Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "Well," she said. "It's official. Faram wants you up there yesterday, so you'd better get yourself packed up. You'll need to be on the road tomorrow."

  "Will I need an escort?" he asked, a little doubtfully. He didn't really want one, and a retinue would slow him down.

  Tarma shook her head. "I don't think so. You can take care of yourself quite well, youngling, and if you have any enemies out there, they won't be looking for one man and his beasts, they'll be looking for a damned parade."

  He sighed. "Well, I guess this is the end of my stay here. I've—not precisely liked it, but—Tarma, I appreciate all you've done for me. I can't really say how much, because I won't know exactly how much you've taught me for years yet."

  She smiled a little. "Then you're wiser than I thought, if you've figured that out. Wise enough to know that you'll be better off packing up now so you can leave straight away in the morning."

  "Does Kero know I'm leaving tomorrow?" he managed to get out. Tarma looked at him oddly for a moment, then nodded.

  "I told her," the Shin'a'in said, her expression utterly deadpan. "She didn't say anything. Did you two have a fight?"

  He started to tell her what had happened between them, then stopped himself; why, he didn't really know, unless it was just that he didn't want anyone else to now about this particular quarrel. "Not really," he said. "It's just I haven't seen her all afternoon...." He let his words trail off so that Tarma could read whatever she wanted to in them.

  She nodded. "Good-byes are a bitch," she said shortly. "Never got used to them, myself. Travel well and lightly, jel'enedre. I'll miss you."

  She gave him a quick, hard hug, and there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes. Then she left him alone in his suddenly empty room. Left him to pack the little he had that he wanted or needed to take with him. Not the clothes, certainly, except what he needed to travel with—Faram would have him outfitted the moment he passed the city gates in the finest of silk and wool, velvet and leathers. Not the books; they were Tarma's. The weapons and armor, some notes and letters. A couple of books of his own. His life here had left him very little in the way of keepsakes....

  And where was Kero? Why didn't she come to him?

  She didn't appear at his door any time that evening; he finished packing and tried to read a book, but couldn't concentrate on the words. Finally he took a long hot bath, and drank a good half-bottle of wine to relax. He thought about his father; he and Kero had that in common as well, after the first shock, he was having a hard time feeling the way, perhaps, he should. He hardly knew the King—he'd spent more time away from Court than in it, mostly because of Thanel. Faram had been more of a father than Jad. The King had been the King, and word of his death was enough to shock any dutiful subject into tears. If it had been Faram, now—

  He finished the bottle, tried once more to read, then gave up and climbed into bed. He more than halfway expected Kero to drift in through his door after he blew out the candle.

  She has to come, he thought. She has to. She loves me, I know she does. And our lovemaking has always been good—once I get her in bed, I can make her see sense, I know I can.

  But no; though he waited until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, despite tension that had his stomach in knots and his shoulders as tight as braided steel, she didn't come.

  By morning, he'd finally begun to believe that she wouldn't. That he'd said the unforgivable.

  He hadn't expected her, but as he was saddling up his old palfrey, Tarma came down the stairs to the stable to see him off.

  He'd never had more than cursory contact with Lady Kethry, and he wasn't surprised when she didn't appear at her partner's side, but he was unexpectedly touched to see Tarma again.

  "Couldn't let you go without a parting gift, lad," she said. "You'll need it, too. Take Roan."

  "Take Roan?" He could hardly believe it. The gelding he'd been using was a fine saddle-bred of her Clan's breeding; he was astonished and touched, and very nearly disgraced himself by breaking into tears again.

  "Dear gods, we've got Ironheart and Hellsbane, plus a couple of mules. He'll be eating his head off in the stable if you don't take him." She led the gelding out of his stall and tethered him beside the palfrey. "Look at him, he'd be perfectly happy to do just that. I'd say it's your duty to save the overstuffed beggar from his own stomach."

  "In that case," he said, "I guess I have no choice."

  "Never try to cross a Shin'a'in, boy," she told him gravely. "We always get our way."

