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

by Mercedes Lackey

  Carthea rolled back the eye on the side of her head toward Rinny to look directly at Lubonne. Her ear went with it, pressed nearly flat to her head, while the other cupped forward to catch upcoming sounds. :Why quibble over features? All humans look essentially alike to me on the outside. It’s the inside that matters; and your insides, my Chosen, are the insides of a Herald.:

  Lubonne’s small eyes ratcheted to slits. “That sounds . . . utterly disgusting.”

  Carthea raised her head as if to trumpet out a whinny; but no sound emerged. :I’m not talking about your bowels, Beloved Idiot. I mean your soul. It’s gorgeous . . . : The words came with a wash of love bordering on awe. :And you’re more Gifted than I initially guessed. Look how quickly you picked up Mindspeak.:

  The Companion’s words gave Lubonne pause, but only for a moment. Just call me Hawknose Gorgeoussoul, a Collegium trainee. It all seemed a ridiculous fantasy. “Look, Carthea. Those sound like lovely compliments, aside from the ‘idiot’ part. It’s not a matter of whether I’m capable of becoming a Herald; I’ll take your word that I am. It’s just that . . . I’m happy with my current life. I want to live it out fully and completely. And I made a lifelong promise to Honoria.”

  Carthea’s gait went stiff. She clearly wished to say something, and a hint of an unidentified emotion that seemed rough and unkind slipped through the mental contact. However, she remained silent.

  Rinny did not need guiding to take the left fork toward Honoria’s family home.

  “Do you understand?” For the first time, Lubonne actually wondered what Carthea might have been thinking, what cruel words she had kept to herself.

  :Responsibility. Heroic devotion.: Carthea seemed to be thinking aloud. :These are the virtues, and the curse, of a Herald.: She bobbed her head. :I understand.:

  Lubonne heaved a sigh of relief. “Then you’ll leave me alone?”

  Carthea melted into the woodland shadows, but the mental contact left a lasting impression.

  Lubonne scarcely dared to believe that, this time, it might actually, finally, be over.

  A private, sunny picnic with Honoria drove all thought and concern about the Companion from Lubonne’s mind. Their engagement felt so right, so normal, as opposed to the odd conversations he had shared with the magnificent horselike creature moments earlier. Though barely a day’s ride away, the country of Valdemar seemed like another world in another time, and its self-named city even more so. Lubonne could almost convince himself that Carthea had merely appeared to him in a series of weird and consecutive dreams.

  It took most of the afternoon for Honoria to pick out her dress, the process every bit as tedious as the decoration of the feasting hall. Blurry-eyed and bored within the hour, Lubonne found himself saying the same flattering words over and over until they sounded insincere even to himself. Then Honoria’s sisters combed and cut and perfumed the couple’s hair until Lubonne thought he could stand it no more. In the end, he looked exactly the same, at least to his own eyes, but he complimented the girls to the sun and beyond just to get them to finish.

  Dusk darkened the horizon by the time Honoria’s parents and sisters rode off in their small, family carriage. They lived a modest life, their fortune more meager than Lubonne’s own. Honoria planned to use Lubonne’s inheritance to fix up the small piece of soupy land that served as her dowry. Then he would secure a guarding job in the city to support her and their forthcoming family.

  Honoria perched delicately behind the saddle while sure, steady Rinny picked her quiet way across the packed earth roadways through the forest.

  “Must we go this way, my darling Hawk?” Honoria asked sweetly. “I’m afraid things falling from the trees might muss my hair.”

  The thought had occurred to Lubonne, but he still worried about the need to explain Carthea. The Companion had left him to his own devices since he had chased her away that morning, but she had a habit of turning up inconveniently. Lubonne removed his coat and held it over Honoria’s head with one hand, the other clutching Rinny’s reins. “Here. Use this.”

  Honoria looked up. “I don’t want your coat stained, either. I want a perfect entrance.” Nevertheless, she took the coat in both hands and held it over her hair to protect it from the wind, leaves, and elements.

  “Perfect entrance, eh? Then I’ll have to walk in backward,” Lubonne quipped. “Or this nose will precede us and spoil everything.” He expected Honoria to laugh, but she did not.

  Instead, she muttered, “At least our children won’t have to worry about it.”

