Mercedes Lackey
Now this was a forest!
Trees crowded the road, overshadowing it, overhanging it. You didn't need a hat even at midday; you almost needed a torch instead to see by. Herald-Intern Alain still couldn't get used to all of the wilderness around him—trees that weren't pruned into symmetrical and pleasing shapes, wildflowers that were really wild, ragged, and insect-nibbled. All of his life—except for the brief course in Wilderness Survival—he'd never seen a weed, much less a wilderness. He kept expecting to wake up and find that all of this was a fever-dream.
By all rights, he shouldn't be out here, league upon league away from Haven on his Internship Circuit. He was a Prince, after all, and Princes of Valdemar had never gone out of Haven for their Internships, much less out into the furthermost West of the Kingdom, where there were no Guardsmen to rescue you if you got into trouble, and often nowhere to shelter if nature decided to have a bash at you. He should have been serving his Internship beside one of the Heralds who helped the City Guard, the Watch, and the city judges.
There was just one teeny, tiny problem with that.
:Actually,: his Companion Vedalia observed, :There are seven rather tall and vigorous problems with that. And four slender and attractive ones as well.:
Alain sighed. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world, being the youngest of twelve royal children who had all been Chosen.
:It wasn't the easiest thing in the world trying to find things for all of those young and eager Heralds to do,: Vedalia pointed out. :It wouldn't take more than a candlemark for any of you to figure out that he'd been set make-work. As it was—:
As it was, it was just bad luck that Alain was not only the youngest of his sibs, he was the youngest by less than a candlemark. Queen Felice was not only the most fecund Consort in the history of Valdemar, she had the habit of having her children in lots. Three sets of twins and two sets of triplets, to be precise. The Heir, whose real name was Tanivel but who they all called Vel for short, was the eldest of his set of twins. Alain was the youngest of his. And in between—
:It is rather a good thing that your mother was never Chosen,: Vedalia observed. :I'm not sure her poor Companion would have gotten much exercise, much less attention. . . . :
It was true enough that until after Alain had been born, no one in the Court could remember her in any state other than expecting. The fact that she actually possessed a waist had come as a complete surprise to everyone except the King. Everyone wanted to know—and no one dared ask—both the "why" and the "how" of it.
The "how" was easy; multiples ran in her family. Felice was one of a set of twins, and not one of her sisters had ever given birth to less than twins. Her family history held that it had something to do with a blessing placed on them, but by what—well, there were several versions.
The real question was "why"—having had Vel and Vixen (his twin's name was Lavenna, but no one ever called her that) she could have stopped with the traditional "heir and a spare." Certainly most women would have called a halt at the next lot, which were triplets. Not Felice. Rumor had it that she was trying to fill all the extra rooms in the newly rebuilt Heralds' Collegium with her own offspring.
Only Alain had dared to ask his mother what no one else would. She'd hugged him then looked him straight in the eye and said, "Marriages of state. You're Heralds, all of you. You don't need a spouse to be loved."
Now, Alain knew his blunt-spoken mother well enough to read between the lines. Shockingly blunt in this case . . . except . . . well Felice had not made a love-match with King Chalinel; she cared deeply for him, but theirs had been a marriage made in the Council chamber. She knew very well that the way to cement the loyalty of a powerful noble house was to marry into it; the way to ensure a foreign alliance was to send (or send for) a bride or groom. Neither she nor the King would force one of their children into a marriage he or she did not want; they would consent to any marriage, even to a beggar, where love was. But this way . . . if an alliance had to be made, there would be someone available to make it at the altar.
Vanyel Ashkevron had made his terrible sacrifice decades ago; Queen Elspeth was Alain's great-great-grandmother. Valdemar's borders had expanded as more and more independent nobles sought to come under the banner of those who had defeated the Karsites. Those nobles—some no better than robber-barons—had no traditional ties to the Valdemaran throne, and no real understanding of what Heralds (the backbone of Valdemaran authority) were and did. One of the obvious solutions was Felice's. After all, it had worked for her family. Her father had gone from an uneasy ally to a doting grandfather who would no more dream of a disloyal thought than jump off the top of his own manor.
And all of his grandchildren—Chosen. That truly brought it home to him and every one of his people what Heralds were and what they did. The lesson was painless and thorough, and the Baron soon was accustomed to having white-clad Heralds coming and going on his lands.
Both Heralds' Collegium and Valdemar had benefited by the arranged marriage with Felice—for now eleven other Heralds, whose skills would be useful outside the capitol, would be freed up by Felice's brood for those other duties while the Princes and Princesses took over.
All of the ten eldest had done well in their classes. Alain and his twin sister Alara had run through the Collegium curriculum like a hot needle through ice. How not? They'd listened to ten siblings as they recited their lessons, they'd practiced weapons-work and archery with ten older siblings, watched and listened with ten siblings. King Chalinel often said that intelligence in the family just kept increasing with each set of children and culminated with Alain and Alara. Alain didn't know about that—all of his sibs were clever . . .
:But you and Alara made it through a year early, and Kristen, Kole, and Katen lagged behind because they lost a year to the scarlet fever. With five of you going into Internship at once, there was something of a problem, since we don't like to Intern relatives with relatives,: said Vedalia.
Which was, of course, why he was out on Circuit in the wilderness. No one wanted to risk the health of the triplets after that near-miss with fever, which meant they had to stay within the confines of Haven.
