Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-101 Read online

  He smiled.

  Then the gryphon of light soared into the sky, becoming a bright star, and went home.

  Captain Hallock Stavern and the Sixteenth Cavalry, three companies of Guard Regulars, and Kerowyn’s Firebolts advanced steadily along the Trade Road. The militia they met offered no noteworthy resistance, and laid down arms almost apologetically. The Herald with the Crown’s forces adjudicated the conditions of surrender, town by town, and left the locals with their pride. The mercenary company hired by Farragur Elm and his cohorts all but disbanded, demoralized by the showy display of magic they could not possibly match.

  Kerowyn held her Firebolts back from taking the city. She was of the opinion that it would be damned unseemly for a merc company to take over the city rather than the Crown’s Guard regiments—especially since so much of the troubles had been caused by other mercs.

  When the Guards rode in and liberated Deedun, “Chancellor of Prosperity” Farragur Elm and his several of his insurrectionists barricaded themselves in the High Keep. Others guilty of the thefts that financed the power grab were, over time, discovered, arrested, and jailed. In time, Elm himself was dragged, screaming obscenities, from the very tower that Kelvren had marked.

  Treyvan conferred with Whitebird and all the mages he knew, still amazed by what had happened. They finally deduced what Kelvren had done. When the power of the Heartstone dissolution surged upward into him, Kelvren Healed himself, but there was too much chaotic raw power, flooding in too quickly. Kelvren used the simplest, but most stable, spell that any mage knew—mage-light—and quelled the chaos of raw power into a tuned current. Instead of ending the spell, as mages normally did when they had enough light, he let it flow through him. The ordeal of having no magic in his body had left his channels and conversion organs needy, and they filled to capacity, then into his bones, then into the feathers themselves. Then with so much free-floating energy in the air, his every movement brought in more.

  The road of light was far more than a psychological ploy. The rate he cast it matched the rate the power was absorbed as he flew, and it burned off enough energy for his system to stabilize.

  Firesong reported by teleson that Kelvren returned to k’Valdemar the night after his rejuvenation, still as bright as a sunrise. He flew over the Clan fires, Kelmskeep, Errold’s Grove, and the Vale purely for effect.

  And so the mill was gradually emptied of officers, and the village was freed from the Guard camp, and trade was reestablished along the great glowing Road. The light faded slowly over the fortnight since Kelvren’s flight, but it wouldn’t leave anyone’s memory anytime soon.

  Before long, it was time for Treyvan, Whitebird, Rivenstone and Pena to go back to Haven. They said their good-byes, and with a small bow, Pena gave an oilskinwrapped package to Jeft.

  Jeft opened it up, and inside were three gryphon feathers, bound with strips of leather, a folded scrap of paper, and a small leather pouch attached to them. Inside the pouch were six gold coins. His mother read the message.

  “Jeft Roald Dunwythie. My friend. If you grow tired of being ‘Boy,’ with this, you will be welcomed into Hawkbrother lands and accepted as our own. Your mother will be welcome also. So speaks Wingleader Kelvren Skothkar of k’Valdemar Vale, Ally of the Crown of Valdemar.”

  Ammari felt tears in her eyes, and she hugged her son as strongly as she ever had. They gazed up at the encompassing sky, and listened to the birds together.

  And by the end of that month, Captain Hallock Stavern returned triumphantly to Haven, and to the arms of his beloved Genni.

  Darkwind handed over a paper slip to Elspeth. “Mmm. Oh this is good. Repercussions from the Kelvren affair. Says here, some mayor demands reparations for the gryphon’s presence in his village. Cites him as a hazard, detrimental to the town’s morale, and an insult to the dignity of his office.”

  Elspeth browsed the slip, shrugged, and handed it off to a passing clerk to be handled. “Sounds like a healthy gryphon to me. What’s next?”

