Under the Vale and Other Tales of Valdemar Read online

He tossed the lock into Carjoris’s lap. It clinked against the metal as Carjoris threaded it through the clasp and squeezed it shut.

  “Come on.” Gaurane was holding a hand down to him. Carjoris took it, and Gaurane pulled him to his feet.

  “What—What happens now?” Carjoris asked. He knew he ought to feel afraid, or even angry at having been trapped so neatly. But he didn’t.

  He didn’t know what he felt.

  “Now we go back to the fair—should be there by dark—and you hand over everything you’ve stolen, and Meran goes and finds a Herald to give it all back. And tomorrow we buy you a horse and whatever else you need. Did I mention we spend our time living rough up on the Border? You’ll get used to it.”

  He turned and began to walk toward the others. The white horse followed. As it passed him, it turned its head and gave Carjoris a penetrating look.

  “Come on if you’re coming!” Gaurane called, and Carjoris found himself running to catch up.

  “You’ve lost me a five-mark piece, you know,” Gaurane said when he reached him. “Ah, well, maybe I can get Hedion to go double or nothing. Over a moonturn, you know. To give him a sporting chance.”

  “You’ll lose,” Carjoris said with sudden confidence.

  They walked on.

  In an Instant

  Elizabeth A. Vaughan

  The thick yellow dust caught in her throat, right next to her heart.

  The euphoria of their victory over Ancar of Hardorn was starting to pass, the ragged cheers starting to fade. Selenay remembered all too well what happened next. The cold harsh wind of dealing with the aftermath. She’d managed to keep herself together this long. Her officers could handle the next few minutes without her.

  “I just need a moment,” Selenay whispered to her guards, seeking the privacy of her tent. They nodded, taking up their positions. They probably thought she wished to thank her gods or see to her own needs. But the truth was not so simple.

  Once the flap was raised, once she’d retreated into the darkness of its shelter and its relative silence, her emotions overwhelmed her. She stumbled past the table of maps into her sleeping area and collapsed on her stool. She dropped her head to her hands,and fought to hold back tears. This could not be happening, not here, not now, not ever.

  He is his brother.

  She gasped then, pulling in stale air, and shivered.

  She was a Queen, a mother, a Herald, for the love of all the gods. She was in the middle of a war, fresh from a battle she never thought they’d win. She should be rejoicing at their victory and dealing with the consequences thereof. The dead, the injured, the damages to the land. Her people, her land, her kingdom. Instead, here she was like some silly girl weeping over—Her heart skipped a beat.

  He is his brother.

  The sounds outside the flimsy canvas of her tent were muted and distant. All she could hear was her heart in her ears, her ragged breath in her throat, and her thrice-damned memories.

  “In that case, gracious lady, let the Prince prevail upon your noble nature and present himself!” the young man said, flinging himself at her feet in the most romantic posture possible.

  She’d been so young and so stupid, dreaming of romance. So gullible. Karathanelan, Prince of Rethwellan had appeared as if in answer to her dreams and swept her off her feet. She’d fallen for him so fast, so foolishly. So blindly in love that she’d swept all opposition aside, ignoring the concerns of friends, advisers, even her own Companion, like a child with a new toy. She’d been stupid, arrogant, naive, and . .

  Dearest Gods, was it happening again?

  It couldn’t, it just couldn’t . . . no . . . this couldn’t be happening. She’d slammed the doors and windows on that stupid dream the day her loving husband had smiled at her over the glint of his sword. She could still feel that lance of fear as his friends had surrounded her, and she’d faced them for long moments alone—

  Never alone.:

  Selenay lifted her tearful face to a beloved white head pushing its way into the tent.

  “Oh, Caryo,” she whispered.

  Caryo stepped closer. Selenay stood and pressed her face into that warm neck, feeling the soft silky mane of white absorb her tears.