And there were only four Haven Internships available. The four Haven Internships had gone to his other siblings, yes, because of the triplets' uncertain health, but also because they all had Gifts that were useful in those internships. To create a new position just for Alain would have been wrong—
:Yes, well my so-called Gift probably had something to do with why I'm out here, on the edge of the Kingdom, and not somewhere else,: Alain observed.
Vedalia's tone turned sharp. :There is nothing wrong with your Gift,: he said. :It's as strong as anyone in the Collegium has got, and stronger than your sister's.:
:And a fat lot of good Animal Mindspeech would have been, Interning with the Lord-Martial's Herald,: he retorted. :What would I do, interrogate the Cavalry horses? What else can I do? Nothing that a weakly Gifted Herald can't. I don't even have enough ordinary Mindspeech to talk to Herald Stedrel—and he's got the strongest Mindspeech of any Herald anyone's ever heard of!: He couldn't help it; a certain amount of bitterness crept into his thoughts. He hated not being able to MindSpeak other Heralds—when he could Hear a tree-hare chattering at ten leagues away.
Vedalia was silent so long that Alain thought the conversation was over.
:Look around you,: Vedalia said. :Listen to the birdsong in the trees. Feel that free wind in your hair. Take a deep breath of air that no human has been breathing but you. Think about all you're learning from the wild things. Are you really so unhappy that your Gift brought you here?:
Well, put that way. . . .
:Hmm. I suppose not.:
:And admit it; it's a relief to be away from Alara for the first time in your life.:
Alain laughed aloud; Herald Stedrel looked back over his shoulder and smiled at him, then turned his attention back to the trail ahead.
It was a relief to be away from Alara, who thought she had to have the last word in everything they did, who bossed him as if she was five years, not half a candlemark, older than he. It was a relief to be away from all of his siblings, and from the Court, and all the burdens of royal birth. And so far, although no one could call circuit-riding in the hinterlands a pleasure-jaunt, he'd been enjoying it. He would probably change his mind as soon as winter set in and they were riding with snow up to Vedalia's hocks, but right now, he was enjoying it.
Out here, no one knew he was a Prince. He could flirt with pretty village girls, he could swim naked by moonlight, he could dance at fairs and sing rude songs and no one would make a face or take him aside to remind him that he must act with more decorum. Stedrel actually encouraged him to kick up his heels within reason. He might even try the experiment some time of getting really and truly drunk, though he'd have to wait until he was pretty sure he wouldn't be needed.
:You'll regret it,: Vedalia laughed.
:Probably. But at least I'll have tried it. And maybe I'll try a few more things, too—:
:Tch. Sixteen, and delusions of immortality,: Vedalia teased.
:Doesn't that go with being sixteen?: he retorted.
No, on second consideration, he wouldn't trade being out here for any of the Internships his sibs had. He wished Alara joy of the Lord Martial, who thought that women in general were useless and good only as decoration, and female Heralds in particular were a nuisance. She wouldn't get around him by speaking in a slightly higher, more breathy voice and acting hurt, or by turning bossy either.
Maybe that was the point. Internships were supposed to teach you about really being a Herald.
He wondered just what he was supposed to learn out here.
:A good question. Now find the answer to it.: Vedalia tossed his head and Alain smiled.
Then he asked Vedalia to move up alongside of Stedrel's Lovell. "Is there anything I should know about the next village, sir?" he asked respectfully, drawing a smile from the taciturn Herald.
"This'll be our first fishing village, Alain," Stedrel told him. "Do you remember your classes about the Lake Evendim fisher-folk?"
Alain nodded, but not because he recalled his classes as such; one of his yearmates had been from Lake Evendim, and had regaled them all with stories about "home." "Not exactly Holderkin, are they, sir," he responded tentatively.
Sted just snorted. "Not exactly, no. But at least if one of the girls sneaks you off into the water-caves you won't find yourself facing a father, a priest, and a wedding next day." He grinned when Alain blushed. "And unless you have the stamina of a he-goat," the older Herald continued wickedly, as Alain's flushes deepened, "You won't flirt the way you have been with more than one girl at a time."
"They—wouldn't!" Alain choked.
"They would, both together," Sted replied. "Or even three—if you're monumentally stupid enough to put that to the test. With the men out on the boats so much, and fishing being the hazardous occupation that it is, the girls get—"
"Lonely?" Alain said, tactfully.
Sted laughed.
:Thinking of another experiment to try, Chosen?: Vedalia asked innocently.
Alain spluttered, but held his tongue—not the least because he was thinking that very thing. And none of his sibs would be around to tease him and cross-examine him about it afterwards, either.
But when they finally came out of the woods—abruptly, for the trail ended on a rocky cliff-face that dropped steeply down to the gray-green waters the lake—any tentative plans he might have been making vanished abruptly.
The little village that they were making for was built in a river-valley cutting through the cliff, making a narrow and gravel-strewn perch for the Evendim longhouses he'd heard so much about, and a harbor for the fishing boats. The boats should have been out this time of day; instead, they were pulled up on the gravel beach, and the place was in an uproar. They must have been expected, because the moment they came into view, someone spotted them and set up a shout.
Shortly the two Companions were surrounded by what seemed to be every ambulatory person in the entire village. The anxiety in the air was as thick as the smoke from the fires where great racks of fish were being smoked and preserved. Alain hung back, sensing that someone a great deal senior to him was who was called for at this moment, but he needn't have bothered with such diffidence. It was clear that the villagers knew the senior Herald here, and two of the more prosperous-looking men fastened themselves to Companion Lovell's reins and began babbling a confused tale of raiders. . . .
