Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

Martin.:

:What about Martin? He seems happy enough.:

Judaia patted the Companion's silky neck. .-That's exactly the problem. How can he be so oblivious when I'm so miserable? Can't he feel the same pain, the same thwarted need?: In explanation, Judaia opened her shields fully to Brayth, showing the mare the conversation in the way station and the mass of conflicting emotions it had inspired, at least in Judaia.

:The lifebond is as strong in him as you. He feels it, too. But his honor is stronger even than the bond.:

Frustration made Judaia sullen, and her next words came from superficial anger. :Lady take his damnable honor. I hate it.:

:Do you truly hate his honor or the situation to which that honor has fettered him?:

Uncertain of the question, Judaia gave no reply; but she did feel guilty for her lapse. Companions chose only

those pure of intent, and devotion to duty came with the first Heraldic lesson.

Brayth continued questioning, :Do you love Martin because of his honor or in spite of it? If he had made a similar vow to you, would you expect him to keep it?:

The last, Judaia felt qualified to answer. :Well, of course. But I'd never ask for such a vow. Or, if I did, I would keep my vow as well. Blind loyalty to one who deceives is simply slavery. Honor it may be, but an honor without justice.:

Brayth shook her head, her frothy mane like silk on Judaia's fingers. :Tell that to Martin.:

.7 already have.:

:Ah.: Brayth glanced back at her rider, a light dancing in her soft, sapphire eyes. .-Next time, sister two legs, you'll have to convince him.:

As the Companion's words settled into Judaia's mind, the approaching pound of hoofbeats drew her from deeper consideration. She glanced at Martin, and the intensity of his focus on the road ahead cued her that he had heard as well. He signaled Tirithran to a halt, and Brayth stopped at the stallion's side. The broken pattern of the oncoming hoof falls and lack of bridle bells told her, without the need for vision, that the horse and rider were not Companion and Herald.

A moment later, a stranger appeared from around a curve in the roadway. He rode a stocky Border pony, its dark hooves drumming hard-packed roadway and its chestnut tail streaming. The thin man on its back wore a well- tailored cloak and tunic of plain design. As he drew closer, crow's feet and a shock of graying hair showed his age, and his carriage revealed high breeding. The pony slowed to a walk as he came within hailing distance. 'Thank the Goddess, I've found you! Greetings, good Heralds.'

Judaia nodded and deferred to her mentor. Anyone seeking would certainly have found them. They traveled the main roads. Their circuit, so far, had remained tame and routine; and they had lost no days, arriving in each town, village, and city at the expected time.

'What can we do for you?' Martin asked, apparently sensing the man's distress.

Judaia exercised her Gift, though weak compared with those of her year-mates, concentrating on the man's abstraction. She Saw a birthing room filled with clean straw pallets. She found four women in the picture. One clutched an infant tightly to her breast, gaze focused so intently she seemed not to notice that two others argued vehemently, clothes torn and arms waving. Another baby wailed, apparently frightened by the noise, though both combatants took clear and obvious caution not to harm the child. The fourth woman lay still on the straw, clearly injured; and two more infants sprawled limply near a corner. Stung to action by what she saw, Judaia Sent the image to Martin, bypassing the need for the stranger's slower, verbal description. Martin had a strong Communication Gift, which made the Sending easy, though he had little Sight to locate the knowledge for himself.

Still, though she formed an image, Judaia's Gift brought picture without sound. The need for haste drove her to request the important details first. Ordinarily, she would let Martin handle the situation; but he had promised her the next judgment. Though he could not have guessed the urgency that would accompany their next decision, Martin would not go back on his word. Now, Judaia cherished the honor she had cursed moments before.

The stranger had already begun his story. '... all giving birth on the same day—'

Judaia interrupted, delving for the necessary. 'The women's fight. It's over what?'

The man broke off into a startled silence. Then, apparently attributing her understanding to Heraldic magic, he addressed the question. 'The argument is over who gave birth to one of the babies, Herald.'

Martin drew breath, but Judaia overran him. 'Doesn't the midwife know?'

'She apparently got hurt in the struggle, Herald. She's unconscious, but alive. We have people tending her, but she might need a Healer. I'm afraid this can't wait until she's well.'

Anger rose in Judaia against the bitterness that motherhood could inspire, every bit as strong as the bond of love so many lauded between woman and child. Horror touched her then, along with a possibility she did not have to know now but she asked for the sake of her own conscience. 'Did the babies get caught in the battle as well?'

'No, Herald.' The stranger seemed as horrified by the prospect. 'Two stillborn.'

Judaia had heard enough. 'We'll meet you there.' She signaled Brayth, and the mare launched into a gallop toward the Border Holding from which the stranger had come.

Not bothering to compete with the wind, Martin Mindspoke with Judaia as they rode. :You took that over nicely.:

Judaia sensed a touch of displeasure, though she could not feel certain. He hid it well behind a sense of pride at her budding competence. :This one's my judgment, remember?:

Now, Martin's discomfort came through more clearly. :Are you sure you want this one? Something less serious might do for a start.:

Brayth flashed around the curve in a stride and a half, neck stretched and head low for the straightaway. :Are you breaking a promise?:

:Never.: Martin recoiled from the possibilty, Tirithran matching Brayth stride for stride. :Just giving you an out.:

:I don't need an out. I can handle this, and the midwife needs you. The best I could do is carry her to a Healer.: Brayth whisked around another bend, and the Borderland came into sight, a patchwork of large but simple homes to accommodate the men with their multiple wives and myriad children. Crops and pastures dotted the areas between homesteads, and a small but ardent crowd surrounded a single building set off from the rest. Though Judaia's Sight had shown her only the inside of the cottage, she knew this had to be the birthing room. :With your Gift, you might draw the midwife back to consciousness or stabilize her enough that a Healer isn't necessary. I can't do that.:

Either Martin saw the wisdom in Judaia's words, or he simply bowed to his promise. Eyes locked on the approaching building, he did not bother to reply.

As the Companions' silver hooves rang over stone and earth, a few members of the crowd glanced over. These nudged more, until every eye eventually turned toward the Heralds. A mass of voices rose in question, conversation, or attempts to inform, the whole blending into a din Judaia did not bother to decipher. Some slunk away, whispering among themselves. Judaia knew that many of the Border Holdings considered Heraldic Gifts unholy or the work of demons.

Judaia and Martin dismounted together, leaving the Companions to tend themselves beyond the crowd. Ignoring the huddled mass of comments, Judaia pushed through, the citizens parting to allow a path for the Heralds to get to the doorway.

The midwife sprawled just outside the door; apparently they had taken her from the crisis but feared to move her far in her current state. Two men and a woman hunched over her. These moved gratefully aside as the Heralds came forward. 'Head wound,' one said unnecessarily. 'Can you help her?'

Martin replied. 'If I can't, I can get her to help quickly.' He gestured Tirithran vaguely, then inclined his head to indicate that Judaia should take care of the problem inside.

Judaia reached for the portal, apprehension finally descending upon her as she tripped the latch. In the heat