  :Whatever this is, whatever happens, we face this together.: Caryo’s Mindspeech carried all of the warmth of her love with it. :I am here for you, Chosen.:

  :I . . . I think it’s a Lifebond.: Selenay held on for dear life, and let her tears flow. :He is his brother,: she wailed in despair, sharing her fear. :Caryo, I can’t—:

  :He is his brother.: Caryo confirmed. :But he is also Chosen.:

  Selenay lifted her tear-streaked face and drew a sharp breath. :He is? I didn’t notice. He was in front of me, and I was so stunned, I didn’t see—:

  :See again,: Caryo commanded and Selenay saw again in her mind’s-eye Lord Darenthallis of Rethwellan, his helmet in one hand, stretching out his hand to kiss hers. Saw him lift his head, saw his brownish-blond hair, and gazed into those hazel eyes . . . and saw him seated on a Companion.

  Her knees buckled, and she went down onto the stool. Caryo followed, lowering her head to nuzzle Selenay’s face.

  :Chosen,: Selenay wiped at her eyes.:By?:

  :Jasan.: Caryo said. :On the battlefield. As is Kerowyn. By Sayvel.:

  Selenay blinked, as a slow smile crept over her face. “Oh, Kero’s going to hate whites.” she hiccupped a weak chuckle.

  A snort of agreement from Caryo.

  “Chosen?” Selenay frowned, pushing her hair back from her face. “How will we deal with a mercenary company? For that matter, how do I explain this to King Faramentha? What will he say, to lose his Lord Marshal?”

  :You are thinking like a Queen,: Caryo noted, shaking her mane in approval. :That is well.:

  :Why do you say that?:

  :Because he’s standing outside your tent, hesitating, not sure what to say, or how to say it, but knowing . . .:

  :The bond.: Selenay felt it too, vibrating between them.

  :Rolan says that Talia says to breathe. That a lifebond is overwhelming and confusing. Go slow, and remember that you are not the girl you were.:

  :He is his brother.: Selenay nodded slowly, still nervous and unsure. But the terror was ebbing away. :But I am Queen, and Herald, and mother of a half-grown daughter. I can handle this.: She put her hand on Caryo’s neck. :We can handle this.:

  Daren took a deep breath of heat and dust and let it out slowly. He adjusted his cape,and tried to brush dust from his uniform.

  :One would think you were facing your final battle,: the voice in his head said.

  “I am.” Daren looked over his shoulder at the white stallion behind him.

  :Companion,: Jasan reminded him. The big horse shook his white head and somehow managed to look amused.

  Daren concentrated. :This is going to take some getting used to,: he thought. His head was still whirling from the last few days, the confusion of the battle, the victory, being Chosen. And now the Queen of Valdemar was—

  The bond between them vibrated with her nervousness, echoing his.

  :It will take time,: Jasan agreed. :But you should not keep her waiting.:

  Daren looked back at the tent before him. The Queen’s guards were looking at him with odd expressions. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating so much. He’d known many women, been in and out of relationships like he changed garments, but this. . . .

  His heart clenched in his chest. This mattered.

  Daren pushed through the tent flap; he stood in the darkness and let his eyes adjust.

  She stood opposite him, her Companion’s head over her shoulder, the table of maps between them.

  Dearest gods, she was lovely.

  Golden hair, blue eyes that were strong and yet like a startled doe’s. Her armor was a mixture of plate and white leather, and it didn’t show much dust. But there were smudges on her face and the trace of tears. It hurt him to see her pain.

  “Your Majesty,” Daren pla
ced his hand over his heart and bowed his head.

  “Lord Darenthallis,” Selenay’s voice trembled.

  “Daren,” he blurted out. “I go by Daren.”

  “Daren,” she repeated. Her voice trailed off and they both stood there, staring at one another.

  “I didn’t intend this,” Daren said. “I never thought that something like this could happen. I. . . .”

  :Your brother’s greeting,: Jasan prompted.

  Daren pulled himself up. “Your Majesty, I bring greetings from King Faramentha of Rethwellan. He bade me say that our presence here today honors the pledge that King Stefansen made to Herald-Prince Roald, preserving the honor of Rethwellan and the friendship between our lands.”

  “You look nothing like him,” Selenay whispered, wonder and relief in her voice.

  Daren stared back at her helplessly. “Faram and I favor my father,” he replied. “Thanel favored our mother.”

  “Thanel? He went by Karath when he was here.”

