Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Mercedes Lackey

  Something stepped between him and it. A soft susurration, like the drowsy chirr of insects at twilight.

  And instead of plunging into deadly waters, he found himself at the edge of a clearing, though not one he knew. It could have been the heart of Companion’s Grove. It could have been any number of places in Valdemar. A faintly blue light, soft as moonlight, lit the world, but it was not of the world he knew.

  Some distance from him was a woman in luminous Whites. She stood at the center of the clearing, and despite the unearthly light, her face remained obscured. Even so, he got the sense she was . . . watching him.

  “Tell him I’m waiting,” she said.

  Wil sat up in near darkness. Coals gleamed in the hearth, and someone was breathing lightly in the boxbed to his right. He crawled awkwardly out of bed and emerged into the chilly night air.

  Vehs walked over and nuzzled his hair.

  :Sleep well?: he asked. :We had hoped it would last through the night.:

  Wil frowned. “It? We?” he asked, and remembered the day before. “Have you two been conspiring behind my back?”

  Vehs lowered his lashes and gave him a coy look.

  Wil started to speak—

  Something moved in the dark.

  Wil snapped his head around, scanning the forest. He felt Vehs stiffen.

  :That,: Vehs said, :is not your imagination.:

  The Waystation door creaked, and the presence vanished. From behind him, Lelia said, “Something’s out there.”

  Both he and Vehs turned to look at her. “You feel it, too?” Wil asked.

  She nodded. “Something . . . big. Familiar, but not.” She shook her head. “Whatever it was, it’s gone, now.” She hugged herself tightly. “It’s freezing. I’ll be inside.”

  Wil and Vehs stared into the darkness together.

  :Any idea what it is?: Wil ventured.

  :Something . . . but not night-demons.: Vehs shook his mane. :Chosen, go back inside. Rest. I’ll stand watch.:

  Wil could tell Vehs was being evasive . . . but he knew better than to try and press a Companion when he or she didn’t want to give details.

  Lelia had added wood to the fire. She waited by his bedside, wrapped in her spare cloak.

  “You sang me to sleep,” Wil said.

  She nodded. “Did it work?”

  Wil stretched out in the bedbox. “I think so.” The fire popped and crackled. “Can you do it again?”

  “Of course.”

  He closed his eyes. “Will you tuck me in, too?”

  She laughed. “And ruin our professional relationship?”

  Then she started singing, and the music stepped between him and the Vision, granting him peace.

  Several nights of solid sleep did much to restore Wil’s spirits. A fog had lifted from his thoughts. He found himself picking out details in the Vision that he hadn’t noticed before.

  Things Kyril would want to know.

  So long as Lelia sang him to rest, Wil no longer dreamed of Elene’s death. The only dream he had—that he remembered having—was of the shadow-Herald and the clearing.

  Tell him I’m waiting.

  Tell who?

  Vehs reported no disturbances from the invisible “it.” But that didn’t mean it was gone, and as soon as Lelia was delivered safely in Winefold, Wil would have to figure out what “it” was.

  They reached the inn at Boarsden before dusk and enjoyed a leisurely dinner. Lelia, as usual, found the biggest chair in the house, curled up on it with her special blend of tea, and regaled him with tales of the Court.

  “The clothing is the best,” she said. “Some of those women layer so much junk over the bodies the gods gave ’em, they can hardly walk a straight line!” Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “Sometimes I want to go cow-tipping . . . if you know what I mean.”

  As Wil wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, she signaled a server to bring more hot water for steeping tea.

  He took the opportunity to change subjects. There was something he’d been cogitating.

  “Lelia, tell me—have you ever heard of anyone having a Gift like Foresight but . . .” He grasped for words. “More like Hindsight?”

  She frowned. “Not sure what you mean?”

  “Visions of the past instead of the future.”

  “Uh. Hm.” She pondered. “Well, as you know, I am the realm’s preeminent Vanyel expert.”

  Vehs snorted mentally.

  “I recall stories where he did that. But it wasn’t a Gift. It was just something a Herald-Mage of his caliber could do.” She cocked her head. “Why?”

