Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar (35 page)

That surprised a shaky laugh from Jordwen.

“Bless you, I am through with rash mistakes for today!”

Darrian got carefully to his feet. There was a line of snow melted into the Companion's coat, as even as the waterline of a boat. Elidor stared at it with a scholar's fascination.
They really ARE whiter than snow . . .

“And now to our charges,” Jordwen said.

“‘But I can—”

“No. They are my responsibility,” Jordwen interrupted sharply.

Again there was that sense of conversation Elidor couldn't hear, and Jordwen shook his head.

“You're right, of course. My apologies, Journeyman Elidor. My incivility is precious little thanks for all your aid.”

“If you are Jordwen, then I am Elidor,” Elidor said, trembling at his own amazing boldness at speaking to a Herald so. “I'll meet you at the top,” he said, to cover his embarrassment. He turned quickly away, and hurried back along his own tracks up the side of the hill.

Darrian took a longer path, finding a gentler slope, so they reached the hut at the same time. Since Jordwen was manifestly unable to dismount, it was Elidor who pushed open the door.

Two carriage horses stood placidly in one corner, gazing at him incuriously. In the other, sitting on a bench, was a large man in a heavy driving cloak, and beside him, a small child of perhaps four or five, her face red and swollen with tears.

“Are you with the rescue party?” the man demanded truculently. “It's about time. I've been cooped up with this squalling brat for hours!”

“And you are?” Elidor asked.

“Meachum, job-coachman, hired to deliver Mistress Vonarre to the Library at Talastyre, and I've had a time of it, I tell you—first one of the horses went lame, then the coach lost a wheel, and then some fool of a Herald came along and made matters worse—”

You haven't had as bad a time as Mistress Vonarre or that “fool of a Herald” has had.
Ignoring the man, he went over to the girl and knelt before her.

“Hello, sweetheart, are you Mistress Vonarre?”

She looked at him, blue eyes made enormous with tears, and nodded, lip trembling.

“I'm Elidor. I live at the library. There are a lot of little girls there who want to be your friend. I'll be your friend, too. And right now, there's a Herald outside. I bet he'll even let you say hello to his Companion, Darrian. Would you like that? And then we'll go to Talastyre.”

“What about the rescue party?” Meachum demanded.

“There is no rescue party,” Elidor said, over his shoulder, his attention focused on the little girl.

“Got no parents,” Vonarre said, hiccuping on a sob. “And it's cold.”

“Well, it won't be cold soon,” Elidor said. “And do you know what? I haven't got any parents either. But there are wonderful things at the library. Books with beautiful pictures all full of stories. I'll show you. Now come on.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her outside.

Her eyes widened when she saw Darrian again, and she reached out to touch him. Though he'd been standoffish with Elidor, Darrian lowered his muzzle into her hand and allowed her to stroke him. She seemed to forget most of her troubles at the sight of the Companion, and Elidor could understand why. They were wonderful, magical creatures.

But he didn't want one. He wanted the life he had. He was
proud
of the life he had.

He looked up at Jordwen. The Herald smiled, as if he could guess most of Elidor's thoughts. “It's not for everyone, you know,” Jordwen said softly.

“I do. Now. Is that why Darrian came for me?” In a different way than a Companion would come for his Chosen, but one that had made just as much of a difference to Elidor.

“Could be. He had to get someone before I froze to death, and oddly enough, not just anyone will go off with one of us. And I assume you sent a message to the library?”

“Sure. It might take a while. It's Midwinter.”

“Ah. You lost track of things on the road. Well, give her here. We'd best go and meet them.”

“Sweetheart, how would you like to be able to tell your children you rode on a real live Companion?” Elidor asked the girl. “This is Herald Jordwen. Jordwen, here is Mistress Vonarre.”

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress Vonarre,” Jordwen said, in his most courtly tones. No one would have guessed that the man was freezing and injured. Elidor handed Vonarre up to him, then went back into the shelter. As he did, he heard the faint jingle of silver bells as Darrian started down the road at a slow walk.