  Daren shook his head in disgust. “Thanel was what he was known by in Rethwellan,” Daren continued. “My old weaponsmistress called him a ‘grek’ka’shen.’ That’s an animal found on the Plains,” he explained. “Scavenges anything dead, soils its own nest, and eats its young.”

  Selenay grimaced. “Appropriate,” she murmured, dropping her eyes. “I wish I’d known that before. . . .” her words trailed off.

  Daren shook his head. “Would it have made a difference?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Selenay answered, her honesty wrung out and raw.

  “He could charm the sun out of the sky, the vicious little beast.” Daren took a step forward. “I am not him,” he said fiercely.

  Selenay lifted her head and looked at him, a faint wondering in her eyes. She nodded slowly and then frowned slightly. “I seem to remember someone telling me . . . your weaponsmistress was Shin’a’in, wasn’t she?”

  Daren nodded. “She wouldn’t train Thanel for any price. Trained me though, and Kero,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Taught us the trick we used today in fact. Worked out well.” He stared at Selenay, wanting her to know everything. “We were lovers when we were young,” he blurted out, then covered his face with his hand. “Oh, gods, why did I say that?”

  Jasan whickered outside.

  Selenay coughed, and Daren opened his fingers to see her choking back a laugh. “We are not at our best,” she offered. “You traveled far to save us. To save Valdemar.”

  “I served my King, Your Majesty.” Daren took shelter in a return to formality. “But never so joyously.” He paled as he thought on his journey. “Hardorn’s Ancar is another grek’ka’shen. What he’s done to the land,” Daren drew a shuddering breath. “He’s not done with Valdemar yet, Lady.” He looked back into those lovely blue eyes. “With us.”

  He lost himself in her face again, just staring at her. Thankfully, she seemed lost in his as well.

  “You have a smudge on your nose,” he whispered.

  Selenay blushed. His heart flipped as she lifted a hand and rubbed her nose. He took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to—but he stopped and took a conscious and deliberate step back.

  Selenay’s eyes were wide, questioning him.

  “Your Majesty,” Daren said carefully. “I need to see to my people, as do you. We both have duties here and now. But I would like to . . . explore this possibility. The possibility of us.”

  Selenay nodded. “As would I.”

  “But know this, Queen Selenay.” Daren set his shoulders, trying to find the right words. “Your Majesty, I’d . . . wherever this leads—if it leads to something growing between us—I’ll not be crowned.”

  “What?” Selenay stared at him, and her Companion also seemed taken aback. He heard the rustle of canvas behind him, and Jasan pushed his head into the tent. Daren suppressed a surge of satisfaction. He’d surprised them all.

  “But if this thing between us,” Selenay gestured toward Jasan. “Being Chosen, you would qualify as Co-Ruler in a way that Karath never–” she stopped herself.

  Daren nodded. “Karath, Thanel, whatever you decide to call him, he left a taint, and I will not walk in his footsteps. But even more than that, I do not wish to wear a crown. Faram deals with so much as a result of that burden, and I know full well the price.”

  Selenay nodded her understanding.

  “But if you would allow,” Daren said softly., “I would stand with you. Support you in all ways, all things. Behind the throne,” he smiled at her. “Not on it.”

  Selenay took a breath, her eyes tearing up. “Are you sure?”

  “More than sure,” Daren said. “Now, with your leave, Your Majesty, I’ll–”

  Jasan bumped him in the middle of his back. :Kiss her.:

  Daren scowled and shook his head.

  “What?” Selenay asked.

  “He thinks I should kiss you,” Daren looked at her ruefully, then glanced back at his Companion. “Were you born in a barn?”

  Selenay’s laughter burst out, like rain on his thirsty soul.

  Selenay could not restrain her laughter, rising out of her relief.

  Daren gave her a boyish grin. “Are they always that pushy?” he asked.

  “Most times,” Selenay said teasingly, then laughed again as Cayro shook her head in denial. “Daren, this is my Companion, Cayro.”

  “My lady,” Daren bowed. “I believe you already know my Companion, Jasan.”

  Jasan snorted as he backed out of the tent.

  “I really, really want to kiss you, Your Maj-”

  “Selenay,” she interrupted.

