The Demon's Den and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Tanya Huff

  Jors settled another log on the fire and leaned back against Gervis' shoulder to watch Torbin sleep. “Why are we doing this again?” he asked quietly. He and Gervis spent so much time alone, he needed the practice in speaking aloud.

  :You gave your word to his father.:

  “I know but…” He dug another bit of mashed egg out of his ear. “This isn't exactly what Heralds do, is it?”

  :Yes.:

  “Yes?” Jors repeated, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Given the egg, he might not have.

  :Yes, it is exactly what Heralds do.:

  “How do you figure?” he asked, stroking one hand along the Companion's silky side.

  :The Heralds not only protect Valdemar as it is but, by their actions, Valdemar as it will be. This child is the future of Valdemar. It doesn't matter if he is Chosen or he becomes a charcoal burner like his father; here and now, he is not only himself, he is the potential for everything he could be. Without him, there will be no future in Valdemar, so yes, you are doing exactly what it is Heralds do. There is nothing more important you could be doing.:

  “That helps.”

  :I thought it might.:

  “You have to admit, though, he certainly puts something like a diplomatic mission to Karse into perspective.”

  :It is unlikely that you and I would be sent to Karse.:

  “We’re not diplomatic enough?”

  :Not even close. Still, a mission to Karse would involve less vomiting.:

  “There is that.”

  *

  Rabbit Hole wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, and the second person Jors asked was able to direct him to Mirril. The charcoal burner's younger sister had married the son of a wheelwright, and they lived in the family complex surrounding the work yard. She had her brother's bright blue eyes.

  Torbin tried to stick a finger into one of them, but he didn't shriek when she cuddled him, her tears falling to gleam against his curls. Maybe, Jors thought, maybe he knew this was home.

  “At least Dylan didn't die alone, there's that. He had a Herald with him.” Mirril blinked away tears and managed a watery smile. “He used to tell me stories about Heralds when we were growing up.” She frowned suddenly at the long white hairs Torbin clutched in one hand. “Oh no…”

  :Tell her he may keep them, Chosen.:

  When Jors passed on Gervis' remark, she blushed and tucked the hair into her apron pocket. “I could braid them into a bracelet for him. He won’t eat them, then.”

  “I wouldn't count on it,” Jors told her. “He likes to eat. He likes travel biscuits and egg and goat's milk. Oh, and Helena at the settlement said that the next time they bring a load of lumber out, she'll pay you for Torbin's goat. She followed us to the settlement.” Torbin reached out a hand and Jors pretended to grab it and eat the fingers, making him shriek with laughter. “He likes to run, and he seems to have no idea of self-preservation, but he's a tough little guy and a big believer in picking himself up and getting on with things when he falls. He doesn't talk a lot. I don't know if that's usual for his age, but he says no and ride horsey.” And Papa, but Jors didn't add that out loud. “He's pretty good at making his wants known.”

  “Ossy!”

  She was smiling now and shaking her head.

  “We need to get back on the trail, so… uh…” It was harder to say goodbye than he'd expected. He planted a kiss on the dimpled knuckles and released Torbin's hand. “Be a good boy for your auntie.”

  “Ossy!”

  Mirril moved him to her other hip. “Thank you for everything you've done.”

  Jors thought of Torbin's father. “I wish I could have done more.” He turned, then turned again. “Do you think, I mean, would you mind if I stopped by to visit him if I'm in the area? I wouldn't be checking up or anything, I just…”

  …had stains all over his uniform and the smell might never leave his saddle bags and it was entirely possible he still had egg in his ear.

  “Would I mind if a Herald came by to visit my brother's son? Why would I ever mind that? Why would anyone. But why would you?” Mirril's cheeks were flushed, and she ducked her head in embarrassment. “I mean, you have so much more important things to do.”

  “Ossy!”

  With an ease that came from three days of intensive training, Jors caught the future of Valdemar as he threw himself out of his auntie's arms.