“Come if you're coming,” Elidor said with determined cheerfulness to the unpleasant coachman as he gathered up the horse's bridle-reins. “It's a long walk to town, and better with company.”

“You can't expect me to walk?” the man said in astonishment. “It's freezing out there, and we're miles from town! If that fool of a Herald hadn't put my coach over the cliff, we could ride in comfort. I'll sue the Collegium for damages, you see if I don't!”

Sharp words rose to Elidor's tongue, but he didn't say them. If Jordwen could be kind and forgiving to a Journeyman Scribe while lying cold and injured, Elidor could certainly keep his temper with a blustering fool.

“I'm sorry. Perhaps you can ride one of the horses. They should be sending someone to look for us, but if they don't, at least we'll reach Talastyre by dark.”

 

They had gone less than half a mile when they were met by the Master Librarian's own coach and a dozen outriders, and Elidor, Jordwen, Vonarre, and Meachum finished the journey safe and warm.

 

Several of the outriders went on ahead, so everything was waiting for them when they reached the city gates. Suddenly shy, Elidor slipped away in the confusion, before anyone could think to speak to him, and hurried to his rooms.

As one of the Journeymen, he had a semiprivate room of his own, and Caleanth was home with his family at Festival time. It was odd to think, now, that he had grudged his fellow journeyman that, when he had all of Talastyre for his own, as much his kingdom as any prince's.

No one is too young to be a fool—or too old either!
he thought, thinking of Meachum. But surely the coachman's greatest crime had been only that he had been thinking too much of his own troubles—he had gone quite satisfyingly white when the outriders from the library had lifted Jordwen into the carriage to finish out the journey, his leg in a makeshift brace and bandage, and there had been no more talk of “foolish Heralds.”

He stood for a while, gazing out the window at the buildings of the Library and Scriptorium, its stone dark silver in the winter twilight. Imagine being on the road so many days you didn't know it was Midwinter, and then having to spend most of the Festival pinned beneath a broken coach, only to be half-rescued by a wet-eared journeyman with a dreamstuffed head! Elidor smiled ruefully at the thought, then went to the chest at the foot of his bed, opened it, and withdrew his oldest and longest-prized possession.

The white paint was worn away in spots, showing the wood beneath, but the tiny blue eyes were still as bright, as were the tiny beads that stood in for the silver bells on the painted harness of the carved wooden Companion. He kissed the small wooden toy gently on the forehead, saying good-bye to a dream that had served him well, then tucked the toy into a pocket in his cloak and went to do something he should have done long ago.

He walked across the quadrangle to the infirmary. The Herald would be in the hands of the Healers, of course, but Mistress Infirmerer was a reliable source of all gossip at the library, and he hoped to find where little Vonarre had been taken.

But to his surprise, the first person he encountered upon entering the infirmary precincts was the Mistress of Girls, Lady Kendra. As he lingered in an outer room, uncertain of how far to go exploring, she came through a doorway and advanced upon him, heavy skirts swishing.

“So here is our hero,” she said, keeping her voice low.

Elidor ducked his head, feeling awkward. It was one thing to do what was needed, he realized, and quite another to hear about it later. “I came to see Mistress Vonarre,” he said.

Lady Kendra's expression softened. “Poor mite! To come such a long way, and at this time of year, and sent like a parcel of old clothes to the ragman, her that wasn't to come until spring—you may be sure that yon coachman will have a better care for the next child he must bring such a distance, and pox upon him!” Lady Kendra's eyes flashed, and she took a deep breath. “But a hot bath and a bowl of soup mends much, and I will sit with her until she sleeps. She will soon settle in. Tomorrow we will send someone to the wreck to bring back her things, and the letter that will undoubtedly explain all.” From her tone, it was clear the Mistress of Girls doubted the explanation would satisfy her.

“I can go with them. I know where it is,” Elidor said. “But I've brought her a present. It's Midwinter. Can I give it to her? I'll stay with her, if you like.”

