Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

“Then, if you can’t believe in yourself, believe in your Companion. And now that I’ve gifted you with my aged wisdom . . .” Grinning, she bent and lifted her saddle. “. . . we’d best get back on the road.”

Lifting his own saddle, Jors fell into step beside her. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Yes, well, she wasn’t young when I was born, and she’s never been what you could call strong, so I can’t say that I’m surprised. I’m just glad that the Borders are so quiet right now and that there was someone close enough . . .” She smiled so gratefully at him that Jors felt himself flush. “Two someones close enough.”

Inar, given his head, had disappeared southward almost too fast for the eye to follow. One moment he, and his Herald, were a white blur against the gold of summer-dried gasses and the next, they were gone.

Gone. Leaving Jors alone with Alyise.

Alone with an attractive eighteen-year-old girl.

No. Alone with another Herald.

One he just happened to be responsible for.

Oh, Havens.

:She is a Herald. That makes her responsible for herself.:

:I was broadcasting?:

Gervais snorted. :Donnel probably heard you.:

Jors doubted that since Donnel—with a fair bit of that long-legged colt in him still—was dancing sideways away from a bobbing yellow wildflower. Alyise was laughing, probably at something Donnel had said. Their mule, right out at the end of its lead rope, turned his head just far enough for Jors to see that he looked resigned about the whole thing.

Which reminded Jors of something he’d meant to ask Jennet and forgotten. No matter, Alyise would know what had happened to their second mule.

“Spike?” She giggled. “Oh Jennet left him back at the Waystation supply post saying you’d have enough on your plate without having to deal with Spike, too. He’s not a pleasant fellow although honestly, I think most of it’s an act and he’s really much nicer than he pretends. You know?”

Jors had no time to answer. He suspected she hadn’t intended him to as she rattled on without pausing.

“She left a lot of her gear there except for the bits she gave to me. I seem to go through soap really, really quickly, I can’t think why, I mean, we’re all in Whites but if there’s something to smudge on, I’ll smudge. I may be the only Herald ever who really appreciated her grays. So Jennet gave me her extra soap and a tunic that was getting too tight for her—across the shoulders, of course, not in front because I’m well, a little better endowed there—but no worry about her being caught short because she didn’t leave behind or give me anything she’ll need because she’s heading home. But you knew that, didn’t you, because you were there when she left?”

The punctuating smile was dazzling.

The Waystation outside Appleby was much like every other Waystation; there was a corral for the mules, a snug lean-to for the Companions, a good sized, well- stocked storeroom, and a single room for the Heralds. The biggest difference was that the fireplace had been filled in with a small box stove, flat-topped for cooking and considerably more efficient at heating the space.

“Not to mention there’ll be a lot less warm air sucked up the chimney,” Jors observed, examining the stovepipes. This was new since this the last time he’d been by.

“I think it’s less romantic, though.”

“What?”

Alyise smiled as he turned. “I think a stove is less romantic than an open fire. Don’t you think there’s just something so sensual about the dancing flames and the flicking golden light?”

“Light.” Jors cleared his throat and tried again. “We’d better light the lanterns.”

She pushed russet curls back off her face with one hand, gray eyes gleaming in the dusk. “Or instead of lighting the lanterns, we could just leave the doors of the stove open and sit together close to the fire.”

“Fire.”

“Pardon?”

“You light the fire.” His palms were sweaty. “In the stove,” he expanded as she stared at him, head cocked. “So we can cook. I have to go check on Gervais.”

:I’m fine.:

:Good.: He got outside to find his Companion standing by the door and gazing at him with some concern. :She’s . . . I mean, I’m supposed to be teaching her.:

:Donnel says his Chosen is glad you are a young man. She has been with Jennet for seven months.:

:Hey, I’ve been on my own for eight and that’s . . . : He paused as Gervais snorted. :Yeah. Sorry. Way too much information. The point is, it wouldn’t be right.:

:If that’s how you feel.:

:It is.:

:Good luck.:

:Oh, that’s very helpful.:

:Thank you.:

Never let anyone tell you that Companions can’t be as sarcastic as cats, Jors muttered to himself as he turned and went back inside. The curve of Alyise’s back stopped him cold. Her pants hung low on the flare of her hips, low enough to expose the dimples on the small of her back just under her waist.

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she pulled a sleeveless tunic out of her pack. “I just had to get into something that wasn’t all sweaty. I don’t know what it is about spending the day in the saddle that makes me so damp, since Donnel’s doing most of the work, but from my breast bands right on out everything is just soaked through. I guess the good news is that, at this time of the year, I can rinse them out tonight and they’ll be dry by morning unless it rains, of course, but I don’t think it’s going to. There’s really no point in having the village laundry deal with them.” Her brow wrinkled as she pushed her head through the tunic’s wide neck. “Does this village even have a laundry?”

“Laundry?” He tried not to stare at the pale swell of her breasts as she pulled the tunic down and turned to light one of the lamps with shaking hands. He was not ready for this kind of responsibility.

“Men.”

Was she allowed to laugh at him? There was too much about this mentoring that he didn’t know.

“I don’t suppose you even noticed,” she continued, slipping out of her pants. “Ah, that’s better. Shall you cook or shall I?”

“Me!” Cooking would be a welcome distraction. “You can tell me about your time with Jennet. So I know what you’ve covered . . . done.”

“Okay; how much of . . .”

“Everything!”

Everything took them through dinner and into bed. Separate beds. Alyise seemed fine with that, Jors noticed thankfully, since he wasn’t certain his resolve would stand up against a determined assault. Long after her breathing had evened out into the long rhythms of sleep, he lay staring up at the rough wood of the ceiling and wondered just how authoritarian he was supposed to be. All Heralds were equals, that was a given. Except when they weren’t, and that was tacitly understood. I’m just not ready for this yet.

:Sleep now, Heartbrother.: Gervais’s mental touch was gentle. :Many tasks seem less daunting in the morning.:

Jors woke just after sunrise to discover that Alyise had already gone out to feed and water the mules.

“I can never stay in bed after I wake up,” she explained with a sunny smile. “My mother used to say it’s because I was afraid I’d miss something, but I think it’s because I didn’t want to get bounced on by my younger sisters and I’ll tell you, that habit stood me in good stead when I was a Gray because you know how hard it is to get going some mornings and the first up has the first shot at the hot water and there were mostly girls in my year; six of us and one boy. What about yours?”

“My?” When did she breathe?

“Your year; how many boys and girls in your year?”

“Oh. Three boys, two girls.”

“How . . . nice.”