Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Then Jadus played while Talia sang something he’d picked out of an old book—a comic ballad he remembered from many years agone called “It Was A Dark and Stormy Night.” The spontaneous laughter that followed the last line about the lute was so hearty that Talia was soon blushing with pleasure. Now she, too, knew how heady a drink acclaim could be.

  The two of them then performed as many requests as they knew, until it grew so late that Talia found herself beginning to nod, and Jadus confessed that his fingers were growing tired. Talia helped him back to his room; she scarcely knew how she found her own bed. She thought before sleep claimed her that without a doubt it was the finest Midwinter Festival she’d ever had.

  Seven

  After Midwinter’s Evening there could have been no firmer friends in all the Collegium and Circle than Talia and the old Herald Jadus. Even after classes began again, she always found the time for music lessons and practice sessions with him every evening. He seemed to take as much joy in her company as she did in his—and not even the fact that her unknown tormentors resumed their games soon after the end of the holidays served to take that happiness out of her heart. It sometimes occurred to her that if it hadn’t been for Jadus and Rolan, she’d have thought more than once about giving it all up and running away—though where she’d go, she had no idea. Without those two stalwarts to turn to, her misery would have been deeper than it had been at the Holding at the worst of times.

  The signal that “they” were still at her came in the form of another of the anonymous notes. It appeared among her books just before one of her music lessons, and she was hard put to make herself seemly after the spate of tears it caused.

  It would have been impossible to hide the fact that she was troubled and upset from Jadus; her red-rimmed eyes gave her away immediately. He insisted, gently but firmly, that she tell him something of what was wrong.

  “You know I would never say or do anything against your will, little one—” His voice was soft but held a note of command. The hesitant, wary child that had replaced the cheerful Talia that he had come to know and love was not at all to his liking, “But you aren’t happy, and if you’re not happy, than neither am I. I wish you would tell me why—and who or what is the cause. You know by now you can trust me, surely?”

  She nodded slowly, hands clenched in her lap.

  “Then tell me what your problem is. It may even be I can help.”

  She was reluctant to confide in him, but found herself unable to resist the kindness of his eyes. “Y-y-you have to promise something, please? That you won’t tell anyone else?”

  He promised that he would not, rather than lose the trust she had given to no one else. The promise was given with great reluctance. “If that is the only way you’ll tell me—yes. I promise.”

  “I-it’s like this—” she began, telling him eventually only of the shovings, the destructive tricks, and not of the notes. She feared those were too wildly unlikely even for Jadus to believe.

  He sensed that there was more to these pranks than she was telling him, and it worried him. Bound by his promise, though, there was little he could do for her but offer an emotional shelter and proffer some advice. He hoped that that would be enough.

  “Don’t go anywhere alone—well, you know that already. But try to stay only with people you know; Sherrill, or Skif, or Jeri. None of those three would ever hurt you. And—here’s a thought—try to always be within sight of one of your teachers. I doubt that even the cleverest would dare try anything under the eyes of a Herald. And little one—” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand, eliciting a wan smile. “—I am always here for you. No one would dare try anything against you here, and any time you want someone to cry with—well, I have a plenitude of handkerchiefs!”

  That actually earned him a tiny chuckle, and Jadus felt amply rewarded as they began the lesson.

  “Make friends, child,” he urged her before she left him. “The other Herald-students won’t bite you. They won’t try to hurt you, either, and the more friends you have, the better protected you’ll be. Now think—have you ever seen or heard any of them do or say anything intended to be cruel?”

  “No,” she had to admit.

  “I know your life wasn’t easy at the Hold; I know people often hurt you deliberately. Things are different in the Collegium. You trust me—now I tell you to trust them as well. If nothing else, once you are part of a group, you’ll be less of an available target for tricks.”

  Jadus was proved right—she was a less conspicuous target. The pranks began to decrease in frequency immediately.

