Page 47 of Valdemar

Finally his father sighed and said, “Look, if something powerful enough to manifest dozens of Companions wanted to harm us, there are easier ways to do that. For instance—send a human agent to where Pebble is right now, insinuating that Pebble could be captured and held and forced to only pave lanes in their part of the Kingdom. And once Pebble’s mother discovered her child had been subjected to restraint and captivity again . . .”

He shuddered, and went a little pale, but continued on. “There would be nothing left of this entire Kingdom but ash and molten rock. You only saw her in action against the Red Forest. I watched her destroy the entire Capital City of the Empire, host to every major spellcaster and priest of the time. It’s probably still a lava field. We have nothing that could stop her.”

He paused, then concluded, “And if I need to remind you of what she can do, I’ll be happy to establish a past-scrying viewing of just what I saw happen. Or, of course, you could talk to some of the people from the Capital who came through our Gate by accident—if you can get them to talk coherently about their experience. Most of them prefer not to think about the day they lost everything.”

Silence in that part of the room as the Council contemplated that led Kordas to add, “I’d say that what Pebble’s mother did took perhaps a tenth of the power of the Companions’ manifestation. Now with them—if I may be so bold—Valdemar has a strong chance against those who would see it harmed.” Then, abruptly, the talk turned to things like “How should Herald quarters be furnished”—as in, “Do we just give them a bed and a storage chest like the guards, or do we go further than that?”

His father let them natter on for a bit while he composed himself again, with an effort.

Ten years, and it still weighs on him,Restil thought, wishing there was something he could do.

:Leave that to Ardatha,:Darshay advised. :He knows what to do.:

I certainly hope so. If Ardatha can bring my father some peace of mind . . . it will be a true miracle.

• • •

Rumors as well as the actual truth spread around the Kingdom in the space of days. As was to be expected; after all, the majority of the “Kingdom” was no bigger than the old Dukedom had been, and rumor seemed to have the wings of a messenger bird. Almost all of the newly Chosen, especially the common folk, took it on themselves to ride out the next day, even though no one had the promised uniform yet, and other than the silver hooves and blue eyes there was nothing to outwardly differentiate the Companions from ordinary horses. The Companions themselves seemed to have some ideas about that, however. Restil certainly discovered that Darshay did when they began making the rounds of the farms and villages in and around the Young Squire’s establishment. To the astonishment of the Squire and everyone who came flocking to see the strange new thing that the priests were all babbling about, Darshay was more than happy to demonstrate just how intelligent she was—first by parading through the farmyard, opening and closing doors and gates behind her, then by fetching whatever odd item she was asked to. This occasioned a lot of hilarity when the object was something she “shouldn’t” recognize, in a place where a horse would never go. Like stealing the cook’s favorite frying pan—Darshay let herself into the kitchen, snatched the pan from the wall with her teeth, and let herself back out again just long enough to display herself in the doorway with the pan in her teeth. Then, before the cook could erupt in a burst of fury, she replaced the pan, came back out, and closed the door behind herself. As the newly minted Heralds Mindspoke among themselves, either directly or via their Companions, Restil quickly realized that all of the Companions were doing things like that. And they all took the time to visit churches, temples, and sanctuaries to show their respect to the deities in question. Generally the religious leader in charge of a particular spot took the opportunity to preach a very short sermon on the beneficence of that particular god and a vague homily on how the Companions and Heralds were meant to serve the Kingdom. When they all returned to the Palace, at least the rumors spreading were now much closer to the truth.

There still was a lot of erroneous chatter, but at least now there was no hint that anyone considered the Companions sinister in any way. Mostly the chatter revolved around all the miraculous things that people assumed the Companions were supposed to do—blessing the crops, performing magic on their own, becoming invisible, speaking like a human. The rest—well, it was all about the “tricks” the Companions could do.

Beltran complained to Restil about this as they all began moving into the new “Heralds’ quarters” in the wall. Restil had decided that he would join the others there as a sign of solidarity, but he did feel guilty that he possessed a lot of belongings to move in and servants to move them. He could loan out the servants, and did his best to find little extras like beds and bedding, curtains and chests, for the rest, but . . . well he was just grateful that they were all going to be wearing uniforms, to keep the differences in class and rank at a minimum. They were taking over a section that had been made into four-room “apartments” of a sort, the kind that shared bathing and sanitary facilities between every two. After his attempts at “scrounging,” plus what the new Heralds themselves could find or make, the furnishings were sparse, but comfortable, and everyone had their own private room, which was something of a luxury to a number of them. They would take regular meals with the Court, but the fourth, common room in every one of these apartments, the one with the fireplace and hearth, did have a little stove on which a simple meal could be prepared at need, stoves taken from the barges and put into storage ten years ago, and fitted into the hearths once the Mother had finished growing the living spaces.

