Under The Vale And Other Tales Of Valdemar v(-105

by Mercedes Lackey

  :The Bard is wise.:

  Vehs’s interjection startled Wil. It was the first thing the Companion had said since Wil had awakened and eased his shields.

  Lelia took his silence for disapproval. “No?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Oh. Well. Do.” She drained her cup and set it next to the pot. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’m a frail little Bard, getting on in her years.” She draped her arm across her forehead and slumped. “And I surely would love the company.” She straightened and winked. “My destrier and I can be ready to go either day.”

  After leaving her, he headed to the Collegium common room for supper. Trainees chattered earnestly around him as he ate and contemplated the bitter work ahead.

  :You know,: Vehs said, somewhat unexpectedly, :she’s unattached. Unbridled. Available.:

  Wil furrowed his brow, wiping up the last of his stew with a crust of bread. :Who?:

  :Lelia.:

  :What does that have to do with anything? And how do you know that?:

  Vehs ignored the second question. :You liked her once.:

  Wil wiped his mouth and collected his empty plates. :It’s been a while, Vehs.:

  :Oh, yes, it’s been a while, Wil.:

  :Ha ha.:

  :She wouldn’t have invited you to her quarters, or herself along on your journey, if she didn’t still like you on some level.: Vehs hesitated. :I think there’s a very real chance she’d like to play Stefen to your Vanyel.:

  If Wil had been drinking, he’d have choked. :Thanks for waiting until I was done with dinner before planting that on me,: he thought.

  :Just pointing out the blindingly obvious to the obviously blind.

  Wil looked around. “Where’s your destrier?”

  Lelia patted the neck of the slender-legged chestnut palfrey waiting beside her. “Right here. Wil and Vehs, meet my horse. Destrier.”

  Wil and Vehs exchanged a look.

  :Forget what I said,: Vehs said. :This one’s crazy.:

  “You named a palfrey ‘Destrier’?”

  Lelia grinned. “I always said I wanted one.” She cocked her head. “Exit through the Haymarket Gate?”

  “Haymarket Gate,” he agreed, and helped her mount her . . .Destrier.

  He’d left the question of bringing her along to Kyril. The Seneschal’s Herald had spent the better part of the evening explaining the art of breaking bad news to good people, and he had provided a small box of Elene’s personal items. According to Kyril, Elene had no living family except for her mother, Kaylene.

  When Wil had asked about letting Lelia accompany him, Kyril gave him a thoughtful look and then said, “Having a Master Bard along might not be a bad idea.”

  “Assuming she’s discreet,” Wil had said.

  “Oh, she is,” Kyril said knowingly. “But I’ll want a full report on how it works out when you get back. Perhaps it’ll be an improvement on the process.”

  Perhaps, Wil thought, taking a sidelong glance at Lelia as they rode. She sat straight in the saddle, eyes ahead, reins loose in her hands.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You pack light.”

  “I used to do this on foot,” she replied, smiling. “I learned to get by with very little.”

  “No gittern?” he asked.

  She shrugged from within her voluminous scarlet cloak. “Takes up space.”

  Wil frowned. “Won’t your family want to hear your music?”

  “I don’t need a gittern to sing, Herald.”

  You’ve plenty of room, he thought, but he let it slide. Lelia seemed focused elsewhere, as if listening to something Wil could not hear. Even when they finally got free of Haven’s crowds and the open road spread before them, she remained silent, her gaze soft.

  The silence gave Wil time to mull over what he was going to say to Kaylene. Kyril had given suggestions, but they all sounded so . . . formal. But then, what could one say that was “right” in this situation?

  Nothing. But “nothing” wasn’t an option, either. He would have to say something.

  They stopped for the night at an inn where the owner greeted Lelia personally. People, Wil reflected, remembered a good Bard. After making sure his things (and Elene’s) were secure in his room, he joined Lelia in the common area for a simple but tasty meal. They capped the evening with hot drinks—he with wine, she with her personal tea blend, which she had packed much of for the journey. They nursed their drinks in companionable silence, stretched out on comfortable chairs and settles near a hearth. Despite the heat, Lelia remained wrapped in her cloak, nothing emerging from it but her head and hands.