  “Actually,” he said, letting Torbin slide to the ground and wrap himself around one of the Companion's legs, “I don't. Not really.”

  :He's still sticky,: Gervis sighed.

  THE TIME WE HAVE

  :Smoke!: Gervis lifted his head, ears pricked forward. :Thatch!:

  They were nearly at the most eastern of the cattle-holdings that fanned out a day's travel from the market town of Devin. No one purposely burned thatch so early in the spring with no straw available to replace it.

  “Go!” Jors bent low in the saddle, eyes narrowed to protect them from flying ends of mane, as Gervis lengthened his stride.

  They crested the ridge, saw the cattle-holding laid out beneath them, saw smoke rising from one of the barns, saw three riders race away to the north-west.

  Even with the lead they had, Gervis could have caught them – no horse outran a Companion – but then the first flash of flame showed on the edge of the barn and a horse screamed.

  :Chosen?: Gervis had turned toward the barn, but Jors had twisted body and reins toward the riders.

  The rider closest to them twisted in the saddle – a woman with a long, dark braid, and matching dark eyes, and a smile that faltered when she saw Jors watching. He shouldn't have been able to see her expression at this distance, but she looked surprised. She raised a hand covered in a black, high-cuffed glove, and almost without him willing it, Jors raised a hand in answer.

  Another horse screamed. Then a child.

  :Chosen!:

  He wanted to follow her. Follow them. To bring them in. Teeth clenched, he shifted his weight to match Gervis' movements, fought to shift his attention to what was clearly the area of greater need.

  Succeeded enough that he yelled, “We'll get the horses!” as they crossed the compound, pounded past a young man down with a bleeding forehead, a shrieking child barely being held back, and in through the big double doors in the end of the barn.

  Terrified horses kicked at their stalls as Jors swung down out of the saddle. Ducking low under the smoke, sucking shallow breaths in through his teeth, eyes and nose streaming, he started unbolting the doors.

  Reassured by the presence of the Companion, the horses charged out of the stalls into the center aisle, Gervis chivying them around toward the exit, nipping and shoving until they moved in the right direction.

  “Is that it?” Jors yelled, fighting for breath as the heavy shoulder of a panicked horse slammed him into the rear wall.

  :That is all the horses, Chosen, but….:

  Jors’ boots kicked into something soft. Yielding.

  “Think I found it!” He dropped to his knees, groped along a well muscled body, felt the chest rise and fall. “Found him. Gervis! He's too big to lift!”

  The Companion was suddenly a warm weight at his side, legs folded to bring the saddle as close as possible to the floor. :Hurry!:

  Half dragging, half rolling, Jors got the young man to Gervis' side and heaved the unconscious body up and over. Somehow, he held him in place as Gervis rose to his feet, then clutched at the stirrup as they raced the fire out of the barn.

  The compound seethed with horses and people. Two bucket brigades threw water at the fire but only seemed to add to the smoke. The child still screamed. Jors could barely make out her words over the sound of his own coughing.

  “Kitties! Kitties!”

  “Where?” he asked, staggering toward her.

  The girl holding the child's arms looked up, lashes clumped into triangle points around blue eyes still swimming with tears. “First stall,” she hiccuped. “To the left. Under the manger. There's
three…”

  Jors pulled off his scarf, dipped it in a passing bucket, wrapped it around his mouth and ran back inside.

  :Chosen!:

  :Don't worry. I'm not going far.:

  The stall wasn't hard to find, but he had to search all three sides for the manger, only to find it across a back corner. He crouched, grateful for the clearer air, and groped under a board polished smooth by a rubbing horse. One. Two. He tucked the kittens inside his jacket. From the way they were squirming, he thought they were all right. The third kitten…

  :Chosen! The roof is about to fall!:

  Tiny claws hooked into the side of his hand. Jors closed his fingers around a ball of fluff, took a deep breath, and with his other hand against the wall so as not to lose his way in the smoke, ran for the stall door. Turned right. Figured the double doors were too big to miss and, left arm cradling the two in his jacket, right hand tucking the other up under the scarf, he raced toward safety.

