7
If Kris had been deaf, he might have been able to sleep through the noise of the night guards coming in and the day guards getting up. Since he wasn’t, he made a virtue of the inevitable and got up with them. He found Talia, still sleepy-eyed, waiting for him in the mess hall; she’d had the foresight to claim two breakfasts from the cook. Their host put in an appearance just as they were finishing.
“Well, I’ve got your instructions. I’m to give you maps, and you’re not to wait for an escort but to go on to the capital. You’re to check in with relay stations at sunset before you stop for the night.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Kris replied. “I really wanted to get on—not that your hospitality isn’t appreciated, but I’d rather not strain your resources. Just as well we’re not going to have to wait for an escort.”
“I’ll admit I was glad to hear I didn’t need to supply you with one,” their host said frankly. “I’m shorthanded enough, and if half of what I’ve heard is true, none of our beasts could ever hope to keep pace with yours, anyway.”
“It’s true enough,” Kris replied with pardonable pride. “There isn’t a horse born that can match the speed and endurance of a Companion.”
“All right, what you’ll do is follow the main road to the capital—it’s easy enough—and stay overnight at Alessandar’s hostels. They’ll always be on the main square of town; there’ll be a Guardpost nearby, and they’ll look like inns. The only difference between a hostel and an inn is that the sign outside will have a wheat sheaf in a crown. Oh—you do speak our language, don’t you?”
“Perfectly,” Kris replied in Hardornen.
“Oh, good—I thought they wouldn’t have sent anybody that didn’t, but you never know—and once you get a few miles off the Border nobody speaks Valdemaren.”
“I can’t say that surprises me too much,” Talia put in, in slow, clear Hardornen. “Once you get a few miles off our Border no one except Heralds speaks yours!”
“Right then, you can be on your way as soon as you’re ready. Here’s your map.” He handed Kris a folded packet. “And best of luck to you.”
“Thanks,” Kris said, both of them rising and heading for the door. “And don’t forget,” he called after them as they headed for the stables, “Check in with the relay towers every night. The capital wants to be able to keep track of you.”
* * *
The first day passed without incident. Alessandar’s people seemed as content as Selenay’s; they were friendly, and looked quite prosperous, at least from a distance.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a village along here soon?” Talia asked around noon.
Kris pulled the map they’d been given out of his beltpouch and consulted it. “Assuming I haven’t been misreading this—let’s see if we can find a native.”
One more turning of the road brought them to a grove of trees in the road-side corner of a fenced field. Beneath those trees was a group that could have been exchanged for farmers of Valdemar without anyone noticing the difference. They were stolidly munching their way through a dinner of thick, coarse bread and cheese, but when one of them noticed that the two Heralds were approaching them with purpose, he stood, brushed crumbs off his linen smock, and met them halfway.
“Eh, sir, and can I be of any help to ye?” he asked, as friendly as the Captain had been.
“I’m not quite used to this map,” Kris replied, “And I wonder if you could tell me how far it is to Southford?”
“That be just a league or so a-down the road; there’s that hill yonder in the way, or ye could see it from here.” The man grinned. “A’course, if the hill bain’t there, ye wouldn’t have to ask, eh?”
Kris laughed along with him. “That’s only true,” he said, “And thank you.”
“Nice man,” Talia commented when Kris returned to her side. “He could have been one of ours.” She squinted across the fields of swiftly-growing green grain, and Kris followed her gaze.. “They seem to be thriving, too. So far Alessandar gets high marks from me.”
“Ah,” Kris replied, “But it isn’t Alessandar that’s the prospective bridegroom.”
“That’s true.” The face she turned toward him was a sober one. “And I wish I didn’t know so many tales of black-sheep sons…”
* * *
They were to stay only at the hostels, or so their orders went, so as sunset neared they checked the map for the first town ahead of them likely to have one.