  "So I've learned." He dared to reach for her bony shoulders and hug her; she returned it, and they both came perilously close to damp eyes.

  "Now get out of here before I have to feed you again," she said, pushing him away, gently. "Star-Eyed bless, but the amount of provisions we've had to put in to keep you fed! You and that gelding make a matched set!"

  It was a feeble joke, but it saved him, and he was able to take his leave of her dry-eyed, saddle up Roan, and ride off down the path to the road.

  Then, as he stared back at the Tower, his eyes burned and stung after all.

  She didn't come.

  She hadn't even come to say good-bye.

  He turned his back on the place resolutely. She'd made her choice; he had to get on with his life. Only his eyes kept burning, and not all the blinking in the world would clear them. He was rubbing them with the back of his hand, when like the ending to a ballad, he heard hoof-beats behind him—hoofbeats he recognized; the staccato rapping of Kero's little mare's feet on the hard-packed snow. He'd know that limping gait anywhere, any time; Verenna had favored her right foreleg ever since an accident in his second year here, and he knew her pace the way he knew the beat of his own heart.

  He turned his gelding to greet her, his heart filled to bursting. She came to her senses! She's coming with me! I won her over—

  Then as she came into view, he felt a shock, and stared, his eyes going so wide he thought they were going to fall out of his head.

  It was Kero, all right. With her face made up like one of the Court flowers, her hair in an elaborate arrangement that must have taken hours to do. In a dress. A fancy, velvet dress, a parody of hunting-gear. It was years, decades out of date, and she must have gotten it out of her grandmother's closet.

  She looked like a fool. It wasn't just the dress, it wasn't even mostly the dress, old and outdated as it was. It was that she was simpering at him, her eyes all wide and dewy, her lips parted artfully, her expression a careful mask of eager, honeyed anticipation.

  "Oh, Daren," she gushed, as she rode within hearing distance. "How could you ever have thought I'd stay behind? After all you've offered me, after all we've meant to each other, how could you have ever doubted me?"

  She rode up beside him and laid a hand on his elbow, a delicate, and patently artificial gesture. "I thought over what you'd said, and I realized how wise you are, Daren. The world isn't going to change, so I might as well adapt to it! After all, it isn't every day a prince of the blood offers to make me his consort!

  She giggled—not her usual hearty laugh, or even her warm, friendly, sensuous chuckle, but a stupid little giggle. Her mare sidled a little, and she let it, instead of controlling it.

  That's when it dawned in him. She was acting exactly the way those little ninnies at Court had been acting—vacuous, artfully helpless, empty-headed, greedy—

  Sickening. He pulled away from her, an automatic, unthinking reaction.

  Abruptly, her manner changed. The artificial little fool vanished as completely as if she had never existed. Kero looked at him soberly, the absurd riding habit, painted cheeks and ridiculous hair all striking him as entirely unfunny. Verenna tried to sidle again, and this time Kero controlled her immediately.

  "I just gave you everything you said you wanted me to be, yesterday. That's exactly the way you asked me to behave."

  "In public!" he protested. "Not when we're together!"

  "Oh, no?" She tilted her head to one side. "
Really? And how private is a prince of the blood? When can you be absolutely sure that our little secrets won't be uncovered? When can you guarantee that we won't be interrupted or watched from a distance?"

  He was taken rather aback—and vivid recollections came pouring back, of private assignations that had become public gossip within a week, of secrets that had been out as soon as uttered, of all the times he'd sought privacy only to find watchers everywhere. Roan stamped impatiently, reflecting his rider's unease.

  "Even if you can get away from your courtiers," she persisted, her brows creased as she leaned forward earnestly in her saddle, "even if you can escape the gossips, how do you keep things secret from the servants? They're everywhere, and they learn everything—and what they learn, sooner or later, the entire Court knows."

  She sat back in her saddle, and watched his face, her eyes following his. "Besides, what you live, you start to become. The longer I act like a pretty fool, the more likely I am to turn into one. Is that really what you want from me?"

