Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

We made it! Gradually, the doubts raised by his earlier thoughts intruded. The torrent had carried them far enough downstream that he could no longer find the road. The horizon cut a crescent from the lowest edge of sun, giving the woods a gray-orange cast that seemed supernatural. Over the bubble of water, he could hear a softly rising chorus of bugs punctuated by other, unidentifiable sounds.

Demons. Santar shivered in his soaked clothing and looked to the Companion.

The horse pawed the ground, clearly anxious. He nudged Santar toward the woods.

Santar swallowed his fear. A Herald's life depends on me. On us. He appreciated the company, though it had dragged him here in the first place. He remembered how the stallion had given him the chance to back out at the fording. He had chosen to continue to save a man's life. To trust the horse's instincts meant believing time of the essence. For the Companion to opt for sped, over preparation and skill, had to mean the Herald lay close to death. The horse, he felt certain, would know.

Though the urge to remount prodded strongly, Santar resisted. In the dark forest, he could see and lead safely better than any horse. He only wished he had had time to grab a lantern, or even just a tinderbox as the forest supplied plenty of torches and kindling. He pushed through the underbrush, tense as an over-wound lute string, the horse moving quietly at his heels. The woods smelled of damp moss and pungent berries, close and green. Branches swept across his face, stinging; and he tried to hold them aside for his larger companion. A whirring sound appeared and disappeared at intervals, grinding at his nerves. An owl cut loose above his head, sending him skittering for-ward in a rush. Stop it. Stay calm.

Accustomed to regular horses, Santar tried to maintain the appearance of self-control. The animal might sense his fear, and a panicked horse became a deadly and unpredictable weapon.

Forcing himself to appear calm gradually resulted in a true inner peace. Santar surrendered himself to the mission. For whatever reason, the Companion had chosen him to rescue the Herald, an enormous responsibility. At first, he had believed it sheer coincidence, but he discarded that thought. Companions had a good people sense. It could have approached anyone else in the town, or his brother, but had selected him. Whether Santar saw the quality in himself or not, the Companion had; and he would not betray the stallion's trust nor the life of its Herald.

The animal's nose poked Santar's right side, steering him leftward. The moist nostrils tickled the inner part of Santar's elbow, and he could not help smiling through his fear. He allowed the horse to steer him in this manner, blazing a trail through the Tangled Forest that anticipated deadfalls, brush too thick to penetrate, and trees packed too closely for a large horse to squeeze around. A gray glaze descended around them, deepening the forest shadows to unsettling darkness. The black flies and mosquitoes swarmed in a biting cloud that followed their every movement. Chilled, Santar wished his tunic at least had sleeves.

As the night wore on, Santar battled exhaustion. He had worked a full day in the stables since sunrise, hauling bags and bales, cleaning stalls, wrangling horses; and he had missed the evening meal.

The bugs and the cold seemed to drain his vitality along with his blood. Yet, the Companion steered him ever onward with delicate nudges that displayed need but forced nothing. Santar wished for supplies but refused to bemoan them. Somewhere out there, an injured man needed him. Or woman, Santar reminded himself. The Heralds, he remembered, come in both varieties.

The journey continued as fatigue became a leaden weight across Santar's shoulders. He longed to sit for just a few moments. His eyes glided shut, and he forced them open in time to avoid walking into a towering oak. Worries about demons receded, replaced by a solid fight against the sleep that threatened to overwhelm him. Just putting one foot ahead of the other became an all-encompassing battle. Only the realization of a life dependent on his own kept him going. He found himself blundering into dead-ends and copses, uncertain how he had gotten there. He forced himself onward, every step a victory, and hoped he would catch a second wind when he finally reached the ailing Herald.

Suddenly, the stallion gave Santar a hard nudge that drove him to his knees. Moonlight glared into his eyes, blindingly bright after the vast expanse of dark forest. In front of him lay a craggy mountain that seemed to touch the very sky. Santar closed and opened his eyes, but the towering monstrosity remained, a dozen others beyond it. Groaning, Santar staggered to his feet and willed himself forward, preparing to climb.

The Companion gave Santar another abrupt nudge that, once again, dropped him to his knees.

Rocks stabbed into flesh, and a trickle of blood stained his britches. Pained, tired, irritated, he turned on the horse. 'I'm going, already. I'm going!'

The Companion nickered, pawing up divots of muddy weeds. He tossed his head.

Santar glanced ahead, only then noticing the dark mouth of a cave etched against the rocky cliffs.

Suddenly the horse's intention became clear. 'He's in there?'

The horse whinnied, head bobbing.

Santar felt a warm wash of relief that he would not have to fight his way up the mountains, tempered by the realization that he would have to enter a dark cave alone and without a light. The stallion could never fit inside, which made sense. If he could, he would have scooped up the Herald and assisted or carried him to safety rather than dragged some stable boy through demon-infested forest and high water to the Herald. Santar sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a slow hiss. 'All right. I'm going in.'

He rose and picked his way to the entrance, staring into the black interior. 'Any chance you could help me find my way around inside?'

The Companion nickered.

'Didn't think so,' Santar mumbled. He returned his gaze to the cave, seeing only as far as the moonlight could penetrate. It did not show him much. 'Let me gather some weeds or pebbles, first.

Something to drop and follow back out.'

The Companion shook his head wildly, silver mane flying.

A stranger's voice touched Santar's mind then: :I will guide you.: Startled, Santar whirled. 'Who? Who...?'

:Come. I'll guide you.:

The Herald. Santar had heard that Heralds had unusual powers, but it still took him inordinately long to figure out the obvious. 'Can you hear me as well?'

No response. The voice gained a touch of urgency. :Please come. Quickly.:

'I'm coming,' Santar promised. If this Herald was like those he had met, he would maintain grace under pressure, which meant he probably needed help a lot more than he would admit. Santar secretly wondered if he could do anything worthwhile to assist. He did have a way with horses and their wounds, but he had never tried his skills on humans. Nevertheless, he plunged into the cave.

The leathery flap of wings filled Santar's hearing, and the air became pungent with guano. A clotted mass of bats hurtled from the cave, wings beating furiously. Startled, Santar dropped to the floor, ears filled with the smack and cut of their wild flight. Silence followed, eerie with menace. Though glad the bats had gone, Santar could not help filling the intensity of the quiet darkness with unseen demons.

:Take your first left,: the voice ordered.

Shocked from his own thoughts, Santar obeyed gratefully. He hoped the Herald would stay with him in spirit. He felt so much braver with a companion, even a disembodied, faceless one. :All right.: Santar concentrated on the thought, though the other gave no indication he received the message.

Santar veered leftward, keeping a hand lightly against each damp, musty wall. Better to glide his fingers through something disgusting than to risk losing his way.

:Skip the next opening to the left, then the one to the right.: Santar obeyed, passing up both opportunities to turn.

:Now go right.:

Santar did as the other suggested, still scraping the stone with his fingers. Though worried to interrupt the concentration of the one he sought, he tried tentatively, :Can you understand me, too?:

:Yes,: the other sent. :Go right again.:

Santar did so. :My name is Santar.:

:Orrin. Skip the next right, then go right again. Careful, it's a tight fit.: Orrin was not kidding. Santar found himself suddenly entering a narrowing that seemed impassable.