  Lubonne’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the comment. “About what, my darling?”

  At his back, Lubonne felt Honoria stiffen. “Nothing.”

  Nothing? Lubonne frowned, wondering what she had intended to say. “Our children will have your stunning beauty. No one will even notice the size of their noses. But even should one inherit my beak, it’s not such a bad thing. I’ve done well enough with it.” He reached back to pat her hand. “I’m blessed enough to have you as my future wife.”

  Honoria gripped his hand. Released on one side, the coat flapped over her. “My darling, Hawk.”

  Rinny bunched beneath them; but, accustomed to boys’ play, she did not shy at the noises the wind made of his coat. Honoria let go of Lubonne’s hand to grab up both sides of his coat again, and the fluttering sounds ceased. Soon, however, Rinny’s walk slowed to a crawl as she navigated jutting roots, rocks, and pocks in the makeshift roadway.

  As the earthern path met the cobbled one, Lubonne pulled Rinny up to wait for two servants to assist a cousin’s family from their coach. As the cousins headed for the house and a groomsman led their horse and vehicle away, Lubonne reined Rinny at the gate.

  Vannath took the bay’s reins, while a servant Lubonne did not recognize helped Honoria dismount. Apparently brought in by one of the hires, the young, handsome man seemed to enjoy his duty a bit too much. He cradled Honoria in his arms as he carried, more than assisted, his grin containing a hint of interested leer. “My lady, you shouldn’t ride in a gown like that. Horse hair doesn’t become anyone, and the stench of the beasts is hardly perfume.” Without so much as a glance toward Lubonne, he held out the young lord’s coat.

  Lubonne accepted it curiously. “What’s your name, groomsman?”

  The young man finally spared Lubonne a haughty glance. “Haralt, sir. And I’m not a groomsman. I’m a server. I’m just helping until my job comes up.”

  Lubonne pursed his already thin lips into a taut line. “Well, Haralt. You may place my bride on the ground now. Last I checked, she did have feet, small and delicate though they are.”

  Honoria giggled coquettishly as Haralt obeyed. “Yes, sir.” Turning on a heel, the servant walked stiffly back toward the house, while Vannath took Rinny to the stable.

  Lubonne crooked a brow, uncertain how to feel about the exchange. “Do you know that man?”

  “Of course I do. A friend of my family. He’s sweet, really.”

  “Sweet, maybe.” Lubonne pulled on his coat absently. He watched the man’s back as he headed up the walkway, fine blond hair splashing over muscular shoulders. “But he certainly took a few liberties.”

  Honoria hit Lubonne’s arm in mock irritation, then set to work preening her dress and hair back into proper order. “Oh, please. Don’t be so priggish. You’re not going to be the kind of husband who lords over me and bridles every time a man looks in my direction, are you?”

  “That was hardly looking in your direction.”

  She hit him again, a bit harder. “You’re going to have to get used to it. When you marry an attractive woman, men are going to stare.”

  Stare, yes. Lubonne knew better than to contradict Honoria aloud. But I don’t expect them to carry off my bride. He shook his head at his own concern. I love her; she loves me. I won’t let the antics of a poorly trained servant distract me from our own party. He took Honoria’s arm, reveling in the silken touch of her skin. “You smell lovely.
”

  “Not like horse sweat?” Honoria pulled at the back of her gown.

  “Nothing like horse sweat.” Lubonne took a deliberate sniff. “A nose like mine never lies. You carry the delightful scent of Honoria, freshly laundered lace, wind, and that fragrance your younger sister spilled on your head.” And even if you did smell like Rinny, I love the smell of sweet old Rinny.

  Servants met them at the door, fussing with collars, brushing off bits of twig, leaf, and horse hair. One stepped forward to announce loudly through the din of conversation, “Presenting Master Lubonne and his lady, Honoria.”

  The talking ceased, as if choked; and silence fell over the ballroom. The clapping began in one corner, where Lubonne’s parents stood and swiftly spread in a wave that morphed into thunderous applause. Honoria curtsied gracefully, then started up the marble staircase that arched over a balcony and into the ballroom below. Head high, grinning at his bride-to-be, Lubonne climbed proudly at her side.

