Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar v(-103

by Mercedes Lackey

  Renshai

  ,

  Nightfall

  ,

  Barakhai

  , and

  Bifrost

  series), one illustrated novella, and fifty plus short stories. Mickey’s age is a mathematically guarded secret: the square root of 8649 minus the hypotenuse of an isosceles right triangle with a side length of 33.941126.

  Lubonne’s wooden sword cut through the ice-grained air of early spring, and his feet stamped evergreen needles deeper into the muck. Sharp, brown burrs clung to his britches and the hem of his tunic, prickling through the fabric as he moved. His bandy legs switched directions with sharp precision, their shortness belying their strength and speed. His relatively long arms supplied a reach that never failed to surprise opponents. The practice blade skipped around his homely features: his eyes small and pallid, his nose broad and overarching, his mouth thin lipped but wide. Mouse-brown hair, cut short, framed his features, unwanted curls fluffing it at the back.

  A voice interrupted Lubonne’s solitary practice. :Hello there.: It left an impression of femininity and strength, yet it felt strangely ephemeral, as if he sensed rather than heard it.

  Lubonne hid his startlement behind a feigned-deliberate sword stroke. It bothered him that while he practiced martial maneuvers, he had allowed someone to sneak so close through his defenses. He had heard stories of fey and magical creatures inhabiting these and other woodlands, tales of spirits and drakes, of humans taking beast-form and -nature, yet none of them involved friendly voices shocking through a young man’s mind in broad daylight. Keeping the mock weapon raised, he glanced around the clearing.

  As usual, Lubonne squinted, the sun painful in his too-light eyes. Trees and shrubbery flashed through his vision as he turned, then something brilliant white seized his full attention. It was large and horse-shaped, its forelock and mane snagged with the same type of burrs that clung to his clothing. One enormous blue eye, nearly as pallid as his own, studied him. His gaze went immediately to its back, where no rider or saddle perched, not even a dirt-smudge to suggest one ever had. It wore no bridle or halter, either.

  Lubonne lowered his sword. “What’s this?” He had seen only one animal this magnificent: the stallion Herald Walthin rode whenever he came to town. Has something happened to Walthin? Suddenly alarmed, he called out sharply, “Herald Walthin! Are you all right?”

  :Walthin has decent hearing, but I doubt your voice will carry all the way to Valdemar.:

  Lubonne went utterly still, his next shout frozen on his lips.

  The voice in Lubonne’s head recited the answers to questions he had not yet thought to ask. :Yes, a white horselike creature is speaking to you. No, there’s no other human around. Yes, I’m speaking directly into your mind.: It paused, apparently hoping he would take his turn.

  Lubonne found himself still incapable of action, except to pinch himself through the fabric of his britches, where his buttock met his right leg. He idly wondered where this convention had originated and how it had become cliché. Surely, a man could dream he had pinched himself, a detail far less shocking and strange than what faced him at the moment.

  The creature seemed to read his mind. :Oh, and don’t risk injuring your backside. You’re not dreaming, Lubonne.:

  That finally jarred his jaw loose, though Lubonne asked the least important of the myriad questions now bounding through his mind. “How do you know my name?”

  The animal studied Lubonne. :Why do you ask? Is it a deep dark secret?:

  “Of . . . of course not. I just . . . don’t have the . . . um . . . pleasure of . . . of your . . .” Lubonne looked around, wondering if someone was playing a cruel joke. His brothers probably crouched, snickering, behind a nearby bush.

  :Carthea.: The beast bowed, one long leg extended forward, the other curled beneath its broad chest. Lubonne could no longer convince himself that the voice came from any other source. :I’m your Companion.:

  “Well, yes. At the moment, I suppose you are,” Lubonne managed to sputter out, marveling at how stupid he suddenly seemed to have become. What does one say to a talking horse?

  :Your Companion,: she repeated. :With a capital “C”.:

  “Oh.” Still stupid. Lubonne pinched himself again, with the same result. Even if I am dreaming, I can at least try to act like I have something more substantial than rocks in my head. Discovering no more words, he left the conversation to the Companion again.