Lady Kendra looked surprised, but the expression passed so quickly that Elidor wasn't quite sure he'd seen it. “Well, then. Do. But mind she drinks her milk. There's a sleeping posset in it.”

“I will,” Elidor promised.

He went through the door the Mistress of Girls indicated. There was a table with a small lamp burning on it, and a wooden cup beside it. Beside the bed that took up most of the space in the room was a wooden stool. Vonarre was sitting up in bed. She had been scrubbed, and her hair brushed out, and dressed in a thick flannel nightshirt a few sizes too big, just as any traveler whose things had been lost might be. Elidor loosened his cloak and sat down beside her bed. She smiled when she saw him, hopefully, as if—just perhaps—the world was not terrible after all.

The books he'd read spoke of breaking hearts, and of the pain they caused, and its curious joy, but in all their stories, never once had Elidor read of the comforting pain of a heart that mends, though he knew he felt it now.
Thank you, Jordwen. Thank you, Darrian.
He reached into his cloak.

“I've brought you a Midwinter present,” he said, offering the carved Companion to the child. “This was mine when I was little. I think you'll like it.”

“His name is Darrian,” Vonarre said firmly, clutching the wooden horse against her chest.

“Shall I tell you a story?” Elidor said, taking off his cloak. He picked up the wooden mug and held it out. “Drink your milk and I will. Once, long ago—a long, long, time ago, there was a Companion named Darrian, who was the partner of a Herald named Vonarre. . . .”

Sunset was long past; the light in his study came from the lanterns high on the wall behind him. The floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window on the other side of the room was a dark panel spiderwebbed with lead channels. It formed a somber backdrop behind the two men seated across from Herald Alberich. The Weaponmaster to the Trainees of all three Collegia at Haven in the Kingdom of Valdemar coughed to punctuate the silence in his quarters. He regarded his second visitor, who was ensconced in one of his austere, but comfortable, wooden chairs, with a skeptical gaze.

His
first
visitor he knew very well, dressed in his robes of office, saffron and cream; mild-mannered, balding Gerichen, the chief Priest of Vkandis Sunlord here in Haven. Not that anyone knew Gerichen's temple, prudently called only “the Temple of the Lord of Light”
was
of Vkandis Sunlord, at least not unless you were a Karsite exile. . . .

Of which there were a surprising number in Valdemar—surprising, at least, to Alberich even now.

Gerichen had been born here, but most of his fellowship had not been, and Karse did not easily let loose its children, even if all it wanted of them was to reduce them to ashes. Yet, year by year, season by season, for decades it seemed, Karse's children had been slipping over the Border into Valdemar, beating down their fear of the “Demon-lovers” because real death bayed hot at their heels and the possibility of demons seemed preferable to the certainty of the Fires of Purification. Some couldn't bear the fear of the things that the Priest-Mages (in the name of the god, of course) sent to howl about their doors of a night. Some came because the Red-robes had taken, or had threatened to take, a child or spouse—either to absorb into the priesthood or to burn as a proto-witch. And amazingly enough to Alberich, some of them came because
he
had dared to, so many years ago.

Alberich had met Gerichen longer ago than he cared to think about, when he was first a Herald-Trainee and Gerichen a mere Novice. Both of them were older than they liked to admit, except over a drink, in front of a cozy fire, late of an evening. Gerichen was one of a very small company of folk who had supported Alberich's presence in Valdemar from the very beginning.

The other visitor, sitting beneath the left eye of the stained-glass image of Vkandis as a Sun In Glory that formed the outer wall of Alberich's study, was someone that Alberich knew not at all, though he knew far more
about
this fellow than the man probably suspected. He was here at Gerichen's request. He was also here, if not illegally, certainly covertly, for
he
was a Priest-Mage of Vkandis Sunlord in Karse. There had not been one of those on Valdemaran soil in centuries. There had not been one on Valdemaran soil as anything other than an invader in far longer.