Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  “Naturally,” Vordon replied, shaggy head bobbing.

  “Did he figure this out in advance, or is he making it up as he goes along?” Darian whispered to Keisha as they stood solemnly on the Valdemaran side of the negotiation pavilion.

  “Making it up, I think, with some help,” Keisha whispered back. “Heralds are very good at improvising.”

  So far, Valdemar and the allies were doing very well out of these negotiations. Things were particularly advantageous for the dyheli, for the “holy” dyheli were getting the protection of Ghost Cat’s warriors, shelter for the winter in barns that Ghost Cat pledged to build, and grain in the winter from Ghost Cat’s stores. Virtually everything Eldan asked for, Vordon was agreeing with: care for the dyheli in exchange for access to the Healers; a set territory in exchange for alliance with Valdemar and the Hawkbrothers, with Ghost Cat guarding the borders against other northern clans. They even agreed to settle and learn to farm in place of their nomadic life of hunting and grazing.

  They couldn’t be more unlike the last lot in that. Blood Bear Clan would rather have slit their own throats than take up farming. First, though, they ‘d have done their best to slit ours.

  There had been some disappointment when the other Healers had examined the survivors of the last bouts of Summer Fever, and had been forced to confess that they could not reverse what movement and strength had already been lost. That disappointment had been overpowered by the relief of knowing that Summer Fever would never kill or cripple again.

  Darian kept a steadying arm around Keisha’s waist, under the excuse that she was still weak and not entirely easy on her feet. She let him - under the same excuse. He didn’t think he was going to miss Summerdance nearly as much as he had anticipated.

  He had every intention of taking things slowly, though. This wasn’t a Vale, and Keisha Alder wasn’t Tayledras. And I’m not stupid. Offend the local Healer? No thank you! What was it Nightwind said once? “The ones who know how to put you together also know how to take you apart!” Besides, he liked Keisha’s friendship; he didn’t have nearly enough friends to risk losing one to bad manners.

  The northerners hadn’t even been the least reluctant about improving their bathing habits after Keisha’s initial scolding; as it turned out, they had more wistful tales about a valley full of hot springs that they had been driven out of by a stronger clan, and traditions of steam houses that they hadn’t been able to build in far too long. They knew all about flea-killing herbs, but since such things only came into their hands at the Midsummer Gathering by means of trade, they’d had to do without since the first attack of the Fever. Grenthan and several of the hertasi were already constructing a Valdemaran-style community bath house and steam house for them at the edge of the village, and Keisha’s gifts of fleabane and rosemary had been greeted with cries of joy from the women. In short, these barbarians, at least, were not nearly as barbaric as their appearance had led everyone to believe.

  Even Kelvren was happy, for he had an entirely new set of humans to ooh and aah over him.

  And we have this all settled before Harvest Faire and Val’s wedding - which makes absolutely everyone happy!

  Darian felt full of warm contentment and dared to believe that k’Valdemar Vale was going to be hailed as an immediate success. Which makes me look awfully good. And which should put Kel’s status up a few points as well.

  Thinking of Kel, Darian took a look around for him - and soon saw him, the center of a group of awestruck women, who admired his handsome feathers and timidly touched the talons he offered for their inspection. Darian strained his ears - and discovered, with no surprise, that the gryphon had already gotten Tyrsell to bestow the Ghost Cat language on him.

  But when he heard what Kel was saying to the women, he nearly choked, and had to work very hard indeed to keep a properly solemn expression, one in accordance with the gravity of the making of such an important treaty.

  For Kel had some treaty ideas of his own.

  “It isss good luck to ssscrrratch a grrryphon’sss crrressst,” Kel told the enraptured group.

  “It is?” said the boldest of the lot - Hywel’s sister, if Darian recalled correctly. She reached out immediately and began gently scratching Kel’s outstretched head.

  “Oh, yesss,” Kel sighed happily. “It isss well known; an old and trrreasssurrred trrradition!”

  --3 Owlknight (2000)--

  w/ Larry Dixon

  We’ve got soul.

  We’ve got each other.

  We’ve got the whole world to embrace.