The hostels were an innovation of Alessandar’s, and were meant to serve as a courtesy to those moving about his Kingdom on official business. They were rather like well-run inns, save that there was no fee. Court officials, envoys of other Kingdoms, and clergy were permitted unlimited use of these facilities.
They first reported their progress to one of the relay stations in a village along the way, as had been requested. The station was easy enough to find, as it towered over every other structure in the village.
“Will ye be stayin’ here, or movin’ on past dark?” asked the grizzled veteran who greeted them.
“Moving on,” Talia replied, “We plan on making—Keeper’s Crossing, was it?” She looked to Kris for confirmation.
He checked the map and nodded.
“That’s a ways—but you know best. Guess the tales ’bout them horses o’ yours must be true.” He looked over Rolan and Tantris with an appraising and approving eye. “Useta be cavalry, meself. Can’t say I’ve ever seen neater beasts. Ye came all the way from the Border since this mornin’?”
Rolan and Tantris preened under his admiring gaze and curvetted a little, showing off. “That we did, sir,” Kris answered with a smile.
“Don’t look winded—don’t even look tired—just exercised a mite. Lord Sun, I’d not have believed it if I hadn’t a’ seen it. Well, if ye can make that kinda time, ye’ll be at the Crossings ’bout a candlemark after sunset. Hostel’s in the town square, right-hand side as you come in.”
“Many thanks,” Talia called as they turned the Companions’ heads back to the road.
“Fair wind at yer back!” he called after them, his admiring gaze following them until they were out of sight.
* * *
The hostel was indeed like an inn, complete with innkeeper. They had been told that the accommodations were as plain as the food, but adequate.
They showed their credentials to the businesslike Hostelmaster when they dismounted at the door. He examined them quite carefully, paying close attention to the seals of Valdemar and Hardorn. When he was satisfied that they were genuine, he summoned a stableboy with a single word. The lad came at a run to take the Companions, and the Hostelmaster waved them inside.
The common room was hot, smoky, and crowded, and it took them a little time to find themselves places at smooth, worn wooden trestle-tables. Finally, Talia squeezed in beside a pair of travelers in priestly garb—apparently from the rival sects of Kindas Sun-Kindler and Tembor Earth-Shaker. They were having a spirited discussion of the deficiencies of their various congregations and simply nodded to her as she took her place on the very end of the bench. Kris sat opposite her, with his neighbor a thin, clerkly-looking sort with ink-stained fingers, whose sole interest was the contents of the stoneware platter in front of him.
A harried serving girl placed similar platters before the two Heralds; meat, bread, and stewed vegetables. A boy followed her with a tray of wooden mugs of thin ale, and the keys to their rooms.
They ate quickly; the food wasn’t anything to linger over, and Talia’s bench, at least, was so crowded she had barely enough room to perch. And there were more people coming in, waiting with expressions of impatience for seats. With their hunger appeased, they took their keys and their mugs to the other side of the lantern-lit room, where there was a fire and a number of benches and settles scattered about.
Talia felt curious eyes on them—not hostile, just curious. She decided that they were the only foreigners among the guests, for she couldn’t detect a
ny accents among those speaking. She picked a seat, and took it quickly, feeling very conspicuous in her white uniform that stood out so sharply in the otherwise dark room.
“Heralds out of Valdemar, be you?” asked a portly fellow in brown velvet as Kris took a corner of a bench.
“You have us rightly, good sir,” Talia answered him.
“Don’t see Heralds often.” His inquisitive glance left no doubt but that he was curious about what brought them.
“You should be seeing more before summer’s over,” Talia replied with what she hoped was just enough friendliness. “Queen Selenay will be making a visit to your King. We’re here to help get things ready for her.”
“Ah?” he replied, his interest piqued. “That so? Well, maybe things be taking a turn for the better, after all.”
“Have things been bad lately?” she asked as casually as possible. “Valdemar’s had its share of troubles, what with floods and all.”
“Oh, aye—floods and all,” he replied, a bit too hastily, and turned to the men on the other side of him, joining the conversation in progress.