  “You must be sweltering,” Wil said.

  She smiled drowsily at him. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”

  The wood in the hearth popped loudly, showering sparks. A moment later, it resumed its gentle murmur of crackles and pops.

  “Such a lovely ditty,” Lelia murmured. “Practically singing me to sleep.”

  Wil started to nod, but the phrasing caught his fancy. “Can you do that?”

  Alertness crept into her gaze. “Do what?”

  “Sing someone to sleep. With your Gift.”

  “I have, on occasion. Why?”

  Because I haven’t slept in over a week, and I’m going mad drowning in a cold river every night, he thought, but as usual, the actual words became stuck in his throat. “Just curious,” he said.

  She studied him, then drained her mug and set it aside. “Goodnight, Herald.” She patted him on the shoulder before disappearing up the stairs.

  Wil could feel Vehs in his head. His Companion wanted to say something . . . but, ultimately, did not.

  In that, they were similar.

  He drank two more cups of wine before he finally went to his room.

  Wil clawed his way back to waking.

  And again that sense of being watched—

  He blinked. It vanished.

  It wasn’t far past midnight, and the thing that had woken him had not been the Vision—though he’d been up to his neck in cold water—but his bladder. He threw on clothes and trundled out into the night, toward the outhouse.

  He turned the stable’s corner—

  Something was out there.

  Wil had never feared the dark. But the yawning space between the stable and the outhouse filled him with sudden, unspeakable dread.

  Something was there.

  His eyes scanned the uneven shadows of the forest hemming the inn. Did he see a shape there? A blot of movement in the darkness?

  Cold dread filled him. The presence felt true—not just a hallucination. His mind flitted back to his time on the Karse Border . . . was it possible he’d raised a Sunpriest’s ire? Was something following him, waiting for a chance to strike?

  The presence evaporated. The darkness became just that, the movement in the trees nothing more than wind and woodland beasts about on mundane business.

  Wil crept back to his room, hunkered down in his bed, and waited out the night.

  When he emerged from the inn the next morning, Lelia stood next to Vehs, one hand on his withers.

  “Good morning,” Wil said, faintly suspicious about them together. Something in their posture suggested . . . conspiracy.

  “You look like hell,” Lelia replied cheerfully as a groom emerged with Destrier and helped her up into her saddle.

  :She’s worried about you,: Vehs murmured.

  :I’m worried about me.:

  :Well, finally.:

  Wil swung into the saddle, ignoring the jab. :Last night—something was out there.:

  :Something?:

  Wil toyed with the reins. :Alberich . . . he mentioned night-demons once—:

  Vehs snorted. :This far into Valdemar? Not possible.: More gently, he added, :Chosen, you’re exhausted. Your mind is playing tricks on you.:

  :I felt something, Vehs.:

  Vehs said nothing.

  :You don’t believe me—:

  :No!: Vehs
said sharply. :I believe that you think you saw something.:

  Wil took a deep breath. :Fine. But let’s stay in a Waystation tonight. Just in case.:

  :This close to Traderest?:

  :Yes.:

  :With the Bard?:

  Wil frowned. Now he wished he hadn’t brought her along. They were potentially in danger, but he was sure if he told her to turn back, she’d only want to know why, and no matter what he told her, she’d still want to come along.

  But better one overcurious Bard than a village full of innocents . . .

  “Lelia,” he said, “we’re going to stay at a waystation tonight.”

  He braced for the inevitable questions.

  “All right,” she replied.

  He gave her an odd look. She smiled back congenially.

  “Whatever you say, Herald,” she said.

  The Waystation outside Traderest was typical of its kind—small, with a water pump and trough, and secluded among the trees. Wil slid out of the saddle, and Lelia tethered Destrier as he hauled their packs into the Waystation. They had a fire and a pot of porridge going within a candlemark.