Alain couldn't make head or tail of it, but Sted seemed to have no trouble. Then again, this was his circuit, and he knew these people. To Alain's ears, their accent, thick enough at the best of times, rendered excited speech incomprehensible.
Then Vedalia came to the rescue.
:Some sort of bandits or raiders have destroyed the next village up the coast,: Vedalia supplied. :The indications are that the bandits came in by water rather than overland, which is something new, and did so while the men were out fishing. The men returned to find their houses burned out, their women and children gone, and anyone older than forty or younger than four dead in the ashes.:
Alain felt the blood drain from his face. This was over and above a mere raid. This was an atrocity. And why kill anyone they didn't take? Unless it was to prevent the survivors from telling something?
:The folk here just got warning from the men, who took their boats up and down the coast to warn everyone else. They're afraid to go out fishing now.:
But if they didn't, it wouldn't be long before they were all starving. Without fish, there was nothing to eat and nothing to trade to the farmers farther inland.
:Exactly so—: Vedalia shut up, as Stedrel began speaking calmly, confidently, and his manner soothed some of the agitation. Alain paid close attention; this was a master at work.
"This happened yesterday? Is there any attempt at pursuit?" he asked.
"Half the men—but it's a big lake—" said one of the men at Lovell's reins, waving at the water.
Big lake? That was an understatement. Even from the top of the cliff it had been impossible to see the other side, and the curve of the shore was imperceptible.
"Defenses first, then," Sted said firmly—turning attention to that without making it obvious that he felt the captives were beyond help.
:They are. There's nothing we can do for them,: Vedalia said glumly. Alain bit his lip; his heart wanted to launch some sort of rescue, but how? With no troops, and no ships—out on a trackless expanse of water—
:The only way to track them might be to FarSee—neither of you have that Gift.:
So they would have to wait until a Herald with that Gift could reach them.
"I wouldn't think that this village is very defensible," Sted began, giving orders—cleverly phrased as suggestions—to safeguard the people of this place.
:Solenbay,: Vedalia supplied.
"Have you anywhere that people can go to hide if raiders appear?" he wanted to know. "These raiders won't know the lay of the land, they won't know where to look, and I doubt if they would linger very long to search."
The babbling died to whispers, and anxious eyes were locked on Sted's face.
"The water-caves," suggested one girl promptly, from the back of the crowd, and blushed.
"Good. If there are any that are particularly hard to find?" Stedrel prompted.
The girl giggled nervously, and Alain had a shrewd notion that she knew the location of every water-cave within walking distance of the village. "Reckon I know some that no one else does," she offered, turning such a deep crimson that she looked sunburnt.
"That be why we can't find you, half nights, Savvy?" asked an older woman—not unkindly, but knowingly.
"Perhaps if you moved all your valuables and stores there now, you'd have only yourselves to get into hiding," Sted suggested, and got nods, some reluctant, all around. "Obviously the main thing is to save you, but I doubt these raiders are going to appear over the horizon within the next day or two, and we should save as much as we can from them."
"I can't see us fighting them off," said one of the other men (who seemed to be one of the village leaders) with a defeated air. "We're fisherfolk, not fighters."
"So save everything that you can in the caves," Sted agreed.
"The ones farthest from here?" Alain ventured. "That way the ones nearest wouldn't be crammed so full people wouldn't fit."
"Good thought," Sted seconded. "Now, I suppose there's no reason why you couldn't spare the young women and children with the swiftest feet and keenest sight to keep watch along the coast?"
"With a horn for each—or something to build a signal fire?" added Alain, and got another approving glance from Sted.
"But the chores—" objected one of the men. "The cleaning, the cooking—"
But the ones who were at risk here were nodding vigorously. "No reason why we can't eat common out of the big fish-kettle 'till this is over," pointed out one old man. "Only takes one set of hands for fish-stew, cooking all day." "And if the choice is dirty floors and unmade beds or being carried off, dirty floors we'll have, Matt Runyan," said another woman sharply. "As for the rest—well, we'll barrel up the fish as it's finished smoking and move it into hiding. Let 'em have a few racks of fish, I say. Better fish than our children."
"And when they come, find no one, and burn the place out?" the same man objected.
"They'd do that anyway!" shouted a haggard-looking fellow who Alain realized must be one of the now-bereft fisherfolk from the village that had been destroyed. "What's more important, your things or your people? You can rebuild housen. You tell me how to bring back your wives and kiddies!"
"I'll be sending word of this to Haven anyway," Stedrel pointed out. "As soon as I've got a moment of quiet."
That quieted some of the agitation, as they all recalled that Stedrel was so powerful a Mindspeaker he could send directly to Haven itself, and every receptive mind along the way. Help would not be far off—two or three fortnights at most.
"The King will send troops, and when they get here, you'll be able to go back to life as usual. And we'll be able to scour the coast for the missing." That last as a sop to the men from the destroyed village. They surely knew it was an offer unlikely to bear fruit, but they looked hopeful anyway.
"Soonest begun's soonest done," one of the women said briskly. "We've only got two wagons for the whole village. Let's get our traps moved before sunset!" Within moments, the women, young and old, were heading purposefully towards their family longhouses, followed a little reluctantly by the men.
