Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Carris, get your backside up here. David, this is Carris. Carris, this is David. He's what passes for a guard captain around here."

  David looked at Carris, raised an eyebrow, and then looked down at Kelsey. "There's a problem, Kelse," he said.

  "What?"

  "His arm's broken."

  "So? It's not his sword arm."

  Carris and David exchanged raised brows. "Shall I explain, or shall you?" Carris said.

  "You do it. I'm not getting enough danger pay as is."

  "Very funny, both of you. David—can I talk to you in private for a minute or two?"

  "Is this like last time's private—where you shouted loudly enough that this half of the caravan lost most of their hearing for the next two weeks?"

  "Very funny." She scowled, grabbed his arm, grabbed

  her packs, and nodded frantic directions to Carris. It all came together somehow, and they made their way to the wagon that David called home while he was recruiting.

  "Well?"

  "Carris is a Herald," she said, dispensing with pretense and bluster—although the latter was hard to get rid of. "His partner's dead, his Companion's injured, and he's got a message that he's got to get to the capital as fast as possible. He can't ride—don't argue with me, Carris, you heard what the doctor said—and he's being hunted."

  "Hunted by who?"

  "He can't say."

  "I can't hire him, then."

  "David—he's a Herald."

  "That doesn't mean the same thing to me as it means to you," David replied. "Look—the people who hunt the type of guards I hire are cutthroats that I know how to deal with. The people who hunt a Herald . . ."

  "David!" She reached out, grabbed the front of his surcoat, bunched it into two fists and pulled. Even Carris recoiled slightly at the intensity of her tone. "You-are-going-to-hire-us-both."

  He raised a brow, not in the least put out. "Or?"

  "Or I will tell Sharra about the time that—"

  He lifted both of his hands in mock surrender, and than his expression grew graver. "Is it that important, Kelse?"

  "More. Trust me. We need you."

  "All right. Let go of my surcoat and pray that the entire encampment didn't just hear that. I'll take Carris on,—but we've got to strap a shield to that shoulder."

  "Can't you just say he was injured in the line of duty?"

  "Sure. But who's going to ask me? Most of the guards here are the same as I started with, and they'll know he's a stranger if they're asked. We've hired five men here, and he'll just be another one of those—but he's got to look the part, even if he's not going to act it. Clear?"

  She said something extremely rude. "Yes. Clear."

  "Good."

  "Captain?" Carris said softly. "What?" "Thank you."

  "Don't. Thank her. I owe her, and it's about time she started calling in her debt."

  "I hope you appreciate this," Kelsey said to Carris as they set up their tents. Her hands were stiff and chapped, and she was busy nursing a blister caused by peeling carrots and potatoes for a small army. When he didn't answer, she looked across the fire.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's Arana," he replied at last, weighing his words. "You travel for this long with a—a very dear friend, and you really notice when she's gone."

  "You aren't used to being separated?"

  "No. I'm used to being able to hear her no matter where I am." He was quiet, and she let the silence stretch between them, wondering when he would break it. Fifteen minutes later, she realized he wasn't going to.

  "Is it everything they say it is?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Being a Herald. Having a Companion. Is it everything it's cracked up to be?"

  He smiled. "It's harder than I ever imagined," he replied, leaning back on his elbows, and then wincing and shifting his weight rapidly. "And it's the most rewarding thing I could ever dream of doing." He laughed, and the laugh was self-deprecating. "It wasn't what I'd intended to do with my life—and both of my parents are still rather upset about it, since it significantly shifts the family hierarchy."

  "Do you know why you were Chosen?"

  "Me?" He laughed again. "No. If I had to Choose, I'd be the last person I'd ask to defend the kingdom with his life." He sobered suddenly. Rose. "Kelsey, I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done, and I know that leaving you to the campfire alone isn't the way to start."

  She waved him off. "Everyone needs a little space for grief," she told him firmly. "Even a Herald. Especially a Herald."

