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

  "Hold still!" Ari snapped. "Do you want to bury yourself again?"

  Jors froze. "What's going to happen, Ari?"

  Behind him, in the darkness, he heard her sigh. "Do you know what a keystone is, Herald?"

  "It's the stone that takes the weight of the other stones and holds up the arch."

  "Essentially. The rock that fell on your legs fell in such a way as to make it the keystone for this cavern we're in."

  "But you didn't move the rock."

  "No, but I did move your legs, and they were part of it."

  "Then what's supporting the keystone?" He knew before she answered.

  "I am."

  "No."

  "No what, Herald?"

  "No. I won't let you sacrifice your life for mine."

  "Yet Heralds are often called upon to give then- lives for others."

  "That's different."

  "Why?" Her voice cracked out of the darkness like a whip. "You're allowed to be noble, but the rest of us aren't? You're so good and pure and perfect and Chosen and the rest of us don't even have lives worth throwing away? Don't you see how stupid that is? Your life is worth infinitely more than mine!" She stopped and caught her breath on the edge of a sob. "There should never have been a mine here. Do you know why I dug it? To prove I was as good as all those others who were Chosen when I wasn't. I was smarter. I wanted it as much. Why not me? And do you know what my pride did, Herald? It killed seventeen people when the mine collapsed. And then my cowardice killed my brother and an uncle and a woman barely out of girlhood because I was afraid to die. My life wasn't worth all those lives. Let my death be worth your life at least."

  He braced himself against her pain. "I can't let you die for me."

  "And yet if our positions were reversed, you'd expect me to let you die for me." She ground the words out through the shards of broken bones, of broken dreams. "Heralds die for what they believe in all the time. Why can't I?"

  "You've got it wrong, Ari," he told her quietly. "Heralds die, I won't deny that. And we all know we may have to sacrifice ourselves someday for the greater good. But we don't die for what we believe in. We live for it."

  Ari couldn't stop shaking, but it wasn't from the cold or even from the throbbing pain in her stumps.

  "Who else do you want that mine to kill?"

  "This, all this, is my responsibility. I won't let it kill anyone else."

  Because he couldn't reach her with his hands, Jors put his heart in his voice and wrapped it around her. "Neither will I. What will happen if you grab my legs and Gevris pulls us both free?"

  He heard her swallow. "The tunnel will collapse."

  "All at once?"

  "No . . ."

  "It'll begin here and follow us?"

  "Yes. But not even a Companion could pull us out that quickly."

  :Gevris . . .: Jors sketched the situation. :Do you think you can beat the collapse?:

  :Yes, but do you think you can survive the trip? You'll be dragged on your stomach through a rock tunnel:

  :Well, I'm not going to survive much longer down here, that's for certain—I'm numb from my neck to my knees. I'm in leathers. I should be okay.:

  :What about your head?:

  :Good point.: "Ari, you're wearing a heavy sheepskin coat, can you work part of it up over your head."

  "Yes, but ..."

  "Do it. And watch for falling rock, I'm going to do the same."

  "What about your pack?"

  He'd forgotten all about it. Letting the loop of rope under his armpits hold his weight, he managed to secure it like a kind of crude helmet.

  "Grab hold of my ankles, Ari."

  "Ari, I can't force you to live. I can only ask you not to die."

  He felt a tentative touch, and then a firmer hold. :Go, Gevris!:

  They stayed at the settlement for nearly a week. Although the Healer assured him that the hours spent trapped in the cold and the damp had done no permanent damage, Jors wore a stitched cut along his jaw as a remembrance of the passage out of the Demon's Den.

  Ari was learning to live again. She still carried the weight of the lives lost to her pride, but she'd found the strength to bear the load.

  "Don't expect sweetness and light, though," she cautioned the Herald as he and Gevris prepared to leave. "I was irritating and opinionated before the accident." Her mouth crooked slightly, and she added, with just a

  hint of the old bitterness, "I expect that's why I was never Chosen."

  Jors grinned as Gevris pushed his head into her shoulder. "He says you were chosen for something else."

  "He said that?" Ari lifted her hand and lightly stroked the Companion's face. She smiled, the expression feeling strange and new. "Then I guess I'd better get on with it."

