Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar Read online

  The Healer stumbled past them, and Lenar came in. “Damned Healer. Didn’t want to ride double on the horse with me, but I knew if I let him have his own horse, he’d dawdle and not get here till the child was dead. Says I made him sick to his stomach! Pah. All brain and no courage!” He frowned at Ree, then turned to Garrad. “How is he? The boy?”

  “Mortal bad,” Garrad said. “Let’s hope your fancy Healer can bring him back.”

  Ree tried to walk past him, not quite sure where he was going, but wishing to go up the ladder and see his son. Garrad put an arm out. “No, Ree. You can’t do anything, and Jem is enough of a nuisance up there, as worried as he is. Come. We’ll get you washed and get clean clothes on you.”

  And Ree—nerveless, exhausted—let Garrad escort him to his room. Someone brought water. He thought it was Lenar, though the mind boggled at the thought. At least, the two men were there, helping him wash and getting him in clean clothes. Of course, no one could expect her ladyship to do it, but all the same, Ree wouldn’t have expected Lenar either.

  All the while, Ree kept listening for sounds from above. He heard nothing. That had to be good, right? If Meren were dead, he’d hear some sounds? At least Amelie crying?

  But perhaps Amelie was sedated and Jem too stunned to speak?

  “Ree?” Jem stood at the door to their room, just as Ree was fully dressed in clean clothes. He cast a quick puzzled look at Garrad and Lenar, then looked at Ree full on, his expression so grave that Ree’s heart seemed to shrink into itself. “Meren,” he said. “Is he . . . ?”

  “He asked for you,” Jem said, stretching out a hand.

  “He what?”

  “He asked for you. He spoke, all in sentences, like Grandad said my Da did. Will you come?”

  Up the stairs, like a dream, to the little room that Meren shared with Amelie. Amelie sported bandages across her forehead and neck and arm. Ree had no idea so much of the blood on her clothes was her own.

  The Healer was packing away his things, looking smug and pleased. “He’ll be fine now,” he said, as Jem and Ree came in. “Only try to keep him quiet and don’t allow him to go running about.”

  Ree was about to ask if they should also ensure that the goats flew, but he had no time for sarcasm, because he caught sight of Meren, lying in his crib. He had a fresh bandage across his forehead, and a bandage around his round little toddler belly. But his eyes were open, and, at the sight of Ree, they opened further, and the little mouth opened in a sleepy smile.

  “I gave him some draughts to take away the pain,” the Healer was telling Jem. “They should make him sleepy.”

  But Ree only half heard the words. His world had contracted to that crib and the little boy in it.

  “Papa,” the little boy said, sleepily. He extended his little hand and Ree met it halfway, in a desperate clutch. “Papa. Mewen so ’fwaid. But Mewen bwave!”

  “Meren is very brave,” Ree said, his voice choked with tears. “Meren is my brave little boy. My heart’s son.”

  The Time We Have

  Tanya Huff

  :Smoke!: Gervais lifted his head, ears pricked forward. :Thatch!:

  They had to be close to the most eastern of the cattle-holds that fanned out a day’s travel from Devin. And no one purposely burned thatch so early in the spring with no straw available to replace it.

  “Go!” Jors bent low in the saddle, eyes narrowed to protect them from flying ends of mane as Gervais lengthened his stride.

  They crested the ridge, saw the cattlehold laid out beneath them, saw smoke rising from one of the barns, saw three riders race away to the northwest.

  Even with the lead they had, Gervais could have caught them—no horse outran a Companion—but just then the first flash of flame showed on the edge of the barn and a horse screamed.

  :Chosen?: Gervais had turned toward the cattlehold but Jors had turned body and reins toward the riders.

  The rider closest to them twisted in the saddle—a woman with a long dark braid and matching dark eyes, and a smile that faltered when she saw Jors watching. He shouldn’t have been able to see her expression at this distance, but she looked surprised. She raised a hand covered in a black, high-cuffed glove and, almost without him willing it, Jors raised a hand in answer.