  There was more—though he was bound by his promise to say nothing, Jadus was aided by the fact that some of the teachers and older students, Keren, Teren, and Sherrill among them, had decided that there was something odd and unpleasant afoot and had begun making a habit of keeping an ostentatious eye on her. Keren especially had long since made that decision, and when Talia had begun to show signs of unhappiness again had taken to lurking in the child’s vicinity, looking as conspicuous as possible. The perpetrators of her misery soon found it nearly impossible even to slip those mysterious notes among her things without being seen—and being seen was no part of their scheme. Before a month was out they seemed to have given up; Talia’s cheerfulness was restored, and Jadus heaved a profound mental sigh of relief.

  None of them guessed that there was more afoot than petty harassment.

  Collegium and Circle alike had incorrectly assumed that the suspicions surrounding the death of Talamir had frightened the anti-Herald faction off of any serious attempt to rid the Kingdom of the new Queen’s Own. The case was otherwise. The harassment had been at the instigation of the parents of some of the nobly-born “unaffiliated” students; courtiers who had everything to lose should Elspeth be salvaged and made Heir in fact as well as presumptive.

  These older conspirators had long ago made their decision regarding Talia. If it did not prove possible to induce her to leave the Collegium, she was to be gotten rid of—by any means that came to hand.

  Since she had now proven impossible to drive away, the next step was to turn to more permanent measures.

  They were only waiting for Talia to make the mistake of being alone to put their new plan into motion—and their chance came on the coldest day of the year.

  The sky was overcast; a dull, leaden gray. The snow was creaky underfoot, and the cold ate its way up from the ground to Talia’s feet even through sheepskin boots and three pairs of woolen stockings. The wind was strong and bitter, and Talia had decided to take the longer way from classroom to training salle, past the stables, where there was some relief from the wind’s bite.

  As she rounded a corner with her thoughts miles away, she suddenly found herself surrounded by Blues. Their faces were far from friendly.

  Before she could think to flee, they grabbed for her, trying to pinion her arms and legs.

  She was befuddled for only a scant second; she fought back with all the skill she had so far managed to acquire at Alberich’s hands. He had taught her a “no holds barred” discipline; she kicked, pulled hair, and bit without compunction—and muffled cries of pain attested to the fact that she was scoring on them, even though they were fairly well protected by bulky winter garments. Oddly enough, it seemed almost as if they had no real intentions of hurting her; as if their intentions were rather to immobilize her for some unknown reason.

  She took advantage of this apparent reticence on their part to bolt through a gap between two of them, leaving her cloak behind in the hands of a third.

  She almost managed a dean escape—then a flying tackle from behind sent her headfirst into the stable muckpit. The contents were fresh, well-watered, and soft. She was covered from head to toe with the stinking mess, and flailed about, helpless with retching.

  “Oh, poor little bumpkin—it’s made a mess,” cooed one of the girls in a sugary voice. “How awful for it!”

  “Perhaps it thought it was home,” replied a
boy, as Talia tried to scrape filth off her face and away from her eyes. “We’d better get it clean—it certainly doesn’t know how to clean itself.”

  They pulled her out and seized her before she could flounder free, knocked her down, and stuffed a piece of rag into her mouth before she could scream for help. They took turns rubbing handfuls of muck into her face and hair, as if in retaliation for the injuries she’d managed to inflict on them, then some of them pinioned her arms and others her legs. They hauled her outside where the stuff froze stiff in the icy wind and she couldn’t get her eyes open to see. She was still trying to catch her breath after the blow that had knocked her down, and couldn’t seem to get any air into her lungs. Right now, full lungs seemed the most important thing in the world—

  She was half-carried, half-dragged, acquiring numerous scrapes and bruises from the cobblestones. She couldn’t seem to think further than trying to breathe—couldn’t guess what they planned next as they dragged her along. They seemed to be hauling her halfway to the Border!

  Then, as she felt the road begin to climb, a vague idea of what they planned came to her, and she began to thrash in panic.

  “Into your bath, goatling!” the hateful male voice sang out.

