When Joss had explained the problem, the man, Reeve Bordren, could only spread his hands and shrug. “I be that regretful, Herald,” he said. “But the Baron did be making himself plain. I do be feeling for Adrun, she’s being a good woman, and her husband was being a hard worker and is missed. But still, the Baron insists on best beast. He says it be only once in a generation, and he’ll be having it.”
“Would he take two ewes, if I could persuade Agrun of it?” Joss asked. “Surely two fine, healthy beasts would be worth more than the one?”
Reeve Bordren shook his head. “Nay, the ram be that valuable. Good coin from his stud. He’ll never agree.”
Joss swallowed down objections, thinking furiously. “When is market day, then?” He had some thought that the sisters could perhaps persuade some number of their neighbors to breed their ewes before the ram was surrendered, at least giving them a bit of savings.
But the Reeve’s answer dashed those hopes, too. “It be two days nigh, Herald.”
So much for that thought.
He took his leave of the man and left the office.
:It’s the Baron, then,: he said to Dash. :I have to try. Maybe he’ll be a bit more yielding in private than he can afford to be in front of all his folk.:
:Maybe,: said Dash, but Joss could tell he was dubious.
So was Joss, but he had to try. People had surprised him before.
A question to a servant found the Baron in his own office, writing a letter. The place was shabby but clean, with good light coming in the wide window, and a good shelf of books to one side on the same wall, where no direct light could fade their covers.
The Baron looked up at Joss’s entrance and said, “Herald,” then waited.
Joss made a bow, then straightened and said, “I’d like to speak with you about one of the families of the valley.”
Tolm scowled at him and sat up straighter. “If any’ve come crying to you, it’ll do them no good.”
“Surely it does you no good to have any of your people starving? The loss of workers, or the burden of caring for folk who could care for themselves if you’d only be flexible—”
“The law says a death duty is owed,” said Tolm. “Without law, we’re no better than the barbarians. None are exempt from the law, not me, not you, and not any of the folk. The law has ruled this valley since our forefathers settled it, and it’s led us true. If I make an exception for one household, everyone with a complaint will expect an exception made for them as well, and we’ll fall into chaos.”
“With respect, your father made exceptions,” Joss pointed out. “Your father tempered law with compassion, and things went well under his rule.”
“I am not my father.” Tolm’s voice turned harsh and his stare hard. “And I’ll thank you to mind your business. We pay our taxes and obey the Queen’s law, as well as our own. I would think a Herald would appreciate law-abiding folk wanting to remain such.”
“As you say,” said Joss. Clearly there was nothing to be gained by arguing, so he bowed himself out and left.
:That one should have been a lawyer,: said Dash as Joss strode through the manor toward the back door.
:As fond of he is of the law,: Joss said, agreeing. :I agree that the rule of law has to apply to everyone, but there’s room for human judgement, and mercy. The law applies to everyone, yes, but—:
He cut himself off, staring at a thought that’d popped into his head.
:What?:
:I think I have it.: Joss grinned at nothing and jogged out the door.
* * *
• • •
On market day, Joss went into town with Agrun and her family. Ulren, fresh-scrubbed and pale faced, led Bouncer the ram by a rope knotted around the animal’s neck. Bouncer wasn’t pleased by the arrangement, and the women of the family chivvied him along with their staves whenever he tried to buck or jerk the rope out of Ulren’s hand.
They lined up with the other folk waiting to pay their death duty to the reeve, who was sitting behind a small trestle table in the plaza. Baron Tolm sat in his great chair beside the reeve, and half a dozen helpers bustled about, collecting duty from the folk as they paid, stowing it in boxes and baskets, stacking it to one side, or leading it away, as appropriate.
Agrun looked alternately stern, hopeful, and terrified. Adrun’s hands clenched and squeezed each other, although her face stayed blank.