  She still hadn’t asked why they were here. He watched as she finished smoothing one of her cloaks over her boxbed—they hadn’t brought bedrolls—and then left again to tend to her horse.

  He sat on the edge of his own boxbed. All he wanted was sleep without dreams. He wanted . . .

  One minute he was alone, the next Lelia was leaning over him. When he’d fallen back on the bed, he wasn’t sure. Just that his eyelids felt so, so heavy. He could barely meet her gaze.

  “You know,” she said, “Heralds don’t just die in fights, fires, and floods. Keighvin, the Queen’s Own before Talamir, worked himself into a brainstorm and an early grave.”

  “Knew that,” Wil mumbled.

  “They throw themselves into their work,” she continued, “until they’re so exhausted they wind up doing something foolish.” She smiled a little. “Lyle once told me . . . I was his balance. I keep him from flogging himself to death.” The smile softened with sadness. “I don’t know how good a job I’ve done with that, honestly.”

  Even talking, her voice had a melodic quality. His eyes slid shut, his thoughts growing muzzy. He could feel the Vision unfurling, tugging at him like the waters of the river that had killed Elene, and then—

  Something stepped between him and it. A soft susurration, like the drowsy chirr of insects at twilight.

  And instead of plunging into deadly waters, he found himself at the edge of a clearing, though not one he knew. It could have been the heart of Companion’s Grove. It could have been any number of places in Valdemar. A faintly blue light, soft as moonlight, lit the world, but it was not of the world he knew.

  Some distance from him was a woman in luminous Whites. She stood at the center of the clearing, and despite the unearthly light, her face remained obscured. Even so, he got the sense she was . . . watching him.

  “Tell him I’m waiting,” she said.

  Wil sat up in near darkness. Coals gleamed in the hearth, and someone was breathing lightly in the boxbed to his right. He crawled awkwardly out of bed and emerged into the chilly night air.

  Vehs walked over and nuzzled his hair.

  :Sleep well?: he asked. :We had hoped it would last through the night.:

  Wil frowned. “It? We?” he asked, and remembered the day before. “Have you two been conspiring behind my back?”

  Vehs lowered his lashes and gave him a coy look.

  Wil started to speak—

  Something moved in the dark.

  Wil snapped his head around, scanning the forest. He felt Vehs stiffen.

  :That,: Vehs said, :is not your imagination.:

  The Waystation door creaked, and the presence vanished. From behind him, Lelia said, “Something’s out there.”

  Both he and Vehs turned to look at her. “You feel it, too?” Wil asked.

  She nodded. “Something . . . big. Familiar, but not.” She shook her head. “Whatever it was, it’s gone, now.” She hugged herself tightly. “It’s freezing. I’ll be inside.”

  Wil and Vehs stared into the darkness together.

  :Any idea what it is?: Wil ventured.

  :Something . . . but not night-demons.: Vehs shook his mane. :Chosen, go back inside. Rest. I’ll stand watch.:

  Wil could tell Vehs was being evasive . . . but he knew better than to try and press a Companion when he or she didn’t want to give details.

  Lelia had added wood to the fire. She waited by his bedside, wrapped in her spare cloak.

  “You sang me to sleep,” Wil said.

  She nodded. “Did it work?”

  Wil stretched out in the bedbox. “I think so.” The fire popped and crackled. “Can you do it again?”

  “Of course.”

  He closed his eyes. “Will you tuck me in, too?”

  She laughed. “And ruin our professional relationship?”

  Then she started singing, and the music stepped between him and the Vision, granting him peace.

  Several nights of solid sleep did much to restore Wil’s spirits. A fog had lifted from his thoughts. He found himself picking out details in the Vision that he hadn’t noticed before.

  Things Kyril would want to know.

  So long as Lelia sang him to rest, Wil no longer dreamed of Elene’s death. The only dream he had—that he remembered having—was of the shadow-Herald and the clearing.

  Tell him I’m waiting.

  Tell who?

  Vehs reported no disturbances from the invisible “it.” But that didn’t mean it was gone, and as soon as Lelia was delivered safely in Winefold, Wil would have to figure out what “it” was.