  "No!" he exclaimed, startling Roan into a snort. "No, what I love about you is how strong you are, how clever you are, how much you're like a friend—the way I can talk to you like another man—"

  He stopped himself, appalled, but it was too late. She was nodding.

  "But this is what you asked me to become," she replied, taking in dress, hair, and all with a single gesture. "Daren, dearheart, you don't really want me as a lover, you want me as a friend, a companion. But I can't be a companion in your world—I can only be something like this."

  He tried to say something to refute her, but nothing would come out.

  "Daren, you have a companion and partner waiting for you—someone who needs your help and support and the fact that you love him, and needs it more than I ever will," she said softly, but emphatically. "Your brother is and will be more to you than I ever can. Or ever should. And once we'd both gotten to the Court, you'd have found that out. I could never be more than a burden to you then, and it would frankly be only a matter of time until my temper made me an embarrassment as well."

  "I—you—" he sputtered a while, then shook his head, as his gelding champed at the bit, impatient to be off. "I—I guess you're right," he said, crestfallen. "I can't think of any reason why you should be wrong, anyway."

  He looked down at his saddle pommel for a moment, then defiantly met her eyes. "But dammit, I don't have to like it!"

  "No, you don't," she agreed. "But that doesn't change anything."

  She stared right back into his eyes, and in the end, he was the one who had to drop his gaze.

  "Daren," she said, after a moment of heavy silence, broken by the stamping of horses, creak of leather, and jingle of harness, "Wait a couple of years. Wait until I've found my place. Then I can be your eccentric friend, that crazy female fighter. Princes are expected to have one or two really odd friends." She chuckled then, and he looked up and reluctantly smiled.

  "I suppose," he ventured. "You might even do my reputation some good."

  "Oh, definitely." The smile she wore turned into a wicked grin. "Just think how people will react when they know I'm your lover. 'Prince Daren, tamer of wild merc women!' I can see it now, they'll stand in awe of your manhood!"

  He blushed—all the more because he knew damned well it was true. "Kero—" he protested.

  "Are we friends again?" she said abruptly.

  He blinked, his eyes once more filling with tears, and this time he did not try to pretend they weren't there. "Yes," he said. "Although why you'd want a fool like me for a friend—"

  "Oh, I have to have someone I can borrow money from," she said lightly—then reached across the intervening space between them and hugged him, hard.

  And when she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes as well.

  "Just you take care of yourself, you unmannered lout," she whispered hoarsely. "I want you around to lend me that money."

  "Mercenary," he replied, just as hoarsely.

  She nodded, and backed her horse away slowly.

  "Exactly so, my friend. Exactly so." She halted the mare just out of reach, and waved at him. "And you have places to go, and people waiting for you, Prince Daren."

  He turned his horse and urged it into a brisk walk, looking back over his shoulder as he did so. He halfway expected to see her making her way toward the Tower, but she was still sitting on her horse beside the path. When she saw him looking, she waved once—more a salute than a wave.

  The departing salute he gave her was exactly that. Then he set his eyes on the trail ahead. And never once looked back.

  Kero waited until Daren was out of sight, then turned her horse's head toward the Tower.

  I'm not sure what was more surprising—him developing good sense, or me developing a silver tongue. She hadn't quite known what she was going to say, only the general shape of it. She certainly had not expected the kind of eloquent speech she'd managed to make.

  One thing that was not at all surprising; she was already missing Daren—but she wasn't as miserable as her worst fears had suggested. Which meant, to her way of thinking, that she was not in love with the man. Deep in the lonely hours of the night she'd had quasi-nightmares about successfully sending him away, then discovering she really couldn't live without him.

  She sighed, and Verenna's ears flicked back at the sound. "Well," she told the mare, "I guess now it's my turn to figure out exactly what I'm going to do with my life."

  And Need chose that moment to strike.