Bruny was as well-scrubbed as Ulren, and she wore her best dress, of fine pale wool with dancing leaves embroidered around the neck and hem in green-dyed wool. She had a thin, braided rope of pale wool in her curly brown hair, wound from the nape of her neck up to the top of her head and tied in a bow.
When the reeve called for Agrun, she stepped forward, her jaw clenched. She led Bruny forward by the wrist, then stopped and bowed, hauling Bruny down with her.
“Reeve Bordren,” she said, her voice loud enough for everyone within twenty paces to hear, “I be bringing my best beast, as the law be saying. This be my daughter, Abrun.”
She let go Bruny’s wrist and put her hand to the small of Bruny’s back, giving her a gentle push. Bruny took a step forward, her eyes wide and fixed on the Baron.
The reeve stared at Bruny, at Agrun, at Joss, then at Bruny again, then turned to look at the Baron for direction.
Baron Tolm glared at Joss. “Herald Joss,” he said, his voice louder than Agrun’s and twice as hard. “If you think I’ll take possession of a young girl like an animal, you’re much mistaken. Perhaps such pandering ways are common in Haven, but here in the Tolm we are decent people.”
Joss stepped forward and made a deep bow. “I intend nothing of the sort, my lord. You’re correct—such a thing would be despicable. But Agrun has agreed to present her daughter Abrun to serve in your household. She has the Bardic Gift—it’s a kind of magic and is much valued.” Which he was sure the Baron knew; he’d been fostered with a noble family in Haven as a boy. But Joss was also playing for the crowd. “Many great houses have their own Bards, and there are many at court.”
He stepped up beside Bruny and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sing for the Baron, Bruny. Show him.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she gave him a trembling smile.
She knew all the folk in the plaza, and they’d discussed what was to happen, but still, her nerves were understandable.
The Baron scowled and opened his mouth, but Bruny hurried to begin, and once she’d started singing, the Baron seemed to no longer have the will to interrupt. She sang the lamb song again, and within a line or two, everyone Joss could see was smiling and nodding and tapping their feet. By the time she finished, the atmosphere about the plaza had lightened, and the day seemed happier.
Joss whispered, “You did beautifully, Bruny.” and gave her shoulder another squeeze.
He straightened, and looked Lord Tolm straight in the eye. “She has magic,” he repeated. “All here felt it. Her Gift lets her make folks who hear her feel what she feels when she sings. She can cheer the despairing, calm the angry, hearten the fearful. She is unique in this valley and is much to be valued. She is clearly Mistress Agrun’s ‘best beast.’ The ram is here as well, in case you would prefer him. He is clearly Mistress Agrun’s second-best beast, but if you prefer to accept him, that is, of course, up to you.”
Baron Tolm clearly saw the trap closing around him. The gathered folk were nodding, agreeing with Joss. And if the Baron chose Agrun’s “second-best beast,” then he’d not be able to insist on everyone else’s first best.
He gave Joss a look that said he’d like to murder him, but he stood from his chair and said, “Clearly I must agree with you.”
:Clearly he must,: thought Joss, keeping a smirk off his face, but letting Dash pick it up.
“I accept the girl Abrun into my household. She’ll serve at my court.”
Such as it was. The Barons Tolm
had less of a court and more of a largish family, but the form of it was what mattered. Joss bowed to the Baron and urged Bruny forward. She gave him a doubtful look, then looked to her mother.
Agrun set her jaw and nodded, shooing Bruny away toward the men helping the reeve. Bruny nodded and went where she was directed, standing next to a keg of nails and in front of a bolt of woven wool, wrapped in clean rags and sitting on a crate of something else.
Agrun’s family bowed and withdrew a few paces away, staying to watch. The line moved forward, and the reeve collected death duty from each household in turn. Most went on about their business, but some stayed to see what might happen next.
When the last family handed over a rooster in a cage and withdrew, the reeve stood and said, “The duty has been collected. Our business is concluded.”
Before anyone could leave, or the Baron could stand, Joss stepped forward and said, “Begging the reeve’s pardon, but the death duty has not all been collected.”
