Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

hammer, and Rury stood with impatient resentment.

The roar of battle eased for a moment, and he heard cries of commanders, getting louder as they relayed orders. Glancing to his left, Rury glimpsed the King’s banner plunging across the stream and deep into the Tedrel host. And then Sergeant Krandal was shouting at his back.

“Advance the line! The king is leading! Advance the line! Move up to support the king! Move it! Move it now! CHARGE!”

Like a hunting dog released from its leash, Rury scrambled up and over the slick line of Tedrel bodies, trailed closely by the rest. There was a shock of wet and cold on feet and shins as they splashed into the shallow stream, now running a muddy crimson. Past the opposite bank stood a locked line of Tedrel shields. This time it was the soldiers of Valdemar who crashed into a line of steel. Rury gave it no thought. He only wanted to regain that wonderful feeling that came with killing.

His hammer crashed down on a Tedrel’s wooden shield, splintering the arm that supported it. Another blow smashed a helm. The rest of the militia were with him now, exploiting gaps made by Rury’s relentless blows. The Tedrel line gave ground before the young demon with the hammer and those terrible, thirsting spears.

“No!” thought Rury. “Stay! Stay and let me love you!” He smashed the shield of a lone Tedrel left in an opening cleared of live enemies. The shield sagged down, but before Rury could strike the killing blow a spear head thrust past him and took the Tedrel cleanly. As the man fell, Rury felt the rage of a child whose toy was taken.

Take my kill, will you? Thwart my love? Rury turned to see Aed pulling back his spear.

Then let you be my love! Rury smiled as he raised his hammer.

Far up the line the King’s banner trembled and fell. Rury drew back his hammer, ready to send it smashing down on Aed’s helmet.

Instead, lightning struck Rury.

A bolt of searing emotion ran through his mind and body, rushing through his veins, so intense he felt his fingers and toes must be sparking and flaring. It was a wave of feeling that screamed of pain, despair, death and the loss of loved ones.

OUR BELOVED! OUR CHOSEN! THEY HAVE KILLED THE COMPANIONS! THEY HAVE SLAIN THE KING!

It was too much! Too much power. Too much pain and raw emotion. Rury’s mind reflexively redirected the bolt, casting it back out across the battlefield. His legs buckled and he sank to his knees, felt the hammer pulled from his grasp. He heard savage screaming as he fell, something about the King’s death. He glimpsed Aed swinging the war hammer wildly, and Sergeant Krandal roaring wordlessly, running into the enemy ranks with his spear gripped high.

And then the dark closed in.

Erek limped as he picked his way across the wreckage of the battlefield, closely followed by Deanara. His uniform and the Companion’s trappings were torn and dirty, here and there stained with blood. Communications and Intelligence people weren’t supposed to be front line troops, but after the Valdemaran reserves had been ordered out to intercept the Tedrel cavalry ravaging the countryside, every Valdemaran who could hold a weapon became a combat soldier. Even with his mental shields up, he’d felt the call of grief and rage that marked the King’s death. He and Dee had thrown themselves into the battle as ferociously as any. Erek wasn’t certain who had channeled that wave of emotion, but he had an idea, and he had to find out.

Around them was what the worst of the nine hells must look like on a sunny day. Nothing in the universe is so horribly, totally messy as the aftermath of a battle. The metallic smell of blood and pungent aroma of feces from the dying and dead hung in the still air. The injured moaned and screamed. Figures on the ground writhed or lay much too still. Others like Erek and Deanara picked their way across ground littered by broken weapons, discarded armor, and awkwardly sprawled bodies. It was difficult getting through some sections without walking on limbs, torsos or faces. The former front lines were marked by raggedly piled rows of dead, like windrows of cut hay ready for harvesting.

He found them twenty paces or so beyond one of the largest piles, to the right of what had been the Valdemaran center. Sergeant Krandal sat sprawled in a small cleared area, bareheaded and with part of his armor stripped off. Rury lay with his head cradled in the sergeant’s arms, sobbing like a child. Both were bloodstained and filthy. Sergeant Krandal looked up at the Herald’s approach.

“How did you fare, Sergeant?” said Erek.

Sergeant Krandal gave a pained, crooked smile. “Better than we might have hoped. We gave far better than we took, but we did take losses. Six dead that I know of. Aed took an ax to the shoulder. Lots of walking wounded. Dortha’s got the rest out with the company, mopping up.” He winced and shifted his seat, and Erek saw the sergeant’s outstretched leg seeping blood through a crude bandage ripped from a surcoat. “I took a scratch on the thigh, enough to make me stay put.” Krandal looked down at Rury, who was quiet now, like a child who had cried itself almost to sleep.

“The boy seemed to master that empathy thing about the time they closed with us. He fought like a Karsite demon after that. That was mostly why we weren’t overrun. Then right after the King died, when we all somehow knew he’d been killed, I was filled with grief and rage like I’d never known. That’s when I saw the boy go down. He wasn’t struck down, just dropped like he was dead. There wasn’t time to check on him then. We were all too busy trying to rip out the Tedrels’ throats with our teeth. At least that’s what it felt like. It was as if the boy’s demons burned him out and jumped to all of us.”

Erek knelt and laid a hand on Rury’s forehead as if checking for a fever. Deanara snorted gently and drew nearer, and Erek reached back and laid his free hand on her velvety nose. He drew breath sharply after a moment, removed his hands from Rury and Dee, and stood up.

“Find something?” said the Sergeant, frowning. Erek sighed.

“Dee thinks he was something like a conduit for what you and I and everyone else felt. I agree. When the King was killed, when he and his bodyguard and their Companions and the other mounts were being cut down, the Companions knew it. Those directly involved felt their Chosen pierced and dying, felt the pain and panic and death of their fellows. They put out a combined mind-scream that must have hit Rury like a thunderbolt. My guess is he threw it back out over the army, probably translated somehow so that even the least sensitive Valdemaran could understand it.” Erek stood stiffly.

“We can’t find any trace now of his Empathic talents. I think you’re righter than you know when you say his demons burned him out. What he did was an instinctive reaction, but that’s how we all felt the King’s death at the same instant. Whether or not he meant to do it, it helped turn the tide of the battle.”

Krandal stroked Rury’s head like a concerned mother. The boy’s breathing evened out.

“Will he recover?”

“We need to get him to the Healers. You, too, for that matter. He’ll certainly be affected, but no youngster goes through a war unchanged. With help and time, I think he’ll be well enough.” Erek paused and frowned. “We’d best keep this to ourselves, at least for now. The Companions will know, and some of the Heralds, but they won’t gossip about it. I’ll pass it on to those in the Guard with a need to know.” Erek stopped abruptly as Rury opened his eyes and raised himself up on an elbow.

“How do you feel, Rury?” said Erek.

“My . . . head hurts.” Rury replied. “But not like before.”

Sergeant Krandal let out a long breath.

“At least you’re alive, lad.”

“I heard what you said,” said Rury to Erek. “I didn’t mean to send those feelings back out to everyone. It was like catching a red-hot iron. You just want to throw it back.”

“I’m sorry you had to bear that, Rury,” said Erek.

“I’m glad it happened, I guess.” replied Rury. “I don’t think I liked what I was feeling before that. Or maybe I liked it too much. When it hit me, it was like a basin of iced water in my face when I was having a nightmare.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “And you’re right, I can’t sense other people’s feelings now.” Another thoughtful pause. “Is it true the King is dead?”

“It’s true,” said Erek soberly. He raised an arm and pointed to where a small group of riders picked their way down to where King Sendar lay fallen. At their head rode Princess, no, now Queen Selenay. “King Sendar’s dead, but