  The beast stomped a snowy hoof. :This is the part where you squeal, “Oh, I’ve always dreamed of the chance to become a Herald of Valdemar, leap joyfully upon my back, and take a smooth and magical journey to the Collegium to train.”:

  “It is?” Gah! I still sound like a total moron. Lubonne shook his head, trying to clear it.

  :It is.: Carthea bobbed her head once, forcefully and with finality.

  At last, Lubonne discovered his wits. And his tongue. He bowed, as if to royalty. “No, thank you.”

  The Companion merely stared. :What do you mean, “No, thank you?”:

  Now who sounds like a moron? “I wasn’t aware that ‘no, thank you’ required explanation. I appreciate your generous offer, but I decline it. While you are an inarguably beautiful animal with clear, amazing abilities, I have no wish to ride to Valdemar, to attend a Collegium, nor to become a Herald.”

  Carthea planted all four feet in the mud left by the spring-melted snow. :You can’t refuse. I’ve Chosen you.:

  Lubonne waved and started to turn. “I’ll forget it, if you will. Just go and choose someone else. Who will be the wiser?”

  :It doesn’t work that way.:

  Lubonne sighed and reluctantly looked back. Real or dream, he hated to disappoint what seemed like a wonderful and decent animal. “Listen, Carthea. My answer is ‘no,’ and I won’t change my mind. I have the perfect life here. I’m the third son of wealthy parents. My older brothers inherit the land and the responsibilities that go with it. I get money and no duties, free to spend it as I please. I’m engaged to an exquisite woman. My life is happy, and I have no intention of changing it.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, intending to walk out of Carthea’s life forever.

  Lubonne never looked behind him as he strode toward the village, the wooden sword tucked rakishly into his belt. His route took him from forest to beaten path to cobbles; and it was not until he reached the latter that he heard the steady clop of hoofbeats behind him. He stepped to the side and stopped, making room for the rider to pass him. But, the instant he went still, the noise ceased as well. I’ve got horses on the mind. Lubonne continued on his way. With his first new step, the hollow, unmistakable sound of hoof on stone resumed.

  Lubonne whirled to find himself nose to nose with Carthea. She studied him curiously through one eye, neck gracefully arched, head tipped. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself entirely clear—”

  Carthea raised her well-muscled neck and snorted. :You did.:

  Lubonne glanced around to make certain no one could hear him talking to a horse. Seeing no one all the way to the edge of the village, he continued, “Then why are you still with me?”

  :Because you are mine, Chosen One. And I am yours. We are a team, bonded until—:

  “No!” Lubonne waved his hands in broad gestures. “We are not a team. We are . . . barely nodding acquaintances.”

  :Ride me.:

  The temptation was great. Lubonne had known how to ride a horse as long as he could remember, most often bareback and on boyish whim. He suspected he had molded the shape of his buttocks from Old Rinny’s back. He knew a great animal when he saw one, and Carthea’s conformation impressed him mightily. He could imagine the powerful legs bunching beneath him, the silky mane stroking his face, the thrill of its wild gallop, the closest thing to human flight. “I certainly will not ride you. You’ve already told me you’d carry me off to Valdemar.”

  :Yes!:

  “Well, I’m not going to Valdemar. Or anywhere. I’m happy here. It’s home.”
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  :Home is where your heart is. And, I, Dear One, am your heart.:

  Lubonne rolled his eyes, sighing. “No, ma’am. I’m pretty sure my heart is that familiar beating thing lodged firmly in my chest.” He started back down the road toward his parents’ mansion. “Please. The sooner you leave me be, the sooner you find your rightful partner.” Without another glance, deliberately deaf to the drum of hoofbeats, he headed toward home.

  And Carthea followed.

  A nudge awakened Lubonne with an abruptness that sent him leaping from his bed. Blankets tangled around his legs. His foot mired on a misplaced bedsheet, and he tumbled to the wooden floor. The familiar sights and smells of his bedroom surrounded him, but those seemed to disappear as he focused on the one oddity: a furry white head shoved through his only window. Carthea stared at him, head cocked, twin puffs of breath smoking in the cold air.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Lubonne scrambled to his feet and attempted to wrap the blankets around himself. In the process, he wrenched a corner from directly under his foot and wound up sprawled on the floor a second time.

