Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus)

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “As far as physical tormenting, they were amateurs. Mental, though… they were quite… adept. But I’d learned from my sibs that if you give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve hit home by acting as if they’d hurt you in any way, they only get worse. And how was I to know I’d be believed?”

  “Oh, Talia—” He held her closely against his chest. “Poor little bird!”

  “It wasn’t so bad as all that,” she said softly into his shoulder. “Besides, I’ve learned better now. I’ve got people I can love, friends I can trust—my year-mates, my teachers—and now—” She looked up at him a little shyly. “—you and Dirk.”

  “And everyone else in the Circle, little bird,” he replied, kissing her softly on the forehead. “I’m just sorry I didn’t trust you. But we’ll fix it. We’ll fix it.”

  She simply sighed assent.

  * * *

  The fire was now little more than glowing coals, and Kris stared at them while he let his mind drift, not yet ready to sleep.

  “You know, you and Dirk will get along beautifully,” he mused. “Your minds work almost the same way.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You wouldn’t do anything to save yourself pain, but you dared your brother’s anger to save the kittens. That’s so much like Dirk it isn’t funny. Hurt him… he’ll just go and hide in himself; but hurt a friend, or something helpless—Gods! He’ll sacrifice himself to save it, or he’ll rip your heart out because he couldn’t. You’re two of a kind; I really think you’re going to be more than casual friends.”

  “Do you really think so?” she said, a little too eagerly.

  All the pieces fell together, and the suspicion he’d had earlier became a certainty. “Why, Talia,” he chuckled, “I do believe you’re a bit smitten with my partner!”

  He felt the cheek resting on his shoulder grow warm. “A little,” she admitted, knowing that it would be useless to deny it.

  “Only a little?”

  “More than a little,” she replied almost inaudibly.

  “Serious?”

  “I… don’t know. It depends on him, mostly.” She was blushing furiously now. “I’m afraid it could get that way very fast under the right conditions.”

  “But now?”

  She sighed. “Kris, I don’t know, I just don’t know. And why am I bothering to get my hopes up? I don’t know how he feels… whether or not he’s likely to be the least bit interested in me…”

  “You may not. I think maybe I do. If I’m reading him right, he’s already interested.” Kris thought back on the way Dirk had acted right before he and Talia had left. He couldn’t stop talking about how envious he was that Kris had gotten her as an intern, and he kept on at great length about her wonderful voice. Normally, since that bitch at the Court had hurt him, he’d paid very little attention to women, except for the occasional ribald remark.

  Then he’d hinted that it would be a good notion if they’d all practice together so they could do more as a trio. Holy Stars, he’d never once suggested that they practice together with anyone before, not even Jadus.

  “For one thing,” Kris said slowly, “he wants us to play together on a regular basis. I mean, he wants us to play, and you to sing.”

  “He does?” she said in bemusement. “He plays?”

  “As well as I do, or better. Since my voice isn’t very good, though, and his is, he’s kind enough to let me have the playing to myself. Out on the road we play together quite often, but outside of myself hardly anyone in the Circle knows he can.”

  “And he said I was full of surprises!”

  “Oh, you are.” He caressed her hair absently. Lord of Lights, they were so well suited to each other. There was a great deal more to both of them than would ever show on the surface. There were depths to both of them that he knew he’d never see.

  He chuckled a little.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Bright Havens, I hardly dare think what you might be like in the arms of someone you truly loved! He’d better have a strong heart, or he might not survive the experience!”

  “Kris!” she exclaimed indignantly. “You make me sound like the widowing-spider that eats her mate!”

  He ruffled her hair. “Maybe I’d better make certain that you and Dirk make a pair of it. He’s the strongest man I know.”

  “Keep this up much longer,” she said warningly, “and I’ll put snow down your back after you fall asleep.”

  “Cruel, too. On second thought, maybe I’d better warn him off.”

  “Do that, and I’ll go directly to Nessa when we get back, tell her that you confided your everlasting passion for her to me, but that you’re too shy to tell her yourself.”

  “Not just cruel—vicious!”

  “Self-defense,” she countered.

  “Monster of iniquity,” he replied, tugging at her hair until it fell into her eyes. “You know, of all the people I can think of, I can’t imagine being able to stand being snowed in with any of them except you and Dirk—especially for as long as we’re likely to be stuck here.”

  She grew serious. “Is it really likely to be that long?”

  “If it doesn’t stop snowing soon, it could easily be a month. This Station is down in a valley and protected by trees. We’re not getting the worst of it. I tried to get past the trees earlier, and you can’t. The snow has drifted as high as a chirra in some places. Even after the snow stops, we’ll have to wait for the Guard to clear the road, because until they do we won’t be going anywhere.”

  “How will anyone know where we are?”

  “I told that Healer—the bearish one, I think his name is Loris—where I intended us to hole up. Besides, little bird, this may be all to the good. We may well need all that time to get your Gift back under control again.”

  “That… that’s true,” she said soberly. “Oh, Kris—do you really think we can?”

  He noted with a bit of pleasure, the “we,” for it meant she was no longer thinking in terms of dealing with the problem on her own. “Not only do I think so, but Tantris and Rolan do. You’re not going to argue with them, are you?”

