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

by Mercedes Lackey

  Honoria took his arm, snuggling against him. “We’re breaking her for you, my darling Hawk. For us.”

  For once, Honoria’s touch failed to move him. “No. I don’t want this.” Lubonne looked at the three men straining at the ropes. “Let her go.” He wanted to attack, to chase them all away from Carthea. How could anyone condone this cruelty?

  Honoria ran a hand along his cheek. “It’s not what it looks like, my darling. We’re not hurting her.”

  Haralt finally spoke. “Master Lubonne, she’s worthless as she is, but an exceedingly valuable horse once we break her. Sometimes—”

  Lubonne snapped. “I don’t want her broken; I want her whole.” He shook off Honoria. “She’s perfect as she is, and I order you to release her.”

  “—sometimes the process looks harsh, but I assure you it’s necessary to—”

  This time, Honoria cut him off. “Forget it, Haralt. It’s not going to happen.” She turned to Lubonne, and her whole demeanor seemed to change. Where she had once seemed demure and dewy-eyed, she became as callous as any huntsman. “It could have worked out perfectly for all of us.” She shook her head, frowning. “You would have had your bit of land and your gorgeous, fawning wife despite your . . .” She made a gesture to indicate his face.

  Haralt turned positively green. “Honoria, what are you doing?”

  She persisted, undaunted. “I would have had my handsome lover, and our children . . .” She poked Lubonne. “ . . . your children . . . could they have been more stunning?”

  Lubonne gritted his teeth as it all became clear. Honoria had never loved him; she had wanted only his status and his money, which she intended to use to make a home for them. Then, while he was out, she would entertain Haralt, pass off his offspring as legitimately Lubonne’s, and live out her life in secretive happiness.

  Honoria threw up her hands, as if Lubonne were the one who had just exposed a cruel scheme. “And we all would have lived happily, contented, if you hadn’t put an animal over your love for me.”

  Torn between screaming and crying, between attacking and running, Lubonne stood his ground. He continued to speak gently, his tone flat to hide his building rage. “I could say the same for you, that you put your love for an animal . . .” Lubonne turned his gaze directly on Haralt, “ . . . over me. But, then, I would be granting this conniving servant the same status as Carthea, and he does not deserve it.”

  Haralt drew himself up, clearly affronted. He did not speak, however, nor dare to approach.

  “Let her go!” Lubonne roared, fists clenching and unclenching. He wished he had brought a weapon; even the wooden one he used for practice would suffice.

  Honoria grinned wickedly, then started to laugh. “By what authority do you command this, Hawknose? You’ve admitted in front of an entire ballroom that you have no claim to this animal. You don’t own her. We have as much right to her as you. More so, because she is now in our possession.”

  She was right, Lubonne knew, and his heart sank. He looked at Carthea, forcing himself to examine only her sweet, long-lashed eyes. If he took in the entire picture again, he could not have retained his composure. :With my help, can you break free?:

  :I . . . don’t think so.: Carthea dropped her head further . :I’ve tried. They’re strong, and I’m exhausted.:

  It’s up to me. Lubonne studied Honoria, wondering what had seemed so special about her in the past. Where once she had seemed flawless, he now discovered a million faults. Her external beauty seemed worthless, her gray eyes as welcoming as a rusty steel trap. “What do you want her for anyway?”

  Honoria glanced at Haralt, who seemed suddenly engrossed in his own boots. “As Haralt said, she’s a valuable animal.” She headed back toward the servant.

  “Once she’s broken,” Lubonne reminded, watching Honoria leave. He had never before noticed how she waddled when she walked. Which will never happen. “How’s that going so far?”

  Carthea snorted, pale eyes like brimstone.

  “We’ll break her,” Honoria promised. “No matter how long it takes.”

  “Or,” Lubonne suggested, suddenly thoughtful. “You could sell her.”

  Honoria shrugged. “We’ll have to now. We’ll need that money to fix up the land, build a house.”

  Lubonne had heard those plans before, many times. But, always in the past, “we” had included him. Now, he felt certain, Honoria referred to Haralt.

