Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Beyond the gate the road widened and changed from stone to that odd substance that wasn't stone and wasn't clay. Talia hadn't thought about it in years, but it occurred to her now to wonder just what it was that paved some of the roadways of this Kingdom.

  "Kris?" she called, and he motioned to her to ride up alongside him, now that they were out of the city.

  "What is this stuff?" she asked, pointing to the surface of the road.

  He shrugged. "Another lost secret. Some of the roads leading to the capital are paved with it, a few all the way to the Border; but any roads made later than Elspeth the Peacemaker's time are just packed gravel at best." He saw she was looking about her with unconcealed curiosity. "Haven't you ever been out of the city before?"

  "Not very often since I was Chosen," she replied, "And never in this direction."

  "Didn't you even go back home for holidays?" he asked, astonished.

  "My parents weren't exactly pleased with me, even—or perhaps especially—when they learned I was Chosen," she replied dryly. "Not to put too fine a point upon it, they disowned me. In Hold terms, that means they denied the very fact of my existence. I spent all my holidays here, with Jadus while he was still alive, then with Keren and Visa, or with Gaytha Housekeeper and Mero the Collegium cook."

  "You've been rather sheltered, then."

  "At the Collegium, yes, except for the first year. Not at the Hold, though. Know anything about Holderkin?"

  "Not much," Kris admitted. "They seemed so dull, I'm afraid I've forgotten most of what I learned about them as a student."

  "Whether or not it's dull depends on whether you were born male or female. Holderkin are originally from outKingdom—Karse, if you're curious. They fled from religious persecution; their religion is based on a dominating, ruling God and a passive, submissive Goddess, and the Karsites are monotheistic. That was …oh, two generations ago. They are very secretive, and very intent on maintaining their ways intact. Men have some choice in their lives; women are given exactly two choices—serve the Goddess as a cloistered, isolated votary under a vow of silence, or marry. You make that choice at the mature age of thirteen, or thereabouts."

  "Thirteen!" Kris looked aghast.

  "Hellfire, Kris, life is hard on the Border! You ought to know that, with your partner being a Borderer. There were raiders every winter I can remember. The land is stony and hard to farm. Holderkin don't believe in going to Healers, so a lot of simple injuries and illnesses end in death. If you're not wedded by fifteen, you may not leave any offspring—and they need every working hand they can get."

  "You sound like you enjoyed that kind of life—like you approve of it!" Kris was plainly astonished by her attitude.

  "I hated it," she said flatly. "I hated every minute that I didn't spend reading or daydreaming. Rolan's Choosing me was the only thing that saved me from a forced marriage with some stranger picked out by my father. I think that the way they confine themselves, their children, and most especially their minds is something approaching a crime. But most of the Holderfolk I knew seemed content, even happy, and I have no right to judge for them."

  "Fine; you don't judge for them, but what about others who are unhappy as you were, with no Rolan to rescue them?"

  "A good point—and fortunately for those would-be rebels, one Elcarth and Selenay thought of after hearing my story. The Holderfolk got their landgrants on condition that they obey the Queen and the laws of this Kingdom. Shortly after I arrived at the Collegium, Selenay had a law passed through the Council that Heralds must be allowed free access to children at ail times, in order that they can be certain that the children of this Kingdom are properly educated in our laws, history, and traditions. Heralds whose Gift is Thought-sensing go right into the Holdings now. Anyone willing to sacrifice family ties and standing as I did is free to leave with them, and they make sure the unhappy ones know this. The amazing thing to me is that there was very little objection to the practice after the initial outrage died down. I suppose the Hold Elders are only too pleased that their potential troublemakers are leaving on their own."

  Kris seemed a bit bemused. "I can't imagine why anyone would not want to leave conditions like that."