  A noise behind him caught Lubonne’s attention, and it took force of will to remain focused on Honoria and the crowd below them. Then, suddenly, someone cursed, and the hollow sound of hoof falls on marble clattered through the chamber. Grin wilting, Lubonne whirled. Carthea marched up the steps at their heels, looking for all the world as if she belonged there.

  “What are you doing?” Lubonne shouted before he could think to hold his tongue. “What the hell are you doing?!” Only then, he thought of Mindspeak. :Mother throws a fit when Father’s dogs come in the house!:

  The light of every torch and candle seemed drawn to Carthea, and her burnished white coat gleamed so brightly that Lubonne found himself squinting again. Someone had combed the burrs from her mane and forelock, and it fell around her neck in glossy waves. Her pale eyes looked as gentle and innocent as an infant’s.

  Murmurs rose from the crowd. Then, before Lubonne could think to stop her, Honoria gasped in utter delight and hurled herself at him. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my darling Hawk. She’s beautiful!”

  Honoria’s warmth stunned him. They had embraced before, but she had always felt woodenly reluctant, shy and demure.

  “No woman has ever had a more wonderful engagement gift.” Releasing him, Honoria caught Carthea around the neck.

  Carthea took two careful backward steps, teetering on stairs designed for human paces. :Get her off me!:

  Honoria’s grip tightened, and she buried her face in the smooth white fur.

  “No, Honoria. You don’t understand.” Lubonne lunged for his betrothed as Carthea’s balance wavered. “You know I’d give you the moon and stars, if they were mine to give. But they’re not, and neither is—”

  Honoria was not listening. Lubonne could see Carthea’s delicate hooves slipping. The sounds of the crowd grew louder.

  “Honoria!” Lubonne grabbed her as Carthea wheeled. She struck Honoria’s a glancing blow and sending her staggering breathlessly into Lubonne’s arms. Carthea sprang the length of the stairs, toward the door. For an instant, she hovered in midair, a massive yet strangely agile bird in flight. Then, she landed on the parquet, scrambled helplessly for a moment, somehow caught her footing, then raced for the still-open door. She disappeared through it in a flash of snowy white, leaving the attendants ashenfaced and slackjawed.

  “My horse!” Honoria wailed, loud enough for the whole assemblage to hear her. “My magnificent, perfect engagement present.” She buried her face in Lubonne’s coat.

  Lubonne could do nothing but hold her and curse the Companion who seemed hellbent on ruining his life. “Honoria, please. If you want a horse, I’ll find you the finest my money can buy. But that one does not belong to me. Do you hear? She’s not mine to give you.”

  “I . . . don’t . . . want . . .” she sobbed. “ . . . any horse. I . . . want . . . that one.”

  Lubonne had never seen his beloved like this. “Honoria, please. We’ll talk about this after the party.”

  “No, no!” Honoria refused consolation. She pulled away from Lubbone, rubbing tenderly beneath her bosom where the hoof had grazed her. “Is no one in this hall man enough to catch her for me?” Her gaze roved over the gathering to land directly on the servant who had helped her from Rinny’s back.

  Now impeccably dressed in caterer’s livery, balancing a loaded silver tray, Haralt looked tall, lean, and remarkably muscled. Fine blond curls swept from chiseled features: his forehead uncreased, his chin heroically squared, and his nose flawless. Placing his burden on a nearby table, he bowed prettily and gazed up at Honoria. “I’d be honored to assist, my lady.” Without another word, he headed up the stairs, edged around the bridal pair, and strode through the open door.

  Scattered and hesitant applause followed Haralt’s action. Honoria clamped her hands together and watched him leave. “Isn’t he wonderful?” She continued to rub absently beneath her breasts, oblivious to a smudge the hoof had left there.

  Lubonne could think of no appropriate reply. “Sure. Wonderful.” He placed his hand on hers, stopping it. “Are you all right? Do you need to see a healer?”

  Honoria let her hand fall into Lubonne’s. “I’m fine. She barely hit me.”

  Lubonne wanted to drop the whole matter but needed to say one more thing. “You know, even if he finds her, he’ll have to let her go. She doesn’t belong to him or to us.”

  Honoria straightened her dress and plastered a smile back on her face. “For now, let’s just enjoy our party.”