"Savvy!" Sted called after the girl who had confessed to knowing where most of the water-caves were. She turned back abruptly.
"Sir?" she responded.
"Go to that longhouse over there—" Sted pointed at one where a bevy of women were already moving bundles, barrels, and boxes out briskly to be piled beside the door. "When they're ready to take a load out, guide them to the farthest cave you know of—"
"I'll take her up behind, pillion," Alain offered quickly. "That way we can come back for the next load while the first is still unloading."
"Good. I want you to keep each longhouse's goods in a separate cave, that way when this is over there won't be any quarrels over what belongs to who." Sted smiled encouragingly at her, and the girl returned his smile shyly.
There was some objection to the choice of cave as the wagon-load set off: "We're ready first," grumbled the oldest dame, "Don't see why we should be goin' the farthest."
"But milady, the farther away the cave is, the less likely it will be that it will be discovered," Alain pointed out, thinking quickly. "You're getting the choice spot, not the worst one." The old woman gave him a quick look, but nodded with reluctant satisfaction, and made no further complaints.
He would never have believed it, but the longhouses were stripped of every portable object—and some he wouldn't have considered portable—by twilight. The two village mules were ready to drop before it was over, but they were made much of and given an extra ration. The village was substantially deserted now, with only a handful of the very old and the very young remaining behind. In order to get everything moved, the wagons had simply been unloaded at the flat spot nearest to each family's cave before returning for another load. Now all of the able-bodied were lowering their goods down the cliff walls to be stored; they would work all night, if necessary.
As darkness fell, Sted looked around the empty street down the middle of the village. "I'm going to go somewhere quiet and contact Haven," he told Alain. "See what you can do to make yourself useful."
Sted and his Companion drifted off in the twilight. As gloom descended on the street, it occurred to Alain that the most immediately useful thing he could do would be to light the village lamps, so that the returning villagers would have lights beckoning them homeward. There were lamps outside the door of each longhouse, lamps with fat wicks and large reservoirs of oil that by the smell could only come from fish. He got a spill and ventured into the first of the longhouses.
He had never seen anything like it; there was a central hearth with a cone-shaped metal hood over it, and a metal chimney reaching up to the roof. For the rest, it seemed to be one enormous room with cupboards lining all four walls. There were no windows, only slits covered with something that wasn't glass just under the eaves, like clerestory windows, but smaller.
It must be very dark in here during the day.
He knew why there weren't any windows, and why, as much as possible, the Evendim folk spent their time out-of-doors. When winter storms closed in, the coast was hellish; storms swept in over the water with fangs of ice and claws of snow. During the five Winter Moons it was hardly possible to set foot outside these houses, and it would have been folly to give the wind that the fisherfolk called "the Ice-Drake" any way to tear into the shelter of their homes.
But winter was moons away, and the present danger was not from nature but from man. Alain lit the spill at the remains of the fire, and went out to light the lanterns.
When he had done the last of them, he found a couple of old men, limbs knotted with age, slowly stacking wood in a firepit at the center of the village and he ran to help.
From that moment until late that night he worked, as hard as he had ever worked in his life, and despite being a Prince, he was no stranger to physical labor. He carried wood and water, the enormous iron kettle, and all the ingredients for the great pot of fish-stew that would be cooking night and day for as long as this crisis lasted. He took a torch out to the drying racks for an old woman, rolled up empty barrels and brought a keg of salt and a bag of herbs, and helped her stack smoked fish in layers with salt and herbs. There were no fresh fish to spread upon the racks, but he helped her layer the fires for the next day, when the men would go out. With aching muscles and sore feet he put babies and toddlers to bed, persuaded them to stay there, then helped their grandmothers and grandfathers to their beds when old bodies could do no more. Then he waited, getting off his feet at last, with Vedalia beside him, watching the stew to see that it didn't burn. He'd taken Vedalia's tack and packs off him, but had no idea where he should be stabled or where the two Heralds should stay. So he heaped tack and packs beside the fire and used them as props for his back. As full as that kettle was, it would be a long time cooking, and he needn't actually watch it, just stir it from time to time to keep what was on the bottom from sticking and burning. He wished he could have a bath; even his hair felt full of smoke, and his eyes gritty.
Slowly, slowly, the folk of the village began trickling back in, weary, too weary to think past the next footstep. They didn't seem to notice him sitting by the fire; they trudged into their houses to seek what they'd left of their beds, leaving him standing guard beside tomorrow's dinner.
And he could hardly keep his eyes open.
:You sleep,: Vedalia said. :I'll wake you if it needs stirring—or anything comes.:
"No—I'm still on duty," Alain protested.
:Just close your eyes then to rest them,: Vedalia suggested. It seemed a sensible suggestion; they were sore, irritated by all the smoke he'd been standing in. He let his lids fall for just a moment.
When he opened them again, it was because there was a rooster crowing in his ear. He jerked awake and startled it and the two chickens scratching around his feet into flight.
It was dawn, and there was a young girl stirring the pot with a great wooden paddle. Someone had draped a cloak over him, and he had curled up with Vedalia's saddle as a pillow. His packs were nowhere to be seen, but Vedalia dozed hip-shot beside him.
The Companion snorted and stirred as Alain sat up, opening his brilliant blue eyes. :Stedrel was here and took our packs, but he didn't see any reason to wake you. There's a Waystation just outside of the village. If you'll just drape my saddle on me, we'll go wake him.:
They didn't have to; they hadn't gotten past the last longhouse when he and his Companion appeared on the road before them. "You might as well turn back around," Sted called cheerfully. "We have to organize the coast-watch now, and we'll both be a part of it."