  As they were riding out of the settlement to take up their interrupted circuit again, Jors turned back to wave and saw Ari sketching something wondrous in the air, prodded by the piping questions of young Robin.

  :I guess she won't be alone in the dark anymore.:

  Gevris tossed his head. :She never had to be.:

  :Sometimes it's hard for people to realize that.: They rode in silence for a moment, then Jors sighed, watching his breath plume in the frosty air. :I'm glad they found the body of that cat—I'd hate to have to go back into the Den to look for it: Their route would take them nowhere near the Demon's Den. :That was as close to the Havens as I want to come for a while.: And then he realized.

  :Gevris, you knew Ari wanted to die down there!:

  :Yes.:

  :Then why did you let her go into that mine?:

  :Because I believed she could free you.:

  :But. . .:

  :And,: the Companion continued, :I believed you could free her.:

  Ironrose

  by Larry Dixon and Mel. White

  Larry Dixon is the husband of Mercedes Lackey, and a successful artist as well as science fiction writer. Other stories co-authored by him appear in Dinosaur Fantastic, and Deals With the Devil. He and Mercedes live in Oklahoma.

  Mel. White is an accomplished writer whose work also appears in Witch Fantastic and Aladdin: Master of the Lamp.

  The tiny forge's flames comforted Ironrose. Its presence was a constant in his life; not always a focus of his attention, but there. Its fingers were of flame, which didn't caress him as a lover or massage him, but still provided comfort to him. The spring which fed water to its mechanical bellows was another constant, shaped by Adept magic to a simple water funnel that split off for quenching and tempering.

  Tempering was another constant in Ironrose's life. He had always tempered himself, reciting oaths silently when upset, bringing his spirits up with songs when saddened. Sadness, though, had come to perch on his forge like a wingbroken vulture of late. His hard work was valued by the Clan, and his skills were ranked well above the average for Artificers. He was also well-thought-of among his Hawkbrother brethren—when he was thought of at all. And that was why sadness was making his temper brittle.

  "Ironrose? I've brought your game."

  He turned from the forge and laid down his tools. It was Sunrunner, the lithe, strong hunter, only two-thirds his height, half his weight, and utterly unattainable. She set down an overstuffed game bag on a chipped worktable, and a sack of greens and wild herbs a moment later. She looked at him expectantly.

  "Ah. Sunrunner. Ah, thank you," he stammered. How foolish he must look! The largest of his Clan, all callused fingers and strong arms, intimidated by this young hunter. And surely she knew it. How could she not? His sweating certainly wasn't from the forge's heat. He caught himself staring at her as she stood in a shaft of the late afternoon sunlight, with dust motes dancing all around her. A sudden fire burned in the pit of his stomach and he wiped his sweaty palms on his thick apron, trying to calm the sudden thunder of his heart. It was all too embarrassing, and he tried to cover it by searching for the arrowheads and bow fittings he'd made for her. They'd been put somewhere. Sunrunner stood, looking quie
tly at him.

  Where was Tullin when he was needed?

  Tullin was, in fact, behind the forge polishing an iron ring with a small file. Absorbed in his task, he hadn't noticed the hunter's entry, but he did notice when Iron-rose's hammer blows stilled. That meant a visitor; someone to pick up an order or barter for the smith's services. The small hertasi cocked his head and flicked his tongue to taste the air. The scent identified the late afternoon visitor as the hunter, Sunrunner. Lately Ironrose had reacted like a spooked rabbit every time she visited the forge building. Ghosting up behind the smith, he tasted the air again to catch the nuances of Ironrose's scent. No doubt about it—courting pheremones. He bunked his large gold eyes in delight as he studied the scene. The lonely human had finally selected a mate: the hunter that his own mate served.

  "Tullin!" Ironrose turned and found the small hertasi standing beside him, silently holding half a dozen arrowheads and the bow-fittings toward him. The smith accepted them with a growl and turned back to Sunrunner as Tullin collected the game bag and herbs. He identified the contents—rabbit, a tiny marshbuck, and tubers from the southern marsh—more than enough to feed the smith for two days. The hunter kept her bargain well.

