Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

invariably swept away his adult worries.

A faint call touched Lubonne’s mind. :Help me!:

Lubonne stiffened, turning. Only one creature could communicate with him in this way. “Carthea?” He had not seen her since the party, either. “Where are you?”

He received no direct reply, just a repeat of the indistinct, soft call. :Help me, Chosen. I need you.:

Lubonne focused on mental words, this time deliberately shouting. :WHERE . . . ARE . . . YOU?:

A flood of relief accompanied the next communication, apparently over finally reaching him. He wondered for how long she had been calling him. :The clearing where we first met. Hurry!:

Lubonne hesitated. He could run back home, get Rinny and a weapon, and gallop back nearly as quickly as he could run straight to the clearing. In the end, he chose the shorter distance, running as fast as his bowed legs would carry him. :I’m coming.: Though it took no breath to answer, Lubonne found himself too focused on movement to concentrate on Mindspeaking. :What’s wrong? What’s happening?:

Carthea gave him only, :Come see.: Then, it seemed as if a wall had closed between their minds.

:Carthea!: Lubonne called. :Carthea!:

He got no answer.

He dodged between trunks, vaulted deadfalls, trying to save a few paces and hoping he did not corner himself and have to backtrack for his efforts. Brush tore at his tunic, and prickles scored his legs. :Carthea, answer me.: A vine entangled his ankles, and he tumbled into a bush. Damn!

He got nothing in return but the vague wonder of why it mattered. He was not a future Herald; he was not Carthea’s heartmate. He could not be. Yet she had done nothing worse than try to convince him. She had the same good soul she sensed in him, and he would not leave her in danger, especially if he might, indirectly, have caused it. He tore his way through the bush, ignoring the scratches and jabs that tore clothing and flesh alike. :Answer me, Carthea!: He staggered free.

Now, Lubonne could hear faint voices, punctuated by a boisterous whinny, the type horses use to call to lost herd companions. He quickened his pace, bursting breathlessly into the clearing.

Carthea was there, her coat dark with sweat and striped with filth. She held her head low, a rope winched around her neck, and bloody foam bubbled around a hard steel bit. More ropes circled each fetlock, the feathery hair shaved off by movement against them. A crude wooden saddle lay strapped to her back; and a tight rope bridle bit deeply into her cheeks. Gaze fixed on the Companion and her plight, Lubonne barely noticed the five humans who shared the clearing. Iron stakes, deeply pounded, held the ropes enwrapping Carthea’s hind fetlocks. Men struggled with the two in front, holding her splay-legged and, essentially, helpless. A third forced her head down, preventing her from rearing.

Fire boiled through Lubonne’s veins at the image of this proud and intelligent creature trussed up like the main course at a banquet. He opened his mouth to shout, then saw the other two humans in the clearing. A man and a woman oversaw the process, holding one another’s hand. Lubonne recognized them at once, Haralt and Honoria; and no words emerged. His mouth just kept silently opening, wider and wider, until he thought his jaw might touch the ground.

Honoria ran to Lubonne. “Darling, you’ve ruined the surprise.”

Lubonne doubted it was possible for him to be any more surprised. “Let her go,” he managed, the words strangely soft-spoken but still firm and controlled. He had intended to scream them.

Honoria took his arm, snuggling against him. “We’re breaking her for you, my darling Hawk. For us.”

For once, Honoria’s touch failed to move him. “No. I don’t want this.” Lubonne looked at the three men straining at the ropes. “Let her go.” He wanted to attack, to chase them all away from Carthea. How could anyone condone this cruelty?

Honoria ran a hand along his cheek. “It’s not what it looks like, my darling. We’re not hurting her.”

Haralt finally spoke. “Master Lubonne, she’s worthless as she is, but an exceedingly valuable horse once we break her. Sometimes—”

Lubonne snapped. “I don’t want her broken; I want her whole.” He shook off Honoria. “She’s perfect as she is, and I order you to release her.”

“—sometimes the process looks harsh, but I assure you it’s necessary to—”

This time, Honoria cut him off. “Forget it, Haralt. It’s not going to happen.” She turned to Lubonne, and her whole demeanor seemed to change. Where she had once seemed demure and dewy-eyed, she became as callous as any huntsman. “It could have worked out perfectly for all of us.” She shook her head, frowning. “You would have had your bit of land and your gorgeous, fawning wife despite your . . .” She made a gesture to indicate his face.

Haralt turned positively green. “Honoria, what are you doing?”

She persisted, undaunted. “I would have had my handsome lover, and our children . . .” She poked Lubonne. “ . . . your children . . . could they have been more stunning?”

Lubonne gritted his teeth as it all became clear. Honoria had never loved him; she had wanted only his status and his money, which she intended to use to make a home for them. Then, while he was out, she would entertain Haralt, pass off his offspring as legitimately Lubonne’s, and live out her life in secretive happiness.

Honoria threw up her hands, as if Lubonne were the one who had just exposed a cruel scheme. “And we all would have lived happily, contented, if you hadn’t put an animal over your love for me.”

Torn between screaming and crying, between attacking and running, Lubonne stood his ground. He continued to speak gently, his tone flat to hide his building rage. “I could say the same for you, that you put your love for an animal . . .” Lubonne turned his gaze directly on Haralt, “ . . . over me. But, then, I would be granting this conniving servant the same status as Carthea, and he does not deserve it.”

Haralt drew himself up, clearly affronted. He did not speak, however, nor dare to approach.

“Let her go!” Lubonne roared, fists clenching and unclenching. He wished he had brought a weapon; even the wooden one he used for practice would suffice.

Honoria grinned wickedly, then started to laugh. “By what authority do you command this, Hawknose? You’ve admitted in front of an entire ballroom that you have no claim to this animal. You don’t own her. We have as much right to her as you. More so, because she is now in our possession.”

She was right, Lubonne knew, and his heart sank. He looked at Carthea, forcing himself to examine only her sweet, long-lashed eyes. If he took in the entire picture again, he could not have retained his composure. :With my help, can you break free?:

:I . . . don’t think so.: Carthea dropped her head further . :I’ve tried. They’re strong, and I’m exhausted.:

It’s up to me. Lubonne studied Honoria, wondering what had seemed so special about her in the past. Where once she had seemed flawless, he now discovered a million faults. Her external beauty seemed worthless, her gray eyes as welcoming as a rusty steel trap. “What do you want her for anyway?”

Honoria glanced at Haralt, who seemed suddenly engrossed in his own boots. “As Haralt said, she’s a valuable animal.” She headed back toward the servant.

“Once she’s broken,” Lubonne reminded, watching Honoria leave. He had never before noticed how she waddled when she walked. Which will never happen. “How’s that going so far?”

Carthea snorted, pale eyes like brimstone.

“We’ll break her,” Honoria promised. “No matter how long it takes.”

“Or,” Lubonne suggested, suddenly thoughtful. “You could sell her.”

Honoria shrugged. “We’ll have to now. We’ll need that money to fix up the land, build a house.”

Lubonne had heard those plans before, many times. But, always in the past, “we” had included him. Now, he felt certain, Honoria referred to Haralt.

:You knew all the time, didn’t you?: Lubonne accused his Companion.

:Knew what?:

:Knew what kind of person I had affianced myself to. Knew she didn’t really love me, that she