Wishing mightily for more sleep, and trying not to feel disgruntled at Sted's announcement, Alain sighed and did as he was told. At least there was food waiting—a communal kitchen set up by all the grannies to dole out cold smoked fish and bread to anyone who stuck out a hand. The men, trusting blindly that Sted would see to the protection of their families and village, took to the boats with their breakfasts in their pockets and more of the same for eating later.
Before a candlemark was out, the village resembled a ghosttown. One set of elderly women minded children and babies—but Sted had cunningly assigned every child too small to run to someone big enough to pick it up and carry it. Several of the adult women were to carry babies—and were put to fashioning slings that let them have one slung on the back, one on the front, and one on each hip. That left the older children and some of the adult women—and a few of the grannies and granthers that were still spry enough to sprint—on coast-watch.
And now came the shock for Alain. This was not the only village at risk—
Which, when the men returned, Sted made very plain.
"We've done what we can for you," he told the villagers, once the men returned with holds full of fish and the catch was distributed on the smoking racks. "Help is coming, and it will come here first, in three days' time. I reached a Herald riding with a troop of the Guard no farther away than that. Now Alain and I have to do the same for the rest of the villages."
He'd chosen his moment well; in the first flush of success, or perhaps because of exhaustion, no one objected.
"I will go north along the coast; Alain will go south and west," Sted announced. "We'll do for them what we've done for you. If you can hold out for three days, all will be well."
Alain had gone quite still with shock. He would be going out alone? He looked at Sted in silent appeal, but the older Herald was already mounting and preparing to ride to the next village. "Herald Stedrel?" he faltered.
The Herald just gave him a sobering look, and he shut his mouth on any objections.
:Let's go,: Vedalia said. :If we push, we can make the next village by sundown.:
They pushed—and found that place in as much of an uproar as the first, and having had a full day to stew over the warnings, people were ready to greet anything that looked like help with full cooperation. Either they were not necessarily expecting Stedrel, or they were so grateful to see the uniform that they were willing to overlook the youthful face. In either case, no one objected to a single aspect of the plan.
The water-caves here were nearer and larger; evacuation of goods and stores took place by torch- and moonlight, and this village had a leader in the form of one indomitable old woman. Once given a plan, she was perfectly prepared to see it carried out. Conscious of the passing of time, Alain decided to move on that very night. He'd always understood that it was possible for a Herald to sleep in the saddle; now he found out the truth of it. It wasn't exactly sleep, but it was no worse than his night beside the kettle. He reached the third village at dawn, finding it in as desperate a state as the previous two.
And in coming closer to hysteria. So much so that he decided to organize the coast-watchers first. And it was a good thing that he did.
For it was no more than a candlemark after the youngsters had set off than wild horn-calls sounded in the middle distance, and all the careful plans fell to pieces.
After the first moment of blank incomprehension, while people, interrupted in mid-task, stared silently at the west, someone screamed.
Then all hell broke loose. No one seemed to know where to go, or what to do, despite Alain's instructions only two candlemarks ago. They dashed in all directions, some to their homes, some to the woods, some to snatch up belongings, and some dropping them. Five people managed to keep their heads: Alain, Vedalia, and three of the village elders.
"Get them to the caves!" Alain shouted over the screaming, the weeping, as people milled in panic around him. "We have to get them to the caves!"
The elders began picking up children, shoving them into random arms, shouting at those who had frozen with fear to rouse them, and shoving them in the right direction. Once little groups were moving towards safety, Vedalia encouraged them by charging at them with lashing hooves and bared teeth, looking utterly demonic.
Alain headed off those going in the opposite direction, screaming at them, even going so far as to swat a couple of those lagging behind with the flat of his blade until they disappeared into the trees in the direction of the caves—
Then he returned to chivvy another group into safety.
He had not a moment to spare to look for the enemy—as they sailed swiftly into the harbor he got nothing more than a glimpse of ships, long, lean, fast-looking to his land-accustomed eyes. He sensed, more than heard or saw, the moment when the raiders came ashore. Vedalia was hot on the heels of another group of stragglers; he went back to chase a few more away from a chest they were trying to haul off.
He never realized how close the raiders were, that they were charging up the street at a run, until it was too late. He never even got a chance to defend himself. There was just a shout behind him, and he half-turned, and then—
—he woke in darkness, head reeling, stomach heaving, pain shooting through his skull; his hands were tied in front of him, and his ankles bound together. He'd been tossed on a pile of what felt like rope, and he was just about to lose what little he had in his stomach. He managed to roll over to the side before throwing up, and managed to roll away from the mess he'd made. The floor beneath the ropes on which he lay was moving.
From the way his head hurt, someone had coshed him, and done so with enthusiasm and some expertise. Enthusiasm, because they'd given him a concussion for certain—given the way that his stomach churned and the deck (it must be a ship's deck) beneath him felt as if it was spinning as well as rising and falling. Expertise, because he wasn't dead.
He was trussed up, but hastily; evidently his captors trusted to the hit on the head to keep him quiet. And he was in darkness, because it was night, but he was also under a tarp draped between two bulky objects. Around him were foreign noises, the rushing and splashing of water, sounds of creaking, the groaning of wood, men shouting. The air was damp and cool and smelled of open water.