  She tried to wriggle loose and kicked as hard as she could, but it was all to no avail. They were bigger and stronger than she, and far outnumbered her. She only succeeded in causing their grip to slip a little so that the back of her head cracked against the stone paving, stunning her briefly. That gave them the relief they needed; she felt herself tossed up into the air, landing in the icy waters of the river with a shock that drove what little breath she had from her lungs.

  The water closed over her head; she fought for the surface, pulling the rag out of her mouth as she did so, only to have her throat fill with water as she tried to breathe inches too soon. As she reached the air and choked and gasped in the icy wind, she heard someone call out, voice receding into the distance, “Farewell, bumpkin. Give our greetings to Talamir.”

  Only last week a careless would-be daredevil had died here, trying to cross on the ice instead of the bridge. Talia began to thrash hysterically, remembering that he hadn’t lasted more than a few moments in the frigid river. What ice she could reach that didn’t break when she grabbed it was too slippery to get a grip on—there was nothing to hold to, and no way she could haul herself up on it. Her sodden clothing, especially those heavy, water-logged sheepskin boots, was pulling her down, the current was tugging her inexorably farther from shore, and she could feel her limbs growing numb and unresponsive.

  She couldn’t keep her mouth above water for long; she couldn’t get enough breath to cry for help. Her mind shrieked in incoherent fear.

  Then, like a gift from the gods, a trumpeting neigh split the air and something huge and heavy plunged in beside her. Strong teeth seized her collar and pulled her to within reach of a broad warm, white back that rose beside her like magic.

  “Rolan!” she gasped; she tried to make her fingers work enough to grab mane or tail while he maneuvered himself to support as much of her as he could.

  For a moment it almost seemed as if it would work.

  Then her fingers loosed themselves and she began sliding away from him, dragged by the punishing weight of her clothing and the strong pull of the current. Her mind went numb, as cold as the water. She lost her last tentative hold on his back, and darkness closed over her mind as the water closed over her head. Her lungs filled with water again, but she was beyond caring.

  Something jerked at her collar; her head broke the surface and a stubborn spark of life made her cough and gag once again in the painfully icy air.

  Then she was being hauled roughly across the ice, and many hands reached to pull her up on the bank where she was pounded and pummeled until she’d coughed all the water out of her lungs. A babble of angry, frightened voices filled her ears as she was wrapped in something heavy and made to drink a fiery liquid that brought tears to her eyes and made her choke. Her vision cleared of the dancing sparks that had taken the place of the darkness when they’d started pounding on her, and she saw she was surrounded by the anxious faces of her teachers and fellow students.

  Safe. She fainted.

  She half-roused as someone lifted her up to a rider’s arms and they galloped to the very doors of the Collegium. The rider vaulted from the saddle still carrying her, and sprinted effortlessly with her up the stairs to the dormitory floor.

  She was passed into more hands on the other side of a steamy portal, and those hands stripped her of her soaked, filthy garments quickly and efficiently. Once again she found herself up to her neck in water, but this time it was blessedly hot.

  That brought her fully awake again; that, and the fact that she was being scrubbed with strong soap by three other people.

  “Wha—” she coughed, her throat raw. “What happened?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” said Jeri, soaping her hair vigorously. “Ugh—your hair is full of this muck! Rolan heard your mindcall for help; he alerted the rest of the Companions, and they roused their Heralds. Then he went after you himself. Lord of Lights! You should have seen the Collegium—it looked like a nest of angry wasps! People came boiling out of everywhere! Most of us got to the riverbank just in time to see you slip off Rolan’s back and go under. Keren was just a fraction ahead of everyone else, and she dove right off the saddle after you; Sherrill was right behind her. They managed to pull you out—when I knew you were alive, I came back here to get Housekeeper and start what we’d need to warm you up again. Once they’d gotten the water out of you, Teren brought you here. This tub’s filthy. We’re going to change. No—” she warned as Talia started to move, “don’t try to do anything—let us do the work for you. You’ve got an awful bump on your head and you might get dizzy and fall.”

  They lifted her over to a second tub; she still seemed chilled to the bone.