  Talia shook her head sadly, remembering. It wasn't quite true that she hadn't gone back to the Hold— she had, once, last year. She'd gone back in the hopes of rescuing her sister Vrisa—to discover Vris had changed, changed past all recognition. Vris was a Firstwife now, with status, and three Underwives to rule. She'd regarded Talia as if she were a demon— when she thought Talia wasn't looking, she'd made holy signs against her. In point of fact, she looked and acted enough like Keldar, the Firstwife who'd done her best to break Talia's rebellious spirit, to have been Keldar's younger self. She not only didn't want rescue, she'd been horrified by the idea.

  "Kris, it's not my choice to make," she answered wearily, "it's theirs. All that I care about is that the ones like me now have the option I didn't have before I was Chosen—to escape."

  Kris looked at her with curiosity. "Just when I think I have you neatly categorized, you say or do something that turns it all upside down again. I'd have bet that you'd have been willing to lead an army into the Holds to free the women, given the chance."

  "Maybe when I didn't know as much about people as I do now," she sighed.

  They rode on in silence. The sun rose on their right, turning the sky pink, rose and blue, casting long shadows across their path from the buildings. Before long they had passed beyond the edge of the New City, and there was nothing before them but the occasional farmhouse. Cows were gathering outside barns, lowing to be milked. Now they saw people working; and a light breeze carried to them the smell of cut grain and drying hay, and the sounds of birds and farmbeasts.

  "Tell me about yourself," Kris said, finally. "When you're tired of talking, I'll tell you about me. Start with what it was like on the Hold, before you were Chosen."

  "It's boring," she cautioned him.

  "Maybe—but it's part of you. As your counselor, I need to know about you."

  He did his best to keep his opinions to himself while she talked, but he frequently looked surprised by some of what she told him, and actually horrified once or twice. He had, she thought, a hard time conceiving of a culture so alien to his own, so confining and repressive. Talia herself spoke in a kind of detached tone. She felt very distant from the Holderkin and all they meant now. She could think of them without much animosity; as something foreign.

  It was noon when she finally grew tired of explaining Hold customs to Kris. She paused for a long drink from her waterskin, suddenly aware that her mouth was very dry, and said firmly, "I think I've talked enough."

  "More than that; it's time to break for lunch," he replied. "While we keep to this pace the chirras can go on indefinitely, so whether or not we break depends on whether or not we want to take a rest from riding. How are you feeling?"

  "Like I'd like to get off for a while," she admitted, "It's been a long, long time since I spent this many hours riding."

  "I'm glad you said that." His answering smile was completely ingenuous and quite charming. "I'm not all that fond of eating in the saddle unless there's no choice. As soon as I spot a place where we can water the chirras and our Companions, we'll take a rest."

  They found a Waystation within the half-hour. This one was watered by a well rather than a stream; they took turns hauling up enough water to satisfy the four-footed members of the party, then tethered the chirras so that both Companions and chirras could graze for a bit while they ate their own lunch.

  They ate in silence, and Kris seemed to be in no great hurry to move on afterward. He lay back in the soft grass instead, thoughts evidently elsewhere, though he glanced over at Talia once or twice.

  Kris was worried, though he was taking pains not to show it. His uncle's words kept coming back to him, and he could not, in all conscience, dismiss them. He'd made a number of assumptions about his trainee, most of them based on her a
pparent youth and inexperience—and now what she'd told him seemed to indicate that she was anything but inexperienced, and certainly was not the simple creature he'd pictured to himself. This child—no, woman; he began to wonder now if she'd ever had anything like a "childhood" as he knew the meaning of the term— had been functionally the Queen's Own long before she ever attained her Whites. But she was so tiny, and so guileless, and so very innocent-seeming, that you forgot all about that, and tended to think of her as much younger than she really was.

  He didn't think any of that surface was a deliberate act—but he also couldn't tell what lay below the surface, either.

  Was she capable of the kind of deliberate misuse of her Gift that Orthallen had described?

  "I've got to ask you a question," he said at last. "And please, I don't mean this as any kind of insult. There are some rather unpleasant rumors circulating the Court, and I'd like to know the truth. Have— have you ever used your Gift to influence Elspeth?" Her reaction was far more violent than he would have expected. "No!" she shouted, sitting bolt upright, and actually startling Companions and chirras into shying. "How can you even think such a thing?" Her eyes were hot with anger; her face as white as her uniform.