  :I’m sorry,: Carthea sent. :Did I wake you?:

  In a whirl of surprise, anger, and uncertainty; feeling awkward as a toddler, Lubonne resorted to sarcasm. “No, no. I’m still asleep. I’m thoroughly accustomed to massive animal heads popping through the window to shove me onto the floor.” He rose more carefully and twisted the blankets around his half- naked body. He could barely comprehend the discomfort he felt beneath her stare. Surely a mare, even one intelligent enough to speak, had no intention of judging or worrying about a human’s exposed privates.

  :You don’t have to mock me. I can read your moods, you know.: Only then, Lubonne realized that she had sent him more than just words. He read a mixture of emotions radiating from Carthea as well. She was clearly young, little more than a filly, uncertain, and definitively frustrated. :And you don’t have to talk at me. You’re quite capable of Mindspeech.:

  I am? Lubonne shook the thought aside. Of course, I’m not. I’ve never heard Herald Walthin or his stallion. I’ve certainly never mastered reading what any woman is thinking.

  :That’s because you’ve only just met me.:

  Lubonne squawked and covered his head, as if this might protect his mind from the Companion’s intrusion. “Get out of my mind!”

  :You have other Gifts, too. Strong ones, in fact. You’d just never realize them without a Companion to enhance them.:

  “No, no, no!” Lubonne wrapped both arms around his head, trapping the blankets in place with his elbows. “Stop enhancing me. Quit bothering me. Go away!”

  :But—:

  Lubonne would hear nothing more. “Go away!”

  The horsy head retreated from the window and disappeared into the night. Lubonne replaced his sheets, respread his blankets, and tried to get back to sleep.

  Servants, decorators, and cooks filled the mansion, and Lubonne escaped into the stable as quickly as decorum allowed. Though excited about his upcoming engagement party, Lubonne withered under the constant flurry of questions. He had no opinion on the menu, saw no need to add flourishes to the already spectacular décor. He had selected his suit weeks ago. What others wore did not interest him; he would not refuse a friend fresh from a spar, sweating profusely and swathed in filthy rags.

  To Lubonne’s relief, the groomsman, Vannath, had his bay mare saddled and bridled. Smiling, he stirred the star on her muzzle, revealing pink skin beneath the spot of white fur. Idly, he wondered if Carthea’s hide was pink throughout and swiftly banished the thought. He wanted nothing to do with the creature who named herself his Companion. “Ready for a ride, Rinny?”

  “All ready, Master Lubonne,” Vannath replied.

  Giddy with anticipation, Lubonne joked, “Why, Rinny, old girl. Your voice has deepened. You sound positively masculine.”

  Vannath chuckled dutifully. “I knew you’d want to get away from that, sir.” He gestured vaguely toward the manse. “Engagement party preparations.” He shook his grizzled head. “It’s no fit place for man or beast.”

  Lubonne agreed. “Wall-to-wall womenfolk. They actually seem to enjoy it.” He stepped into the left stirrup and swung his right leg over Rinny’s red-brown back to settle into the weathered saddle. “Well, I’m off to find Honoria. Better make sure she’s still crazy enough to agree to marry me before we seal the engagement.” He walked the sturdy bay from the stables and into the late-morning light.

  Vannath’s voice chased him. “Good luck, Master Lubonne.”

  With a backward wave of acknowledgment, Lubonne trotted across the grounds. He dared not look at the mansion, hoping no one recognized him from behind and demanded his return. He rode, unaccosted, to the gate and bent for the latch. Years of practice allowed him to swing it open and closed without dismounting, the latches bent and battered from all the previous efforts of himself and his three brothers. A perfectly measured push sent it swinging back into place, and he heard the satisfying clang of its proper falling and engagement. No dismount necessary this time. He mentally applauded himself. Yes.

  Rinny stood placidly and patiently while he worked. Accustomed to the brothers’ antics, she took loud noises, fidgeting riders, and waving sticks and swords in stride.

  :Insecurity is not a crime.: Carthea’s voice came out of nowhere.

  Lubonne nearly crawled out of his skin. Instinctively, he whirled, only to find the Companion just off Rinny’s left flank. “What?”