  “I… I guess not.”

  “I hear a doubt. No doubts—that’s what got you into this mess in the first place. We will get you back in control. I may not be a Kyril or an Ylsa, but I am a Gift-teacher. I know what I’m doing.”

  “But—”

  “I told you, but me no ‘buts’! Believe, Talia. In yourself as much as in me. That’s the weakest leg your Gift has to stand on right now.”

  She didn’t reply to that; just stared thoughtfully at the fire until her eyes drooped and finally closed, and her slow, steady breathing told him she’d fallen asleep.

  He remained awake for much longer, engaged in a struggle with himself he had to win, a struggle to set aside a Herald’s impartiality and wholeheartedly believe in her.

  For if he could not—she was certainly doomed, and quite probably so was he. The moment she sensed doubt in him, despair and betrayal would turn her wild Gift against both of them. And he had no doubt of how that would end.

  8

  Kris pursued an icy apparition through the storm-torn forest, a creature that was now wolf, now wind, now an unholy amalgam of both. It glared back over its shoulder at him through snow-swirls that half obscured it, baring icicle fangs and radiating cold and evil. He shivered, unable to control the trembling of his hands, though he clenched them on his weapons to still their shaking…

  His weapons—he looked down, surprised to see that his bow was in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready. The beast ahead of him snarled, dissolved into a spin of air and sleet with hell-dark eyes, then transformed back into a leaping vulpine snow-drift. He sighted on it, and more than once, but the thing never gave him a clear target.

  Talia was somewhere ahead of him, he could hear her weeping brokenly above the wailing of the wind and the howling of the wind-wolf, and when he looked down he could see her tracks—but he co
uld not seem to spot her through the curtains of snow that swirled around him. He realized then that the wind-wolf was stalking her—

  He quickened his pace, but the wind fought against him, throwing daggers of ice and blinding snow-swarms into his eyes. The thing ahead of him howled, a long note of triumph and insatiable hunger. It was outdistancing and outmaneuvering him—and it would have Talia before he could reach her. He tried to shout a warning—

  And woke with a start. Outside the wind howled like a demented monster. Talia touched his shoulder, and he jumped involuntarily.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You—you were dreaming, I think.”

  He shook his head to clear it of the last shreds of nightmare. “Lord! I guess I was. Did I wake you?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t sleeping very well.”

  He tried to settle himself, and found that he couldn’t. A vague sense of apprehension had him in its grip, and would not loose its hold on him. It had nothing to do with Talia’s problems; a quick exchange of thought with Tantris confirmed that she was not at fault.

  “Kris, do you think maybe we should move the supplies?” Talia said in a voice soft and full of hesitation.

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he replied, feeling at once that somehow his uneasiness was connected with just that. “Why? What made you think of that?”

  “I kept dreaming about it, except I couldn’t shift anything. It was all too heavy for me, and you wouldn’t help. You just stood there staring at me.”

  “Well, I won’t just stand and stare at you now.” He began unwinding himself from the blankets. “I don’t know why, but I think we’d better follow up on your dream.”

  They moved everything from behind the Station to either side of the door on the front. Rather than diminishing, the sense of urgency kept growing as they worked, as if they had very little time. It was hard, chilling, bitter work, to manhandle the clumsy bundles of hay and straw through the snow, but neither of them made any move to give up until the last stick and bale was in place.

  While there was still light left to see by, they took turns clearing the valley of deadfall. They finally had enough to satisfy Kris when they’d found the last scrap of wood that hadn’t vanished into snow too deep to be searched. It would not outlast being snowed in, but there was more than enough to outlast the storm. If, when the storm died, they couldn’t reach any more deadfall, they could cut one of the trees surrounding the station, evergreens with a resinous sap that would allow them to burn, even though green.

  But when they returned to their shelter, their work wasn’t complete. For though there seemed little rational reason to do so, they continued to follow their vague premonitions and moved all the supplies from the storage shed into the Waystation. It made things very crowded, but if they didn’t plan on moving around much, it would do.

  By the time they finished, they were as chilled and weary as they had been the first night. They huddled over the fire with their bowls of stew, too exhausted even for conversation. The wind howling beyond the door seemed to have settled into their minds, numbing and emptying them, chilling them to the marrow. They huddled in their bed in a kind of stupor until sleep took them.

  The wind suddenly strengthened early the next morning, causing even the sturdy stone walls to vibrate. They woke simultaneously and cowered together, feeling very small and very vulnerable as they listened with awe and fear to the fury outside. Kris was very glad now that they’d trusted their instincts and moved everything to the leeward side of the Station and within easy reach.

  “It’s a good thing this isn’t a thatched roof like the last Station we were in,” Talia whispered to him, shivering against him, and plainly much subdued by the scream of the wind outside. “Thatch would have been shredded and blown away by now.”

  Kris nodded absently, listening mainly to the sound of the storm tearing at their walls like a beast wanting to dig them out of their shelter. He was half-frightened, half-fascinated; this was obviously a storm of legendary proportions and nothing he’d ever seen or read could have prepared him for its power. The Station was growing cold again, heat escaping with the wind.

