” Tassie qualified, apologetic. “Herald Lara’s in conference with the Mages, discussing strategy with the Queen’s guard captain. The session’s ongoing until they’ve found the best way to defeat this assault by dark magic.”

  At least Haven’s council confronted the hostile act seriously. Kaysa expressed her relief, reassured she would be called for at need. Meanwhile, she burned to know whether Lark’s sorry plight had been remedied.

  Finished with her cleaned plate, Kaysa ventured, “Might we visit the stables?”

  “Great idea!” A brisk jostle as Tassie bounded from her seat. Her enthusiasm pulled Kaysa along. “The grooms who tend the Companions always hear what’s up before anybody. The walk is short. We’ll take the afternoon to investigate.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Outside the Collegium, Kaysa slowed down. Established habit positioned her against the buildings, with Tassie on her flank at streetside. The tap of her stick in front of each step tested for hazardous footing. The flagstone paving was level and swept. The texture of the echoes bounced back told her when they passed recessed doorways, or stone walls, or side alleys that breathed the chill of deep shade. Necessity had taught her to be a quick study in unfamiliar surroundings. She memorized the particulars of their route, soaking in each subtle cue. The dank fust of a storm drain, the lush whiff of greensward, then the light buffet of wind at the left turn where the ground dipped, before she mounted a gradual uphill slope. An internal map drawn from sensory impressions would allow her to retrace her own way, later on.

  Yet the massive size of the stables at Haven soon challenged her roadwise confidence. Beyond the access street’s rattle of carts, Kaysa passed a stout gate into a broad courtyard bustling with activity. Rakes scraped. Grooms chattered. Hooves clopped. The eddied breezes wore the pungent scents of oiled leather, warm animals, and hay. Young voices greeted Tassie by name, then fell to shy whispers.

>   Kaysa caught scraps of muffled admiration: “—must be that blind girl who saved Tarron’s Companion—” and, “—her warning spared Arif and Lara from evil sorcery and crazed Change-Beasts—” then, “—sadly, too late for poor Jess.”

  Kaysa demurred, wrenched by renewed sorrow. Her warning had roused their beset camp, just barely. “In fact,” she corrected, “Jess’s heroic stand bought our narrow chance to escape.”

  Tassie squeezed her hand. “A memorial commemorates all fallen Heralds to honor their sacrifice in the Queen’s service. Anyone present as a living witness may speak for their memory in tribute.”

  Steered from the sun’s warmth into a shaded aisle lined with box stalls, Kaysa entered a calm refuge filled by the munching of contented animals and the rustles of hooves in fresh beds of straw. Fragrant with the melange of old beams and rope halters, the great stable surrounded her presence with booming reverberation. Water splashed into a pail to her left. Counting steps, she traversed a space large enough to cram most of Ropewynd’s cottages under one roof.

  Grooms and staff hustled about their duties, the brisk patter of feet stitched through the squeaky wheels of muck barrows and handcarts laden with fodder. Kaysa noted the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer, and the wheezing bellows that wafted the acrid tang of hot metal and coals from the forge. So much to take in! She eagerly sampled each sound and smell while Tassie described the individual animals, from the warhorses and carriage teams to the hardy chirra harnessed as pack beasts. Through the movements of the massive beasts, she acknowledged the head butts of the resident cats, sorted the secretive rustles of rats and the bleats of the collared goats kept to soothe the breeding stallions.