  Wil shook his head. “Just—”

  “Curious?” She raised a brow. “I’ve heard that before.”

  He smiled despite himself. “Maybe later.”

  She grunted. “Better.”

  They talked until well into the night. When it came time to sing to him, she looked so sweet at his bedside that he felt a momentary wild urge to sit up and drag her into his arms.

  Sleep always came before he could act on that urge.

  The squat house was built into the hillside, a bit apart from the grain fields. Flowers and aromatics flourished in boxes and neat plots around the tidy stone structure. Laundry hung from a line, faded blue and green garments fluttering in the breeze.

  Wil stood on the rutted path leading up to the front door, Elene’s carved box clenched in his hands.

  Such a miserable recompense for a daughter.

  “She’s alone in there,” Lelia said.

  Wil glanced at her. She had a distant look on her face, a slight crease to her brow.

  “How are you doing that?” he asked.

  Lelia smiled. “It’s a Bard thing.”

  “Oh?”

  Lelia hugged her cloak around her. “You should go, Herald, before she notices us.”

  Wil couldn’t argue with that logic. He started up the path, Vehs following.

  Too soon the door was before him, and he knocked.

  “One moment!” a cheerful voice called. He heard glass clink and then the thump of footfalls. The door swung open, and a rosy-cheeked dark-haired woman looked up at him.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  Wil cleared his throat. “Kaylene Baernfield?”

  “Yes?” Her expression turned to perplexity.

  “Elene’s mother?”

  Her face froze, and suddenly Wil didn’t know how, or even what to say. Everything Kyril had told him, all the things he’d thought up along the way—they all scattered. With the cessation of the Vision, with all the rest, he’d thought he was prepared.

  He knew now that he never would be.

  “Elene?” her mother whispered.

  “She died.” He swallowed, extending the box to her and thinking again: So small. So paltry. “I’m sorry.”

  Kaylene took the box. She looked up at him, tears growing in her eyes. He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  And then she was not looking at him at all but at something past him.

  A good day to be alive.

  Lelia sat at the base of the hill, leaning against a spreading oak. The ride had been long and draining, and the nightly lullabies weren’t as easy on her as she let on. It felt good to sit, and rest, and breathe.

  The sorrow unfolded in miniature on the hill. Kaylene clutched the box. Wil touched her shoulder, and Vehs bent his head. Lelia dashed tears from her own eyes.

  Something stirred in the brush to her right. Something big.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She extended her Gift, as she’d done that first night she’d sung Wil to sleep, and she felt it—that oddly familiar presence—

  Familiar, because it was a Companion that stepped silently from the trees. Odd, because this Companion should not be. His tack was heavily worn and stained with mud. A bit of frayed rope trailed behind him, one end still secured to his saddle.

  The saddle . . .

  Lelia’s eyes traced the name worked into the leather, and he
r mouth formed a silent “oh.” She used the tree to clamber to her feet and put a hand out to the Companion.

  Up on the hill, a voice called, “Alrek?”

  Kaylene pushed past Wil, shoving Elene’s box back into his hands. Wil turned to see the Bard slowly making her way up the hill, a Companion beside her.

  :Vehs?:

  :It’s him.:

  “Alrek,” Kaylene said again, hoarsely. She stumbled forward and wrapped her arms around the Companion’s neck, weeping.

  :I am sorry,: an unfamiliar mind-voice said, and by the startled look on Lelia’s face, Wil guessed that they all heard it. :I did not protect her. I did not bring her home.: Lelia looked down and away, tears on her cheeks. :I am so sorry.:

  “You brought her home plenty of times.” Kaylene stepped back. “And you brought yourself home.” She stroked his cheek. “That’s more’n I had before.”

  The Companion sank to his knees, Kaylene kneeling beside him. “It’s all right,” she whispered, over and over. “Oh, dearie, I know you did your best.”

  :I did not protect her.:

  :Alrek,: Wil Mindspoke to him.

  The Companion looked up, agony in his eyes.

  :Why have you been following me?: Wil asked.

  :She—: Alrek bent his head. :I don’t know why, but she . . . is near you, somehow. I feel my Chosen watching over you! She—: The Companion keened, a low, soft sound that broke Wil’s heart. :I killed her!:

  Wil glanced at Kaylene. Alrek had not projected their conversation to her, for which Wil was grateful. As much as anyone could, he understood the why of it all now. But Kaylene did not need that burden.

  Reaching out with his mind, Wil showed the grief-crazed Companion what he himself had Seen, night after night—what only a strange twist of Foresight could know. Threads of time not as they would be woven, but as they had been.

  Elene in the water—fumbling for her belt knife—the weight of the log—sawing at the lead line until it broke—

  The water carrying her away . . .

  The Companion shuddered, then sighed. His head came to rest on the grass, his eyes closing.

  “Go on,” Wil said, softly. “She’s waiting.”

  With Vehs and Wil’s permission, Kaylene took a lock of Alrek’s white hair. She tucked it into the carved box, alongside Elene’s things.

  All of Boarsden came to bury the Companion. The sun was heading for the west by the time Wil and Lelia left, the Bard riding behind him, thin arms circling his waist.

  :Chosen,: Vehs said.

  :Hm?:

  :You should really visit your father sometime.:

  Wil stiffened. :Maybe someday.:

  “What’s wrong?” Lelia asked.

  “Nothing,” Wil replied, making a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. “What are they feeding you in the Palace? Water and moonbeams? You’re practically all bones.”

  “Moonbeams? Bright Lady, no. Too fattening.” But the jest sounded faltering at best, and he wondered.

  They spent the night at the inn. Lelia was departing early. There was no talk of singing tonight; Wil had a feeling he wouldn’t need it anymore.

  :How often does this sort of thing happen, Vehs?: Wil asked.

  :A Companion surviving his Herald? Not often. The shock alone . . . I don’t know how Alrek endured it.:

  :Promise me you wouldn’t do something like this. Please.:

  Vehs went quiet. Then, :Do you jest? After putting up with a Chosen like you, I’ll be galloping for the Bright Havens when my time comes!:

  Wil snorted, set his empty cup aside and headed for the stairs.

  :That’s truly morbid.:

  :Be glad I don’t take a head start!:

  :Yes, yes,: Wil thought, smirking as he opened the door to his room. :I’m such a burden on—:

  Lelia was curled up on his bed. She opened an eye as he entered and smiled.

  Wil stood very still, finding it suddenly hard to breathe.

  :Good night, “Vanyel,”: Vehs murmured.

  “So. I was thinking,” Lelia said.

  “Yes?” Wil managed.

  Lelia pushed back the covers. “To the hells with our professional relationship.”

  He groped for words and finally said, “This wasn’t what I meant by tucking me in.”

  She laughed, and she was still laughing as he kicked the door shut behind him and went to her.

  The Bride’s Task

  Michael Z. Williamson and Gail L. Sanders

  Keth’re’son shena Tale’sedrin was learning weapons work: the sword. This would have been useful to know for his journey to Valdemar, but his people were warriors from horseback and with the bow–not with the sword and dagger and on foot. He stepped aside from a sweep, blocked and countered, but his teacher parried that and beat back at him.

  :But no knowledge is ever wasted, Chosen. You won’t always have a horse to hand. What if I were injured? Just because your people haven’t done something before, it doesn’t mean that it’s not a valid way to do things.:

  Keth’ replied, :I know, “There is no one true way.” But it’s taking some getting used to. Traditions have always played a strong role in the life of a Shin’a’in; they had to.:

  :Right now, you need to pay attention to your role here, or the weaponsmaster is going to give you the “traditional” bruises.:

  :You know, I would probably be doing something like this at home as well. I wonder how Nerea is doing with her lessons; she was always better with the bow than me.:

  :You miss her.:

  :Did you really expect that to change? We are pledged. She’s why I work so hard at these lessons. I only hope that she’ll wait until I can return. I’m not sure she understood why I had to come up here when I wasn’t sure myself.:

  Yssanda was silent.