  Another horse screamed. Then a child.

  :Chosen!:

  He wanted to follow her. Follow them. To bring them in. Teeth clenched, he shifted his weight to match Gervais’ movements, fought to shift his attention to what was clearly the area of greater need.

  They crossed the compound, pounded past a young man down with a bleeding forehead, past a shrieking child barely being held back, and on in through the big double doors in the end of the barn.

  Terrified horses kicked at their stalls as Jors swung down out of the saddle. Ducking low under the smoke, sucking shallow breaths in through his teeth, eyes and nose streaming, he started unbolting the doors.

  Reassured by the presence of the Companion, the horses charged out of the stalls into the center aisle, Gervais chivvying them around toward the exit, nipping and shoving until they moved in the right direction.

  “Is that it?” Jors yelled, fighting for breath as the heavy shoulder of a panicked horse slammed him into the rear wall.

  :That is all the horses, Chosen, but. . . .

  Jors boots kicked into something soft. Yielding.

  “Think I found it!” He dropped to his knees, groped along a well muscled body, felt the chest rise and fall. “Found him. Gervais! He’s too big to lift!”

  The Companion was suddenly a warm weight at his side, legs folded to bring the saddle as close as possible to the floor. :Hurry!:

  Half dragging, half rolling, Jors got the young man to Gervais’ side and heaved the unconscious body up and over. Somehow he held him in place as Gervais rose to his feet, then clutched at the stirrup as they raced the fire out of the barn.

  The compound was a seething mass of horses and people. Two bucket brigades threw water at the fire but only seemed to add to the smoke. The child was still screaming. Jors just barely made out her words over the sound of his own coughing.

  “Kitties! Kitties!”

  “Where?” he asked, staggering toward her.

  The girl holding the child’s arms looked up, lashes clumped into triangle points around blue eyes still swimming with tears. “First stall,” she hiccuped. “To the left. Under the manger. There’s three . . . ”

  Jors pulled off his scarf, dipped it in a passing bucket, wrapped it around his mouth and ran back inside.

  :Chosen!:

  :Don’t worry. I’m not going far.:

  The stall wasn’t hard to find but he had to search all three sides for the manger only to find it diagonally across a back corner. He crouched, grateful for the clearer air, and groped under a board polished smooth by a rubbing horse. One. Two. He tucked the kittens inside his jacket. From the way they were squirming, he thought they were all right. The third kitten . . .

  :Chosen! The roof is about to fall!:

  Tiny claws hooked into the side of his hand. Jors closed his fingers around a ball of fluff, took a deep breath, and, with his other hand against the wall so as not to lose his way in the smoke, ran for the stall door. Turned right. Figured the double doors were too big to miss and, left arm cradling the two in his jacket, right hand tucking the other up under the scarf, he raced toward safety.

  It wasn’t that far.

  It couldn’t be that far.

  The fire roared as the roof collapsed.

  Jors stumbled, almost fell, then hands grabbed at his clothing and yanked him clear.

  He twisted in the air, hit the ground on his back, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to shriek as tiny teeth sank into his chin.

  “I swear to you, I took more damage from the kittens than from the fire.”

  Gervais didn’t seem convinced. Now that the horses had been confined in a corral of half-frozen mud, the other buildings in the compound were safe, and
the barn was a smoldering heap of massive beams and steaming thatch, he insisted on checking for himself.

  :You went back in!: Jors stumbled back a step as Gervais butted him in the chest. :You are bleeding!:

  “Kitten scratches, that’s all.” He glanced over at the little girl on the porch with the three kittens, the mother cat in her lap.

  :You went back in!:

  “Heartbrother . . . ” His back against the wall, Jors ran his hands in under the silken fall of mane and stroked the warm arc of neck. “It’s okay. I came back out.”

