Page 48 of Valdemar

Delia and Valiance pounded up next to him, then passed him, only stopping at the point exactly opposite of the boat. Very small, screaming children began appearing beside her Companion as she Fetched them to safety.

In the next moment, the two apprentice mages, Fynn and Palonia, joined her, and he sensed rather than saw them creating the kind of magical bridge over the river that the escapees had used to cross from bank to bank during their journey. It took both of them and their Companions to pull off that kind of powerful working—apprentices did not even attempt this sort of thing!—but the rest of the Heralds arrived the moment it was stable, and they began a gingerly canter across it. The screaming stopped—

But not because the children weren’t still terrified. They were. But one of the Heralds . . . was doing something to keep them quiet and cooperative. Someone with Mindmagic. Right now, Restil didn’t care what that was, or who it was, as long as it kept the children from fighting their rescuers in their panic.

I’ll find out later.

The ferryman, brave heart that he was, had not jumped out and run to safety. When the rope he had been holding went slack, he began passing children too big for Delia to Fetch up over the side of the boat and into the arms of waiting Heralds, who loaded themselves with two and three children at a time.

Don’t let them fall!

:We won’t,:Darshay said with fierce determination. The mages widened the bridge just enough that a Companion laden with children could execute a spin-in-place and head for the bank, while another Herald and Companion took their place.

Restil felt himself starting to black out, but he grimly held, and held, and held.

Finally the last of the group half-pulled and half-assisted the ferryman up behind him. The moment the ferryman’s feet left the boat, Restil let go.

He nearly blacked out; reeled on Darshay’s back, utterly spent, as the boat whirled away and smashed on the rocks—and then vanished into the teeth of the rapids.

He slid bonelessly off Darshay’s back onto the ground, and for a while just sat there, while Darshay nuzzled his hair, his vision graying around the edges.

Only then did he hear the cheers.

• • •

By the time the frantic but hysterically grateful parents came to collect their offspring and the priests of Epona had gathered them all up to give them the shelter of the temple and tend to the ferryman’s abused hands, Restil had recovered enough to think clearly again.

“What—did we just do?” asked one of the new Heralds, bewildered.

“What we’re supposed to do,” said Beltran with authority. “What we’re meant to do. Serve the people. Act as one, at need.”

They were all still at the riverbank, Heralds limp with the emotional and physical after-effects of what they had just accomplished, Companions bolstering them emotionally and in some cases physically. Fynn and Palonia lay flat on the ground, more exhausted even than Restil. Delia wasn’t as exhausted—she’d had plenty of practice in using her Gift even after they’d all settled at their new home—but she probably wanted the stability of ground under her at this moment.

The fear of failure, the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save them, drained away like water out of a pot with no bottom. He wasn’t ready for elation, not yet, but there was profound relief and an upwelling of a chaotic mixture of other emotions, all of them tangled, but all positive.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and just allowed himself to feel Darshay’s support, smell the fresh scent of the churning river, and even let the sound of the rapids become a pleasant background rather than a harbinger of disaster.

There was a growing crowd on both sides of the river, as word spread of what had just happened. The crowd buzzed with excitement, but had hushed when Beltran began to speak.

Seeing that, Beltran gathered himself further and began another one of those surprisingly eloquent speeches he’d been producing of late, pitching his voice high and loud enough to carry over the rushing water. Restil was more than content to leave him in control of explaining who had done what—and why, repeating with more emphasis each time that this was exactly the sort of thing that Heralds were supposed to be doing. He was too tired to do more than listen. It was an excellent speech, almost as good as one of his father’s.

He did wonder, though, why Beltran was drawing it out as much as he was—until he felt recovered enough to stand, and with him, Delia, Fynn, and Palonia.

“. . . and now we will return to our duties,” Beltran finished smoothly. “Do not call this a miracle. Heralds and Companions, hand and hoof, making sure our people are safe. As it was meant to be.”

Somehow the Heralds on the ground managed to pull themselves back up onto their unsaddled Companions. Unsaddled! No bridles! I am amazed none of us fell off! I am amazed we didn’t drop any children!

:We will never let you fall,: said Darshay.

With immense dignity, Beltran led the procession of Heralds back to the postern gate to the cheers of the two crowds.

Once they were inside the wall again, one of the former guards, now a Herald, let out a stream of oaths that those children definitely should not have been allowed to hear.

“How the hell did we—” he began, then stopped, probably because his Companion was explaining to him exactly how they had pulled that rescue off.

At just that moment, the King and Queen, trailed by the Council, arrived on their Companions. Kordas went straight to his son, and the Queen to Delia, and embraced them wordlessly. Because, of course, no words were needed. Not now.

We hadn’t even practiced that. Everyone just knew how to position, and what to—unleash? There was a vigor while I was atop Darshay that made the spellwork stronger. It felt like the casting couldn’t go wrong, and it was more effective than I expected. Restil didn’t feel dizzy, but he was experiencing a sensation he hadn’t felt before now. Heroism.

Is this what my father feels like as King? There are more stories about Kordas’s heroics alone than most families have in their total familial history. And no wonder, if he felt like this after every deed. This is—it feels like things went right, and not just by luck. There was precision, and no hesitation. None of us were tricked or forced to do the right things, and we wanted to do those risky things together.

Darshay said nothing specific, but gave Restil the impression that while there was no lack of words to say, she felt that silent comfort was what he needed—she was infinitely considerate. Thoughtful—but understanding in context, and in the instant. He was sure something had gone on between the Companions at the speed of thought. Come to think of it, Restil’s own thoughts had felt quicker when he was responding and casting. Clearer. Purposeful, without the chaff that clung to regular thoughts. And they had all gotten there so quickly!

And it was—there was no doubt—truly heroic.

That is what we’re made of, inside. We chose it.

We did it because it’s why we’re here.

:Yes. Thank you, Chosen.: