Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Mercedes Lackey

  “So we was wondering why, if it is a Companion and all, and if it’s so smart, how come it’s been pacing around the garrison for four days instead of hightailing itself off to get help. We could sure use the help and that would bring it to its Chosen a lot faster.”

  Commander Dravin leaned back thoughtfully. “As I understand it, Corporal, the Companions are extremely . . . single-minded when they search for their Chosen. It would likely be totally abhorrent to it to leave once it had located that Chosen, even to get help.”

  “Right, sir, that’s what we figured. Also, the sergeant-at-arms, he says that they’re magical, that they know things, so maybe, it knows something about us.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That maybe it knows we’re gonna bring its Chosen to it.”

  The Commander’s eyes narrowed.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, sir, the thing is, we know it’s here for one of us, and most of us figure it’s Andy, him or one of the other three under twenty-five. Also . . .” she glanced at Ernie.

  “Also?” the Commander prodded.

  “Also,” Ernie answered, “though I’d like nuthin’ more than to believe my Bessie got through, the truth is she’d have reached Haven long before now, and the King would have got word back to us somehow, if only to keep our spirits up.”

  “Don’t you think, sir?” Norma prodded.

  The commander looked away for just a moment, then back, his expression weary. “Yes.”

  “And we’re running out of food, sir. This time a month from now, we’ll be in a desperate place, and they’ll be that much stronger. So,” Norma’s eyes brightened. ‘We had a thought, see. The garrison’s at full strength now, decently fed and itchin’ for a fight. You won’t ever find us more determined than right now. We’ve got it into our heads, all of us, to see this Companion and one of our own matched up. So, we take the fight outside, all of us, in one mad rush, and we bring that Companion its Chosen. The enemy’ll never know what hit ’em.”

  The commander smiled faintly. “You realize they outnumber us at least five to one, Corporal? That most of us would never survive this mad rush?”

  “At least we’d go down fightin’, sir, and we know, too, that even if we do beat ’em this time, they’ll be back with reinforcements. That’s why it’s so important to get word to King Valdemar. We figured a Companion’d have the best chance of anyone to get through, I mean It’s been dancin’ about their perimeter for nearly a week now and they ain’t noticed it yet.”

  “True.”

  “And besides,” Ernie added, “a Herald’d be a fine legacy for Trance Tower, don’t you think, sir?”

  Commander Dravin glanced from one old veteran to the other, then nodded slowly.

  “Yes, I do.”

  The Commander sent for Andy, Garet, Tara, and Mac an hour later. He came straight to the point.

  “We’re going to attack the enemy at dawn tomorrow,” he said bluntly. “With everything we’ve got. Once outside, the four of you have one objective only, regardless of who might fall around you, to find that Companion. When you do, I don’t care which of you is Chosen, you’re to make for Haven at once, all of you. Obviously the one riding will quickly outstrip the others, but I want you all heading south at double time, is that clear?”

  The four glanced hesitantly at each other.

  “But shouldn’t the others join the fight after one of us is Chosen, sir?” Andy asked. “You’ll need all the swords you can get.”

  “Maybe so, but those are my orders, Mister Harrow.”

  “But . . . sir, what if it doesn’t choose any of us,” Tara asked.

  “Then it’s up to the Companion to find its Chosen on its own. We can’t line up for it, can we?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Whatever happens, the four of you are to make for Haven, period. Someone has to get through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That night the five remaining members of Gray Squad stood on the north wall together, watching the future of Trance Tower flit gracefully between the trees. Is movements were blindingly fast, one minute appearing to the east, the next to the west, but somehow it seemed less agitated tonight, as if it knew the decision they’d made.

  Word of the morning’s attack had spread quickly and all along the walls, the garrison watched the Companion move in reverent silence. Finally Phen stirred faintly.

  “Is it my imagination or has it come closer than it was?”

  Ernie nodded. “It has.”

  “It sure is pretty.”

  “Yep.”

  “Think we should give Andy here a bath first thing tomorrow? We can’t hardly have a grubby little scrub like him representin’ Trance Tower like that, now can we?”