At least they hadn't shoved him into the hold.
Well, perhaps there wasn't any room in the hold. He was probably the least valuable object the raiders had taken.
Right. I'm on a ship, a captive, and—
Only then did he realize that there was a conspicuous absence in his thoughts.
—in trouble. I can't hear Vedalia.
He must be leagues away from the village, if he couldn't hear his Companion. Leagues away, and no way for anyone to track him.
"—and I don' know what th' hell ye wanted with the Herald!" someone said, just coming into earshot. "He's no good to us—a woman or a kiddie we could use, but him?"
"Look, if we kill him, we get more trouble than we can handle," said a second voice. "Kill one of them white-coats, and the rest never give up comin' after you!"
You've got that right, Alain thought—though what good that would do him if he was dead—
"If we left him, gods only know what he'd manage to do—him or that horse. And gods know how close their people are. I thought, we take him, though, they won't dare come after us with everything they've got. Even if they got ships ready to sail, you bet they'd hang back. They won't risk our killing him. If we held him till we were safe out of reach, I figured we stayed safe."
His heart plummeted and his spirit went cold. Gods help me. Bandits who think.
"So now what?" asked the first voice, sounding a little mollified.
"We sail a little farther, we make sure there's nothing chasing us, then we dump him." The second voice sounded utterly indifferent. "We could probably get a ransom for him, but that'd put us in their reach again."
Alain felt his heart falter, and the panic he had been holding off until that moment rise up and seize him. He wanted to scream, but he could only whimper a little, a pathetic whine lost in the sounds the ship made. And inside, he began screaming silently—and futilely—for help. He couldn't help himself—it was an automatic reaction.
But he even as he shrieked at the top of his mental voice, some part of him despaired and knew it was useless. Maybe in the woods, even if there was no human with Mindspeech near enough to help, he could have summoned elk, a mountain-cat, wolves to his aid. But this was the vast water, with nothing in it but fish. Still his mind yammered as if anything that could help him was likely to hear him. . . .
:?:
The response, faint as it was, stopped his mental gibbering in its tracks. :What?: he called back.
:??: came the return—stronger! There was a sense of something he hadn't expected; behind that startled query was intelligence. Maybe enough to help him?
He fought back pain and nausea and focused all of his strength behind something more coherent.
:Help me! Please!: he Sent, and added overtones of his situation; easy enough to do since it was all very physical.
The response was not a single voice, but a chorus.
:Landwalker? Yes, Landwalker!:
:Landwalker. Net-bound.:
:Brother to Weeps-On-Shore.:
:Captive to——: What followed was emotion, and senses, rather than words—a sense of something destructive, a taste of blood, and anger on the part of the speaker. Whatever these creatures were, they knew his captors, and they had no love for them.
:Yes. They must not have him.:
:Enough. They must be stopped.:
:Call the Deep One.:
:Yes! The Deep One will know! The Deep One will rid the face of the waters of them!:
:Call the Deep One!:
Well, it was very nice that they saw his enemies as their own, but they hadn't answered him. He chose this moment to insert his own plea.
:Please? Help me?:
But at that moment, the tarp was ripped aside. He blinked up at four shadowed faces interposed between him and a star-filled sky.
Someone else, just out of sight, spoke. "Right. We're safe enough. Over the side with him."
Fear and nausea warred within him, but he had no time to react—four sets of hands seized shoulders and ankles, there was a moment of futile struggle as they heaved him up—
Then flying weightless through the air—just enough time for a last gulp of air—
Then he hit the water like a stone.
He managed to keep his breath, and he sank for a moment, the cold water hitting him a blow that made him choke back a gasp that would have lost him that precious breath. With bound hands and feet, disoriented in the black water, he thrashed, trying to find the surface, the air, the precious air, and not knowing where it was.
:We come, Walker!:
Miraculously he was surrounded by large, fleshy bodies, warm, slick bodies that bore him suddenly up to the surface and held him there as he gasped for breath.
He couldn't see them—the moon must have set—so he had only the sense that they were larger than he was, slick and not scaly like a fish. As they thrust under his arms with oblong heads and long snouts, they used those rounded, bulbous heads to keep him afloat. Others went to work on the ropes tying his hands and feet. They had sharp teeth, too, in those snouts—they took it in turns to slice at his bonds, slicing into his hands, though he sensed apology every time tooth met flesh and he gasped with pain.
:It's all right,: he managed, and conveyed the sense that he would rather be free and wounded than bound and whole. He got amused concurrence and a renewed assault on his bonds. They must be the terror of the fish, these creatures; veritable wolves of the water.
Just as the final rope parted on his hands, there was a stirring among his rescuers, a rush of excitement.
:The Deep One comes!: cried one voice, and then another—
And suddenly he was alone in the water, paddling frantically. :Wait!: he called after them. :Wait, I don't—I can't—:
:Peace, little Walker.:
The Mindvoice was like none he had ever heard before; huge, deep, with a kind of echo. It swept through his mind and made him shiver and catch his breath, knowing in his bones he was in the presence of something—monumental.
:Peace. Be still. I come.: He felt something, a pressure in the water beneath him, and then—
Then something bigger than the biggest ship he had ever seen rose up beneath him like a floor. And he felt himself in a Presence.
:Yes, little Walker. I uphold you. Well for you that you cannot see me, else your fear would make a dumb beast of you, and render you lawful prey. . . . :
It had the same sort of slick, resilient hide as the others had, this creature whose back held him, supported him, in just a few thumb-breadths of water. He couldn't see anything of it, but the sense of something so huge he couldn't even imagine it held him silent.