  This one’s for you.

  One

  A shrill whistle caught Darian’s attention, and he looked up and over the lake of k’Valdemar Vale, shading his eyes with his hand. As he expected, he saw Snowfire waving at him from his “balcony,” three-quarters of the way up the side of the cliff that edged the far side of the lake.

  Actually, it would have been more accurate to say that he saw a tiny figure with white hair waving from the balcony - at this distance he couldn’t have said for certain that it was Snowfire. It wasn’t Nightwind, though; her hair was still raven-wing black.

  The sky above the cliff shimmered with a light, pearly opalescence, although it was perfectly possible to see the clouds and blue sky beyond the new Veil, a magic shield that protected k’Valdemar.

  I would never have believed we’d get a Veil so quickly, he marveled once again. If anyone had told me that the Heartstone would support a Veil this soon, I would have told him he was wildly optimistic. It wasn’t a full Veil, which would have excluded all weather; this simply kept things at a constant, pleasant temperature, no matter the season. Rain came through, and snow fell to the ground as rain once it passed through the Veil, so they still got some weather. They couldn’t do without roofs yet.

  He whistled back at Snowfire, and waved his arm in the direction of the Council House, the newly built structure that housed all Joint Council sessions. It wasn’t much of a structure; now that the Vale had protection, it didn’t need to be much of a structure. It had “walls” of wicker work covered in vines, a roof that was half skylight and half slate, a floor of natural turf which flourished in the light. For furniture, in deference to the Valdemar contingent of the Joint Council, there were chairs and a table, but the chairs were of woven grapevine and wicker with soft cushions, and the table was a compass-rose shape of tree-trunk sections, topped with three rising layers of polished wood with one section for each member of the Council. The Tayledras of k’Valdemar, of course, felt no need for formal furniture, and neither did the tribesmen of the Ghost Cat clan.

  Up on the cliff, Snowfire waved both arms back, signifying that he understood the Council was gathering. He disappeared into the dark opening in the cliff face behind him, presumably to fetch his mate, Nightwind. His errand of notifying Snowfire and Nightwind completed, Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar turned back and entered the shaded and secluded pathways of his Vale, heading for the Council House himself.

  An odd and sometimes seemingly contradictory combination of qualities was Darian. A Journeyman-level Mage, from a land which did not have such things until very recently - a citizen of the country of Valdemar, yet also a Hawkbrother of the once-secretive Tayledras, adopted into the clan of k’Vala - even his clothing reflected those contradictions.

  He wore soft fabrics of Hawkbrother manufacture; the loose trousers, gathered at the ankle, that both sexes wore, and the wide-sleeved, open-collared shirt that was also a staple among the Tayledras. Good, strong dyes were readily available in the Vale, so the rich gold of his shirt and brown of his trousers were commonplace inside the Vale, though not necessarily in the Valdemaran lands beyond.

  But the embroidered, fitted vest he wore, though not of Valdemaran manufacture, was definitely of the local style. Of light brown leather lined in darker brown silk, it was embroidered in a motif of owls. Once again, contradiction - the cut of the vest was Valdemaran, the motif was clearly Tayledras.


  So there it was, contradictions implied in his very dress, contradictions that sometimes confused others, but never confused him. For all the contradictions, Darian was comfortable in his dual citizenship, and sometimes took an impish delight in how uncomfort-able it made others.

  He looked up at the sound of a crow’s catcall just above his head, laughing when he saw a falcon playing “tag” with a crow, flying in and out of the branches. In open air, the falcon would have had the advantage, but not in among the trees. The streamer trailing from the falcon’s bracelets was less than half its original length, but the crow still had most of his streamer, and mocked the falcon enthusiastically. Both were bondbirds, of course, the specially bred, highly intelligent companions of the Hawkbrothers, and the falcon seemed to be taking his imminent defeat in good humor. Crows took just about everything in good humor; of all the birds bred by the Hawkbrothers as bondbirds, the crows had the liveliest sense of humor. Ravens were more sardonic, most of the falcons tended to be quick-witted but extremely focused, hawks a little slower but more deliberate, and owls somewhat ponderous in their thinking. Darian’s own bondbird was an owl; in fact, it was one of largest birds in the Vale. Kuari was an eagle-owl, a bird which dwarfed all other birds except the bondbird eagles. Since there were no Tayledras with eagles in this Vale, Kuari and his parents Hweel and Huur were the largest birds here.