  Kero had a half-heartbeat of warning, a flash of something stirring, like some old woman grumbling in her sleep, just before the blade began exerting its full potential for pressure. She managed to keep it from taking her over entirely, but she could not keep it from disabling her.

  It did its best to overwhelm her with a desire to run away from all this, to be out running free; a desire so urgent that had she not already fought one set of pitched battles with the sword, she'd have probably spurred Verenna after Daren, overtaken, and passed him. Now she knew these spurious impulses for what they were, and she met them with a will tempered like steel, and a stubborn pride that refused to give in to a piece of metal, however enchanted. She had just enough time to toss Verenna's reins over her neck, ground-tying her, before the sword took over enough of her body that making Verenna bolt for the road was a possibility.

  Then she sat, rigid and trembling, every muscle in her body warring with her will. It wasn't even going to be possible to get back to the Tower and get help from Kethry—assuming Kethry, having spent years under the blade's peculiar bondage, even could help. Damn you, she thought at the blade, as her body chilled; and Verenna shuddered, unable to understand what was wrong with her rider, but sensing something she didn't at all like. Damn you, I know who and what I am, and what I want and even why I want it—and if a man I like isn't going to be able to pressure me into changing that, no chunk of metal is going to be able to either!

  Muscle by muscle, she won control of her body back. She closed her eyes, the better to be able to concentrate, and fought the thing, oblivious to everything around her.

  Finally, candlemarks later, or so it seemed—though the sun hadn't moved enough for one candlemark, much less the eight or nine it should have taken for the fight—she sat stiffly in her saddle, the master of her own body again. She waited warily for the sword to try again, as her breath and Verenna's steamed in the cold—and she sensed that the sword would try again, unless she could devise some way of ending the struggle here and now.

  She stripped off one glove and placed her half-frozen hand on the hilt. Listen to me, you, she thought at the blade, and sensed a kind of stillness, as if it was listening, however reluctantly. Listen to me, and believe me. If you don't stop this nonsense and leave me alone, and let me make my own decisions, I'll drop you down the nearest well. I mean it. Having a blade that will protect me from magickers may be convenient, but damn if I'm going to lose control of my life in return!

  Sh
e sensed a dull, sudden heat, like far-off anger.

  Look, you know what I've been thinking! I agree with your purpose, dammit! I'm even perfectly willing to go along with this agenda of helping women in trouble! But I am, by all that's holy, going to do so on my terms. And you're going to have one hell of a time helping women from the bottom of a well if you don't go along with this.

  The anger vanished, replaced by surprise—and then, silence. She waited a moment longer, but the sword might as well have been a plain old steel blade at that point. Not that it felt lifeless—but she had a shrewd notion she'd made her point.

  "Silence means assent," she said out loud, and put her glove back on. Then, bending over and retrieving the reins, much to Verenna's relief, she sent the mare back toward the Tower.

  But the last thing she expected was to be met at the stable by Tarma.

  The Shin'a'in took Verenna's reins from her once she'd dismounted, and led the mare toward her stall, all without saying a word. Kero waited, wondering what was coming next. A reproach for not taking Daren up on his offer? That hardly seemed likely. But Tarma's silence portended something.

  Tarma tethered Verenna to the stall, but instead of unsaddling her at once, put a restraining hand over Kero's.

  "I'd have said this within the next couple of months," she began, "But sending Daren back is just letting me say it sooner. You're ready, little hawk. Think you're up to losing the jesses?"

  Kero blinked. "To go where?" she asked, after a moment of thought. "Knowing you, you have a plan for me."

  Tarma nodded, her ice-blue eyes warming a little. "Experience is going to be a better teacher than I am, from here on," she said, "And I've been looking around for a place for you for the past couple of moons. As it happens, the son of a good friend of mine just took over a bonded Company. They're called the Skybolts; they're scout-skirmishers, like my old Company, the Sunhawks. Lerryn Twoblades is the Captain's name; he's got a reputation for honesty, fair dealing, and as much honor as anyone ever gives a merc credit for. He'll have you, and gladly, if you want to go straight to a Company."