:So, tell me, Walker-On-Land, what is it that should cause the Bright Leapers to come to your aid and call upon me?:
:I don't know, my lord,: Alain said humbly. :I just—asked for help.:
:Just asked for help. Never has a Walker asked help of us. Perhaps that is reason enough. But what of these others?: The Mindvoice lost its sense of amusement, and Alain shivered again. :The Leapers say that they must be stopped. Their tree-float tastes of blood and pain, their minds of ravening. I know what they have done to the Leapers—but what else have they done to their own kind?:
As briefly as possible, Alain outlined to the vast creature beneath his hands just what it was that the raiders had done, and he felt an anger as enormous as creature itself slowly rousing.
:So. Bad enough to make war, but those who make it upon the infant and the aged . . . the wisdom of the people and the hope. . . . : A pause. :Yes. I can see. But this is between you and your kind, and although I wish to follow the wishes of the Leapers, I must have a price from you.:
:A price?: It didn't matter; whatever it wanted, it could have, if it would put an end to these marauding bandits. :Is it—: he gulped. :—me you want, oh Lord of the Deep?:
The surface beneath his hands vibrated; in a moment, he recognized it as laughter. :No, little Walker, be you ever so tasty, you are too noble for my eating. Besides, I would not cause the Weeper-On-The-Shore, your White Spirit-Brother, to dissolve in grief. No. Before I act in the affairs of Walkers . . . a vow from you, Walker, brother to the White Spirit. That you reveal me to no one. Ever.:
:You have it,: he promised, not entirely sure why this creature wanted it, nor what he was exchanging the vow for, but willing enough to give it. :None shall know. Not even my Companion.:
:Then I shall act.:
He felt the great bulk beneath him begin to move, felt it rise until he was completely out of the water. He balanced on this hill of flesh, and the air of its passing flowed around him, chilling him so that he shivered. The resilient flesh beneath him undulated slowly.
Lights appeared on the horizon, lights too yellow and unwinking to be stars.
They were lanterns, lanterns hung on the rail of the ship that had taken him and on its sister-ships in the raiding fleet. Swiftly as these ships sailed, the creature beneath Alain was faster.
Now he sensed other minds around him, the minds of the smaller creatures that had initially been his rescuers. They exchanged no words, only feelings of excitement and some of the same anger that the greater creature felt. And with that came glimpses of the cause of that anger—the wanton slaughter of these creatures by the men of the swift, agile ships.
:Stay with the Leapers, Walker, and observe.:
The bulk that supported him slipped from beneath him, plunging him into the water again as it disappeared. But before he could panic, the others were around him, one under each outstretched arm. And before the ship sailed away from where they waited in the water, something black and terrible surged up out of the waves beside it—
—and crashed down on it before the few sailors manning the sails and tiller had a chance to do more than register the presence of something beside them.
The ship disintegrated with a horrible sound of shattering timber and the screams of the men aboard.
The men on the other ships had that much warning—enough to know their doom, not enough to avoid it. Again and again, the huge bulk leapt from the waves and smashed down on their ships, splintered them as a wanton child would splinter a toy, but with anger no child could ever feel.
How many died instantly, how many were left to flounder in the water he would never find out, for the smaller swimmers left him again and the huge one rose beneath him and carried him quickly away.
:There are more of them yet, clinging to bits of their tree-floater, but I will hunt tonight, Walker,; said the voice with grim satisfaction. :When you are safe I shall return, and oh, I shall dine well . . . so remember your vow.:
:I will,: he pledged fervently, with a shudder, and felt the creature's amusement.
:Come. I hunger. The sooner the Leapers can take you ashore, the sooner I may feed.:
Again the huge bulk rose out of the water with him atop it, and sped—in what direction? He could not tell. He could only cling to it as best he could, exhausted, cold, shivering, aching in head and limb, and hope this thing that had spoken of dining on men would take him home.
And yet—and yet—
He was afraid of it—but it was more respect than fear.
:Speak with me, Walker. Tell me of your life. I have never met one who could Speak to my thoughts, and I have lived long . . . long.:
So throughout that long night, that strange journey, he spoke with the unseen creature that bore him. It was not ignorant of the ways of humans, but Heralds and Companions were new and fascinating to it. He came to understand that it was his despised Gift of Animal Mindspeech that had saved him; the creature could hear the strong thoughts of others, but imperfectly. Only Alain had ever been able to converse with it, and with the ones called the Bright Leapers.
Gradually, respect entirely replaced fear—
Though he did not forget what it intended to do when it returned to the shattered wrecks to hunt. And he was torn; the men were guilty of murder, robbery, rapine—and certainly their lives would have been forfeit had their fate come upon them from the hands of Selenay's Guard. But to be devoured after candlemarks of terror, floating on the face of the water—
:Their fate is what it will be. Perhaps they will drown before I return; drowned or living, they will serve me well. It is neither you, nor I, to whom they must answer for their deeds. I do but send them quickly to that judgment.:
There was nothing he could say to that; and in the end, perhaps this was no worse than imprisonment, perhaps a trial, and in the end, the axe or rope. . . .