  But after he was gone, she stared at the fire pensively. By his own admission he'd done nothing to be considered a worthy candidate—why had he become a Herald? Why had he been Chosen? Don't start, Kelsey, she told herself sternly, or you'll be up at it all night.

  "You look awful," David said, as he ducked a flying handful of potato rinds.

  "I didn't sleep very well," she replied. "Are you here to annoy me, or should I just assume that you already have?"

  He laughed. "I wanted to see how you were faring. The caravan's got a few extra mouths this time round; if I was going to choose KP, I wouldn't have done it for this stretch of the route."

  "Thanks for the warning," she said, and heaved another handful of rinds. Then she wiped her hands on her trousers, set her knife aside, and stood. "Why is the caravan so bloody big this time?"

  "It's well guarded," David replied, lowering his voice. "Well guarded. We've done our buying for the season, and we're doing our damned best to protect our investment."

  "How bad has it been? We'd heard rumors that—"

  "It's been bad." His face lost all traces of its normal good humor. "If you hadn't insisted, Kelse, I wouldn't have taken your friend on. There's a very good chance he'll get to see action whether he's up to it or not."

  "Oh." She blew a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. "Is there some sort of drill?"

  "Meaning?"

  "What should the noncombatants do if the caravan is attacked?" She waited for a minute. "Look, stop staring at me as if I've grown an extra head and answer my question."

  "Well," he replied, scratching his jaw, "if I were in that position, I'd probably hide under the wagons."

  Great. "If I'd wanted an answer that unreal, I'd have asked a Bard." She picked up her knife and went back to potatoes, carrots, and onions. Onions. That was the other thing she was going to have to find a way around.

  Carris took to taking it easy about as well as a duck takes to fire. He was grim-faced and impatient, and he watched the road and the surrounding wooded hills like a starving hawk. David had decided that the best watch for Carris was the night watch; under the cover of shadow and orange firelight, he could pass for a reasonably whole guard. He carried his sword and his bow— although Kelsey pointed out time and again that the bow was so useless it was just added encumbrance—and wore a shield that had been strapped to his front as well as possible given the circumstances.

  What he did not do well was blend in with the rest of the guards. It was his language, Kelsey reflected, as she listened to him speak. He didn't have the right cadence for someone who had fallen into the life of a caravan guard. Never mind cadence, she thought, as she dove into the middle of a conversation and pulled him out— whole—he didn't have the vocabulary, the tone, the posture. He did, having been on the road without being able to shave himself, have the right look.

  "Stop being so nervous," she said, catching his good arm in hers and wandering slightly away from the front of the caravan.

  "Kelsey, do you know what this caravan is carrying?"

  "Nope. And I don't want to."

  "Well, I do. We're going to see action, and I can't afford to see it and not escape it alive. We've lost four Heralds to this investigation, not including Lyris, and we'll lose more if I don't get word back."

  "We'll get word back," she said, assuring him. But she felt a twinge of unease when she finally left him. Dammit, he's even got me spooked. She went t
o her pack, found her bat, hooked it under her left arm, and walked quickly back to her place among the cook's staff.

  * * *

  "What is that?" A familiar voice said.

  "Don't ask her that." Marrit, the older woman who supervised the cooking, looked a tad harried as she glared in David's general direction.

  "It's a bat."

  "I know what it is."

  "Then why did you ask?"

  "Don't be a smartass, Kelse. Why are you carrying it around?"

  "It's as much a weapon as anything else I own."

  "And you need a weapon on kitchen duty?" David laughed. "Marrit, I didn't realize that you'd become such a danger over the past few days."

  "Look—don't you have something to do?"

  "I'm off duty. I've got nothing to do but sit and visit." He smiled broadly and took a seat He even managed to keep it for five minutes. Marrit didn't say one disparaging word about her cook's lax work habits when Kelsey dropped her knife into the potato sack, turned, and pushed him backward over the log.

  Two days passed.