  “Leave him be, Phen,” Norma admonished. “Tonight’s not the time for teasin’.” She turned. “You got the drink, Harn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get it out, then.”

  Harn pulled a dark, brown bottle from his pack. He uncorked it in one swift motion, then passed it over. Norma held it up and the smell of brandy wafted out on the breeze to tickle against their nostrils.

  “Compliments of the commander,” she said. “Now, to us, eh? For years of loyal service, every one of us, and to Jem and Karl. They’d have been proud of the job we did on their boy whatever happens in the mornin’.” She took a deep drink, then passed it to Ernie.

  “To duty. Harn?”

  “To Ander Harrow. Phen?”

  The younger man smiled. “To mountain cats, and to Companions.”

  Finally the bottle passed to Andy. He held it cradled in his hands for a log time until Norma nudged him.

  “C’mon, boy, finish the toast.”

  Andy held the bottle up, feeling the liquid inside slosh about inside. “To Trance Tower Garrison,” he said thickly. “I never thought I’d . . .” he stopped, his jaw working, “I never thought I’d have to leave it, but if I do, I will.” He took an abrupt drink, then turned away so the others couldn’t see his face.

  “Good enough,” Ernie answered.

  The next day dawned cool and damp. The cook doled out the last of the potatoes fried up with the last of the mutton, then the garrison lined up, weapons ready, facing the main gate. Commander Dravin sat on his horse before them, his swords drawn. He didn’t speak, just cast his gaze across the faces of his soldiers as if memorizing their features, then nodded once. The sergeant-at-arms gave the order, the gate was flung open, and Trance Tower Garrison attacked.

  The enemy was surprised, but not for long. It rallied quickly and then it was hand-to-hand combat on the northern plain.

  Protected at the center of the Gray Squad, Andy moved as fast as he could for the foothills. Somewhere out there he knew the others were doing the same, ringed by a circle of swords and spears. They made three hundred yards, then four, then five, before by sheer weight of numbers the enemy penetrated their defenses. Harn was the first to fall. Then Phen. When Norma went down, Andy leaped forward, but a great ax-wielding man jumped between them and, with a scream, Andy closed with him. He never saw Ernie take the blow aimed for his back, but he heard him fall.

  The battle raged unabated throughout the morning. Trance Tower had something to fight for now and they broke wave after wave of enemy troops sent against them. In the face of their ferocity, the enemy began to falter, and when a white flash entered the fray, kicking and slashing with hooves like silver lightning, they broke and ran.

  The cry went up, “For the Herald!” as Commander Dravin led Trance Tower Garrison after them.

  Two hundred yards from the foothills, Andy sank to his knees in relief.

  It seemed like hours later than he managed to struggle to his feet and survey the damage though it was really only a few moments. Harn was dead, Ernie was dying, and Phen was so badly wounded that he probably wouldn’t last the day, but what was probably worse, Tara and Mac lay together on the northernmost edge of the battlefield. They’d almost made it to the hills
. Almost.

  Breathing hard, Andy knelt beside Norma. Taking her hand in his, he squeezed her bloodied fingers until her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Did we beat ’em?” she asked hoarsely.

  He nodded, his gaze blurred by tears. “Yeah.”

  “Then . . . what are you waitin’ for? Git.”

  “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “I’ll mend. Takes more than the likes . . . of them to put an Anzie in her grave. I said, git.”

  There was a whicker behind them and Andy turned slowly.

  Twenty paces away the Companion stood, staring at him with its brilliant blue eyes. This close, it was dazzingly white in the sunlight and he could barely look at it without squinting. He moved forward.

  The Companion and the Guardsman looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, and then Andy’s mouth quirked up.

  “I told them it wasn’t me,” he whispered, his tone a combination of relief and disappointment.

  The Companion turned its attention away, sweeping its bight gaze over the battlefield, clearly searching, then turned back to stare into Andy’s face once again.

