Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Vanyel had done something else at that time, though whether or not it was part of the alterations to this "Web" or not, the Chronicles were unclear. He had summoned—something. Or rather, he had summoned things. Having called them, he did something to them or with them, somehow gave them the job of watching for mages and alerting Herald-Mages to their presence in Valdemar.

  What happened when there weren't any more Herald-Mages? she wondered. Did they just keep watching, or what? Have they been trying to alert Heralds, or not?

  At least this accounted for something Kero had said, about why Quenten and the rest of the Skybolts' mages couldn't stay inside Valdemar. "He said it felt like there was someone watching him all the time," she'd told Elspeth. "Like there was someone just behind his shoulder, staring at him. Waking or sleeping. Said it just about drove him crazy."

  That certainly made a good enough reason for Elspeth; she didn't think she would want to stick around anywhere that she felt eyes on her all the time.

  Unless, of course, she was a truly powerful mage, one able to shield herself against just about anything. One that knew she was so much the superior of other mages that she felt totally confident in her ability to hide from the enemy.

  Like Hulda, maybe? We still don't know everything she can do. We've been assuming she was just Ancar's teacher and attributing all his success to Ancar himself... But what if it's really Hulda, letting him think he's in control, while she is really the power and the mind behind his actions?

  Again, that would explain a great deal, particularly Ancar's obsession with eliminating Talia, Selenay, and Elspeth.

  It could be he simply hated suffering defeat at the hands of women.

  But it also could be Hulda, egging him on. If he felt somehow shamed at being defeated by females, she could be playing on that shame, making him obsessive about it. After all, she had very little to lose. If Ancar was goaded into defeating Valdemar, she won. And if he lost, or was killed during the conflict—she would be there to inherit his kingdom and pick up the pieces. And Hulda would never repeat his mistakes....

  It all made hideous sense, a good explanation of otherwise inexplicable behavior. And Elspeth didn't like the explanation one bit. Ancar as an enemy was bad enough. But the idea of an enemy like Hulda who had been plotting for decades—

  It was enough to send a chill down the toughest of spines. It was more than enough to give Elspeth nightmares for three nights running.

  Elspeth closed the book she'd been reading, fighting down a queasy sensation in her stomach.

  She had just finished reading the passages in the Chronicles about Tylendel, Vanyel's first lover; his repudiation and his suicide. It didn't make for easy reading; it had been written, not by the Chronicler of the time, but by a non-Herald, a Healer, who had been a friend of Tylendel's mentor. Evidently the Heralds had all been affected so strongly by this incident that they were unable to write about it.

  But that was not why she was fighting uneasy feelings.

  Tylendel—at seventeen—had evidently been able to construct something called a "Gate" or a "Gate Spell," which enabled him to literally span distances it would take a Companion days or even weeks to cross.

  Her blood ran cold at the idea, and even though the author had hinted that the mage who used this spell had to know precisely where he was going, that fact was no comfort. Hulda had been to Valdemar—and it would not be very difficult to insert other agents into Valdemar simply to learn appropriate destinations.

  What if Ancar were to control this spell? What if he were able to get it past the protections? There would be no stopping him; he would be able to place agents anywhere he chose.

  In fact—Hulda had been in the Palace. For years. There was probably very little she didn't know about the Palace.

  She could place an agent in the Queen's very bedroom, if she chose, and all the guards in the world would make no difference.

  That might even be how that assassin got onto the Palace grounds. She shuddered. I think I'm going to have nightmares again....

  This had not been an easy day for reading. Elspeth was just as disturbed by the Chronicle she had completed before this one, the one describing Vanyel's last battle.

  The Herald-Mage had commanded tremendous power; so tremendous that the author had made an offhand comment to the effect that he could have leveled Haven if he so chose. Granted, Haven was a smaller city then than it was now, but—the power to level a city?

  It simply didn't seem possible, destruction on that kind of scale seemed absurd on the face of it. Yet for the writer, such power seemed to be taken for granted.

  At first reading, she had been skeptical of such claims; Chroniclers had been known to indulge in hyperbole before this. She had assumed that the descriptions were the embroideries of a "frustrated Bard," a Chronicler's version of poetic license. But on the second reading she had discovered the signature at the end, modestly tucked away in small, neat handwriting that matched the rest of the Chronicle, but not anything else in the book.

  Bard Stefen, for Herald-Chronicler Kyndri.

  Now there was no reason for Stefen to have invented outrageous powers for his lifebonded. There was every reason for him to have been absolutely factual in his account. He was not a would-be Bard, like many of the Chroniclers; he was a Bard, with all the opportunity to play with words that he wanted, outside of the Chronicles. And everything else in those Chronicles had been simple, direct, without exaggeration.

  So it followed that Herald Vanyel had that power, that ability. The ability to level a city.

  And if Vanyel had commanded that kind of power, there was no reason to suppose that Ancar could not ally himself to a mage with that same power, sooner or later. There probably weren't many with that kind of ability, but if there was one with the same kind of lust for conquest that drove Ancar, the King of Hardorn would eventually find him.