  Carris was edgy for every minute of them, except when he spoke of Lyris. Then his emotions wavered from guilt and grief to a fury that had roots so deep even Kelsey was afraid to disturb them by asking intrusive questions that stirred up memories too sharp and therefore too dangerous. This didn't stop her from listening, of course. She managed to infer that Lyris was the Herald who had traveled with Carris, and further that Lyris was young, attractive and impulsive. She knew that he had come from the wrong side of town, just as Carris had come from too far into the right side, as it were.

  Never anger a noble, her grandmother used to say. Especially not a quiet one. Although it was a tad on the obvious side, it was still good advice.

  "Kelsey, why must you take that club everywhere you go?"

  Given that she'd just managed to hit his rib with the

  nubbly end, it was a reasonable enough question—or it would have been had she not heard it so often. "Don't start. I thought if there was one person in camp I'd be safe from, it'd be you. Why do you think I'm carrying it?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Everyone here seems to have their pet theory."

  "What do you mean, everyone?"

  "Guards," he said, offering her the gleam of a rare smile, "have very little to talk about these days."

  She blushed. "I'd better not catch them talking about me, or I'll damned well show them what I'm carrying it for."

  Carris actually laughed at that. Then he stopped. "I know I'm unshaven and unkempt, but have I done something else to make you stare?"

  "Yes," she replied without thinking. "You laughed." She regretted her habit of speech without thought the moment the words left her lips; the clouds returned to his face, and with them, the distance.

  "And there's not much to laugh about, is there?" He said softly, his right hand on his sword hilt.

  Kelsey was at the riverside, washing more tin bowls than Torvan owned, when she heard the screaming start. A silence fell over the men and woman who formed Marrit's kitchen patrol. Fingers turned white as hands young and old clenched the rims of tin and the rags that were being used to dry them. No one spoke, which was all the better; Kelsey could hear the sound of hooves tearing up the ground.

  Horses, she thought, as she numbly gained her feet. The bandits have horses!

  "Kelsey!" Marrit hissed. "Where are you going?"

  Kelsey lifted her fingers to her lips and shook her head. She motioned toward the circular body of wagons. Marrit paled, and mouthed the order to stay by the riverside, where many of the cooking staff were already seeking suitable places to hide.

  It was the smartest course of action. Of course, Kelsey thought, knees shaking, that's why I'm not doing it. She swung her bat up to her shoulder and began to run.

  In the confusion and chaos, panic was king, and the merchant civilians his loyal subjects.

  The wagons, circled for camping between villages too small to maintain large enough inns and grounds, provided all the cover there was against the attackers. People—some Kelsey recognized, and some, expressions so distorted by fear that their faces were no longer the faces she knew—ran back and forth across her path, ducking for cover into the flapped canvas tents, the wagons, or the meager undergrowth. The guards on watch had their hands full, and the guards off duty were scrambling madly to get into their armor and join the formation that was slowly—too slowly—taking shape.

  She counted forty guards—their were forty-eight in total—as she scanned the circular clearing searching desperately for some glimpse of Cards. No sign of him; maybe he'd finally shown some brains and was hiding somewhere under the wagons.

  Ha. And maybe the horses she heard were a herd of Companions, all come to ask her to join them. She took advantage of a scurry of panicked movement to take a look under a wagon. She saw the horses then.

  Funny thing, about these bandits. They weren't wearing livery, and they weren't wearing uniforms—but they looked an awful lot like a Bardic description of cavalry. The horses were no riding horses, and no wagon-horses either. She didn't like the look of them at all, and she loved horses.

  They sure make bandits a damned sight richer than they used to, she thought, clenching her teeth on the words that were choking her in a rush to get said. And a damned sight more organized. She had a very bad feeling about this particular raid. And when the blood spray of a running civilian hit the grass two feet from her face, she knew that if there were any survivors to the raid at all, it was going to be a minor miracle.

  A flare went up in front of the lead wagon; fire-tipped arrows came raining from the trees, and shadows detached themselves from the undergrowth, gaining the color and height of men as they came into the fading daylight.

  Kelsey knew she should be cowering for cover somewhere, but the tree that she'd managed to climb was central enough—and leafy enough—that it gave her both a terrific vantage point and a false sense of security. She counted the mounted men; there were ten. She couldn't get as good a sense of the foot soldiers—bandits, she corrected herself—but she thought there weren't more than thirty. So if one didn't count the cavalry as more than a single man each, the caravan guards outnumbered them.

  It made for a tough fight, but the horses were too large to be easily maneuvered around the wagons, and if the merchants and their staff were careful, the caravan would pull out on top. She smiled in relief, and then the smile froze and cracked.

  For on horseback—a sleek, slender riding horse with plaited manes and the carriage of a well-trained thoroughbred—unarmored and deceptively weaponless, rode a man in a plain black tunic. At his throat, glowing like a miniature sun, was a crystal that seemed to ebb light out of the very sky.

  This was the threat that Carris wouldn't speak openly of. This was what he had to reach other Heralds to warn them about. This was the information that the King needed. Kelsey gripped both her bat and the tree convulsively as the Mage on horseback drew closer to where she sat, suddenly vulnerable, among the cover of leaves.

  His was a power, she was afraid, that dwarfed the power of all save a few Heralds—and she was certain that Carris was no Herald-Mage, to take on such a formidable foe.

  Damn it, she thought, holding her breath lest a whisper rustle a leaf the wrong way. Carris was right. I shouldn't have brought him along with the caravan. Then,

  And he'll probably die just like the rest of us—they won't know he's their Herald, and they won't care.

  One of the mounted soldiers rode up to the Mage.

  "That wagon," he said, pointing. "Food supplies, but nothing of more value."

  "Good." The Mage gestured and fire leaped up from the wagon's depths, consuming it in a flash. The circle was broken, and the ten mounted horseman, pikes readied, charged into the encampment.

  She heard the shouts and then the screams of the guards and the civilians they were to protect. People fled the horses and the hooves that dug up the ground as if it we
re tilled soil. They didn't get far. Kelsey saw, clearly, the beginning of a slaughter.Sickened, she shrank back, closing her eyes. There's nothing you can do, some part of her mind said. Hide here. Maybe they won't notice you.

  "Captain! 'Ware—they've got a Mage at the center of their formation!" It was Carris' voice, booming across the panicked cries and painful screams of the newly dying. In spite of her fear, she gazed down to see him, sword readied, shield tossed aside and forgotten. The blade caught the fire of the camplight, and it glowed a deep orange.

  You see? Another part of her taunted. You wouldn't have made a decent Herald after all. She hid in the trees, and Carris, broken arm and cracked ribs forgotten, stood in the center of the coming fray, his sword glowing dimly as it reflected the light of the fires.

  No. She took a deep breath. Watched.

  The guards met the bandits, but the bandits attacked like frenzied berserkers, and it was the caravan guards that took casualties. Kelsey could not make out individual faces or fighting styles—and she was thankful for it. What she could see was that somehow, the blows that the caravan guards landed seemed to cause no harm.

  It was almost as if the enemies were being protected by an invisible shield. Magic. Magic.

  Another horseman rode in, and stopped three yards from the mage. "Sir," he said. "We've got a group of

  them hiding by the riverside. Possible one or two have managed to cross it."

  The Mage cursed. "Get the archers out, then," he snarled. "We can't afford to have anyone escape."

  "Can't you—"

  "Not if you want to be safe from steel and arrow tips," he replied grimly. "Go." He gripped the crystal around his neck more tightly.

  Get down, Kelsey. She shivered as she saw the Mage close his eyes. Now's your chance. Get down. But her legs wouldn't unlock. Her hands shook. She watched the ground below as if the unfolding drama was on a stage that she couldn't quite reach.

  Carris came out of the wings. She saw him, close to the ground, and nearly cried out a warning as the mounted soldier departed. But she bit her lip on the noise. He used the shadows, Carris did, and he moved as if he had no injuries. An inch at a time, he made his way to the Mage who sat on horseback, concentrating.