THE TRAP IS SPRUNG!

As crossbow bolts flew, bringing agony and death to those around her, Talia struggled to her feet and staggered toward the stable area, trying to shut her shields down and the pain out. It seemed like an eternity between each stumbling step—yet she had hardly taken half a dozen when she heard the pounding of hooves on stone and saw a white form surging toward her.

It was Rolan—unsaddled. Hard on his heels came Tantris carrying Kris. As Companion and rider passed her, Talia leaped and Kris pulled her up in front of him. And now there was one last obstacle between them and freedom—the narrow passage between the inner and outer walls that led to the portcullis and the outer gate.

They galloped straight into a hail of arrows. Fire lanced through Talia’s shoulder—just as Tantris screamed in agony, shuddered, and crashed to the ground. Talia was thrown forward, and hit the ground, stunned. But as Rolan paused in his headlong flight, Talia screamed to him with voice, heart, and mind: “Rolan-run!” For even as she felt herself drowning in an agony of pain, a single thought remained clear, one of them must escape—or Valdemar was lost....

NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY

available from DAW Books:

THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR:

THE HERALDS OFVALDEMAR
ARROWS OF THE QUEEN
ARROW’S FLIGHT
ARROW’S FALL

THE LAST HERALD-MAGE
MAGIC PAWN
MAGIC’S PROMISE
MAGIC’S PRICE

THE MAGE WINDS
WINDS OF FATE
WINDS OF CHANGE
WINDS OF FURY

THE MAGE STORMS
STORM WARNING
STORM RISING
STORM BREAKING

VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD

THE COLLEGIUM CHRONICLES
FOUNDATION

BY THE SWORD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILE’S HONOR
EXILE’S VALOR

VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
CROSSROADS
MOVING TARGETS
CHANGING THE WORLD

Written with LARRY DIXON:

THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON

DARIAN’S TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT

OTHER NOVELS:

GWENHWYFAR

THE BLACK SWAN

THE DRAGON JOUSTERS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY
AERIE

THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENT’S SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE WIZARD OF LONDON
RESERVED FOR THE CAT

And don’t miss:

THE VALDEMAR COMPANION

Edited by John Helfers and Denise Little

Title Page

Copyright Page

Copyright © 1988 by Mercedes R. Lackey.

For color prints of Jody Lee’s paintings, please contact:
The Cerridwen Enterprise
P.O. Box 10161
Kansas City, MO 64111
Phone: 1-800-825-1281

All songs copyright © 1987 by Firebird Arts & Music Inc.
All songs printed herein can be obtained on cassette and CD from:
FIREBIRD ARTS & MUSIC, INC.
P.O. Box 14785
Portland, OR 97214-9998
Phone: 1-800-752-0494
who can also supply a poster map of Valdemar.

DAW Book Collectors No. 732.

First Printing, January 1988

eISBN : 978-1-101-49736-4

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
US. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.

S.A.

Dedication

Dedicated to:
Andre Norton
for inspiration;
Teri Lee
for early encouragement;
and
my husband Tony
for being understanding
about my ongoing affair
with a word processor.

The Kingdom of Valdemar
(Reign of Queen Selenay)

Palace-Collegia at Haven (Capital)

Prologue

Long ago—so long ago that the details of the conflict are lost and only the merest legends remain—the world of Velgarth was wracked by sorcerous wars. With the population decimated, the land was turned to wasteland and given over to the forest and the magically-engendered creatures those peoples had used to fight those wars, while the people that remained fled to the eastern coastline, for only in those wilderness areas could they hope to resume their shattered lives. In time, it was the eastern edge of the continent that became the site of civilization, and the heartland that in turn became the wilderness.

But humans are resilient creatures, and it was not overlong before the population once again was on the increase, moving westward, building new kingdoms out of the wilds.

One such kingdom was Valdemar. It had been founded by the once-Baron Valdemar and those of his people who had chosen exile with him rather than face the wrath of a selfish and cruel monarch. It lay on the very western-and-northernmost edge of the civilized world, bounded on the north and northwest by wilderness that still contained uncanny creatures, and on the far west by Lake Evendim, an enormous inland sea. Travel beyond Valdemar was perilous and uncertain at the very best of times, and at the worst a traveler could bring weird retribution on innocents when the creatures he encountered back-trailed him to his point of origin.

In part due to the nature of its founders, the monarchs of Valdemar welcomed fugitives and fellow exiles, and the customs and habits of its people had over the years become a polyglot patchwork. In point of fact, the one, rule by which the monarchs of Valdemar governed their people was, “There is no ‘one true way.’ ”

Governing such an ill-assorted lot of subjects might have been impossible—had it not been for the Heralds of Valdemar.