  It wasn't that far.

  It couldn't be that far.

  The fire roared in triumph as the roof collapsed.

  Jors stumbled, almost fell, then hands grabbed at his clothing and yanked him clear.

  He twisted in the air, hit the ground on his back, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to shriek as tiny teeth sank into his chin.

  *

  “I swear to you, I took more damage from the kittens than from the fire.”

  Gervis didn't seem convinced. Now that the horses had been confined in a corral of half-frozen mud, the other buildings in the compound were safe, and the barn was a smouldering heap of massive beams and steaming thatch, he insisted on checking for himself.

  :You went back in!: Jors stumbled back a step as Gervis headbutted him in the chest. :You’re bleeding!:

  “Kitten scratches, that's all.” He glanced over at the little girl on the porch with the three kittens, the mother cat in her lap.

  :You went back in!:

  “Heartbrother…” His back against the wall, Jors ran his hands in under the silken fall of mane and stroked the warm arc of neck. “It's okay. I came back out.”

  :The roof fell.:

  “I know.” He let his head fall to rest against Gervis' and stopped speaking out loud. :I'm sorry I frightened you. But I couldn't not…:

  :I know. A life saved, is a life saved, and you saved three, but…:

  :Don't do it again?: He felt the Companion’s soft chuff of breath. They both knew that, under the same circumstances, he'd do exactly the same thing. :Can I get dressed now? It's still a little too close to winter to run around half naked.:

  Gervis chuffed again then backed up far enough to let Jors get to his clothes. When Jors' head emerged from his shirt, he found himself still under inspection.

  “What?”

  :When we saw the riders, you hesitated.:

  Cheeks suddenly burning, Jors busied himself with laces. “I just… I thought we had a chance to catch them.”

  :Three of them?:

  “Yeah.”

  :What would we have done when we caught them?:

  “They're just… I mean…” He paused. Took a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I hadn't entirely thought things out.”

  Gervis tossed his head. :That was obvious, Chosen. These three are dangerous. Raya says it is very likely they are part of a gang of bandits Lord Harnin's men have been hunting for some time.:

  “Raya says?” Jors stepped out away from the building so he could look out at the track leading to the compound. If Gervis had been speaking to another Companion, that Companion had to be close. Neither he nor Gervis had been gifted with distance when it came to mindspeaking.

  :Cross country.: Gervis nudged him around. :From the west.:

  He squinted into the setting sun and realized that what he had first thought was a patch of lingering snow was, in fact, a Herald moving quickly toward them.

  :I have told Raya everything that has happened here,: Gervis said as they watched the mare close the distance. :And she has told Herald Erica, and that will save time.:

  “For what?” Jors asked.

  :For judgments, before you leave.:

  Jors had planned on staying as long as any judgments required. Clearly, that was no longer an option.

  “Kittens?” Erica asked as Raya danced to a stop no more than an arm's length away.

  “There were three of them,” Jors pointed out.

  “And three riders. Gervis said they headed north-west.” She twisted in the saddle, frowning up at the deep sapphire sky that preceded true darkness. “We've lost the light, and the temperature's dropping. We won't be able to track them until morning.” Erica had learned some creative profanity from her two older brothers in the Guard, although she'd barely gotten started when it seemed Raya reminded her they had a gathering audience. Standing far enough away to give the Heralds a semblance of privacy. Close enough to hear.

  “I take it you have a plan for when we catch up?” Jors asked as his yearmate swung out of the saddle. He bowed a greeting to Raya, who touched his cheek with the velvet pad of her nose.

  “It's a long story.”

  “Supper first, then. And judgments, if the fire hasn't rendered them moot.”

  *

  “There's fifteen or sixteen of them at least,” Erica said as they settled for the night on a pile of clean straw in the milking barn's loft. Unlike the various residences, the barns were communal – thus free of any hint of favoritism – and a lot more private. Warmer too – the six milk cows kept for the family's use threw a lot of heat. “That's why I followed those three. If we could capture one and put them to the Truth Spell, we might be able to take the rest without more loss of life.”