  :The roof fell.:

  “I know.” He let his head fall to rest against Gervais’ and stopped speaking out loud. :I’m sorry I frightened you, but I couldn’t leave them.:

  :A life saved is a life saved and you saved three but . . . :

  :Don’t do it again?: He felt the Companion’s soft chuff of breath. They both knew that, under the same circumstances, he’d do exactly the same thing. :Can I get dressed now? It’s still a little too close to winter to run around half naked.:

  Gervais chuffed again, then backed up far enough to let Jors get to his clothes. When Jors’ head emerged from his shirt, he found himself still under inspection.

  “What?”

  :When we saw the riders, you hesitated.:

  Cheeks suddenly burning, Jors busied himself with laces. “I just . . . I thought we had a chance to catch them.”

  :Three of them?:

  . . . a long, dark braid, and matching dark eyes, and a smile that faltered when she saw Jors watching. “Yeah.”

  :What would we have done when we caught them?:

  “They’re just . . . I mean . . .” He paused. Took a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I hadn’t entirely thought things through.”

  Gervais tossed his head. :That was obvious, Chosen. These three are dangerous. Raya says it is very likely they are part of a gang of bandits Lord Harnin’s men have been hunting for some time.:

  “Raya says?” Jors stepped out away from the building so he could look out at the track leading into the compound. If Gervais had been speaking to another Companion, that Companion had to be close. Neither he nor Gervais had been gifted with distance when it came to Mindspeaking.

  :Cross country.: Gervais nudged him around. :From the west.:

  He squinted into the setting sun, and realized that what he had first thought was a patch of lingering snow was, in fact, a Herald moving quickly toward them.

  :I have told Raya everything that has happened here,: Gervais said as they watched the mare close the distance. :And she has told Herald Erika and that will save time.:

  “For what?” Jors asked.

  :For judgments before you leave.:

  Jors had planned on staying as long as any judgments required. Clearly, that was no longer an option.

  “Kittens?” Erika asked as Raya danced to a stop no more than an arm’s length away.

  “There were three of them,” Jors pointed out.

  “And three riders. Gervais said they headed northwest.” She twisted in the saddle, frowning up at the deep sapphire sky that preceded true darkness. “We’ve lost the light and the temperature’s dropping. We won’t be able to track them until morning.” Erika had learned some creative profanity from her two older brothers in the Guard, although she’d barely gotten started when Raya reminded her they had a gathering audience. Standing far enough away to give the Heralds a semblance of privacy, but close enough to hear.

  “I take it you have a plan for when we catch up?” Jors asked as his yearmate swung out of the saddle. He bowed a greeting to Raya, who touched his cheek with the velvet pad of her nose.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Supper first, then. And judgments, if the fire hasn’t rendered them moot.”

  “There’s fifteen or sixteen of them at least,” Erika said as they settled for the night on a pile of clean straw in the milking barn’s loft. Unlike the various residences, the barns were communal, thus free of any hint of favoritism, and a lot more private. Warmer, too: the six milk cows kept for the family’s use threw off a lot of heat. “That’s why I followed those three. If we could capture one, and put them to the Truth Spell, we might be able to take the rest without more loss of life.”

  “Capture one,” Jors repeated, wondering if the girl’s eyes were as dark up close as they were from a distance. “And the other two?”

  “Capture them as well, if possible. If not ...” Erika’s voice trailed grimly off.

  The bandits had been wreacking havoc along the North Trade Road between Heraldston and Berrybay for almost a year. They were fast, they were smart, and they were vicious; there’d been no witnesses left behind. Lord Harin and his people had finally gotten close enough to take arrow fire, leaving three dead. That was when he’d sent to Haven for help.

  “They’ve been holed up somewhere for the winter and I expect your three were bored.”

  “My three?” Jors snorted. Down in the large box stall he shared with Raya, Gervais snorted as well, and Jors caught a faint feeling of unease from his Companion’s mind. :What’s wrong?:

  :They are not your three.:

  :That’s what I said.:

  :No, you said they are not your three.:

  “They’ve come a fair distance from their regular stomping grounds,” Erika continued, unaware of the silent conversation, “and they’re just the sort to think burning down a barn is funny. I wouldn’t be surprised to find they used the distraction to cut a steer from the herd and slaughter it. They’ll leave most of the meat behind too, the cocky bastards.”