  “I’d better build up the fire now, and one of us should stay awake to watch it. Talia, make a three-sided enclosure out of some of our supplies or the fodder, and pile lots of straw in it. We need more between us and the cold stone floor than we’ve been sleeping on. Leave room for the four-feets; if it gets too cold they’ll have to fit themselves in nearer the fire, somehow.”

  Talia followed his orders, building them a real nest; she also layered another two bedgowns on over the woolen shift. Kris uncovered the coals and built the fire back up—and when he saw the skin of ice forming on their water-kettles, he was glad he had done so.

  They crept back into their remade bed and held each other for extra warmth, staring into the fire, mesmerized by the flames and the wail of the wind around the walls. There didn’t seem to be any room for human thought, it was all swept away by that icy wind.

  Their trance was broken by a hideous crashing sound. It sounded as though a giant out of legend was approaching the Station, knocking down trees as he came. The noise held them paralyzed, like rabbits frightened into immobility. There wasn’t anywhere to run to in any event. If something brought the Station down, they’d freeze to death in hours without shelter. Neither of them could imagine what the cause could be. It seemed to take several minutes, approaching the Station inexorably from the rear, finally ending with a roar that shook the back wall and a splintering sound that came unmistakably from beyond the half-door.

  They sat shocked into complete immobility, hearts in their throats, for a very long time.

  Finally—“Bright Goddess! Was that where I thought it was?” Kris gulped and tried to unclench his hands.

  “B-b-behind the Station,” Talia stuttered nervously, pupils dilated with true fear. “Where the storage shed is.”

  Kris rose and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge. “Was,” he said, and crawled back in beside her.

  She didn’t venture to contradict him.

  * * *

  Twice more they heard trees crashing to the ground, but never again so close. And as if that show of force had finally worn it out, the wind began to slacken and die. By noon or thereabouts, it had gone completely, and all that remained were the faint ticking sounds of the falling snow. Without the wind to keep it off the roof, it soon built up to a point where even that could no longer be heard.

  The Station stopped losing heat. The temperature within rose until it was comfortable again, and the rising warmth lulled them back into their interrupted sleep before they realized it.

  * * *

  The Companions prodded them awake. How long they’d been asleep they had no idea; the fire was dying, but by no means dead, and the silence gave no clue.

  Rolan impressed Talia with his need to go out. Immediately. Talia could tell by Kris’ face that Tantris was doing likewise.

  He looked at her and shrugged. “Might as well find out now as later. We’re still here, and under shelter at least,” he said, and pulled on fresh clothing while she did the same.

  It was not long till dark. The stacked fodder had kept the door clear of snow or they’d never have gotten it open. Beyond the shelter of the bales was a drift that reached higher than Kris’ head.

  The chirras were not at all perturbed by the sight; they plowed right into it, forcing their way almost as if they were swimming, their long necks keeping their heads free of the snow. The Companions followed and the two Heralds followed them. After making their way through drifts that rose from between the level of Talia’s waist to the height of the first one, they suddenly broke into an area that had been scoured down to the grass by the wind.

  The forest around them had a quality of age, of power held in check, that was raising the hair on the back of Talia’s neck. There was something here… not quite alive, but not dead either. Something… waiting. Watching. Weighing them. Wh
atever it was, it brooded over them for several long moments. Talia found herself searching the shadows under the trees until her eyes ached, looking for some sign, and found nothing. But something was out there. Something inhuman, almost elemental, and—and at one, in some strange way she couldn’t define and could only feel, with the forest itself. As if the forest were providing it with a thousand eyes, a thousand ears…

  “Where’s the road?” Talia asked in a small, frightened squeak.

  Kris started at the sound of her voice, looked around, then turned slowly, evidently getting his bearings. The Station from here seemed to be only one taller drift among many. There were new gaps in the circle of trees that surrounded it. “That way—” He finally pointed. “There was a tree just beside the pathway in—”

  “Which is now across the pathway in.”

  “Once we get to it, we can have the chirras and Companions haul it clear… I hope.”

  “What about the back of the Station?” She was not certain that she wanted to find out.

  “Let’s see if we can get back there.”

  Working their way among the drifts in the deepening gloom, they managed to get to a point where they could see what had happened behind the Station, even though they couldn’t get to it yet. Kris whistled.

  Not one, but nearly a dozen trees had gone over, each sent crashing by the one behind it, the last landing hard against the side of the Station. The storage shed was gone; splintered.

  “At least we’ll have plenty of firewood,” Talia said with a strained laugh.

  “Talia—” There was awe in Kris’s voice. “I never believed those stories about Sorrows and Vanyel’s Curse before—but look at the way the trees fell!”

  Talia subdued her near-hysterical fear and really took a good look. Sure enough, the trees had fallen in a straight line, all in the direction of the force of the wind—except the last. There was no reason why it should have deviated that she could see, and had it fallen as its fellows it would have pulverized the Station—and them. But it had not; it had fallen at an acute angle, missing the Station entirely and destroying only the empty shed. It had almost fallen against the wind.