  “There’s a herd of horses in the Palace courtyard,” one guard said.

  “Why is there a herd of horses in the courtyard?” asked the other.

  “I don’t know, but isn’t that a Shin’a’in on the back of one of them?”

  “Sure looks like it. Heya, it’s a girl! And look, she’s getting down.”

  “Do you think we should tell somebody?”

  Sergeant of the Guard Selwin spoke loudly behind them, “Yes, you halfwits, I think you should tell somebody! You, Rolin, go get Herald Captain Kerowyn. At a run! You, Vark, suggest to the young lady that she should stay outside the Palace door.”

  “Yes, sir!” the two guards saluted in unison and moved with a sense of purpose.

  Shaking his head, the young guard sergeant moved toward what seemed to be an escalating argument. The burly guard was having an increasingly difficult time with the slim Shin’a’in, who seemed determined to simply get through that door. He’d managed so far without actually laying a hand on her, but it didn’t appear that was going to last very much longer. She wasn’t so much aggressive as persistent.

  Moving past the string of exceptionally quiet and serene horses, Selwin came within range of a contrastingly loud and agitated Shin’a’in girl.

  “She doesn’t speak Valdemaran, sir!”

  “I’m gathering that impression. Let’s see what I can do.” He strained to remember a bit of the language.

  In very slow and careful Shin’a’in he said, “Please hold, coming someone who speaks language.”

  The young girl nodded briskly and moved back to reassure her riding horse. Selwin wasn’t sure who needed the reassurance more, the horse or her.

  Herald Captain Kerowyn didn’t take long to arrive, which was all to the better as far as Sergeant Selwin was concerned. He wasn’t a diplomat and very much preferred going back to his post near the main gates. He simply briefed Kerowyn on what had happened so far, saluted, and then gestured the guards to head back to the gate.

  Striding forward, Herald Captain Kerowyn gave the impression of impatience. She didn’t hide it. It might help speed this encounter.

  :What happened to Shin’a’in staying on the
Plains, where they belonged?:

  :What happened? The Mage Storms happened and erased the tasks the Shin’a’in had been given by their Star-eyed.:

  Kerowyn really hadn’t needed the rejoinder to what had been a rhetorical question, but trust Sayvil to make sure her opinion was heard–needed or not.

  “Welcome to Haven. I’m Herald Captain Kerowyn. What brings you here so far from the Plains?”

  “My name is Nerea shena Tale’sedrin. I’m here looking for my pledged, Keth’re’son shena Tale’sedrin. The Clan Elders said that he had come up here for training in his ‘Gifts.’ ” Her skepticism in the need for such training was obvious. “They gave me permission to bring his Clan share up here to him when the Tale’sedrin came up for the Bolton Fair. Where is he?”

  “Ah.” Suddenly Kerowyn understood both her animosity and her vulnerability. By giving her permission to bring Keth’s Clan share up here to him, the Clan Elders were both telling him that they weren’t expecting him to come back to the Plains and giving him permission to stay where he was. They were also putting the responsibility of telling his pledged this, off their shoulders and onto his.

  :Practical but not very kind of them. This Nerea must have been quite a nuisance.:

  :Yes,: Kerowyn sighed to herself, :And now she’s our nuisance. Sayvil, please tell Dean Teren about the situation out here and ask him to bring the Shin’a’in envoy with him if possible. Have them meet us at the stables.:

  To the girl, she replied, “He is here at the Collegium. But first, we need to get these horses settled and out of the way. If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you around to the stables. There should be room for them there.” Kerowyn knew better than to offer her any help with this. After all she’d gotten them here from Bolton. It would also keep the girl busy while Kerowyn figured out what to do. The girl followed agreeably enough, since the horses were something she cared for. She did not seem to care for local rules.

  The Companion-relayed message brought Dean Teren down from his office in a rush. From another direction, the Shin’a’in Envoy, Shaman Lo’isha shena Pretara’sedrin, was only a minute behind. The Dean arrived at the stable entrance panting. The Shaman heaved one sigh and had his breath back under control.