  “If it helps, they were steer-free when I saw them.”

  Erika reached out and patted his arm. “It helps that you saw them. The biggest problem until now is that they could be anyone. I could have sat next to one in a tavern completely unaware. I had to Truth Spell all of Lord Harin’s people to make sure none of them were involved.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, well, you can do it next time. It’s not like I could Truth Spell everyone who uses the road, so all we really knew was that the people actively chasing them weren’t also helping them.”

  “That’s something.”

  “Damned little. But now, now we know what three of them look like.”

  ... a long, dark braid, and matching dark eyes, and a smile that faltered when she saw Jors watching.

  “From the back, riding away,” Jors reminded her.

  “More than we had,” Erika said, yawning. “More than we had.”

  Jors still had Circuit to ride, but these bandits had killed a dozen, probably more, and would have killed the young man he’d pulled from the barn. Gervais was strangely hard to convince that breaking away to help Erika track and capture one of the three was more than justified, but he finally gave in. Dawn found the four of them heading out of the compound.

  Cut deep in the mud then frozen overnight, the tracks were easy to follow until, in the lee of a copse of trees, they suddenly disappeared under the hoofmarks of a herd of cattle. Probably the same rough-coated cattle spread out along beside the tracks, enjoying the weak spring sunshine. The closest few looked up when the Heralds approached, and ran a short ways before rocking to a stop and setting off another bunch, the ripple of movement running through the sizable herd.

  “We’re never going to follow their tracks out of this,” Erika muttered as Jors dismounted to get a closer look at the ground. “They could have turned. They could have headed off in any direction. We’ll have to circle the entire herd. And hopefully the herd won’t spook and run exactly the way we don’t want them to.”

  :Cows don’t listen.: Gervais sounded insulted.

  “Yeah, Raya says the same thing,” Erika laughed when Jors repeated his Companion’s observation. “Any luck?”

  Crouched low, Jors pulled off his glove and ran his fingers through the impressions of cloven hooves, searching for the unbroken arc of a horse’s print. Unfortunately, cows could cut a dry trail to shreds;
a wet trail, with added thrown mud, they obliterated. A detail the three fleeing bandits had obviously known.

  He straightened, scanned the horizon, and took an involuntary step. Then another. “This way.”

  “How ...” Erika stopped, head cocked, clearly listening to Raya. After a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, she shifted her weight and Raya began to move forward along the line Jors had indicated. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  Not long after, they found the place the bandits had spent the night.

  A fox stared up at them from one end of the slaughtered steer, two crows from the other, all three wary but unwilling to leave such a prize.

  “They couldn’t have set the fire as a distraction,” Jors noted as the Companions began to pick up speed, the trail clear again. “Not this far out.”

  “Destruction for the sake of destruction,” Erika snarled. “Mayhem for the sheer bloody pleasure they take in it. And the more they get away with, the more things will escalate.”

  “Then we make sure they don’t get away with it.”

  “So we’d better catch them before they get into those hills.” Erika tossed her head toward the layered ridges on the horizon, still covered in snow. “Those things are crossed with canyons and gullies and some very nasty ground. They get in there, we’ll never find them.”

  “Do you smell . . . ?”

  “Beef.” Jors scanned the sky for smoke but saw nothing rising against the low-lying gray clouds. “They’re close.” He pulled Gervais to a stop, pulled his bow free, and slid to the ground, dropping low as he reached the top of the rise. There, in a hollow, backs to a clump of leafless willow, the three bandits sat around a small, smokeless fire roasting hunks of meat on the points of their knives.

  Jors figured they’d probably stopped here at the edge of the plain before they’d head into the canyon he could see as a black line in the first rise of hills.

  “We move along that bank of snow ...” Erika’s low voice washed warmly against his ear. “ . . . and they’ll never see us until it’s too late.”