  He nodded his understanding. “Yes,” he said, laying one weary hand on its back. “I’ll help you find that Herald of yours.”

  They reached Garet Barns a few moments later. He was lying on his back, his eyes wide with shock, his hands pressed tight against his side. Blood seeped through his uniform tunic to pool darkly beneath him. His face was ashen, but when he looked up into the Companion’s eyes, a bit of the color returned.

  Andy shook his head. “Shoulda known.” He knelt. “C’mon, lemme see it.”

  His gaze still locked on the Companion’s eyes, Garet allowed the other youth to examine the wound.

  “It’s not terrible,” Andy pronounced after a minute. Taking off his own tunic, he used his knife to cut his shirt into strips, then bound up the wound. “All right, let’s get you up. That lot won’t keep runnin’ all day.” Arms wrapped about the other’s chest, he drew Garet to his feet. The Companion knelt and somehow Andy managed to get him onto its back. It stood carefully. Then, one hand holding the other youth by the belt, Andy nodded.

  “Let’s go.”

  They made their way slowly across the battlefield, careful not to step on any of the wounded. Friend and foe alike watched them go in silence, and the ones that could, saluted as they passed.

  They reached the south road without incident. Still shocky, Garet rode without speaking and, deep in his own thoughts, Andy hardly noticed his surroundings until a white blur flashed between them and a stand of pine trees. Looking up, Andy stared straight into a pair of brilliant sapphire eyes. The world fell away beneath the intensity of its gaze and all he could think to say was,“Oh. There were two of you.”

  The second Companion whickered softly. After a few moments it nudged him gently. Then it nudged him harder.

  :Chosen?:

  The fist Companion pawed the ground and Garet stirred. “Andy? The garrison? We have to keep moving.”

  “Right.”

  Shaking himself out of his stupor, Andy carefully mounted up. They had miles to travel before he could pause to wonder at the sudden change in his life. They had to get to the capital, warn King Valdemar, and come back with an army to save what was left of Trance Tower, but suddenly it all seemed possible. Smiling down at . . . Lillia, he nodded.

  “All right. I’m ready to go now.”

  Together, they headed down the south road toward Haven.

  Starhaven

  by Stephanie D. Shaver

  Stephanie Shaver is a single twenty-something living in St. Louis, Missouri, where she works as a webmaster for an online games company. She’s been published in various anthologies and magazines over the years, and was one of the resident writers at Marion Zimmer Bradley’s home in Berkeley in the early Nineties. When she’s not making soap, studying aikido, or working on websites, she’s writing a book about a girl who misplaced her soul. Her official website is at www.sdshaver.com.

  She was dying, blood trickling down her side and legs into the grass. The mage’s body was a crumpled, charred mess at her feet. But—his soul—

  At the instant she had killed him—the moment when she’d poured everything she had left at him—he had done the unexpected. He was tangled with her soul somehow—buried like a jagged black seed.

  She was too weak to think clearly enough to destroy him. And even if she could have gotten back to the Vale—

  The seed inside her. Who would it bury itself in next?

  She fell to her knees, her vision dimming as she fought death with the scraped-up dredges of her strength. Her teachers had always told her she threw herself too far into what she did—but how could he not? The mage killed her daughter—and her husband—

  In more ways than one, she had nothing left.

  With the last of her strength she slipped the moorings of her body and plunged deep into the earth, dropping like an offering into the burning node of power beneath her—

  Vess writhed in his bed, screaming.

  His body was on fire—his body was fire—locked in the process of agonized immolation. He arched in pain and horror as his skin and bones melted—

  And it was gone.

  Vess sat up, soaked in sweat and breathing heavily. He was in a Waystation inside the village of Solmark. It was morning. He was not a woman dying alone in a forest; he was a Herald, here on business for the Crown.

  That wasn’t just a nightmare, he thought. That was—what the hells was that?

  He was shaking as he dragged himself out of bed and dressed. He felt a curious emptiness within, as if someone had cracked open his chest and scooped out his insides.

  As if a part of me just died, he thought, unsure of where the thought came from.