  “Selenay.” His smile lit his face. He drew a breath. “But there is time for that. We’ll talk first. Before we explore other . . . possibilities. I’d want to really know you before . . .” Daren paused. “Do you know what I am trying to say?”

  Selenay nodded, her throat tight with emotion, unable to speak, feeling the truth of his words within the bond.

  “But you’ll forgive me if I hope the wait is not long,” Daren said. “And I’d ask one favor,” he added, his eyes sparkling.

  Selenay raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t believe anything Kero says. I don’t snore.”

  Selenay laughed again, and the band of pressure around her chest eased. Daren gave her a boyish grin and lifted his eyebrows. Her heart turned over at the sight.

  “I’m not sure how I am going to explain this to Faram. It’s going to take me a score of letters to convince him that I’ve been Chosen and explain what that means.” Daren’s eyebrows danced. “Maybe I’ll tell him that Jasan is a Shin’a’in battlesteed. That might do it.”

  There was an offended snort from outside.

  Selenay suppressed the giggle that rose in her chest.

  “I’m in Valdemar to stay,” Daren said. “I am not going to give up Jasan or you, Selenay of Valdemar.”

  “I’m glad,” Selenay replied, confidence flowing through her.

  Daren put on his helmet, looking satisfied. “Your Majesty.” He swept a graceful courtly bow as he backed away.

  Selenay stepped forward, suddenly reluctant to part. She extended her hand.

  Daren took it gently in his and lightly touched his lips to it. Then he left, with a flourish of his cloak.

  Selenay stood for a moment. :He is not his brother.:

  :He is not.: Caryo agreed. :And I am here, always.:

  :Always,: Selenay said, as the tightness in her shoulders eased even more.

  Noises from without, and the flap was raised. “The Lord Marshal is here to confer with you.”

  Selenay rubbed her face, hopefully erasing her tears. “Let him enter,” she commanded.

  “A battle won, majesty.” The Lord Marshal strode in with his staff.

  “But there are consequences yet to be dealt with,” Selenay stepped to the map table. “Let’s see to it, shall we?” She bent her head to the reports he laid out for her, with a new energy. No, she smiled to herself. M
ore like a new anticipation.

  And a new determination to protect Valdemar and those she . . . loved.

  A Healer’s Work

  Daniel Shull

  The greenhouse was worse than he’d expected. The tools had gotten damp from the constant storms, and plants were either dying or running riot. Whoever had last been inside appeared to have trimmed just enough materials for their use and then run off. Several of the windows had been left open, and drains had not been cleared, resulting in a sludge that clung to everything. The mess wasn’t insurmountable, just extensive; only there shouldn’t have been a mess to begin with.

  Healer Serril looked around the dilapidated greenhouse with more than a bit of irritation, tempered only by his fondness for the Trainee standing a few feet away from him. Jayin waved a slightly rusted trowel in the direction of the Healers’ Collegium, fury radiating from her normally placid brown eyes.

  “Idiots! Ham-fisted children! Delinquents! Fumble-fingered—” Serril interrupted her before someone came to investigate the furious ranting.

  “Jayin.” Her name, backed by all of his authority, was enough to stop the Trainee midrant. She grimaced but bowed in apology to her mentor, eyes to the ground in a show of contrition. The apology was certainly genuine; everything else was for show, Serril knew from long experience. He also knew that the Healers who’d require her contrition would be the ones most likely to accept a display and not probe deeper. Brone immediately came to mind.

  She had good reason for her irritation, to be sure. Ever since Elspeth had returned, the Collegia and Court had been all atwitter for their suddenly strange Herald-Mage and her even stranger allies. The two Hawkbrothers alone would be enough to turn anyone’s head; add the creatures called gryphons and their younglings, and it was no wonder that most of Haven occupied themselves with little else. Gossip left the court, galloped around the city and returned with three heads, seven legs, and no sense whatsoever. The Hawkbrothers were descended from the gryphons, or vice versa. Elspeth was nothing more than a chew toy for the ravening monsters that were set to take over Valdemar. Vanyel himself had been resurrected and somehow brought to the Court. And those were the tamer stories. It was enough to make a cat sneeze.