  They reached the inn at Boarsden before dusk and enjoyed a leisurely dinner. Lelia, as usual, found the biggest chair in the house, curled up on it with her special blend of tea, and regaled him with tales of the Court.

  “The clothing is the best,” she said. “Some of those women layer so much junk over the bodies the gods gave ’em, they can hardly walk a straight line!” Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “Sometimes I want to go cow-tipping . . . if you know what I mean.”

  As Wil wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, she signaled a server to bring more hot water for steeping tea.

  He took the opportunity to change subjects. There was something he’d been cogitating.

  “Lelia, tell me—have you ever heard of anyone having a Gift like Foresight but . . .” He grasped for words. “More like Hindsight?”

  She frowned. “Not sure what you mean?”

  “Visions of the past instead of the future.”

  “Uh. Hm.” She pondered. “Well, as you know, I am the realm’s preeminent Vanyel expert.”

  Vehs snorted mentally.

  “I recall stories where he did that. But it wasn’t a Gift. It was just something a Herald-Mage of his caliber could do.” She cocked her head. “Why?”

  Wil shook his head. “Just—”

  “Curious?” She raised a brow. “I’ve heard that before.”

  He smiled despite himself. “Maybe later.”

  She grunted. “Better.”

  They talked until well into the night. When it came time to sing to him, she looked so sweet at his bedside that he felt a momentary wild urge to sit up and drag her into his arms.

  Sleep always came before he could act on that urge.

  The squat house was built into the hillside, a bit apart from the grain fields. Flowers and aromatics flourished in boxes and neat plots around the tidy stone structure. Laundry hung from a line, faded blue and green garments fluttering in the breeze.

  Wil stood on the rutted path leading up to the front door, Elene’s carved box clenched in his hands.

  Such a miserable recompense for a daughter.

  “She’s alone in there,” Lelia said.

  Wil glanced at her. She had a distant look on her face, a slight crease to her brow.

  “How are you doing
that?” he asked.

  Lelia smiled. “It’s a Bard thing.”

  “Oh?”

  Lelia hugged her cloak around her. “You should go, Herald, before she notices us.”

  Wil couldn’t argue with that logic. He started up the path, Vehs following.

  Too soon the door was before him, and he knocked.

  “One moment!” a cheerful voice called. He heard glass clink and then the thump of footfalls. The door swung open, and a rosy-cheeked dark-haired woman looked up at him.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  Wil cleared his throat. “Kaylene Baernfield?”

  “Yes?” Her expression turned to perplexity.

  “Elene’s mother?”

  Her face froze, and suddenly Wil didn’t know how, or even what to say. Everything Kyril had told him, all the things he’d thought up along the way—they all scattered. With the cessation of the Vision, with all the rest, he’d thought he was prepared.

  He knew now that he never would be.

  “Elene?” her mother whispered.

  “She died.” He swallowed, extending the box to her and thinking again: So small. So paltry. “I’m sorry.”

  Kaylene took the box. She looked up at him, tears growing in her eyes. He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  And then she was not looking at him at all but at something past him.

  A good day to be alive.

  Lelia sat at the base of the hill, leaning against a spreading oak. The ride had been long and draining, and the nightly lullabies weren’t as easy on her as she let on. It felt good to sit, and rest, and breathe.

  The sorrow unfolded in miniature on the hill. Kaylene clutched the box. Wil touched her shoulder, and Vehs bent his head. Lelia dashed tears from her own eyes.

  Something stirred in the brush to her right. Something big.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She extended her Gift, as she’d done that first night she’d sung Wil to sleep, and she felt it—that oddly familiar presence—

  Familiar, because it was a Companion that stepped silently from the trees. Odd, because this Companion should not be. His tack was heavily worn and stained with mud. A bit of frayed rope trailed behind him, one end still secured to his saddle.

  The saddle . . .

  Lelia’s eyes traced the name worked into the leather, and her mouth formed a silent “oh.” She used the tree to clamber to her feet and put a hand out to the Companion.