  He met that angry gaze as best he could, acutely aware of how still it was, of the grass under his hands, of the sun on his head. "It's a rumor, I told you; I have to know."

  “I have never—I would never—do anything like that to anyone. It's—the whole idea is perverted," she choked. "Dammit, I knew there had to be some odd things being said about me. I mean, I could tell, people were acting very strangely when they thought I wasn't looking. But this! It's—it's disgusting. Does Elspeth know about this?"

  "Not so far as I know—" He broke off at the sudden, pained look she gave him.

  She rose to her feet, abruptly. "I've—I've got to go back; I can't leave her to face that alone."

  "That's just what you can't do," he said, jumping up and catching hold of both her arms. "Don't you see? If you did that, you'd just be confirming the idea in people's heads. Besides, you've been given an assignment, and a set of orders. It's not up to you to decide whether or not you're going to obey them."

  She buried her face in her hands for a moment; when she took her hands away he could see her fighting to exert control over herself. "All right," she said, sinking back to the ground, "You're right. You said that there were other rumors. What are they?"

  "That you've been using your Gift to influence other people—specifically Councilors on crucial votes. The kindest version of that rumor says that you're not doing it consciously, that you don't realize you're doing it."

  "Good God. How am I supposed to answer that one?"

  Kris didn't have an adequate reply, so he continued. "Another rumor is that you're using your Gift just to read people, then using the knowledge of their emotional state to manipulate them into doing what you want."

  "Goddess. That's almost close to the truth . .."

  "Again, the kindest version is that you don't realize that you're doing it. People are frightened; your Gift isn't one they've seen outside of a Healer; Mindspeakers have an ethical code they understand, but this?"

  "So far as I know, there is no ethical code," she said, and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of a pain he didn't understand, and a confusion he wished he could resolve. "Is that al!?"

  "Isn't it enough? They say you're young, you're inexperienced—some say too young to be in the position of power that you are, and to be wielding such a strange mindGift."

  "As if," she replied bitterly, "I have any choice in the matter."

  And she did not speak to him again until long after they had mounted up and gotten back on the North Road.

  Kris bore with her lack of communication up to a point, but finally decided to try and break the deadlock himself. He Mindtouched Tantris, asking him to move in closer to Rolan, until he and Talia were almost knee to knee.

  "Just exactly how does your Gift work?" he asked, unwilling to bear the tense silence.

  "I feel emotions the way Farspeakers hear words," she replied, after turning in her saddle to give him a sober look, one that seemed to be weighing him for some quality. "If the emotions are connected with something strongly enough, I See that. If they're twisted or wrong, or very negative, sometimes I can fix them, like a Healer with a wound. Visa said it's a pretty rare Gift to see crop up alone, that it's usually tied up with the Healing Gifts. As you know."

  "Interesting," he replied as casually as he could. "So that's how you were able to lead me to where Ylsa died. Most Heralds are Mindspeakers, you know, and most of the rest are Farseers, like me. Only a few of us have odd Gifts like yours and Dirk's. And Griffon's— birr!—-that's one I wouldn't want." The sun lost some of its warmth for him as he thought of the demonstration Griffon and Dirk had given him. "Firestarting is a terrible burden, and it's so easy for the power to get out of control .. . and when it does, well, you end up with barrens like at Burning Pines. And it isn't really useful at all except as a weapon. I hope his being born with it now doesn't mean something; Heralds with the really odd Gifts tend to appear when there's going to be a need for them. The last Firestarter was Lavan Firestorm, and you know what his era was like—" He flushed, beginning to realize that he was pontificating—but, damn—he wanted to get her mind off the rumors so she'd act normally again. "Sorry. I tend to get carried away when I start discussing Gifts. It's a hobby of mine, one I share with Kyril. It's fascinating to see what kinds of Gifts we have, and to try and see if there are patterns."