:But the dawn is near, and so is the shore,: the creature continued. :No Walker has yet seen me, nor shall they—not those who I let live, at least. I go to hunt; the Leapers will see you to your friends.: There was a sense of a smile in its Mindvoice. :Begin to call when I leave you, so that your Spirit-Brother will cease to lament. His weeping tears at my heart even now.:
The creature slowed and stopped, and slowly submerged, dropping him again into the water. A moment later, it was gone—it could probably swim faster under the water than above it, and had only kept to the surface for his benefit. The water felt warm after the chill of wet garments in rushing air; the Bright Leapers were soon around him, holding him up.
:Move your limb from out the dead-skin you wear, so we can take it in our mouths and pull you,: said one. After a moment he puzzled out that they meant him to pull his hands and arms up into his sleeves so they could take the ends in their mouths. He did as they asked, and soon they were towing him between two of them, with the others swimming alongside, occasionally leaping into the air, apparently just for the sheer exuberance of living. Remembering what the Deep One had said, he began to MindCall Vedalia. And as the sky before them grew light, and the water reflected it back in dull silver, he heard Vedalia answer.
What passed between them was too deep for words, and he was glad to be towed and not swimming, for he couldn't have swum and wept at the same time.
And as the sun itself appeared on the horizon, it seemed that the Leapers were not going to have to take him to shore after all, for there were boats coming to meet them—and although Vedalia could not have fit in them, Sted was in the prow of the foremost, his white uniform shining in the early light.
The Leapers—he saw now that they looked like fish, but with sleek, brown hides, merry eyes, and mouths frozen into a perpetual grin—now made good their name, for all those who surrounded the two who towed him flung themselves into the air in graceful arcs. From the distant boats a cheer arose, made faint by distance—and by the water in his ears, perhaps.
He grayed-out for a moment—it was a good thing that his caretakers were competent and kept him from drowning—for when he came to himself, there were two bright-eyed heads holding him up, with his arms across what might have been their necks if they'd had such a thing. And the foremost boat was coming alongside. Many hands reached down to haul him aboard, which was a good thing, because now that he was safe, the last of his energy ran out, and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten.
But he was not so exhausted that he didn't notice the fishermen bowing to the Bright Leapers, and calling out their thanks as he was hauled aboard. "You know these creatures?" he said, surprised.
"They are the Wave-Wise," said one of the fishermen, wrapping a rough woolen blanket about his shoulders. "Some say they are the spirits of those of us who drowned and never came home to be buried on land. We never molest them, and if one should be tangled in a net, we cut the net to let him free. Better to lose a catch than drown a brother."
:Deep-Speaker!: one called, bobbing with its head above the water, making a chattering sound and nodding as it MindSpoke. :Tell your friends that we know where the Netted Ones are, and we will guide them there!:
The Netted Ones? The kidnapped women?
:Yes! Yes! And now the Deep One feeds, there are none to keep them netted!:
"Dear gods—" he grabbed the fisherman by the collar. "Listen—your Wave-Wise are wiser than you guess! They say they know where the women and children are that were stolen away, and will guide you there!"
Pandemonium broke out among the boats, as the Bright Leapers cavorted and word passed from vessel to vessel. All wanted to go, but the crew of the boat that held Sted and Alain reluctantly agreed to turn back with them.
Then, and only then, did Alain lie back, his shivering easing, a flask of some herb cordial that Sted had pressed into his hand, sheer exhaustion flattening him against the support of rope and blankets that Sted had rigged for him.
Sted, who spoke but seldom, had been babbling ever since he was brought aboard out of sheer relief. Since most of what he was saying had been variations on "Thank the gods you're safe!" Alain hadn't paid a lot of attention.
Now, though— "Vedalia said you were rescued by those fish—or whatever they are," Sted was saying.
"Not fish—I s'ppose they must be something like a Pelagiris-creature, a kyree or whatever," Alain replied, hoping he sounded as exhausted as he felt. "They said the only reason they could hear me, and I could hear them, was my Gift."
"But how did you get away?" Sted asked.
Alain tried to laugh and coughed instead, taking a sip of the cordial. "I didn't. The bastards only kept me long enough to be sure you weren't chasing them with boats full of Guards. Then they tossed me overboard. But I'd been yelling like a scared baby, and the—they call themselves Bright Leapers—the Bright Leapers heard me." He held out his wrists so Sted could see the cuts from their teeth. "Got the ropes off, then towed me back. I suppose I was rescued for the novelty of listening to me talk while I was brought back as much as anything else. I got the impression that these water-creatures, the intelligent ones, spend a lot of their time just—playing, learning, being curious. So much for the honor and glory of being a Herald! My real value seems to have been that I could tell a good story!"
He might be exhausted, but he was choosing his words very carefully. He was telling the exact truth, just not all of it . . . and as long as he stuck to the exact truth, Sted was not likely to wonder what he was trying to hide.
Sted chuckled, and so did the fisherman nearest them, the man at the tiller. "We've always honored the Wave-Wise, but if they bring us to the captives, they'll be getting a share of our catches from now on," the fisherman said. "As for stories, I expect you'll be tired of telling this one long before anyone gets tired of hearing it. There've been other tales of the Wave-Wise rescuing fisherfolk, but never like this one."
"And I fervently hope there never is again," Alain said emphatically. "I pray that no one ever meets the sort of things I did last night."
He closed his eyes and Sted's urging, and felt consciousness rapidly slipping away. But—did he hear the far-off echo of an appreciative—and sated—chuckle at that last?
:No, of course not.:
:Of course not,: he agreed, and slept.