Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

At the mention of the Herald's name, Jonne stood straight up.

'Vanyel?' he called out. 'Where is he?' Then he knew he was speaking to the Companion.

:This way,: the Companion answered, moments before the next explosion hit.

Jonne heard nothing as a flash of light illuminated the

entire area. The light came from behind him, as it cast his long shadow on the ground before him. The explosion threw him forward, into his own darkness.

Something solid nudged him solidly in his ribs. When he opened his eyes, the Companion was standing over him, looking down.

:You survived,: the Companion Mindspoke. :You, and Vanyel. The others are dead.:

Again, Jonne got up. The camp had been leveled by whatever struck them last. All that remained of the tents were wisps of burning fabric. A forest fire raged, spanning outward, burning away from them, filling the air with thick smoke. The Companion appeared to be singed, and smelled of burned hair, but for the most part unhurt. Items of Jonne's own clothing continued to smolder, and the Guardsman batted them out. He moaned when he touched the back of his neck and hands, the only parts of him that were burned.

'The others,' Jonne murmured, then he saw them. Burned, unmoving bodies lay about like discarded dolls. Then, 'Vanyel. Where is he?'

:This way,: the Companion said, and led Jonne to a clearing just beyond the tents. Above, lightning continued to flash, casting brief moments of visibility on the area. Still, no rain had fallen, but threatened to at any moment. Vanyel lay in the center of the clearing, and the Companion went to him, nudging with her nose.

:He's alive,: the Companion Mindspoke. :But he is injured. Help him onto my back. This is not a safe place anymore.:

The Guardsman sniffed the smoky air, remembering that whatever sent that last blast was still out there, somewhere, and was probably getting ready for another attack.

Jonne easily picked up the Herald, noting his slight weight as he propped him up on the beast. Vanyel muttered something unintelligible as he found his balance on the saddle.

:He can ride,: the Companion told mm. :Take us to safety, please, Guardsman.:

Lightning struck the campsite, several paces behind him. The blast spattered them with dirt and pebbles, and in reflex Jonne shielded his face with his arm.

Time to go. Now.

'There are caves nearby,' Jonne offered. 'Will that—'

:Take us to them,: the Companion ordered. :While you still can.:

Jonne led the Companion and her barely conscious rider to the mouth of one of the hidden caves. In the distance, he heard battle, and felt an urge to go join it. Torn between his duty to his company and his new assignment to Vanyel as his guide, he had little trouble choosing his course of action.

This Herald is injured, and if I don't take him to safety, we will lose him, and all will be lost, the rational part of Jonne's mind told him. But beyond his duty, he felt a link to Vanyel, as if they were part of the same brotherhood: the brotherhood of shay'a'chern.

Jonne had chosen this cave because it had a hot spring pool near the mouth, and also because it had a few provisions they would need, which he'd stored down here in case of an emergency. The Guardsman led the Companion a few paces into the cave, where he paused to light a torch mounted on the cave wall. The sudden light revealed a pair of straw mattresses, lanterns, candles, and a cabinet which, assuming it hadn't been disturbed, had medicines and supplies he would need.

As he helped Vanyel down, he saw, in the blazing torchlight, the burns. They were three lines, slicing through his Herald Whites, reaching from his neck down past his waist. Jonne gently cradled Vanyel in his arms, hoping he wasn't injuring him more by moving him.

Lord and Lady, what did this to him? he thought, but deep inside he already knew. Mage-lightning. What was he taking on, out there in that clearing? As he lowered him to the mattress, Vanyel opened eyes wide with alarm.

'Easy, easy,' Jonne said, suddenly concerned for his own safety. 'I'm Guardsman Jonne, and I'm here to help you:'

The brief words seemed to do the trick. Vanyel visibly relaxed, and allowed the Guardsman to ease him onto the mattresses.

Vanyel's Whites practically fell apart as he lay him on the mattress. The mage-lightning had sliced through his clothes. Jonne reached into the cabinet for some ointment he hoped was still in there; it was, and when he opened the ceramic jar, Jonne found Vanyel eyeing him with a mixture of admiration and, something else, an emotion Jonne couldn't readily identify.

'We were under attack,' Vanyel said. 'The camp . . .'

The Campanion stepped forward, nuzzled Vanyel affectionately, and the Herald looked directly into her deep blue eyes.

'All of them?' he asked sadly. Jonne realized they were communicating, and the Companion had just told him about the camp. Then, 'I have no energy left, Yfan-des.' A pause. 'Yes, I will stay put—ouch!'

Vanyel had moved sideways on the mattress, raking his arm across his burns. He looked down at his ruined Whites, 'I guess this uniform's had it,' he said. 'That makes the second this month.'

Vanyel sat up on an elbow, regarding Jonne thoughtfully, wincing at the evident pain. 'Where is this?' he said, looking around the cave.

'This mine belongs to my family,' Jonne said, kneel-Jng down beside Vanyel. 'We are safe for the time being. How do you feel?'

Vanyel shrugged, leaned back on the mattress. 'Dreadful, after that last round,' he said. Jonne waited for him to continue. 'I wasn't ready for that attack. We had no idea Karse had mages that powerful.'

'Those burns look nasty,' Jonne said, looking over Vanyel's mostly naked body. 'Mage-lightning?'

'The worst,' Vanyel said, but his tone had changed,

from that of a powerful man to a meek boy. 'It got through my shields somehow. Just wasn't ready.'

'Lean back,' Jonne said, 'I'll put some of this on.'

Jonne smoothed the ointment on, starting from his neck and working down to his ankles. Vanyel looked down at himself, then gave an embarrassed laugh.

'Don't take offense,' Vanyel said, through obvious embarrassment. Jonne tried not to laugh, and continued to ignore Vanyel's excitement. 'I'm shay'a'chern,' he said, flustered. 'Sometimes I don't have any control over it.'

'Don't worry about it,' Jonne said, suppressing a grin. 'So am I.'

Vanyel sat up. 'You're what!'

'I'm shay'a'chern, too,' Jonne said, but Vanyel still looked stunned.

'Are you sure?'

'I'm thirty years old,' Jonne said, as he continued spreading the ointment. 'I should think I would know by now, wouldn't you?'

Vanyel looked too tired to discuss it further. 'I would never have known,' the Herald said distantly.

'And neither would I, if your reputation hadn't pre-ceeded you. But, given your condition, I doubt you're feeling very romantic,' Jonne said reluctantly. 'I'm not suggesting anything. At the moment.'

Vanyel reached over and touched his wrist. 'But / am.'

Some time later they had submerged themselves in the hot springs near the mouth of the cave; Van took a little more time to get in, wincing as the waters touched his wounds, but in moments he had surrendered to the pool's warmth, and allowed Jonne to wrap his arms around him. The shallow pool was only waist deep, but had a smooth rock surface beneath, and a natural bench for them both to recline on. Steam rose from the surface of the water, forming clouds around their heads.

// my life ended right now, I would consider it fullfilled, Jonne thought as he held Vanyel closer to him, avoiding