  :You knew all the time, didn’t you?: Lubonne accused his Companion.

  :Knew what?:

  :Knew what kind of person I had affianced myself to. Knew she didn’t really love me, that she would hurt me badly.:

  Carthea snorted again. :I knew.:

  :Why didn’t you save yourself this trouble and pain? Why didn’t you just tell me?:

  Carthea rolled the one eye he could see. Her ears pricked forward. :You know why.:

  :I do?: And, suddenly, Lubonne realized, he did. I wouldn’t have believed it. I would have thought she was lying to get me to join her.

  Though he made no attempt to Mindspeak the thought, Carthea apparently received it. She bobbed her wise, white head once before the man holding the rope jerked it still.

  At the violence of the movement, anger flared anew. I was so busy chasing fake love, I didn’t see the real thing when it thrust its huge, fuzzy head through my bedroom window. Lubonne turned his attention to Haralt and Honoria, driving all trace of malice from his tone and his features. “How much?”

  “What?” The word was clearly startled from Haralt’s mouth.

  Honoria had more experience in matters of finance. “You want to buy her from us?”

  “Yes.”

  Honoria’s smile broadened, and Lubonne wondered why he had never before noticed how dingy her teeth looked, the meanness in her grin. “It would cost you . . . your inheritance.”

  “Sold!” Lubonne said, before she could change her mind or think to ask for more. He had no wish nor need to reduce the deal to writing. Honoria had four witnesses to corroborate her claim, and he had no intention of dishonoring his word. He claimed the ropes from each man in turn. Carthea remained utterly still while he unwound each rope, removed the offending bridle, and tossed the makeshift saddle to the ground.

  :I’m not going to fall off, am I?:

  Carthea turned him a withering look.

  Using a deadfall for a step, Lubonne clambered upon his Companion, a Herald trainee astride his heartmate and bound for Collegium. “Tell my parents the money is yours. And that I’ve gone to Valdemar.”

  Carthea bounded over a copse of berries in one smooth leap and settled onto the packed earth, forest road. :Home for your things?:

  :And spoil this grand exit for a few possessions?: Lubonne made a broad gesture in the general direction of Valdmar. :I have my future and my Heartmate. What more do I need?:

  :What more, indeed.: Carthea agreed.

  A Storytelling of Crows

  by Elisabeth Waters

  Elisabeth Waters sold her first short story in 1980 to Marion Zimmer Bradley for

  The Keeper’s Price

  , the first of the Darkover anthologies. She continues to sell short stories to a variety of anthologies and magazines. Her first novel, a fantasy called

  Changing Fate,

  was awarded the 1989 Gryphon Award. She is now working on a sequel to it, in addition to short story writing and editing the annual

  Sword & Sorceress

  anthology. She has also worked as a supernumerary with the San Francisco Opera, where she appeared in

  La Gioconda, Manon Lescaut, Madama Butterfly, Khovanschina, Das Rheingold, Werther

  , and

  Idomeneo

  .

  The horse wasn’t the first animal to come to Maia calling for help, but it was the first one with a human on its back. Not that Maia noticed the human at first. She sat in a clearing in the Forest of Sorrows, avoiding her older brother. She was listening to the chatter of the crows while work
ing on the fletching of the arrows that she made and her brother sold to support them. Then the voices of the crows changed, warning her of strangers in the forest. This was followed by the sound of something large stumbling through the trees and then the sight of a white horse with an arrow protruding from a hind leg and a pile of arrow-studded red and white rags on his back.

  :Help my Chosen!: His voice was very clear in Maia’s head; he spoke as if he expected a human to hear and understand him.

  Maia been able to hear—and converse with—animals as long as she could remember, but this mental voice wasn’t like that of any animal she had encountered before. It sounded more like a human, which made her wary. Shortly after the death of her parents three years ago, the people of their village suddenly and inexplicably didn’t like her any more—and her brother had never liked her. Now she avoided people whenever possible. Living at the edge of Sorrows helped; she could retreat into the forest and be left alone.

  Still, whatever this was, he was in distress, so she dropped the arrows and moved to his side.

  “Help your chosen what?” she asked him.

  :My Herald. Her name is Samina. I am Clyton.:

  “Let’s get this arrow out of you, Clyton,” Maia said, “and then perhaps you can get closer to the ground so I can get her down without dropping her.” She looked at the arrow in his leg and frowned. “This looks like one of mine,” she remarked, grasping it firmly below the fletching and pulling it straight out. The horse cried out in pain, and Maia stared in horror at the arrow she was holding. It was one of hers, but the last time she had seen it the shaft had simply been sharpened to a point. Since then somebody had added metal barbs to the tip, and it had not slid out as she expected it to. Instead, it had ripped a chunk out of Clyton’s leg.

  “I am so sorry,” she gasped. “It didn’t have barbs when I saw it last!” She snatched up a cloth she used to wrap supplies in and pressed it against his leg to stop the bleeding.

  :It’s not that bad,: Clyton said, although she suspected him of being less than truthful. :At least we’re far enough into Sorrows that the bandits aren’t likely to track us here.:

  “Probably not,” Maia agreed. “My brother won’t even come in here.” Still keeping pressure on the leg, she twisted to look at the woman on his back, who had at least four arrows in her. “Bandits?” she asked. “There are usually no bandits anywhere near here.”

  :There are now,: Clyton said grimly. Suddenly she found herself looking through his eyes. She recognized the road leading to her family’s farm, not that it was much of a farm since her parents had died and her brother had sold all the animals and stopped working the land.

  As Clyton and his Herald approached the farm, men fired arrows—all of them barbed—from the trees on both sides of the road and then moved into the road to surround horse and rider. She saw her brother’s face clearly for a moment as he reached to grab the left side of Clyton’s reins, but then everything blurred as Clyton put on a seemingly impossible burst of speed and broke out of the trap.

  Maia blinked and found herself back in the present and seeing through her own eyes again. “Was that real?” she asked. “What I just saw, I mean.”

  :Yes. That’s what happened to us. You obviously have Mindspeech if you can pick it up from me like that.:

  Maia lifted the cloth carefully and looked at his leg. The bleeding had almost stopped. “I think you’ll be all right for the moment if you don’t try to move much,” she said. “I’ll just have to lift Samina down as carefully as I can and hope for the best. I can see four arrows in her back—do you know if there are any more?”

  :I don’t think so, but check before you try to move her. And be careful removing the arrows!:

  “Don’t worry,” Maia assured him; “I learned my lesson with the one in your leg!”

  :Better my leg than her body,: Clyton sighed.

  Maia felt around Samina’s body to check for additional arrows, but she didn’t find any more. She wriggled her arm and shoulder between Samina’s body and the saddle, took most of the woman’s weight, and went to the ground in something between a slide and a fall. At least Samina landed on top of her, and none of the arrows hit the ground. Maia positioned the Herald carefully so that the arrows were still pointing away from the ground. “I’ll need to cut them out very carefully,” she murmured, looking around for the knife she used to trim arrow shafts.

  :There should be a medical kit attached to my saddle.:

  “That would help,” Maia agreed, moving to examine the saddle. An impressive variety of items was attached to snaffles on the skirting. “It might be more to the point to ask what’s not attached to your saddle,” she remarked as she searched for and finally found the medical kit. In addition to a clean knife, there was a needle and thread to sew the wounds and cloths to bandage it after she was done. There was also a jar of something Clyton said should be put on the wounds to help clean them, and a powder that could be made into a tea to lower the fever that Samina was undoubtedly going to have. At the moment she was still unconscious, which made cutting out the arrows and cleaning and sewing her wounds easier, but Maia could feel Clyton worrying about Samina’s lack of responsiveness. She could see that the woman had lost a lot of blood.

  But there was nothing she could do about that, so she unsaddled Clyton and put the saddle on a fallen log.

  The crows came swooping toward her, calling that her brother was home and looking for her. The vision of her brother working with the bandits flashed back instantly, filling her sight. My brother is a bandit. No wonder the villagers hate us. She shuddered. “I can’t go back,” she said to herself. “He’ll know that I know.”