  THE FEAST OF THE CHILDREN

  by Nancy Asire

  Nancy Asire is the author of four novels,

  Twilight’s Kingdoms, Tears of Time, To Fall Like Stars,

  and

  Wizard Spawn

  . She also has written short stories for the series anthologies

  Heroes in Hell

  and

  Merovingen Nights,

  and short stories for Mercedes Lackey’s anthologies

  Flights of Fantasy

  and

  Sun in Glory

  . She has lived in Africa and traveled the world, but now resides in Missouri with her cats and two vintage Corvairs.

  THE evening service had ended and the night candle burned brightly on the altar. From the steps leading to the Temple, Pytor watched his fellow villagers as they went off to what would normally have been a well-earned meal after a long day in the fields. As priest of this small Temple for fifteen years now, he knew each of them as well as he knew his own kin. Unlike so many other priests, he had come home after being elevated from an acolyte to a fully practicing member of the Sunlord’s representatives on earth. Born in the village of Two Trees, he had returned, drawn by the quiet of the place and a family history that spanned generations. He had offered to come after the old priest who had served Two Trees since before he had been born had died. Not for him was the life some priests craved—cities and towns were too crowded, too noisy, too full of people who sought status and power. He was more than satisfied to minister to his villagers, people he had known since birth.

  But as he watched the last of his neighbors leave the Temple, Pytor suddenly shivered, though the summer evening was far from cold. This evening, one of the most terrifying situations he had ever faced as a priest had loomed before him, one that could presage even more horrible times to come. But he had made his choice and now he must weather its outcome.

  “Pytor.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at his sister who waited for him to close the Temple for the night and join her for dinner. Sunset light revealed the concern on her face, the searching look in her eyes. He was going to have to tell her; he had no choice. She would find out soon enough.

  Then what would she think of him? Would she see him as a failure? Less of a priest? And could he live with that?

  “Selenna.” He smiled, turned and led the way back inside. Shutting the doors, he doffed his ceremonial robes, and led the way to the room that served as his residence. Attached to the back of the Temple, it was the only home he had known for fifteen years, a simple place that contained everything he owned in this world.

  :Tell her,: that suddenly ever-present voice in his mind whispered. :You’ll have to tell her eventually and the best time to do it is now.:

  “I’ll have dinner ready in a moment.” she said, bustling around with preparations for their meal. She glanced over her shoulder. “Take care of your cats first. You know they’re waiting for you.”

  He smiled somewhat sheepishly. Not only his sister, but the villagers teased him unmercifully about his fondness for the feline kind. He had always loved cats, a love fostered, no doubt, by growing up surrounded by at least two or three cats living in and around the house, not to mention those that had taken up residence in the barn.

  “Here,” Selenna said, extending a plate full of cold and finely chopped sausage left over from the midday meal. “Should keep ’em quiet ’til they go out mousing.”

  Pytor took the extended plate, smiled his thanks, and opened the door to the yard behind the Temple. Sure enough, he was greeted by a group of his cats, their tails lifted in expectation. Here was Tom, the big brown-andwhite tabby; Puss, the all-white cat with green eyes shouldered forward, followed by the dainty little girl, Patches. And there, sitting back as if to say he was above all this pushing and shoving, was the newcomer. Pytor had named the recent arrival Sunshine, because he sported a coat of the oddest shade of gold, a color rare enough in these parts to have attracted
attention. Sunshine looked up at him, the fading light turning his eyes into fiery points of topaz.

  :Tell her now,: that voice whispered again. To set things right between you, she has to know.:

  Pytor put down the plate and stepped back, letting the cats gather around their meal. Sunshine finally took his place at the plate, eating with a daintiness his companions lacked. There was something strange about that cat. Ever since he had wandered into the village several months ago, odd thoughts had filled Pytor’s head. Thoughts that could, in this day and age, lead to inquisition or, even worse, the cleansing Fires.

  Thoughts that had finally blossomed into the actions he had taken this evening.

  He shook his head and went inside. Selenna was patiently waiting for him to join her. How could he tell her? How could he explain what troubled him so? Would she understand?