  Carthea stepped out fully from behind the neighboring smithy. :Some of our most heroic and gifted Heralds initially believed themselves unworthy.:

  “I’m not insecure.”

  Every eye in the street went suddenly to Lubonne, reminding him he was no longer alone. He waved cheerily to a friend headed for the tavern and tipped his hat toward the smith’s young wife. Carthea had said he could use Mindspeak, and this seemed the perfect time to try it. He focused heavily on each word. :I . . . AM . . . NOT . . . INSECURE!:

  Carthea shook her head, falling into lockstep with Rinny. :Stop shouting. I heard you the first time.: She timed her steps to the bay’s, so that it sounded as if one giant horse walked the cobbled street instead of two smaller ones.

  Lubonne reined toward the woodland path, preferring to take the back route to Honoria’s home over trying to explain the presence of the Companion to every passerby. He could imagine getting stopped every few steps as someone new admired the white mare and questioned him about her presence. He tried to put together mental words without the emphasis, wondering how much thought the creature could read. :I’m sure I told you to go away.:

  :You did.:

  :But you’re still here.:

  That being self-evident, it scarcely needed acknowledging; but Carthea obliged him. :I am.:

  :Why?: It surprised Lubonne how easily Rinny accepted the presence of a strange horse. Usually, such a meeting would result in sniffling, sharp whinnied challenges, sometimes even a bit of mock battle.

  :Because, Chosen One, you are my heartmate, my soulmate, my lifemate.:

  Lubonne suppressed a scream. As they moved from cobbled road to wooded dirt, he returned to regular speech. It felt more natural. “Exactly how many times, and in how many ways, do I have to say ‘no’? Find another heartmate, Carthea. I’m not it.”

  :But you are.:

  “I’m not.”

  :And you have to undergo your Herald training.:

  “I don’t.”

  :You must come—:

  “I mustn’t.”

  Carthea pulled up directly in front of Rinny, perpendicular to the path, and the bay pranced to a stop. :You can do this, Lubonne. You really can.:

  Lubonne sighed. Drawing Rinny to the left, he walked around the living road block. “I told you, I’m not insecure. I know I can do it. I’ve got decent weapons training, and I’m a damn-sight smarter than Herald Walthin, bless his kindly heart.”

  Carthea followed, drawing abreast of Rinny again. A qu
aver entered her sending. : All right. Perhaps it’s me who’s insecure, then. I’m only three years old.:

  Lubonne looked at Carthea. “Three years . . . you’re just a baby.” A fluttering wave of guilt and empathy passed through him, and his patience softened. He felt abruptly sorry for the persistent creature.

  :You take that back.: Carthea’s lips tightened, and her wide nostrils flared. :I’m not a baby! I’m big enough and strong enough to carry a grown man.:

  “I’m sorry,” Lubonne said sincerely. He had not intended to offend her. “Look, Carthea. I’m just not the heroic type, all right? I’m a bit spoiled, somewhat of a gadabout, and satisfied with my life the way it is. If I didn’t wear this face . . .” He waved a hand in front of his homely features, “I’d probably be a carouser, like my little brother. As it is, I’m lucky to have my beautiful Honoria.” He could not help smiling.

  Emotion clearly crept through in his voice or thoughts. :You love her, this Honoria.:

  “I do.” Lubonne sat back as the trees bounced by them, unnoticed. “We’re getting engaged, officially, tonight. We’re having a party.”

  Carthea tipped her head toward him. :And what, exactly, is wrong with your face?:

  Lubonne stared at the Companion. “My nose is . . . well, like a second head.”

  :I don’t see anything wrong with your nose.:

  “Of course not. You’re a horse. Your nose is your head.”

  :Hey!:

  “I’m not being mean. It’s what a horse is supposed to look like. On a horse, a giant honker is sweet and soft, it’s ideal.” Lubonne had come to grips with his appearance long ago. “I have a nickname: Hawknose. My brothers call me Beaky. I’m cursed with pale, squinty little eyes, too, that only make the nose more obvious; and I’ve never found a way to tame this crazy hair.”

  :Me, either.: Carthea tossed her matted, burr- filled mane.

  “Ah, but a simple grooming will make yours shine like the stars. Brushing just makes my hair fluffy.”