“’Scuse me, milady, but could you tell me what the grain prices look to be on your side of the Border?” A tall, thin merchant interposed himself between Talia and the man she had first spoken to, and it would have been plain rudeness to ignore him. He kept her engaged with so many questions that she had no chance to ask any of her own. Finally, she’d had enough of being monopolized, and signaled Kris that she was ready to leave.
When Kris yawned, pled fatigue, and rose to head for his room and bed, Talia followed. The guest rooms were monklike cells arranged along the walls; they had no fireplaces or windows, but slits in the walls near the ceiling gave adequate ventilation. Kris raised one eyebrow interrogatively at her as he unlocked his door; she gave him the little nod that meant she’d learned something interesting, and the hand motion that meant they’d talk about it later.
* * *
Even without a window, Talia knew when it was sunrise. She wasn’t much surprised to discover that Kris had beaten her to breakfast by a few minutes. No one else was even stirring. She didn’t pay much attention to what she was eating; some kind of grain porridge with nuts and mushrooms, she thought. It was as bland as the dinner had been.
“The boy is harnessing for us,” Kris said around a mouthful. “We can be on the road as soon as you’re ready.”
She washed down the last bite of the gluey stuff with a quick gulp of unsweetened tea. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s get going.”
They cantered out the village until they reached the outskirts before settling back to a slower pace.
“Well?” Kris asked, when they were well out of earshot of the village.
“There’s something not quite right around here,” Talia replied, “but I can’t put my finger on anything. All I’ve got is a feeling—and that no one wants to talk about ‘bad times’ around here. It may just be an isolated case of discontent—”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling dizzy.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t—know. I feel a little funny all of a sudden.”
“You want to stop a minute?” Kris asked, sounding concerned.
She was about to say “no” when another wave of disorientation hit. “I think I’d better—”
Their Companions moved over to the grassy verge of the road on their own. Rolan braced all four legs and stood rock-still, while waves of dizziness washed over her. She didn’t dismount—she didn’t dare; she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get back up again. She just clung to the saddle, and hoped she wouldn’t fall off.
“Want to go back?” Kris asked anxiously. “Think you need a Healer?”
“N-no. I don’t think so. I don’t know—” The disorientation didn’t seem quite so bad, after a bit. “I think it’s going away by itself.”
Then, as the dizziness faded, so did the empathic awareness of those around her; an awareness she always had, no matter how tightly shielded.
“Goddess!” Her eyes snapped open and she looked frantically around her, as Kris grabbed her elbow, anxiously. “It’s—” She unshielded. It was the same. She could sense nothing, not even Kris, beside her. “It’s gone! My Gift—”
Then it was back—redoubled. And she, unshielded and wide open, bent over in physical pain at the mental clamor of what seemed to be thousands of people. Hastily she shielded back down—
Only to have the clamor vanish again.
She remained bent over, head in hands. “Kris—Kris, what’s happening to me? What’s wrong?”
He was steadying her as best he could from his saddle. “I don’t know,” he said tightly, “I—wait—wasn’t there some kind of mushroom in that glop they fed us?”
“I—” she tried to think. “Yes. Maybe.”
“Goatsfoot,” he said grimly. “It has to be. That’s why you’re getting hit and I’m not.”
“Goatsfoot? That—” She sat up slowly, blinking tears away. “That’s the stuff that scrambles Gifts, isn’t it? I thought it was rare—”
“Only Thoughtsensing and Empathy and yes, it is rare in most places. It’s not common around here, but it’s not rare either, and it’s been a wet spring, just what goatsfoot likes. The damned fools must have gotten hold of a lot and just chucked it in the food without checking beyond seeing that it was edible.”
She was able to think a little clearer now. “This is going to make anything I read pretty well worthless for the next couple of days, isn’t it?”
