Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

The Healer, a man by the name of Yiro, put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. 'Stop it now, Herald. Sometimes it's almost impossible to tell. Even Delanon's sister said that she thought he was a tad harsh, but never . . . well. . . .'

'Those kids carried that secret well.'

'Or else they thought it was normal to be treated that way.'

They stood in silence for a time. Then: 'Why would someone do that to their own children?' she whispered.

'I've asked myself that same question before. The best answer I have is that they like the . . . power. The pleasure of a helpless victim. The dependence. They get a feeling of control. Some even think they're doing the child a favor. If nothing else, they try to justify their actions.'

Quiet. Outside, the Herald could hear Derdre take fidgety steps, the tall grass whispering softly. Then, 'And the other two?' she asked.

'I've already called in one of the best MindHealers in this district. She'll check them out, live with them for a while. They're young. With luck, she'll be able to Heal them.'

After a moment, Yiro clasped her in a quick hug. 'Cheer up, sister. Things'll get better. The boy will most likely heal, if not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day. It will take a lot of time, but hopefully, it'll happen. He'll realize . . . and then maybe he'll even forgive.' 'But not forget.'

'No. He already forgot once, from what we got out of him. He must have blocked that incident for years. I've heard of it.'

But the Healer's words were fading away as Lisabet moved out of the room and toward the figure in the fields.

Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder, remembering what she had seen from her view out the window of her cousin's home when Nastasea's bathtime had come up. A child comforting a child.

And now I am doing the same. Aren't we all just children at heart?

She enclosed him in her arms, petting his hair, holding him as he began to cry.

'Sattar,' he whispered, weeping into her shoulder. 'She's gone,' Lisabet replied. 'Want Sattar,' he said, echoing Nastasea's words.

'Sattar's gone now. It's time to let go, Rivin.'

The boy neither agreed nor rejected her words. Instead, he turned and mounted his Companion, his face a cast-granite mask of sorrow. Lisabet checked the shields around him, looking for leaks and holes. No use letting that powerful a new-born Mage-Gift get out of hand.

Satisfied, she called Raal over, and pulled herself into her own saddle. With one trembling hand on her Companion's neck, she led the way down the road toward Haven.

Gods—mage-power coming to life like that scares me. The boy didn't even know what he was doing—didn't even realize it was magic— until it was too late. It was only luck that this was my circuit and that I was close by when he first Reached. I don't think that I would have wanted a stranger taking care of him. She shivered. There was so much anger in him. . . .

:Thus, the nature of madness,: Raal said, his voice heavy and dusky in her mind.

:I'll never figure it out.:

•.Some things we were never meant to figure out.:

-.Like Companions?: Lisabet asked slyly.

She heard a dry chuckle. -.Like Companions.:

A wind chuckled by, catching her hair. She saw Rivin's head jerk up, as if he had heard something, and then he shook himself, falling back into his mournful brooding.

It was then—when he lifted his head—that she noticed the worryline now chiseled between his brow. She noticed his taut neck muscles, the lines around his eyes. But most of all, she noticed the way he held his arm and rubbed his shoulder as if it ached with the pain of a hard grip that had, for a long while, forgotten how to let go.

. . . . Another Successful Experiment

by Lawrence Schimel  

Lawrence Schimel is the co-editor of Tarot Fantastic and Fortune Tellers, among other projects. His stories appear in Dragon Fantastic, Cat Fantastic III, Weird Tales from Shakespeare, Phantoms of the Night, Return to Avalon, the Sword and Sorceress series, and many other anthologies. Twenty-four years old, he lives in New York City, where he writes and edits full-time.

They resembled nothing so much as ill-proportioned hammers, but Chavi was pleased with them. No, he decided as he held one aloft and the weight of the tiny head on the end of the broomstick-length handle caused it to quiver slightly, he was more than just content.

'They're perfect!'

Gathering the other five from his bed, he tucked them all under one arm and went in search of his year- mates.

Chavi had spent the last week hidden in his room constructing these strange items. An air of mystery had naturally developed around them as Grays and sometimes even full Heralds stood outside his door listening to the curious sounds of their creation. Locking himself into his room was always the first clue that mischief was afoot, and that another of Chavi's (in)famous experiments would soon be unveiled. Therefore, as Efrem wandered down the hallway and noticed the door ajar, he could not resist the temptation to peek inside, hoping for a glimpse of the latest invention. Finding it empty, not only of marvels, but of the mischief maker himself, he went in search of him, knowing it would be worth his while, in laughter if nothing else.

Whether it was simply a lucky guess, or the fervent hope that Chavi was not foolish enough to premiere one of his experiments indoors again, his search led him— after a brief stop in the kitchens—to Companion's Field, where Chavi and his Companion Tecla waited for his year-mates to arrive.

The first person to show up was not, however, one of Chavi's year-mates. A tall, lanky man in the red-brown of a Bardic trainee came by and leaned against a tree, facing Chavi and Tecla. Chavi was of a mind to ask him to 'Move along,' then decided it might be good to have a Bard on hand to immortalize his success. He was sure it would be a success, too, and did not even consider that the experiment might fail.

The second arrival, however, gave Chavi pause. Efrem was a fellow Gray, who had been chosen two years before him. While Chavi did not at all dislike the Herald (he doubted it was even possible for a Herald to actively dislike another Herald), his presence made Chavi nervous. Had he been wandering by and noticed them, Chavi wondered, or had he known to come to Companion's Field now? If one of his year-mates had let slip that they would unveil his latest experiment. . . .

Just then, Gildi arrived with her companion, Fedele. With them came an older woman in Healer's green, her hair just turning to frost.

'I knew it,' Chavi admonished, even as he hugged his year-mate in greeting. 'I told you not to tell anyone.' He glanced meaningfully from the Healer to Efrem and the Bard.

'I've been part of your experiments before, Chavi, and felt having a Healer on hand was a precaution worth taking. But / didn't tell anyone.'

'Someone must have' he said, glaring at the pair of bystanders.

'Oh, don't sulk, Chavi. What harm is there in having spectators to revel in your latest crowning glory?'

He grinned at her. 'Well, when you put it that way. . . .'

Tecla warned him that he was in for a surprise when he turned around. Nervously, Chavi looked behind him.