Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

Carris returned her laugh with a laugh of his own. He seemed both taller and younger than he had when she'd first laid eyes on him in Torvan's place. A little more at peace with himself.

Still, there was something she wanted to say. 'I—I've been meaning to apologize to you.'

'To me? For what?'

'The Mage.' She looked up, and her eyes, dark in the fading day, met his.

Carris shook his head almost sadly. 'Was it that obvious?' He took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his short, peppered hair. Very quietly, he gave her her due. 'I've never wanted to kill a man so badly in my life.'

'I would've felt the same way.'

'You got to kill him.' He looked into the fire, and she knew he was seeing Lyris. She reached up and caught his hand, felt his fingers stiffen and then relax as she pulled him down to the log.

'Tell me,' she said, in the softest voice he had yet heard her use. 'Tell me about Lyris.'

He did. He talked for hours, letting his tears fall freely at first, and then returning to them again and again as an odd story or an old, affectionate complaint brought the loss home. He talked himself into silence as the fire lapped at the gravel.

Then he did something surprising. He turned to her in the darkness and said, 'Now tell me about Kelsey.'

She was so flustered, she forgot how to speak for a moment—and Kelsey was not often at a loss for words. Well, she thought, as she stared at the crackling logs beyond her feet, what do you have to say for yourself? About yourself?

His chuckle was gentle. 'Should I start?'

'Go ahead.'

'Kelsey is a young woman who, as a child, very much wanted to be a Herald.'

It was dark, so he couldn't see her blush. 'H-how did you know that?'

'It's a ... gift of mine. And as a Herald, you get used to spotting people who hold the Heralds in awe. Or rather,' he added wryly, as he touched his short hair again, 'hold the position in awe.'

She shrugged.

'You asked me if I knew why we were Chosen—but what you really wanted to know was why you weren't.'

She couldn't answer because every word he spoke was true.

'I don't know why.' He slid an arm around her shoulder and it surprised her so much she didn't even knock him over. 'But having met you, I can guess.'

Here it comes. 'What? What would you guess?'

'Kelsey—I told you that I was the son of a noble, and as it's not important, I won't tell you which one. But if

Arana hadn't come to me, hadn't Chosen me, I would have become embroiled in the politics of the nobility, and would have done very little of any good to the people of the Kingdom as a whole. I like to think I would have ruled my own people well, but . . . it's not easy.

'And Lyris? Much as I love him, he'd have probably wound up as a second-rate thief—or a corpse. Not much good there either.'

She was very quiet.

'You don't have a Companion, yet if not for you, the people of this caravan would have been slaughtered like sheep at the Crown Princess' wedding.' He caught one of her hands in his good one. 'I've got to get some sleep, if I can. So do you. But think about it.'

'I will.'

Kelsey had spent many sleepless nights in the cold of a dying fire, and this one was to be no exception. What did it mean? What did it really mean? She looked at her hands, seeing both the calluses and the dried blood of the injured that she'd helped the doctor with. They were good hands, strong enough to do what was necessary.

I'm not a Herald, she thought, as she stared at them. And I never will be. She turned it over in her mind, and for the first time in her life, she accepted it without sorrow. / never will be Chosen.

She stood up as the embers faded. But if I can't be one of the Chosen, I can be one who chooses. And 1 choose to do what I must, when I'm needed.

Heralds couldn't do everything for themselves; she knew how to run an inn—maybe, if she proved worthy of it, she'd be allowed to run a school. Everyone needed to eat—surely the Heralds would need a cook? And that close to the thick of things—that close to Heralds, Companions, possibly the King himself—there was certain to be a lot for Kelsey to do.

She smiled; the sun was on the fringe of the horizon.

'Carris!'

If she expected him to be sleeping, she was wrong; he was awake, and a strange little smile hovered around the corner of his lips. 'Yes?'

'I'm coming with you to the capital, and I won't take no for an answer. You're still injured, you probably still need someone to watch your back, and you—'

'And I'd love your company.'

He didn't, come to think of it, look at all surprised. Made her suspicious, but it also made her, for the first time that she could remember, completely happy. She had done with waiting; it was time to start the life that her grandmother had always promised her she could choose to live.

Song of Valdemar

by Kristin Schwengel

Kristin Schwengel is an avid fan of Mercedes Lackey's work, and leaped at the opportunity to write about Valdemar. This story is her first published work. She lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin with her fiance, John Heifers, whose work also appears in this collection. They have no cats (yet), but they do have a collection of wolf and wildcat paraphernalia, which will have to do for now.

'Revyn,' Eser called quietly, 'I need some more of those bandages over here. And a splint.'

The young trainee trotted over to the Master Healer, arms full of soft fabric, fingertips barely clutching the smoothly carved pieces of the splint. Eser took the wood from his hands just before he dropped it, smiling gently.

'Now, lad, I don't need you bringing so much that you lose it before you can do any good with it,' he teased, a smile lighting his faintly lined face. Revyn smiled thinly back at him, acknowledging the mild rebuke, and watched with feigned disinterest as the Healer carefully set the broken leg.

'Do you think you could do the same, hmm?' Eser asked when he had finished, glancing up at his pupil.

Revyn avoided Eser's eyes as he lifted his shoulders slightly, carefully hiding the surge of affirmation that raced through him.

'I—I'm not sure. It seems easy enough, but ... I wouldn't want to cause more harm than is already done.' He spoke awkwardly, trying to seem all nervousness and uncertainty.

Eser's lips thinned as he stood smoothly, stretching his back to straighten out the knots that he got from hunching over the pallet. He still moved with a fluidity and grace belying his forty years, but every so often his body chose to remind him of his true age. He studied Revyn's averted face carefully. What was wrong with the young man? Was there more than he himself was aware of? Eser shrugged mentally, knowing that answers would come eventually, one way or another. Now, they had more important things to take care of. Eser gestured to his apprentice to follow him and moved down the halls of the House of Healing to the storeroom.

'Well, Revyn, you're going to set a leg now. Teral wasn't the only one caught in that rockslide. More bandages and another splint, lad, and follow me.'

Revyn nearly gasped aloud at Eser's words, staring at the older man's parting back. What if he finds out? he thought frantically. / can't hide much longer, but I can't keep refusing either. Taking a large breath to relax his nerves, he scurried along the halls of the House of Healing after his teacher, nearly spilling the extra bandages again in his haste.

Finally, Eser stopped and gestured for Revyn to precede him into the sickroom. Revyn paused in the hall-way to allow his heightened breathing to slow to a normal pace. 'Never enter a sickroom in a hurry or in