  Tullin watched Sunrunner trace a careful finger over the sharp edges of an arrowhead. She was a good provider: a quiet woman who appreciated well-crafted things. According to his mate, Coulsie, Sunrunner was also very even tempered. Emotionally, she was well suited to live with the shy metalsmith.

  Critically, Tullin eyed her figure. Her legs were strong; her hips deep and wide; adequate for large babies—perhaps a bit too large for hertasi standards, but necessary for a woman of the Hawkbrothers. Tullin picked up the two bags of food and ghosted toward the rear door of the smithy. "You and she will be a very good match," he observed casually as he headed toward the kitchen. "When will you offer her a love token?"

  "TULLIN!!!" Ironrose wheeled, gaping after him in outraged indignation. Sunrunner stood frozen in surprise. But all they saw of the hertasi was the mischievous flick of a silvery-scaled tail as Tullin vanished through the doorway.

  Tullin's mate, Coulsie, was tall and stocky, with an air of quiet competence about her. She bobbed her head affectionately in greeting as he trotted in. He nuzzled her snout, tasting her warm, enticing scent.

  "You take care of the hunter, Sunrunner, don't you?" he asked as he set down the bag with the rabbits. She nodded, handing him a sharp knife for skinning before selecting a knife for herself.

  "My Ironrose is most interested in her. I think he needs to take her as his mate."

  She slid her eyes toward him, her nostrils flared with surprise. "She is one who walks alone. She does not need a mate."

  "Nonsense. Have you tasted their body scents when they are near each other? I have. They have a hunger for each other—and we both know how lonely they are.

  The only thing that keeps them from courting others is their own belief that no one would want such as they for a mate. This sorrow over their inner selves is only an old path that they tread. Mated, they will overcome these things."

  She gave a quick head jerk hi protest, but he nuzzled the point of her jaw and whispered softly, "Besides, what finer service can we offer than to bring the Hawkbroth-ers that which they most desire?"

  Sunrunner's day had been as bad as the previous ten. Her hunting had been dismal, but she stayed by her barter with the ironcrafter and gave him the best she'd taken. The weather had been cold and damp. The seasonal dance was tonight, and she was one of the few hunters and scouts who wouldn't be going. She cloaked herself in bravado among her peers, taking this night on watch "so they could enjoy themselves," but the truth of the matter was that when it came to celebrations, she was a gray sparrow, as exciting as tree bark. So it had always been.

  It didn't make sense, she repeated in her mind, as she had hundreds of times before. It didn't make sense. She was attractive enough; a hard worker, and responsible. Yet where were her suitors? Some of the scouts were like the rabbits they hunted, yet she was never offered a trysting feather.

  It was a vicious trap—they didn't pursue her, so she stayed away from where they might. She left scout meetings early, avoided celebrations and gatherings, and became part of the forest at the slightest indication of direct attention from a potential lover. Besides, just any lover wasn't really what she wanted in her heart.

  It didn't make sense, she thought, for yet another time.

  But what could be done?

  There was no doubt in Tullin's mind what needed to come next. The next step, of course, was to work on Ironrose, who was as stubborn as the mountains and as open to subtle hints as the rocks themselves. It would take a direct line, Tullin decided as he reentered the forge room. The smith was hammering away furiously on an arrowhead. He was putting too much force into the blows.

  "Is that your love token for her? Usually they like something a little less practical," he observed, his tailtip twitching with amusement.

  The smith turned, scowling. "I am in no mood for hertasi jokes," he thundered. Tullin raised his chin, baring his throat in a submissive gesture. "I had no intent to offend," he said gently. "Only, you were in a bad mood today and so was she, and I thought that it might do you both good to go to the dance together tonight. But you would not ask, so I thought I'd prod you into action."

  "I don't need your help."

  "True, but you do need a bath. I will have a hot soak ready for you in a hawk's stoop," Tullin said before Ironrose could muster a decent protest. "I can see tension in your neck and shoulders, and that makes for poor work. And it's irritating your bird."

  In response, Ironrose's bondbird, a very old tufted owl, Opened one eye for almost an entire minute.