  Now that the temperature was under control, the flora of the Vale was in the process of undergoing a shift from what had been native to this place to plants and even trees that could only be found in Tayledras Vales. There were more flowers; they were not necessarily bigger, but they bloomed all year long, their subtle perfume filling the air. The leaves of these new plants were enormous, and not just green - veins traced scarlet pathways, and pinks, oranges, and even blues made patterns that resembled flowers, enormous insects, or abstract collages on their surfaces.

  It would take a very long time before this Vale looked anything like k’Vala, several generations, perhaps, but the beginnings were there, and Darian took a great deal of pleasure in seeing them. As he walked along the sand-softened pathway, he glanced up now and again, catching brief glimpses of new ekeles in the enormous trees. The treehouses of k’Valdemar were a bit more inventive than the ones in k’Vala; perhaps spurred on by hertasi creativity, there were experiments in Hawkbrother housing going on up there. Not all of them were successful, but the failure rate was low, and failures were never disasters. If one plan didn’t work out, would-be home builder and hertasi just put their heads together and tried a new direction.

  All this building had been spurred on by the existence of the Veil, making it possible to have ekeles that took full advantage of the constant balmy conditions. The hedonistic Tayledras loved it. So did those ubiquitous residents of established Vales, the hummingbirds and messenger-birds. Strictly off-limits as dinner or snacks for the predatory bondbirds, these feathered gems frolicked fearlessly from the ground to the treetops. The messenger-birds sported feathers of every hue possible, and in combinations that sometimes made Darian blink. Their natural voices were a bit shrill, but fortunately the heavy foliage tended to disperse and muffle their joyful shrieks. The voice they used to repeat messages was a bit more pleasant, a kind of hoarse chuckle, and when they chose to permit someone to scratch or tickle them, they would chortle and chirp their pleasure in a way that was quite funny.

  A flock of the messenger-birds hurtled overhead, screaming with delight, apparently in pursuit of the falcon and the crow. A hummingbird hovered at a flower cluster just beside the path, paying no attention to Darian as he walked by.

  He should have been contented; there should have been nothing more he could have wanted. But underneath, he was restless and uneasy.

  Perhaps it had been the dream he’d had last night, that had sent him up out of sleep with a feeling of something threatening. He couldn’t remember it though, that was the problem. All he could recall were the eyes of the Ghost Cat he had seen so long ago, and an odd sort of raven with the same kind of eyes. . . .

  It’s probably just that I’ve gotten used to crisis, he told himself wryly. Once you get to the point that you watch for signs of crisis everywhere, totally innocuous events seem like grave portents. I should be glad that the worst crisis is where we’re going to put the latest batch of “pilgrims” to the “Holy Dyheli!”

  That was an ongoing problem; every new group that made it down from the tribal lands of the North seemed to arrive with the potential to spread a new and different illness. Keeping them all quarantined from Ghost Cat and from each other until their ailments were identified and a cure devised required the tact of a diplomat, the organizational ability of the Kingdom Seneschal, and the tactical ability of a general. Although those qualities were not all combined in a single person, among them all, the Council members managed, though there had been a few-emergency sessions in the past.

  The meeting planned for today, however, was the routinely scheduled monthly meeting. Lord Breon and his son would be there for Kelmskeep, as would the Chief and Shaman of Ghost Cat for the Northerners, representatives from Errold’s Grove, and from all the races resident at k’Valdemar Vale. Darian didn’t figure he’d hear anything more exciting than progress reports - perhaps some complaints or requests from farmers.

  The vague murmur of conversation mingled with the rustle of leaves reached him before he actually saw the Council House. He stepped past the vine-covered, wicker-work screen shielding the entrance, and joined the others in a “room” that seemed very much an extension of the lush forest outside.

