out. Notes—bittersweet and haunting—rose from the belly of the instrument, hanging in the air.
Lelia sang.
And it just kept going from there. She knew, as it bubbled out of her, that it wasn’t a six-verse piece of genius. The lyrics weren’t terribly clever. The melody had none of the flash of “My Lady’s Eyes.” But it came straight from her heart, the truest expression of what she felt. It was exactly the song she could write at that moment, it was complete, it was hers, and it was enough.
The Grove had fallen into silence by the time she finished.
“Not really about her,” she said at last. “More
“It’ll do,” Wil said.
She rubbed her lute’s neck. “You think so?”
“I do.”
She nodded. “Me, too.”
The morning of her performance, Lelia got up at dawn and wandered down to watch as Lyle put the final touches on saddling Rivan.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“West,” he replied. “Not quite Evendim, but close. Forst Reach. Don’t know if you’ve heard of it—”
“Ashkevron holdings.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ve always wanted to see the famous manor.”
He smiled. “Ah yes. I forget that I speak with the Kingdom’s greatest authority on dead Heraldic heroes.”
“Only the pretty ones.” She eyed her twin critically. “You’ll say hello to Mother and Father?”
“Oh, hellfires. Are
He grinned. “If I can.”
“You’ll stay away from trouble?”
“Of course.”
“And at the first sign of danger, you’ll ride straight back to Haven and let the Army handle it?”
He nodded solemnly. “I promise.”
She smiled and stood up on tiptoe, throwing her arms around him. “Be safe,” she whispered in his ear.
“If we meet not in this Haven,” he whispered back, “we shall meet in another.”
She let him go, and then turned toward Rivan.
The stallion tossed his head in a Companion’s nod.
Wil strode in, decked out in riding leathers.
“Are you two ladies going to stand around clinging to each other all day, or are we going to leave?” he asked, glowering.
“I believe my instructor is not what one might call a ‘morning person’,” Lyle said in a mock whisper to Lelia.
“Surely,” she “whispered” back, “he could take lessons in charm from Alberich.”
“Bright Lady.” Wil rolled his eyes. “I’ll have to ask the Dean what I did to deserve this.” He nailed Lelia with a look. “I need to have a word with your sister, Lyle. Alone.”
“Yes, m’lord Herald,” Lyle said, bowing his head and beckoning to Rivan. The two walked out, leaving Wil and Lelia in the Stable.
“Yes?” she asked.
He took a step forward, extending a fist. His fingers uncurled, revealing a silver necklace with the shield of Valdemar hanging off it.
“For you,” he said. “For luck.”
She blinked, reaching out and taking it gingerly.
His fingers closed over hers.
She looked up at him, startled.
“We’ll come home,” he promised her, then bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
“You’ll come home,” she agreed, her heart thumping in her chest.
He turned and started to walk away.
“You’ll come home!” she yelled, running at him and jumping on his back. He grunted as she threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him fiercely.
Lelia slid down and stepped away, grinning like a fool. Wil looked back once, a faint smile on his face.
The hooves of the Companions chimed as the two Heralds rode out, heading for Haven proper and the rest of the Kingdom they served.
Malesa leaned over and whispered, “Nervous?”
“Nope.” Lelia grinned, tapping her necklace.
“Did you finish your song?”
“Yes.”
“And who gave you that lovely necklace?”
Lelia’s grin widened.
“I see.” Malesa raised a brow. “What makes you smile so, dear?”
“Because the Council’s going to vote soon,” she said. “And when I’m a journeyman Bard, I know exactly where
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.” Lelia smiled. “I’ve always wanted to visit the birthplace of the Last Herald-Mage.”
SONG FOR TWO VOICES
Janni Lee Simner has published nearly three dozen short stories, including appearances in
, on the labels of Story House’s coffee cans, and in the first Valdemar anthology,
. Her next novel,
will be published in 2006. Visit her web site at
www.simner.com
.
This is not some Herald’s ballad. We Holderkin are practical folk, and we know what matters: sun and land, wheat and hay, breaking horses to saddle, protecting those in our care. These are the things you should ask about, if you wish to know our ways.
The story you ask for instead ought to be none of your concern. Yet Holderkin pay their debts, and you say this is the only payment you’ll accept.
Know this, then. I was content, even before Nara came. I care for my Steading, which was my father’s before raiders sent him to the God, ten years past. I care for my first three wives, and my two brothers, and my oldest son, who works beside me in the fields. I care for my littles, even those too small to work.
I’ve seen you Heralds scowl. You think Holderkin men care only for themselves. Yet I know well enough the gifts the God has granted me, and I give thanks for them.
Just as I give thanks for the winter day last year, when I visited my cousin Jeth to trade a sure-footed plow horse for some wool. As I followed Jeth into his hall, I heard a high, sweet song, above the crackle of the fire and the whir of the spinning wheel.
Birdsong, I thought—but the voice was human, a girl’s voice. I looked across the room and saw her, bent over the spinning wheel, dark hair hiding her face. She sang of a time when the Goddess freely wandered the fields, feet bare and hair unbound, before she met the God. A woman’s hymn; men do not sing it. Yet hearing her, something inside me woke, and grew restless, and yearned to answer the song. My fields and hall seemed suddenly small, simply because her voice wasn’t in them.
You say such things are known, in your ballads and your lives. But they are not known here.