He grimaced. “Don’t even try; it’ll make you sick. Those damned fools were just lucky they didn’t have a Healer overnighting there! If you can ride, I think we’d better go back—”
“I can ride, if we take it easy. Why?”
He had already turned Tantris’ head back the way they had come. “What if they have more of that stuff—and a Healer as a guest tonight?”
“Great good gods!” She let Rolan follow in Kris’ wake.
It wasn’t more than a league back; they hadn’t traveled far before the effect of the fungus hit her. She fought off successive waves of dizziness and disorientation, and was vaguely aware that they’d stopped and Kris was giving someone a sharp-tongued dressing-down. She caught frantic apology; it seemed genuine enough—what her Gift was feeding at her was anything but a reliable gauge. Waves of paralyzing fear, apprehension, guilt—followed immediately by waves of delirious joy, intense sexual arousal, and overwhelming hunger.
Finally, another “blank” moment, and she drew a shuddering breath of relief.
“Little bird?”
She opened her eyes to look down on Kris standing at her right stirrup.
“Do you want to stay here? I can go back to the signal tower and get them to send a message that you’ve been taken ill—and whose fault it is.”
“No—no. I’ll be better—better away from people. You can shield; they can’t. I won’t fall off; Rolan won’t let me.
“If that’s the way you want it… ”
“Please—” She closed her eyes. “Let’s get out of here—”
She heard him mount; felt Rolan start off after him. She didn’t open her eyes; the disorientation didn’t seem so bad when she could keep them closed. And she was right; as distance increased between herself and the village, the worst of the effects decreased. She felt a second shield snap up around her—Kris’—then a third—Rolan’s—
She opened her eyes cautiously. It was like looking up through water, but bearable. She felt Kris touch her arm, and saw that he was riding beside her.
“This couldn’t have been on purpose,” she asked, slowly, “Could it?”
He gave the idea serious thought; she could tell by the blank expression on his face. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “They couldn’t have known what hostel we’d overnight in, and they couldn’t have counted on goatsfoot being available. They swore they only had that one batch, that it was in a lot of edi
ble fungus some boy sold them this morning. I made them dump the rest of the porridge in the pig trough.
No, I think it’s just a damned bad accident. Can you go on?”
She closed her eyes, and took a kind of internal tally. “Yes.”
“All right, then let’s get on with it. I’d like to get you to bed as early as we can.”
But Talia wondered—because with the relay towers, someone could have known what hostel they intended to stay in—and as a former farmchild, she knew that some mushrooms could be preserved indefinitely when dried…
* * *
Kris pushed both of them to the limit, hoping to get Talia into the haven of a bed long before sundown. He managed; better still, that night they were the only travelers making use of the hostel. The quiet did her some good; so did the rest. Unfortunately, he knew from old lessons that there was no remedy for goatsfoot poisoning except time.
The accident was more than annoying; he really needed her abilities on this trip. Without them, they’d have to go on wit alone.
With a good night’s sleep she was back to normal—except that her Gift was completely unreliable. She was either completely blocked, or so wide open she couldn’t sort out what emotion was coming from whom.
Neither one of them wanted her to try projecting under these conditions. They couldn’t predict what would happen and didn’t really want to find out.
So he pushed to make the best time they could to the next hostel—and hoped they could make training, wit, and skills serve.
* * *
When Kris stopped to try to inquire about hostels at noon, people seemed overly quiet, and not inclined to talk much beyond the simple courtesy of answering their questions. And the townspeople in the hamlet they finally reached were the same; hurrying to be about their business and showing only furtive curiosity about the strangers who had ridden in.
That night the Guard at the relay station they reported to was cold and somewhat brusque, and advised them against changing their plans for stopping at Ilderhaven.
“Them at the capital need to know where ye be; they’ll be takin’ it amiss if they can’t find ye should they need ye,” he said, making it sound as if “they” would be taking it more than “amiss” if the Heralds changed their stated plans.
Heralds of Valdemar (A Valdemar Omnibus) Page 72