  “Capture one,” Jors repeated, wondering if the girl's eyes were as dark up close as they were from a distance. “And the other two?”

  “Capture them as well, if possible. If not…” Erica's voice trailed grimly off.

  The bandits had been wreaking havoc along the North Trade Road between Heraldston and Berrybay for almost a year. They were fast, they were smart, and they were vicious; there'd been no witnesses left behind. Lord Harnin and his people had finally gotten close enough to take arrow fire, resulting in three dead. He buried the bodies and sent to Haven for help.

  “They've been holed up for the winter, and I expect your three were bored.”

  “My three?” Jors snorted. Down in the large box stall he shared with Raya, Gervis snorted as well, and Jors caught a faint feeling of unease from his Companion's mind. :What's wrong?:

  :They are not your three.:

  :That's what I said.:

  :No, you said they are not your three.:

  “They've come a fair distance from their regular stomping grounds,” Erica continued, unaware of the silent conversation, “and they're just the sort to think burning down a barn is funny. I wouldn't be surprised to find they used the distraction to cut a steer from the herd and slaughter it. They'll leave most of the meat behind too, the cocky bastards.”

  “If it helps, they were steer-free when I saw them.”

  Erica reached out and patted his arm. “It helps that you saw them. The biggest problem until now is that they could be anyone. I could have sat next to one in a tavern completely unaware. I had to Truth Spell all of Lord Harnin's people to make sure none of them were involved.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, well, you can do it next time. It's not like I could Truth Spell everyone who uses the road, so all we really knew was that the people actively chasing them weren't also helping them.”

  “That's something.”

  “Damned little. But now, now we know what three of them look like.”

  “From the back, riding away,” Jors reminded her.

  “More than we had,” she said, yawning. “More than we had.”

  *

  Jors still had circuit to ride, but these bandits had killed a dozen, probably more. The young man he'd pulled from the barn would have died as a result
of their actions had Jors not been there. Gervis was strangely hard to convince that breaking away to help Erica track and capture one of the three was more than justified, but he finally gave in, and dawn found the four of them heading out of the compound to the north-west.

  Cut deep into the mud then frozen overnight, the tracks weren't hard to follow until, in the lee of a copse of trees, they suddenly disappeared, pounded away under the hooves of a herd of cattle. Probably the same rough-coated cattle spread out along the track, enjoying the weak spring sunshine. The closest few looked up when the Heralds approached, ran a short way before rocking to a stop and setting off another bunch – the ripple of movement running through the sizable herd.

  “We're never going to pick their tracks out of this,” Erica muttered as Jors dismounted to get a closer look at the ground. “They could have turned, they could have headed off in any direction… we'll have to circle the entire herd and hope we spot their tracks heading out. Not to mention hope the herd doesn't spook and run exactly the way we don't want them to.”

  :Cows don't listen.: Gervis sounded insulted.

  “Yeah, Raya says the same thing,” Erica laughed when Jors repeated his Companion's observation. “Any luck?”

  Crouched low, Jors pulled off his glove and ran his fingers through the impressions of cloven hooves, searching for the unbroken arc of a horse's print. Unfortunately, cows would cut a dry trail to shreds… a wet trail, with added thrown mud, they obliterated. A detail the three fleeing bandits had obviously known.

  He straightened, scanned the horizon, and took an involuntary step. Then another. “This way.”

  “How…” Erica stopped, head cocked, clearly listening to Raya. After a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, she shifted her weight, and Raya began to move forward along the line Jors had indicated. “All right, then. Let's go.”

  Not long after, they found the place the bandits had spent the night.

  A fox stared up at them from one end of the slaughtered steer, two crows from the other. All three wary but unwilling to leave such a prize.

  “They couldn't have set the fire as a distraction,” Jors noted as the Companions began to pick up speed, the trail clear again. “There’s nothing to distract us from.”