Baron Tolm rose from his chair and stalked over to glare straight at Joss. “I’ve put up with your nonsense, but we’re through now. You’ll leave before you outstay your welcome.”
“The letter of the law must be upheld,” said Joss, staring straight back at the Baron. “Your lord father died recently. As his liege, Queen Selenay is also owed a death duty.”
The baron jerked backward just a bit, startled. “That is not a kingdom law,” he protested.
“We are here in the Tolm Valley,” said Joss. “And the law of the Tolm rules. By the law of the Tolm, the Queen is due a duty.”
Tolm humphed and nodded. “Fine, fine. What would you have?”
Joss gave him a sweet smile. “Your ‘best beast’ is clearly the girl Abrun. Her Majesty values Gifted folk very highly, and it would please her to see to Abrun’s care and training. I’ll escort her to Haven, to the Bardic Collegium, where she’ll be taught to control her Gift. She’ll make a fine Bard one day, and she will surely sing of the beauties of her home and the benevolence of her Baron.”
Tolm snorted and raised an eyebrow at Joss. “You’ve already won, Herald,” he muttered. “Don’t drown me in butter.” He took a step back and said more loudly, “If the Queen would like Abrun as a death duty, then she may have her with my blessing. The law applies to all. None are exempt, not even me.”
Joss gave him a full court bow and said, “I give you the Queen’s thanks in advance. I’ll take my leave now and will escort Abrun to her schooling.”
“Do so,” said the Baron. “Quickly.”
They exchanged pointed looks before Joss withdrew. He only hoped it was a good few years before he rode this particular Circuit again.
Bruny had dashed back to her family and was managing to bounce up and down while hugging her mother and crying. Agrun looked over Bruny’s head at Joss as he approached.
“I not be knowing if I wish to thank you or strangle you, Herald,” she said, her voice tight.
“It’ll be hard,” said Joss. “I remember when I left my family to go to Haven. I was homesick, but I was excited too. Bruny will do well and will be fine.”
“Yay, I be knowing. My head be knowing. My heart be protesting. But you did be saving our family, and for that my head and my heart both be thanking you.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Joss with a smile and another bow.
:Letter of the law,: said Dash from where he waited at the edge of the plaza. :Baron Tolm is the one who insisted the law applied to everyone, including him.:
:To everyone,: said Joss. :Even him.:
Who We’ll Become
Dayle A. Dermatis
We sing to bring light to the darkness
We sing to welcome the sun
We sing of family and loved ones
We sing of a new year begun . . .
The traditional Midwinter song filled the great hall of Traynemarch Reach’s manor, the children’s voices imperfect but heartfelt, the melody soaring up to the high, dark rafters and swirling around the listeners. It mingled with the fire blazing in the stone hearth draped with ivy and holly and fragrant pine boughs.
The longest night, the shortest day, and the Midwinter Feast that brought family and friends together.
Syrriah had missed the last two years’ celebration at Traynemarch Reach, her old home. This homecoming was bittersweet. The familiar song brought sparkling tears to her eyes.
Three years ago, she had been the Lady of Traynemarch Reach, and she and her husband were preparing to pass their roles on to Syrriah’s sister and brother-in-law. A wintery river and a collapsed bridge in need of repair had changed everything. Of course Syrriah’s husband had helped the villagers. The resulting chill he suffered grew worse—and then deadly.
Everything changed six months later, when the jangle of bells announced the arrival of a Companion.
Not a Companion ridden by one of Syrriah’s four children, who had all already been Chosen.
A Companion for Syrriah.
This was the first time she’d been back home since that bewildering but ultimately rewarding day. Not a day went by when Syrriah wasn’t astounded by her relationship with Cefylla.
Right now, despite the warmth of the fire in the hearth, the beautiful singing (which included her two youngest, Benlan and Natalli), and her family around her, Syrriah half-wished she were in the barn with Cefylla.