  Of the representatives for k’Valdemar, only he and the snow-haired, aged Starfall were present at this moment; Nightwind and Snowfire and the others were presumably on their way. Lord Breon and Val had arrived last night, staying overnight in the guest lodge, and now were in their chairs chatting comfortably with Chief Vordon and Shaman Celin of Ghost Cat. Hertasi moved about the table, putting beverages and light snacks within reach of the Council members on the topmost tier of the table. No one shuffled papers on the lowest table tier today, which was a good omen for a short meeting. The table itself was in the shape of an open rose seen from above, with the layers in trimmed wood forming the petals. The original concept had been for a square table, yet someone had observed that only allowed for comfort for four parties. The way things had been going who knows how many more powers might come to stay in this area!

  The Lutters were no longer the ones making the decisions for Errold’s Grove - oh, they thought they were, but the real work was done by the Village Council, and two representatives from that body were the new glass-maker, Harrod Dobbs, and Barda of the Fellowship. Harrod was always glad of an excuse to come to the Vale for a chance to use the bigger glass furnaces here and trade tips and lessons from the Vale glass-makers. There was very little overlap in what he produced and what the Vale artisans did; Harrod only rarely made anything that wasn’t utilitarian, as the demand for glass bottles and jars and common drinking vessels would always exceed his output. Still, he liked to turn out a nice set of goblets now and again, and most of what the Tayledras produced was lampwork and blown glass, so he was able to teach them molding techniques. The latest result of that was a series of small, flat medallions to hang in a window that they called “sun-catchers,” formed of colored glass, with a decorative impression molded into each. They were an adaptation of an Eastern style, very popular within the Vale; whether they would become popular outside it had yet to be determined.

  The nonhuman members of the group, Kelvren, Ayshen, Tyrsell and Hashi, had not yet appeared either - but just as Darian took his own seat and exchanged greetings with the rest, the hertasi entered, followed by the king stag and the kyree.

  And right after them, Snowfire and Nightwind appeared. “Sorry we’re running a bit late,” Nightwind apologized, pulling her ebon hair away from her finely honed face. “Kel will be here in a minute, too - we had to pry the baby away from him and get her put down for he
r nap.”

  As if that had been a cue, the wicker walls shook with the thunder of enormous wings outside, and leaves blew, and Kelvren the gryphon joined the group, shouldering past the screen. He shook his dark brown feathers to settle them after his flight (and the baby Moonshadow’s sticky hands) and looked around.

  Ayshen, the leader of the lizard-folk called hertasi, sat beside Nightwind on her left. The Kaled’a’in smiled a welcome and swept her trailing sleeves out of the way for him, and he put the tray of her favorite berry tartlets he had brought on the top tier of her table section. To her right sat Snowfire, and the section of Tayledras concluded with the silver-haired mage Starfall, the eldest of the group. Then came Darian, then Lord Breon’s sturdy son, Val, then the Lord himself. Between Lord Breon and the two Ghost Clan representatives sat Barda and Harrod. The dyheli stag Tyrsell stood beside Kelvren the gryphon along the back wall. Val’s arm was in a sling again; he’d probably managed to sprain it at fighting practice.

  “It ssseeemsss everrryone isss herrre,” Kel said genially, and arranged himself along the wall, lying down on the turf out of the way. Hashi the kyree lay down next to him. “Good! I am sssorrry I was delayed. Who will ssstarrrt?”

  “Actually, I will,” Lord-Breon said, looking uncommonly cheerful. Although his hair was threaded with gray, no one in his right mind would ever challenge Breon to a fight; he kept his well-muscled fighter’s frame in top trim. “I have some excellent news to start the Council session with - we’re getting our own, permanent, resident Herald-Mage!”

  “No, really?” Snowfire exclaimed, blue eyes widening, as the others murmured their surprise. “When did you hear this?”

  “Just before we left; news came by messenger.” Lord Breon was extremely pleased, and well he should be. Giving this corner of the world a resident Herald meant that Queen Selenay and her Council judged the land that held Breon’s keep to be of significant importance. That meant Breon’s status had risen from that of a minor noble to that of a key landholder here in the Northwest.