  :Chosen?:

  He paused, momentarily disoriented by Kestric’s voice in his mind. :Yes?:

  :Are you all right?:

  He nodded. :I’m fine.:

  :I felt something—a nightmare?:

  :Something like one. I’ll be okay. I need some air.: He straightened his collar, brushing out the front. :I need to do what I came here for.: He sucked in a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders on exhale.

  :Right. After all those days of riding—to get so little rest. Are you sure you don’t want to try to go back to sleep?:

  :I’m sure. I don’t think it’ll get better with more sleep.: He rubbed the back of his neck. :It’s the damn Pelagirs. I never have good dreams, this close to them.:

  Vess had no illusions of being the next Windrider—his Mage-Gift, in comparison to some of the other, real Herald-Mages, was pretty pitiful—but the sliver of active Mage-Gift he did have made him sensitive to local magic. It was more a bane than a boon—it was distinctly unpleasant to be able to simultaneously see magic and be completely helpless to affect it.

  His other Gifts more than made up for where the supposedly superior Mage-Gift had failed him. He was one of the strongest Mindspeakers in the Heraldic Circle—strong enough to use it as a weapon. A touch of Empathy coupled with a noble upbringing had also made him a viable member of the King’s inner circle.

  Viable enough that, for the last six months, he’d effectively been the King’s Own, sans the title, the senseless attacks on his reputation, and Jastev, the Grove-born stallion. He’d been in that uncomfortable, ill-defined position of King’s closest adviser ever since the real King’s Own, Nadja, had stopped being able to get out of bed in the mornings.

  Nadja . . . I hope you’re not hurting, though I know you probably are.

  :Chosen, are you dwelling?:

  Vess shook his head, trying to disperse his brooding thoughts. :I am,: he said. :I should stop.: He opened the door, the cool hand of early dawn caressing his face. :Want to come along with me on my walk?:

  He felt a pleasant surge of affection from Kestric—the closest the Companion could come to a hug. :As if you had to ask.:

  The gate to the stock
ade was pushed up for the day, and in the light of the new morning Vess could see now why they’d needed to gather up five men last night to get it open. It was composed of entire tree trunks planed, caulked, and lashed together to form a formidable barrier that could be dropped at a moment’s notice.

  The Waystation was built inside the stockade—to put it outside amid the unpredictable dangers of the Pelagirs would have been suicide. Not to mention a constant hassle. Pelagir plants grew with preternatural quickness. The Waystation would have been overcome by greenery within a few short years.

  . . . much the way Starhaven is, he thought.

  They passed out from under the cool shadow of the gate and down the road leading away from Solmark. There weren’t many people about—just one girl, who waved to them as they passed by, her smock pockets stuffed with herbs—and the weather was pleasant and cool.

  The quiet was as pleasant as the weather. Vess had become accustomed to living in Haven, with the daily pressure of hundreds of minds pressing on his shields. He didn’t usually notice it, but out in the hinterland it was strange to not have that sense of others around him.

  Just me and Kestric, he thought as he and his Companion headed down a thin, overgrown trail. What a change.

  Of course, the Pelagirs had a presence all their own; something akin to a ghostly hand brushing the back of his neck. He had felt it even as a child, when his mother had sent him to Solmark to be fostered for a summer.

  It had not been pleasant. And if Solmark was enough to give him nightmares, Starhaven was even worse.

  As if cued—or possibly listening in on his surface thoughts—Kestric said, :So, where are you taking us? I assume you have a location in mind.:

  :Starhaven,: he replied. :Or what used to be Starhaven. It was Solmark’s sister town fifty years ago.:

  :. . . was?:

  :Was until everyone in it died. I’ve mentioned this before, haven’t I?:

  :You’ve mentioned being fostered in Solmark, but not Starhaven.: Patterns of sunlight and shadow dappled Kestric’s pure white coat as they passed under the forest’s canopy. The trail, for all that it surely wasn’t used regularly by anyone anymore, was in remarkably good shape, easy to discern and unbroken.