  “Are they—all right?” Talia managed to get out.

  “Who? Sherrill and Keren? They’re fine. Don’t you remember? They’re from Lake Evendim. This isn’t the first ice-rescue they’ve done. And there were two more riders waiting to bring them here, too. They’re both soaking in hot tubs, the same as you.”

  “They are?” Talia raised her head, as the room spun before her eyes, and tried to look around. The bathing room seemed oddly turned backward, reversed in mirror-image.

  “What ha’n’d to th’ room?” Her tongue didn’t seem to quite want to behave.

  “You’re on the boys’ side, silly,” Jeri giggled, “It was closer. Take a good look—you might not get a second chance.”

  “Hush,” Housekeeper Gaytha scolded affectionately. “Talia, I think we’ve gotten the last of the filth off you. How are you feeling?”

  “Still c-cold.” There seemed to be an icy core that the heat didn’t touch. They drained some of the water and ran in more that was fresh and hotter than before. She finally felt herself stop shivering and began to relax. Then a sudden thought made her struggle to sit up.

  “Rolan!”

  “He’s perfectly all right,” Jeri and Housekeeper Gaytha held her firmly in place. “It’ll take more than a cold ducking to stop him!”

  “The worst was heaving him up onto the bank; he wasn’t even chilled, and he’s inordinately proud of himself,” said the third member of the group, silent until now. “I suppose he has every right to be, since your bond isn’t supposed to be strong enough at this stage for you to call one another, even in panic. You’re very lucky that wasn’t the case for the two of you.”

  Her sight seemed to be blurring, but Talia finally got a good look at this third person as she moved to within Talia’s range of vision to speak to her. The woman was a square-jawed ash-blond, and she wore full Heraldic traveling leathers with the silver arrow of a special messenger on one sleeve.

  “I’m sorry we weren’t properly introduced, Talia,” she smiled. “I’m Herald Ylsa. Keren may have mentioned me?”r />
  Talia nodded, and was immediately sorry. Her head began pounding, and her vision blurred still more. “Keren—was going—t’ be waitin’ f r you—” she said with difficulty.

  Ylsa saw the glazed look, the fixed pupils of Talia’s eyes, and said sharply, “Problems, kitten?”

  “I can’t—see too well. And m’ head hurts.”

  “Can you tell what’s wrong?” Gaytha asked the Herald in an undertone.

  The woman frowned a little. “Well, I’m no Healer, but I know the technique. Hold still, kitten,” she addressed Talia. “This isn’t going to hurt, but it may make your head feel a little odd.” She caught Talia’s blurring gaze and looked deeply into her eyes—and Talia felt something like a light touch inside her head. It was a very odd sensation.

  Ylsa placed one hand on Talia’s forehead in the lightest of feather-like touches once she’d caught Talia’s attention, beginning her probe. She continued to speak in a casual voice, knowing commonplaces would keep Talia from becoming too alarmed if she sensed anything. “I’d only just come through the gate when the alarm went up. Keren’s got the tightest bond with that stallion of hers that I’ve ever witnessed. The two of them were headed for the river before Felara had managed to do more than tell me that there was bad trouble. We took off after them, but we couldn’t even manage to keep up. Her mindlink with her brother is almost as strong, and she must have told him what was needed before we even hit the riverbank because he came pounding up with blankets and ropes right after she went in. I knew that she and Dantris were good, but I have never seen anyone move like they did—I never even knew you could slingshot into a dive from the back of a Companion in full gallop!”

  While she spoke, she “read” the child as the Healers she had worked with did. Since she was not formally Healer-trained, she took longer at it—and inadvertently made more contact than she’d intended to.

  Talia’s head wasn’t exactly feeling odd, but the sensation of internal touch was stronger than ever, and she was seeing the strangest things. They came in flashes, confusing and disorienting, as if she were seeing things through someone else’s eyes—and what she was seeing concerned Keren and this stranger—intimately. And it was very heavily laden with overtones of complex emotions—