  :What are you talking about? Who will know that you know what?:

  “You can’t understand the crows?” she asked. “They said that my brother wants me.”

  :Maybe he could help us?: Clyton asked hopefully.

  “He was the one who tried to grab your reins,” Maia informed him, “so I really doubt it.”

  :Your brother is a bandit?:

  “He attacked you,” Maia pointed out. “Even if he wasn’t working with the bandits, he doesn’t like animals, and he’s not all that fond of me. He doesn’t like work, either.” She frowned, considering her brother’s past behavior. “He’s always taken the easy way—I just didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.”

  :It’s not just bad,: Clyton pointed out, :It’s getting cold—and dark. You’re not dressed to stay out all night, and the bandits got our pack mules and all of our supplies except what I was carrying. We need to get to the Waystation.:

  “You’re very smart for a horse—”

  :I am not a horse. I am a Companion.:

  “—but you don’t have hands. With your leg injured, you can’t move around much, and Samina can’t be moved at all. Can you tell me how to find the Waystation?”

  :Unless you can see in the dark, it doesn’t matter what I can tell you!: He sounded exasperated.

  “I’m trying to help here!” she snapped back. “And I don’t have to see in the dark as long as I have friends who can.” The crows retreated to the tree branches as an owl floated silently out of the darkening sky to perch on the log next to Clyton’s saddle.

  :It’s worth a try, I suppose,: Clyton sighed. :If I show you the path to the Waystation, can you show it to the owl?:

  “We can try,” she said, mentally linking with both of them. It was a struggle, because the Companion and the owl saw things differently, but finally she was satisfied that she and the owl knew the way. She pulled out her fire starter, gathered twigs, and started a fire near Samina. She walked quickly around the edges of the clearing to get dead branches to keep it going. “Can you add the branches to the fire as it starts to burn low?” she asked. “We need to keep Samina warm until I can get back with blankets—there are some at the Waystation, right?”

  Clyton nodded, looking subdued. He didn’t need to say anything; Maia knew he was in pain and worried about his
Chosen.

  “I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” she promised. “In the meantime,” she continued, “since you don’t have hands, I’ll leave you with someone who does.” She sent out a mental call, and a few moments later a raccoon poked his head cautiously into the clearing. “Dexter,” she said, “this is Clyton, and the lady is Samina.” She handed Dexter a clean cloth. “Could you wet this in the stream and use it to cool her forehead, please? Also, if the bandages start to come loose, fix them, all right?”

  Dexter assured her he would take care of her new friends. Maia looked at Clyton to see if he could hear Dexter, but apparently he couldn’t.

  She prayed to whatever gods might be listening all the way to the Waystation and back.

  When she returned, staggering under a load that was as much as she could possibly carry, the moon was high, and the clearing was bright with its silvery light. Samina was awake and fretting, despite Clyton’s attempts to calm her. “I need my arrows,” she insisted.

  “I should think you’d had enough arrows for one day,” Maia remarked. Samina tried to twist to face her, with a notable lack of success.

  “I need my arrows!” she repeated desperately. “They’re in a case attached to my saddle.”

  “Where else?” Maia asked ironically.

  “I’m already getting delirious—I have to send the message while I still can!” Samina insisted. “I woke up and saw a raccoon nursing me.”

  “Relax,” Maia said soothingly. “If all you saw is Dexter, you’re not hallucinating yet.”

  “Dexter?”

  “The raccoon. I had to leave for a while, and he has hands—in fact, he’s quite dexterous.” She ignored Samina’s look of disbelief. “I’ll find your arrows for you.” She went to where she had left the saddle. Clyton limped over to join her and shoved at a cylindrical case with his nose. She unfastened it from the saddle and took it to Samina.

  “Thank you.” Samina opened the case and removed three arrows. One had a green band and the other two had yellow bands. With shaking hands Samina bent several of the barbs on the fletching of each arrow and tied the arrows together so that they didn’t interfere with the patterns in the fletching. “Clyton,” she said, “These need to go to the Healing Temple—you know the one.”