  "I don't do poor work, Tullin, and I don't need a soak right now. I've got bow-fittings to design for Tallbush. Folding bow springs and runners, white to red and un-tempered. I have his drawings right here. . . ."

  "Nonsense. You are tense. Your muscles are like ropes and the air tastes of your weariness. There is no one at the pools right now. You can soak for a finger's width of the moon's path and come back to work after that. It will give me time to restock the forge and to bring you the dinner that Coulsie has fixed. When you've eaten and rested, your hammer will ring truer."

  Ironrose hesitated and Tullin offered his clinching argument. "Besides, a certain hertasi has prepared the third pool to your liking and has sent for a mug of wanned truespice tea and towels by way of an apology to you. It would be a shame to have them go to waste, you know."

  Ironrose stared at him for a long moment and then, outsmarted, began removing his apron.

  Sunrunner tallied her aches and bruises as she slogged down the path to the bathing pools. She'd almost gotten caught by a damned wyrsa while she was out today, and had scrapes and scratches that stung even after being bandaged and salved. She'd also lost three of her new arrowheads somehow, before they were even fletched onto shafts. Now she'd have to barter with the iron-crafter again. If she wasn't so sure that hertasi were infallibly trustworthy, she'd almost think Coulsie had taken them. Coulsie had only clucked when asked about them, though, and shooed Sunrunner off to the hot spring, promising to bring the hunter her evening meal while she rested and bathed.

  She sniffed the humid air of the bathing pools appreciatively. Surely things were going to get better. She sat on a pad of moss beside a steaming pool and wearily removed her stained and sweaty clothes.

  Ironrose yawned sleepily. The heat and the wine had relaxed him, and he was reluctant to go back to work in the forge. There was a slight rustle of leaves from the far edge of the pool. Tullin was announcing his presence, he thought with a grin. Usually the hertasi moved silently as the night, but Tullin seemed to be more aware of human needs and occasionally made small noises to alert Ironrose to his presence. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of Sunrunner.

  She entered the water unself-consciously, then paused when her eyes met Ironrose's. "I ... hope you don
't mind," she faltered. "Coulsie said this bath would be unoccupied tonight. I guess she didn't speak to your hertasi."

  "Err ... no. I didn't mean to stay so long," he fumbled. "Fell asleep in the water." Ironrose reached nervously for his clothes, but found them missing. "Tullin!" he hissed.

  "Is something wrong?" Sunrunner asked, splashing water over her sun-browned arms.

  He sighed. "Only that the hertasi are being entirely too efficient tonight. It seems Tullin thought that my taking a bath would be the perfect chance to take my clothes to be washed and mended."

  "I can pick another pool," she said with a smile.

  "I'm afraid it's too late," he said wryly.

  "You mean . . . ?"

  Ironrose nodded. "Efficient hertasi. I just saw your clothes vanish. Nothing to do for it but wait till they decide to bring them back."

  She glowered at the bushes, then slipped farther into the water. "Oh, well. I'm glad enough to find you here. I've lost some of my arrowheads and need to barter for more of them. Don't know what I did with them; I didn't lose that many arrows hunting."

  He scrubbed at his arms with a small pumice stone. "I've got some extras at the shop. You could come by in the morning to pick them up," he offered.

  "I'll need three of them," she said. "I'm down to six good arrows now and that's not enough for anything more than small game. I promised Winterstar a marsh-buck in exchange for a winter blanket. I'm surprised to find anyone here," she added. "I thought everyone would be at the dance."

  He lowered his eyes to his forge-stained fingers, thick from years of hammering metal. "Great clumsy thing like me? At a dance?" he said wryly. "I'd terrorize the dancers and fall on the musicians. You never saw someone so awkward and untalented in your life."

  "That's hard to believe," Sunrunner said as she palmed warm water onto her face. "You create some of the most beautiful metalwork. I remember that metal buckle in the shape of a lizard that you made for Starhawk."

  He groped for conversation, finding that he enjoyed talking to her, desperate for an excuse to prolong the meeting. A soft rattle at his elbow alerted him that Tul-lin had returned and he turned to speak to the hertasi. But Tullin had vanished, leaving behind a platter of steaming rabbit and herbs—and two plates.