The Heralds had extraordinary powers, yet never abused those powers; and the reason for their forbearance—in fact for the whole system—was the existence of creatures known as “Companions.”

To one who knew no better, a Companion would seem little more than an extraordinarily graceful white horse. They were far more than that. The first Companions had been sent by some unknown power or powers at the pleading of King Valdemar himself—three of them, at first, who had made bonds with the King, his Heir, and his most trusted friend, who was the Kingdom Herald. So it came to be that the Heralds took on a new importance in Valdemar, and a new role.

It was the Companions who chose new Heralds, forging between themselves and their Chosen a mind-to-mind bond that only death could sever. While no one knew precisely how intelligent they were, it was generally agreed that their capabilities were at least as high as those of their human partners. Companions could (and did) Choose irrespective of age and sex, although they tended to Choose youngsters just entering adolescence, and more boys were Chosen than girls. The one common trait among the Chosen (other than a specific personality type: patient, unselfish, responsible, and capable of heroic devotion to duty) was at least a trace of psychic ability. Contact with a Companion and continued development of the bond enhanced whatever latent paranormal capabilities lay within the Chosen. With time, as these Gifts became better understood, ways were developed to train and use them to the fullest extent of which the individual was capable. Gradually the Gifts displaced in importance whatever knowledge of “true magic” was left in Valdemar, until there was no record of how such magic had ever been learned or used.

Valdemar himself evolved the unique system of government for his land: the Monarch, advised by his Council, made the laws; the Heralds dispensed the laws and saw that they were observed. The Heralds themselves were nearly incapable of becoming corrupted or potential abusers of their temporal power. In all of the history of Valdemar, there was only one Herald who had ever succumbed to that temptation. His motive had been vengeance—he got what he wanted, but his Companion repudiated and abandoned him, and he committed suicide shortly thereafter.

The Chosen were by nature remarkably self-sacrificing—their training only reinforced this. They had to be—there was a better than even chance that a Herald would die in the line of duty. But they were human for all of that; mostly young, mostly living on the edge of danger—so, it was inevitable that outside of their duty they tended to be a bit hedonistic and anything but chaste. They seldom formed any ties beyond that of their brotherhood and the pleasures of the moment—perhaps because the bond of brotherhood was so very strong, and because the Herald-Companion bond left little room for any other permanent ties. For the most part, few of the common or noble folk held this against them—knowing that, no matter how wanton a Herald might be on leave, the moment he donned his snowy uniform he was another creature altogether, for a Herald in Whites was a Herald on duty, and a Herald on duty had no time for anything outside of that duty, least of all the frivolity of his own pleasures. Still, there were those who held other opinions. . . .

Laws laid down by the first King decreed that the Monarch himself must also be a Herald. This ensured that the ruler of Valdemar could never be the kind of tyrant who had caused the founders to flee their own homes.

Second in importance to the Monarch was the Herald known as the “King’s (or Queen’s) Own.” Chosen by a special Companion—one that was always a stallion, and never seemed to age (though it was possible to kill him) —the King’s Own held the special position of confidant and most trusted friend and advisor to the ruler. This guaranteed that the Monarchs of Valdemar would always have at least one person about them who could be trusted and counted on at all times. This tended to make for stable and confident rulers—and thus, a stable and dependable government.

It seemed for generations that King Valdemar had planned his government perfectly. But the best-laid plans can still be circumvented by accident or chance.

In the reign of King Sendar, the kingdom of Karse (that bordered Valdemar to the south-east) hired a nomadic nation of mercenaries to attack Valdemar. In the ensuing war, Sendar was killed, and his daughter, Selenay, assumed. the throne, herself having only recently completed her Herald’s training. The Queen’s Own, an aged Herald called Talamir, was frequently confused and embarrassed by having to advise a young, headstrong, and attractive female. As a result, Selenay made an ill-advised marriage, one that nearly cost her both her throne and her life.

The issue of that marriage, the Heir-presumptive, was a female child Selenay called Elspeth. Elspeth came under the influence of a foreigner—the nurse Hulda, whom Selenay’s husband had arranged before he died to be brought from his own land. As a result of Hulda’s manipulations, Elspeth became an intractable, spoiled brat. It became obvious that if things went on as they were tending, the girl would never be Chosen, and thus, could never inherit. This would leave Selenay with three choices; marry again (with the attendant risks) and attempt to produce another, more suitable Heir, or declare someone already Chosen and with the proper bloodline to be Heir. Or, somehow, salvage the Heir-presumptive. Talamir had a plan—one that it seemed had a good chance of success.