  Elspeth sat for a moment with her head in her hands, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. How could Valdemar possibly stand against the power of a mage like that?

  By finding another like him, she finally decided. If there is one, there have to be more. And surely not all of them will find Ancar's offers attractive. And that's exactly what I'm going to have to do.

  She shook back her hair, and pushed her chair away from the book-laden table. She was a little surprised by the bulk of her scattered notes; she'd been so engrossed she hadn't noticed just how much she'd been writing down.

  All right, she decided. I've learned all I can from books. Now it's time to get out there and see how much of it applies to current reality.

  She collected her notes into a neat stack, and shoved them into a notebook. Then she rose, stretched, and picked up the books, restoring them to their proper places on the shelves. Finally, though, she had to admit to herself that she wasn't being considerate of the librarians, she was putting off the moment of departure.

  She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and walked out of the archives with a firm step—showing a confidence she did not feel.

  Not that it really mattered. This was her plan, and she was, by the gods, going to see it through. And the first step on that road was to go find Skif and tell him it was time to leave; that she had everything she needed.

  If nothing else, she told herself wryly, Skif will be ready. Even if I'm not sure I am.

  Skif was ready; he had wisely refrained from repeating just how ready he was, but he was so visibly impatient that she decided to get on the road immediately, instead of waiting for morning. She headed back to her room at a trot, to throw her personal things into packs, while he had the Companions saddled and loaded with saddlebags. It was, after all, only a little after noon. They could conceivably make quite a bit of progress before they had to stop for the night.

  From the look on his face, that was exactly what Skif intended.

  She intercepted a young page and sent him around with farewell messages for everyone except her mother and Talia; those farew
ells she would make in person.

  Mother would never forgive me if I just sent a note, she thought ruefully, as she stuffed clothing into a pack. Not that I wouldn't mind just slipping out of here. She's bound to raise a fuss....

  Selenay still was not resigned to the situation; Elspeth was as sure of that as she was of her own name. She had been so involved in her researches that she hadn't spent much time in her mother's company, but the few times she had, she'd been treated to long, reproachful looks. Selenay hadn't said anything, but Elspeth would have been perfectly happy to avoid any chance of another motherly confrontation.

  She fully intended to plead the need for a hasty departure, putting the blame on Skif and his impatience if she had to. If I can just get this over quickl—

  Just as she thought that, someone tapped on her door. She started, her heart pounding for a moment, then winced as she forced herself to relax. She hadn't realized just how keyed up she was.

  A second tap sounded a little impatient. Don't tell me; Mother's already found out that I'm leaving!

  "Come in," she called, with a certain resignation. But to her surprise, it wasn't Selenay who answered the invitation, it was Kero.

  A second surprise: the Herald-Captain was carrying a sword; Need to be precise. Not wearing it, but carrying it; the blade was sheathed in a brand new scabbard, with an equally new sword-belt, both of blue-gray leather. And before she had a chance to say anything, Kero thrust the sword—sheath, belt, and all—into her hands.

  "Here," she said gruffly, her voice just a little hoarse, as if she was keeping back emotions of some kind. "You're going to need this. No pun intended."

  Her hands left the sheath reluctantly, and it seemed to Elspeth as if she was wistful—unwillingly so—at parting with the blade.

  For her part, Elspeth was so dumbfounded she felt like the village idiot, unable to think at all coherently. I'm going to what—she's giving me—that's Need, it's magic, she can't mean me to have it! Why—what—

  "But—" was all she could say; anything else came out as a sputter. "But—why?"

  "Why?" Kero shrugged with an indifference that was obviously feigned. "Right after you and I met, Need spoke for you. I couldn't do without her, not right then, and she hasn't said anything since, but there's never been any doubt in my mind that you're the one she was supposed to go to."

  "Go to?" Elspeth repeated, dazedly. Now that the blade was in her hands, she felt—something. An odd feeling. A slight disorientation, as if there was someone trying such a delicate mental probe on her that it was at the very edge of her ability to sense it. It was a little like when she'd been Chosen, only not nearly as strong.

  "It's something like being Chosen, I suppose," Kero said, echoing her thought. "She picks the one she wants to be passed to. Better that than just getting picked up at random, or so I'd guess, though women are the only ones that can use her. Grandmother got her from an old female merc when she left her mage-school; she gave Need to me, and now I'm giving her to you. You'd have gotten her from me in any case eventually, but since you're going out past the borders, I think it would be a good idea if you take her with you."

  Suddenly, the blade seemed doubly heavy.

  "You mean the sword talks to you?" Elspeth replied vaguely, trying to sort out surprise, the odd touches at the back of her mind, and just a touch of apprehension.

  "Not exactly talks, no," Kero chuckled. "Though let me warn you now, she is going to try and exert a lot of pressure on you to do what she wants—which is to rescue women in trouble. Don't give in to her more than you have to. She'll try two things—she'll either try to take over your body, or she'll give you a headache like you've never had in your life. You can block it and her out; I learned to eventually, and I should think with all the training you've had in the Gifts you should be able to manage just fine. After all, when I faced her down, I was only half-trained at best. Whatever you do, don't give in to her, or you'll set a bad precedent, as bad as giving a troublesome falcon its own way. She manipulated my grandmother, but I never let her manipulate me if I could help it."

  Elspeth regarded the gift dubiously. "If she's that much trouble—"

  "Oh, she's worth it," Kero said, with a rueful chuckle. "Especially for somebody like you or me, somebody who doesn't know beans about magic. For one thing, she'll Heal you of practically any injury, even on the battlefield in the middle of a fight. That alone is worth every bit of bother she ever gave me. But for the rest of her abilities, if you're a swordswinger, she'll protect you against magic—and I mean, real protection, as good as any Adept I've ever seen. I had some encounters with some mages of Ancar's that I haven't talked about—there wasn't anything any of them threw at me that she couldn't deflect." Kero chuckled. "Gave them quite a surprise, too."

  "But your grandmother was a mage," Elspeth said.

  "Right. If you're a mage, she protects you, too—but she doesn't do anything for you magically."

  "She takes over your body and makes you a good fighter?" Elspeth supplied.

  "Right! But she doesn't do anything for a fighter in the way of fighting ability."

  "I think I remember something about your grandmother being a fighter in some of the songs, only I knew you said she was a mage," Elspeth said, looking down at the blade in her hands with a touch of awe. "I never could figure out how the confusion happened. From everything I've read, becoming a mage takes up so much of your time you couldn't possibly learn to fight well."

  Kero shrugged. "Yes and no. It really depends on how much you want to curtail your social life. If you want to be a celibate, you could learn to be both."

  Huh. Like Vanyel....

  "Anyway, Need makes you a swordmaster if you're a mage, protects you from magic if you're a fighter. And if you aren't either—"

  "Like in 'Kerowyn's Ride'?" Elspeth asked, with a sly smile.

  Kero groaned. "Yes, gods help me, like in that damned song. If you aren't either, she takes over and makes you both. Her way, though, which tends to make you almost as big a target as one of your 'Here I am, shoot me' uniforms."

  Elspeth chuckled; Kero was, as usual, not wearing Whites. Then she sobered. "But you said I can fight the compulsion, right?"

  Kero nodded. "I did it. It takes a little determination, if you don't know what you're doing, but it can be done. I had to threaten to drop the damned thing down the nearest well. And I've already told it that you'll do the same if it gives you too much trouble."

  Seeing Elspeth's hesitation, she added, "If you don't want it, don't draw it—it can't force you to take it, you know. If you don't draw it, it won't have any kind of hold on you."

  Elspeth wasn't entirely sure of that—not after the tentative touches in the back of her mind, but she was certain that the hold the blade had on her could be fought. If she chose to. If Kero could, so could she.

  Carefully, she weighed all the factors in her mind. This was not going to be a decision to make lightly.

  She'll have a hold on me—but she'll protect me from things I not only don't understand, but might not detect until it's too late. And the Healing—that's damned important. If I'm hurt, I may not be able to get to a Healer, but I won't have to if I have her.

  Not such a bad trade, really. And since Elspeth had already been Chosen, perhaps the hold would be that much less. Gwena would surely help fight it; she could be very possessive when she wanted to be.

  Another good reason to take the blade suddenly occurred to her. One that Kero might not have thought of. If I don't find a mage—I'm a woman, and Mother's a woman. How well would this magic sword work against Ancar, I wonder?

  Given that scenario, how could she not, in good conscience, accept the blade?

  Without hesitation, she pulled Need from her sheath.

  For a moment, nothing at all happened.

  Then—

  Time stopped; a humming, somehow joyful, gleeful, filled the back of her head. It is just like being Chosen, she thought absently, as the blade glowe
d for a moment, the fire coalescing into script, runes that writhed, then settled into something she could actually read.

  Woman's Need calls me, as Woman's Need made me, she read, as her eyes watered from the fiery light. Her Need will I answer, as my Maker bade me.

  The runes writhed again—then faded, the moment she had the sense of them. The hum in the back of her mind stilled, and Time hiccupped, then resumed its stately progress.

  "What the hell was that supposed to mean?" she demanded, as soon as she could speak again.

  Kero shrugged. "Damned if I know," she admitted. "Only the gods know her history now. Grandmother said that's what happens when she gets into the hands she wants. But that, my dear, is the first time she's roused since I brought her inside the borders of Valdemar."

  Elspeth slid the blade gingerly into her sheath.

  Her. I doubt I'll ever call her "it" again....

  "What happens when I take her outside Valdemar?" she asked with trepidation. There had been such a feeling of power when Need had responded to her—a feeling of controlled strength, held back, the way a mastiff would handle a newborn chick.

  And I'm not sure I like feeling like a newborn chick!

  "I don't know," Kero admitted. "She hasn't been outside Valdemar for a long time. Whatever happens, you're going to require her, of that much I'm certain."

  "But what about you?" Elspeth was forced by her own conscience to ask. "Where does that leave you?"

  Kero laughed. "The same as before; I haven't ever depended on her to bail me out of a tough spot. And to tell you the truth, I don't think I'm going to be seeing anything worth being protected against."