  "Really?" She perked up a little, a bit more color coming into her cheeks. "Has anybody else ever had my kind of Gift before?"

  "Not that I'm aware of among the Heralds, but I must admit that I've only looked into the Gifts of living Heralds, or the really spectacular ones of the past. I can't say that I've ever heard of that ability to Heal the mind, except in a true Healer, but it wouldn't surprise me much to discover that this one's the Gift that distinguishes the Queen's Own from the rest of us. And you seem to have it mostly by itself, and maybe much stronger even than in Healers. Probably the others have had it, but not so strongly that anyone noticed it. Nobody seems to have made a study of the Monarch's Own—not like they have with the more ordinary Gifts. And now that I think about it, your primary job is to ensure the mental stability of the Monarch—an ability like the one you have could come in very useful if something really went wrong." He was doing his best to imply that he believed her—that he was certain the rumors weren't true. He only wished that he really could be that certain.

  "I can see that." She was silent, and seemed to be thinking hard. Late afternoon sun was gilding everything, and the early breeze had died. The chirras' eyes were half-closed in the drowsy warmth, and the few sounds to either side of them were those of farmworkers cutting hay and grain, and insects droning in the grass. "So you See, and Dirk Fetches?"

  "Right. That's why we work together, and generally don't ride Sectors except when we're shorthanded, the way we have been lately. To put it bluntly, we're Selenay's thieves." He laughed a little. "If I know what I'm looking for, I can generally find where it is from several miles away—more, if I get a 'ride,' like I got from you. Once I know exactly where it is and can fix the location in my mind, Dirk can read the location to Fetch whatever it is to where we happen to be. That's how he retrieved Visa's arrows."

  "That seems to be a lot harder than it sounds …rather wearing, too, from the little I've seen."

  "Gods, that's an understatement. In a lot of ways, it would be less tiring to run on foot to where it is, get it, and run back. And the heavier the object, the more difficult it is to Fetch. We haven't tried anything much larger than a building brick—and that gave him a reaction-headache that lasted for a week. I was pretty surprised when he had enough energy left to carry you to your room after retrieving those arrows."

  "Aha!" She seemed please that it had been Dirk who had cared for her. "A mystery solved! I've
wondered about that for the last two years. So he was the one!"

  "He was like a hen with one chick—wouldn't let me do more than trail along, and I was in better shape than he. Said that with all those girls in his family, he knew better than I did what to do with a sick one."

  "Can he work with anyone but you?"

  "We don't know; he's never tried, since he gets such a good 'fix' from me. Probably, though. One Farseer's a lot like another."

  "How long have you two been working together?" she asked curiously.

  "Since we both got our Whites. That was another year they were shorthanded, and sent us both out to intern with the same counselor—Gerick. Well, you know Gerick, he's absentminded; he left a small, but valuable ring at one of the Waystations—it was the Queen's gift to one of the Guildmasters. Rather than spend two hours going back for it, Dirk offered to try Fetching it. I Looked for it, found it had rolled under the bed while we were packing, and gave Dirk the location. That was when we discovered that I gave him the clearest 'fix' he'd ever had to work from. He Fetched the ring, no problem; we started working as a team, and we've been doing things that way ever since."

  "It's just that you seem so unlike each other, I find it hard to imagine you two staying together."

  Kris laughed, pleased to have gotten onto a safe subject. "You might be surprised. Underneath that jester mask he wears, Dirk's a very serious gentleman. And we have pretty much the same taste in music, reading, even food. . . ."

  "In women?" she teased.

  "Well ... that, too," he admitted with a reluctant smile. "And it's really pretty unfair. Poor Dirk—it doesn't matter if he finds the lady first. Once she's seen me she usually goes all 'sisterly' on him. He's mostly pretty good-natured about it, but if I were in his shoes, I'd be damned annoyed!"

  "Well, he knows you can't help it. You were born looking like an angel, and he ... well, he wasn't, and that's all there is to say."