At this point Talamir was murdered, throwing the situation into confusion again. His Companion, Rolan, Chose a new Queen’s Own—but instead of picking an adult or someone already a full Herald, he Chose an adolescent girl named Talia.

Talia was of Holderkin—a puritanical Border group which did its best to discourage knowledge of outsiders. Talia had no idea what it meant to have a Herald’s Companion accost her, and then (apparently) carry her off. Among her people, females held very subordinate positions, and nonconformity was punished immediately and harshly. She was ill-prepared for the new world of the Heralds and their Collegium that she had been thrust into. But the one thing she did have experience in was the handling and schooling of children, for she had been the teacher to her Holding’s younger members from the time she was nine.

She managed to salvage the Brat—and succeeded well enough that Elspeth was Chosen herself just before Talia was sent out on her internship assignment.

During that assignment she and Kris, the Herald picked to be her mentor, discovered something frightening and potentially fatal—not only to themselves, but to anyone who happened to be around Talia. Due to the chaos just after her initial training in her Gift, she had never been properly trained. And her Gift was Empathy—both receptive and projective—strong enough to use as a weapon. It wasn’t until it had run completely wild that she and Kris were able to retrain her so that her control became a matter of will instead of instinct.

She still had moments of misgiving about the ethics of her Gift.

She also had moments of misgiving on another subject altogether; another Herald. Dirk was Kris’ best friend and partner—and Talia, after being with him only a handful of times, none intimate, was attracted to him to the point of obsession. There was a precedent for such preoccupation; very rarely, Heralds formed a bond with one another as deep and enduring as the Herald-Companion bond. Such a tie was referred to as a “lifebond.” Kris was certain that this was what Talia was suffering from. Talia wasn’t so sure.

This was just one minor complication for an internship that included battle, plague, intrigue, wildly spreading rumors about her, and a Gift that was a danger to herself and others.

At last the year-and-a-half was over, and she was on her way home.

Home—to an uncertain relationship, a touchy adolescent Heir, all the intrigues of the Court—and possibly, an enemy; Lord Orthallen, who just happened to be Kris’ uncle.

One

One

We could be brother and sister, Kris thought, glancing over at his fellow Herald. Maybe twins—

Talia sat Rolan with careless ease—an ease brought about by the fact that they’d spent most of their waking hours in the saddle during her internship up north. Kris’ seat was just as casual, and for the same reason. After all this time they could easily have eaten, slept—yes, and possibly even made love a-saddle! The first two they had accomplished, and more than once. The third they’d never tried—but Kris had heard rumors of other Heralds who had. It did not sound like something he really was curious enough to attempt.

They figured on making the capital and the Collegium by early evening, so they were both wearing the cleanest and best of their uniforms. Heraldic Whites—those for field duty—were constructed of tough and durable leather, but after eighteen months they only had one set apiece that would pass muster, and they’d been saving them for today.

So we’re presentable. Which isn’t saying much, Kris mourned to himself, surveying the left knee of his breeches with regret. The surface of the leather was worn enough to be slightly nappy—which meant it was inclined to pick up dirt. And dirt showed on Whites—after riding all day they both were slightly gray. Maybe not to the casual eye, but Kris noticed.

Tantris curvetted a little, and Kris suddenly realized that he and Talia’s Rolan were matching their paces.

:On purpose, two footed brother,: came Tantris’ sending, tinged with a hint of laughter. : Since you two are so terribly shabby, we thought we’d take attention off you. Nobody’s going to notice you when we’re showing off:

:Thanks—I think.:

: By the way, you couldn’t pass for twins; there’s too much red in her hair, and she’s too little. But sibs, yes. Although where you got those blue eyes–:

:Blue eyes run in my family,: Kris replied with feigned indignation. :Both father and mother have them.:

:Then if you were going to be sibs, your mother must have been keeping a Bard in the wardrobe for Talia to have hazel eyes and curly hair.: Tantris pranced and arched his neck, and one of his sapphirine eyes flashed a teasing look up at his Chosen.

Kris stole another glance at his internee, and concluded that Tantris was right. There was too much red in her hair, and it was too curly to have come out of the same batch as his own straight, blue-black locks. And she barely came up to his chin. But they both had fine-boned, vaguely heart-shaped faces—and more than that, they both moved the same way.

:Alberich’s training. And Keren’s.:

:Probably.:

:You’re prettier than she is, though. The which you know.:

Kris was startled into a laugh, which made Talia glance over at him quizzically.

“Might one ask–?”

“Tantris,” he replied, taking a deep breath of the verdant air, and chuckling. “He’s twitting me on my vanity.”

“I wish,” she answered with more than a little wistfulness, “that just once I could Mindspeak Rolan like that.”