  “Pytor.” Selenna reached across the table and patted his hand. “You be too worried ’bout this. From what you told us tonight, we got no choice. You know that.”

  “I do,” he responded. “I just don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Can’t you see? It’s not simply that we’re disobeying the new laws. We could be putting our very souls in peril.”

  She snorted, a very unladylike noise but one that spoke of her practicality. “You’ve said over and over we could put our souls in peril if we don’t do this. That we must stand up for what we know Vkandis Sunlord wishes for his children in this world. How could he look down on us and be pleased if we let the children be put to the Fires?”

  And there it was . . . the lurking fear that had plagued him. Only five days left now before the Feast of the Children, when a priest came to the village all the way from Sunhame to test the children.

  Test the children. What a bland way to put it. In the old days, that was exactly what it had been. Priests went from city to city, town to town, and village to village to test children for their talents. Talents that were now becoming spoken of in whispers as “witch powers” and were said to be evil in the sight of the Sunlord. But Pytor knew better . . . by the Light of Vkandis, he knew it was not so.

  Even when he had studied for the priesthood, things had started to change in Sunhame. The Son of the Sun was no priest he would have chosen, had he had been Vkandis Sunlord, to be the God’s representative on earth. And through the years, the Son of the Sun’s actions had proved him right. Far more interested in temporal power, Hanovar had gathered priests around him who told him exactly what he wanted to hear, all eager to increase whatever powers and positions they thought were rightfully theirs.

  “What we’re doing—” He started and abandoned his words, and tried again. “It goes against what I’ve been taught. Our allegiance to the Son of the Sun is paramount. But I know what’s going on in the priestly circles is not what I was led to believe Vkandis wants for his children. How could he wish to destroy those of us he granted these powers to at birth?”

  “More the reason,” she said in her quiet voice, “to give’em a chance to grow into those powers in a place they won’t have to live in fear. Najan be our cousin. He’s told of the place we’re going. It be not that far off, and he’s lived there over a year. Two Trees be close enough to the border so we can make it there in three days. A few priests be there already. You know that. Other families followed’em. They be afraid of what could happen to their children who have talents when the Feast of the Children comes. What be so different ’bout this time?”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s you . . . I don’t know how I could live without you. We’re all we have left of our family, what with Father gone, Mother dying last year, and your husband the year before. Both you and I are childless. If anything happens—”

  “You be avoiding my question,” she said and smiled slightly. “What be so different ’bout this time? And who be the one to say I won’t come back? Once the children be safely ’cross the border, Najan will take care of ’em and I can come home.”

  Here it is, Pytor thought. Here’s where I tell her or trust Vkandis to keep my secret.

  “You know I have confidence in you and Najan. And it’s not that the children will be too close to the border of Valdemar. Neither Karse nor Valdemar seems too concerned with what goes on in that territory.” He sighed. “What I’ve not told you, is this: the priest who’s coming to Two Trees is Chardan.”

  For a moment his sister’s face went totally blank. Suddenly, sadness replaced the emptiness of her features, a sadness that spoke more than anything she could have said.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Chardan. My friend from my earliest days of study in Sunhame. The one I swore an oath to, promising there would never be anything between us. I’ll have to lie to him, Selenna, about those children. Lie! And in doing that, I’ll have to break my oath to him.”

  To say nothing of what might happen if Chardan detected the lie.

  “But what happened to Durban?”

  Durban, the Red-robe priest who had become a Black-robe, who had come year after year to Two Trees and who, despite his talents as a demon summoner, had seemingly possessed a soft spot in his heart for the inhabitants of this small village. Durban had never pressed too hard and, Pytor suspected, had consciously overlooked those children who might be growing into their talents.

  “Durban died a few months past,” Pytor said. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew—”

  “I’d worry ’bout the upcoming Feast,” she finished his dying sentence. She stirred the greens on her plate, her face gone still and thoughtful. “But it wouldn’t have changed things, Pytor. I always worry ’bout the Feast.”

  He glanced up at the ceiling. “What am I to do? How can I lie to Chardan?”

  :There’s nothing wrong in doing such a thing if it’s done for Vkandis and for the love of his children,: that voice whispered in his head. :Don’t take more upon yourself than you ought.:

  If he had not known better, he would have sworn his sister had heard the same voice. “Which be worse?” she asked. “Lying to an old friend and betraying a childhood oath, or doing what you know be best for the children of this village?”

  “Oh, you’re clever,” he said, “throwing my own words back at me. Yes, Selenna, there’s a higher power to answer to here than a childhood oath. But if he doesn’t believe me . . . what if he tries to go into my mind—”

  “Now why would he do that? He be your friend,” she stated. “You been tested, time and again. Not once, ever, did you show a hint of any so-called witch powers.”

  “But times are different now, and that difference can turn friend against friend. Remember what happened with Zarvash and Tomasio?”

  “Never did think Zarvash worthy of much more than pig slop,” Selenna responded bluntly. “He be an evil, grasping man. He’d betray his own mother if it meant a few more gold pieces in his pouch.”

  “That’s true, but he did report Tomasio to the priesthood, and Tomasio went to the Fires.”

  :There are worse things than going to the Fires,: the voice in Pytor’s head murmured. :The Sunlord sees all and rewards accordingly.:

  Pytor rubbed his forehead, attempting to dispel that inner voice. “Well,” he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I guess there’s nothing to be done for it now. We’ve cast our fates to the Sunlord’s mercy. You and the children will be leaving at first light tomorrow. Vkandis willing, you’ll be over the border before Chardan is close to Two Trees.”

  “And I’ll be back, Pytor,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. “Don’t worry ’bout that. I can take care of myself. And Najan . . . Oh, don’t look so horrified. He’s always been a free spirit, a trader and tinker by nature. He comes, he goes. No one knows where he’s been, or that he lives’cross the border. But I can find him.”

  Pytor knew that for truth. Though a woman wasn’t supposed to travel unless accompanied by a male relative, those rules weren’t strictly enforced out here in the back of beyond. A woman could make a trip by herself, if she thought the need w
as great.

  After Selenna had returned to the house she and her husband had shared, Pytor was left alone with his own misgivings. Now that his plan had been set into motion, he could foresee a hundred ways it might go wrong. Not for one moment did he believe the new thinking emanating from the Son of the Sun. Once an eagerly anticipated ceremony, the Feast of the Children was turning into a day every family dreaded. In years past, it had stood as a marker of the passage from childhood to adulthood; the child making that passage tossed some valued possession of theirs into a fire to signify entry into a new phase of life. Now they, themselves, could be thrown to the Fires.

  Unless, of course, they could be suborned by the priests into becoming one of the newly powerful Black-robes, those summoners of demons and possessors of a magic Pytor suspected did not flow from the hands of the Sunlord. He wore his own robes of red proudly; the last thing he wanted was to be seen as a figure that inspired fear, not love.

  He stepped outside to retrieve the cats’ plate. Tom was gone, and Puss and Patches were stalking something in the grass over by the bushes. Only Sunshine remained, cleaning his whiskers. When Pytor picked up the plate, the cat looked up, a satisfied expression on his face. Pytor reached down and stroked the cat behind his ears, the simple act settling his emotions.

  “Where did you come from?” he asked conversationally. “Who’s missing you? You were far too well cared for to be homeless.”

  Sunshine’s response was a throaty purr.

  “I hope I’m doing the right thing,” Pytor continued, finding nothing odd in holding a conversation with a cat. “I can’t see Jovani, Chelsah, Bhobar, Lispah or the twins go to the Fires. And I know they would.” His heart gave a sad little jump in his chest. Chardan wouldn’t hesitate a moment to make the decision to rid the world of those children. As much as he cared for his old friend, Chardan was no Durban.