She heard a snort in her mind. :Hardly,: Cefylla said. :It’s a nice sentiment, but I rather think you’ll enjoy your feast over my warm mash.:
Syrriah bit back a laugh. :There is that,: she admitted. The long, white-cloth-covered table was laden with deep blue ceramic dishes and pitchers. The traditional foods: tender roast mutton and crispy-skinned duck, carrots and parsnips in a creamy dill sauce, small seed cakes decorated with suns made out of dried flower petals. Sweet summer wine, vinted especially for this feast. Between everything, dark blue candles representing the midwinter night sky, each flame a call to the rising sun at dawn.
She should have felt at home; after all, she’d been the Lady here for more than twenty years. But in the relatively short time she’d been away, the Collegium, Cefylla, the Heralds . . . they’d become her life.
Plus, Riann, her sister (for whom Syrriah had named her oldest daughter), well, she did things differently. When Riann and her husband had stepped up to run the manor and holdings, Syrriah had offered her advice and assistance, but only if they asked. She respected and trusted them both.
And, certainly, the changes were not of any great import. If Riann preferred that everyone wait until after the feast to open the cloth-wrapped gifts that sat above each dinner plate, that was her choice, even if it went against tradition and made the younger children fidget. (Riann’s youngest kept reaching out and touching the fabric wrapping with a forefinger. Each time, his older sister nudged him, and he shoved the finger in his mouth. The food on his plate was largely untouched.)
The curtains covering the tall, stone-framed windows were different: Riann’s preferred greens and blues to Syrriah’s reds and golds. Syrriah would probably have a bruise on her left hip before she left, because the furniture in the main hall had been rearranged, and she could never remember to skirt that one chair.
Indeed, the new arrangement gave fresh life to the room, and Syrriah hadn’t thought about colors since she went to the Collegium—other than the colors the various Trainees and Heralds wore. She was glad Riann and her husband had made Traynemarch Reach their own. And she’d heard nothing but good things about their stewardship of the holdings.
It just all took some getting used to, this familiar-but-not.
Waking up this morning had been strange as well. At the Collegium, there was always the chatter of student voices in the halls in the morning, or outside her window as Heralds and Trainees returned from spending time with their Companions at the stable. Here, she could hea
r the crackle and snap of the icicles hanging from the eaves just outside. Plus, the room may have looked like Traynemarch Reach, but it wasn’t the one she’d spent more than twenty years waking up in.
Her clothing was yet another matter.
She’d looked forward to wearing her old gowns, which she’d left behind, rather than her Trainee gray tunic and loose pants and boots. She’d missed choosing what to wear each day.
Her gowns, however, no longer fitted her the same. She’d always been an active woman, but her training at the Collegium, including a newfound affinity for archery, had reshaped her. Her gowns were looser in some places but tighter than others, such as her shoulders and arms. She had to be careful not to raise her arms too high, or she might tear out a seam.
She felt constricted by that, and the heavy skirts, and was already longing for the simple comfort of her Trainee Grays.
She might have been able to brush off all of that if it hadn’t been for one final thing:
She felt completely useless.
Oh, she’d struggled with that before being Chosen, but being Chosen had given her a new purpose—and that new life. Here, she was even more strongly reminded that she had no function at Traynemarch Reach.
“You’re looking rather serious for a celebration,” Riann, next to her, said with a gentle nudge of her elbow. Her voice was light, but Syrriah saw the concern in her blue eyes.
Syrriah’s Gift of Empathy had broken free during her training at the Collegium, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover such a talent could run in a family to a lesser degree. Riann had always been kind and caring, as well as organized and intelligent, which was why Syrriah and Brant had chosen her to take over the manor.
Syrriah felt guilty for worrying Riann. As hostess, her sister had far more important things to worry about.
As the final notes of the song faded, she smiled and squeezed Riann’s hand.
“I’m fine,” she said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. She was glad to be with her family, no matter how unsettling the changes were.
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