“You ought to be glad you can’t. You’re saved a lot of back-talk.”

“How far are we from home?”

“A little more than an hour.” He took in the greening landscape with every sign of satisfaction, now and again taking deep breaths of the flower-laden air. “A silver for your thoughts.”

“So much?” She chuckled, turning in her saddle to face him. “A copper would be more appropriate.”

“Let me be the judge of that. After all, I’m the one who asked.”

“So you did.”

They rode in tree-shadowed silence for several leagues: Kris was minded to let her answer in her own time. The soft chime of bridle bells and their Companions’ hooves on the hard surface of the Trade Road made a kind of music that was most soothing to listen to.

“Ethics,” she said at last.

“Whoof—that’s dry thinking!”

“I suppose it is—” She plainly let her thoughts turn inward again; her eyes grew vague, and he coughed to recapture her attention.

“You went elsewhere,” he chided gently, when she jumped a little. “Now, you were saying—ethics. Ethics of what?”

“My Gift. Specifically, using it—”

“I thought you’d come to terms with that.”

“In a situation of threat, yes. In a situation where there was no appropriate and just punishment under normal procedures.”

“That—child-raper.”

“Exactly.” She shivered a little. “I thought I’d never feel clean again after touching his mind. But—what could I have done with him? Ordered his execution? That wouldn’t be enough of a punishment for what he did. Imprison him? Not appropriate at all. And much as I would have liked to pull him to bits slowly, Heralds don’t go in for torture.”

“What did you do to him? In detail, I mean. You didn’t want to talk about it before.”

“It was a—kind of twist on a mind-Healing technique; it depended on the fact that I’m a projective Empath. I can’t remember what Devan called it, but you tie a specific thought to another thought or set of feelings that you construct. Then, every time the person thinks that thought, they also get what you want them to know. Like with Vostel—every time he would decide that he was to blame, he’d get what I put in there.”

“Which was?”

She grinned. “‘So next time I won’t be so stupid!’ And when he’d be ready to give up from pain, he’d get, ‘But it isn’t as bad as yesterday, and it’ll be better tomorrow.’ Not words, actually; it was all feelings.”

“Better, in that case, than words would have been,” Kris mused, shooing a fly away absently.

“So Devan said. Well, I did something like that with—that thing. I took one of the worst sets of his stepdaughter’s memories, and tied that in to all of his own feelings about women. And I kept point-of-view, so that it would appear to him as if he were the victim. You saw what happened.”

Kris shuddered. “He went mad; he just collapsed, foaming at the mouth.”

“No, he didn’t go mad. He locked himself into an endless repetition of what I’d fed him. It’s an appropriate punishment; he’s getting exactly what he put his step-daughters through. It’s just, at least I think so, because if he ever changes his attitudes he can break free of it. Of course if he does—” she grimaced “—he might find himself dancing on the end of a rope for the murder of his older stepdaughter. The law prevents the execution of a madman; it doesn’t save one who’s regained his sanity. Lastly, what I did should satisfy his stepdaughter, who is, after all, the one we really want to come out of this thing with a whole soul.”

“So where’s the ethical problem?”

“That was a stress-situation, a threat-situation. But—is it ethical to—say—read people during Council sessions and act on my information?”

“Uh—” Kris was unable to think of an answer.

“You see?”

“Let’s go at it from another angle. You know how to read people’s faces and bodies—we’ve all been taught that. Would you hesitate to use that knowledge in Council?”

“Well, no.” She rode silently for a few more moments. “I guess what will have to be the deciding factor is not if I do it but how I use the information.”

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

“Maybe too reasonable,” she replied doubtfully. ‟It’s awfully easy to rationalize what I want to do—what I have no choice about in some cases. It’s not like thought-sensing ; I have to actively shield to keep people out. They go around shoving their feelings up my nose on a regular basis, especially when they’re wrought up.”

Kris shook his head. “All I can say is, do what seems best at the time. Really, that’s all any of us do.”

:Verily, oh, Wise One.:

Kris ignored his Companion’s taunting comment. He was going to question her further, but broke off when he caught the sound of a horse galloping full out, heading up the road toward them, the hoofbeats having the peculiar ringing of a Companion.

‟That—”

“Sounds like a Companion, yes. And in full gallop.” he rose in his stirrups for a better view. “Bright Lady, now what?”

Steed and rider came into sight as they topped the hill.

:That’s Cymry–: Tantris’ ears were pricked forward. :She’s slim. She must have foaled already.:

“It’s Cymry,” Kris reported.

‟Which means Skif—and since I’ll bet she just foaled, it isn’t a pleasure-ride that takes them out here.”

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