“There are still people giving me the side-eye,” Beltran complained, as Restil helped him move his bed to another spot in the room less prone to getting the full morning sun. “Right now the Companions are . . . entertainment, I guess. A lot of people still don’t see what actual use we are.” He paused. “And a lot of the common folk are convinced that we’ll be entirely at the service of the highborn and the Palace, not them. And I heard someone talking about ‘trick riders and performing ponies.’”

“They’ll learn,” Restil sighed. A thump from downstairs told him that Delia was finally moving into the third bedroom, the one below Beltran’s. This had been a scheme of Restil’s; he knew that Beltran had had a wistful sort of crush on Delia for some time now, and although he was not about to play matchmaker, a closer proximity and shared duties just might turn her attention in that direction.

:If you are not playing matchmaker, you certainly could have fooled—:

—he staggered, and clutched the headboard to steady himself.

It wasn’t Mindspeech. There were no thoughts, only a kind of punch to the gut. But he felt a flood of terror, and at the same time, his entire mind filled with a vision.

Dozensof children, screaming.

The vision expanded. The children, and one adult, were in a boat. The passenger ferry was on the river where there was no bridge, just above the rapids, outside the wall. It was a simple thing, a boat tethered fore and aft to a rope that crossed from one bank to the other, with a ferryman, a strong man who simply hauled the boat along the rope from one bank to the other. There were people on both banks screaming as well as the boat full of children.

The rope had snapped at the far bank. The current whipped the boat around, and the ferryman clung to the rope with all his strength, straining, while the children screamed around him. Restil sensed that his hands were slipping as the boat gyrated back and forth.

He and Beltran vaulted down the stairs and launched themselves out the door, Delia on their heels. Companions streamed toward the set of apartments, but Darshay and Kyrith were already waiting, and Delia’s Companion was no more than a couple of lengths away. He and Beltran leapt onto the backs of their Companions and were away in a breath, Delia right behind them. He felt his stomach lurch as the vision played out in their heads. In moments, that boat was going to go into the rapids, and—

No saddle, no bridle, he knotted his hands into Darshay’s mane and clung on like grim death. He was used to riding bareback—but not at this speed. Still. Gritting his teeth, he urged every bit of speed out of Darshay that she could give, as she raced for the tiny postern-gate beside the point where the river went under the wall. There was no other way. They couldn’t just jump into the water; there was barely enough room for floodwaters to clear the bottom of the wall.

:I’m faster,:said Darshay. :I’m fastest. We’ll get there first.:

They flashed through the gate and its tunnel through the wall so fast it was just a moment of darkness and then a burst into the light. He sensed the other Companions behind them, timing themselves so that there wasn’t a crush at the gate, but all his attention was on the river ahead as his eyes strained for the boat. His heart raced in time with Darshay’s hoofbeats, but his mind raced faster than she did. The anchor spell. I can modify it to “throw” a kind of rope—

:Passing that on.:The briefest pause. :We have a plan.:

That freed him. He knew his part and he focused on that, as he scanned the riverbank ahead for his target.

There!Faint screaming in the distance, growing louder as he neared. This would be the afternoon lot of children going to their lessons at the Temple of Epona, he realized in the back of his mind. And not just the children were screaming. By now, both sides of the bank held a crowd of helpless people—some of them the parents of the children in the boat—screaming in desperation. At the forefront of his mind, though—preparation for his spellcasting. This had to be fast, and sure.

Darshay skidded to a halt on the riverbank as soon as they were within a stone’s throw of the boat, near enough that he could see the terror and despair in the ferryman’s eyes, see the blood on the rope where he was losing his grip.

With all his strength, he flung out a fat rope of his own magic, a creation of raw power, and seized the prow, bracing himself against the terrifying pull of the water. The boat shuddered, Darshay’s hooves skidded and dug into the turf, and for a moment’s terror of his own, he feared he was going to lose the boat, or be swallowed up by the river.

But that terror galvanized him as a reminder of the stakes, and he flung out two more “ropes,” anchoring them to trees on the bank, with himself as the point in the middle of all three. Although feeling he was about to be ripped in half, he held, and sensed Darshay pouring power into him.