  And enjoy they did. Lubonne did not awaken until nearly midday, and he did not attempt to visit Honoria until the following day. He found her out, though no one could say where. And though she returned that night after his visit, when he came for her the next morning, she had gone away again.

  Preparing for the wedding, Lubonne tried to convince himself, but doubts plagued him. He could not forget the way his betrothed had sought assistance from the selfsame servant who had swept her so majestically off of Rinny’s back. He could see any woman falling prey to Haralt’s striking appearance. A beautiful woman like Honoria deserved a beautiful man; yet Lubonne knew she loved him. No mere servant, no random pretty face, could steal her away from him, and Honoria deserved a better life than Haralt could possibly give her.

  Alone with his thoughts, Lubonne walked the edge of the forest, headed for his favorite river bank. There, he could lose himself in the bird calls, the rustling of the wind through reeds, and the occasional plop of fish and frogs in the water. Whenever he paused there to skip stones and revel in the sunlight, happy boyhood memories invariably swept away his adult worries.

  A faint call touched Lubonne’s mind. :Help me!:

  Lubonne stiffened, turning. Only one creature could communicate with him in this way. “Carthea?” He had not seen her since the party, either. “Where are you?”

  He received no direct reply, just a repeat of the indistinct, soft call. :Help me, Chosen. I need you.:

  Lubonne focused on mental words, this time deliberately shouting. :WHERE . . . ARE . . . YOU?:

  A flood of relief accompanied the next communication, apparently over finally reaching him. He wondered for how long she had been calling him. :The clearing where we first met. Hurry!:

  Lubonne hesitated. He could run back home, get Rinny and a weapon, and gallop back nearly as quickly as he could run straight to the clearing. In the end, he chose the shorter distance, running as fast as his bowed legs would carry him. :I’m coming.: Though it took no breath to answer, Lubonne found himself too focused on movement to concentrate on Mindspeaking. :What’s wrong? What’s happening?:

  Carthea gave him only, :Come see.: Then, it seemed as if a wall had closed between their minds.

  :Carthea!: Lubonne called. :Carthea!:

  He got no answer.

  He dodged between trunks, vaulted deadfalls, trying to save a few paces and hoping he did not corner himself and have to backtrack for his efforts. Brush tore at his tunic, and prickles scored his legs. :Carthea, answer me.: A vine entangled his ankles
, and he tumbled into a bush. Damn!

  He got nothing in return but the vague wonder of why it mattered. He was not a future Herald; he was not Carthea’s heartmate. He could not be. Yet she had done nothing worse than try to convince him. She had the same good soul she sensed in him, and he would not leave her in danger, especially if he might, indirectly, have caused it. He tore his way through the bush, ignoring the scratches and jabs that tore clothing and flesh alike. :Answer me, Carthea!: He staggered free.

  Now, Lubonne could hear faint voices, punctuated by a boisterous whinny, the type horses use to call to lost herd companions. He quickened his pace, bursting breathlessly into the clearing.

  Carthea was there, her coat dark with sweat and striped with filth. She held her head low, a rope winched around her neck, and bloody foam bubbled around a hard steel bit. More ropes circled each fetlock, the feathery hair shaved off by movement against them. A crude wooden saddle lay strapped to her back; and a tight rope bridle bit deeply into her cheeks. Gaze fixed on the Companion and her plight, Lubonne barely noticed the five humans who shared the clearing. Iron stakes, deeply pounded, held the ropes enwrapping Carthea’s hind fetlocks. Men struggled with the two in front, holding her splay-legged and, essentially, helpless. A third forced her head down, preventing her from rearing.

  Fire boiled through Lubonne’s veins at the image of this proud and intelligent creature trussed up like the main course at a banquet. He opened his mouth to shout, then saw the other two humans in the clearing. A man and a woman oversaw the process, holding one another’s hand. Lubonne recognized them at once, Haralt and Honoria; and no words emerged. His mouth just kept silently opening, wider and wider, until he thought his jaw might touch the ground.

  Honoria ran to Lubonne. “Darling, you’ve ruined the surprise.”

  Lubonne doubted it was possible for him to be any more surprised. “Let her go,” he managed, the words strangely soft-spoken but still firm and controlled. He had intended to scream them.