Seasons, page 1
Raves for the Previous Valdemar Anthologies:
“Fans of Lackey’s epic Valdemar series will devour this superb anthology. Of the thirteen stories included, there is no weak link— an attribute exceedingly rare in collections of this sort. Highly recommended.”
—The Barnes and Noble Review
“This high-quality anthology mixes pieces by experienced authors and enthusiastic fans of editor Lackey’s Valdemar. Valdemar fandom, especially, will revel in this sterling example of what such a mixture of fans’ and pros’ work can be. Engrossing even for newcomers to Valdemar.”
—Booklist
“Josepha Sherman, Tanya Huff, Mickey Zucker Reichert, and Michelle West have quite good stories, and there’s another by Lackey herself. Familiarity with the series helps but is not a prerequisite to enjoying this book.”
—Science Fiction Chronicle
“Each tale adheres to the Lackey laws of the realm yet provides each author’s personal stamp on the story. Well written and fun, Valdemarites will especially appreciate the magic of this book.”
—Midwest Book Review
“The sixth collection set in Lackey’s world of Valdemar presents stories of Heralds and their telepathic horselike Companions and of Bards and Healers, and provides glimpses of the many other aspects of a setting that has a large and avid readership. The fifteen original tales in this volume will appeal to series fans.”
—Library Journal
TITLES BY MERCEDES LACKEY available from DAW Books:
THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR:
THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR
ARROWS OF THE QUEEN
ARROW’S FLIGHT
ARROW’S FALL
THE LAST HERALD-MAGE
MAGIC’S PAWN
MAGIC’S PROMISE
MAGIC’S PRICE
THE MAGE WINDS
WINDS OF FATE
WINDS OF CHANGE
WINDS OF FURY
THE MAGE STORMS
STORM WARNING
STORM RISING
STORM BREAKING
VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD
THE COLLEGIUM CHRONICLES
FOUNDATION
INTRIGUES
CHANGES
REDOUBT
BASTION
THE HERALD SPY
CLOSER TO HOME
CLOSER TO THE HEART
CLOSER TO THE CHEST
FAMILY SPIES
THE HILLS HAVE SPIES
EYE SPY
SPY, SPY AGAIN*
BY THE SWORD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILE’S HONOR
EXILE’S VALOR
VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
CROSSROADS
MOVING TARGETS
CHANGING THE WORLD
FINDING THE WAY
UNDER THE VALE
NO TRUE WAY
CRUCIBLE
TEMPEST
PATHWAYS
CHOICES
SEASONS
Written with LARRY DIXON:
THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON
DARIAN’S TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT
OTHER NOVELS:
GWENHWYFAR
THE BLACK SWAN
THE DRAGON JOUSTERS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY
AERIE
THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENT’S SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE WIZARD OF LONDON
RESERVED FOR THE CAT
UNNATURAL ISSUE
HOME FROM THE SEA
STEADFAST
BLOOD RED
FROM A HIGH TOWER
A STUDY IN SABLE
A SCANDAL IN BATTERSEA
THE BARTERED BRIDES
THE CASE OF THE SPELLBOUND CHILD
Anthologies:
ELEMENTAL MAGIC
ELEMENTARY
*Coming soon from DAW Books
And don’t miss THE VALDEMAR COMPANION edited by John Helfers and Denise Little
Copyright © 2019 by Mercedes Lackey and Stonehenge Art & Word.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Jody Lee.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1840.
Published by DAW Books, Inc.
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Ebook ISBN: 9780756414719
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
Version_2
Contents
Praise for Previous Valdemar Anthologies
Also by Mercedes Lackey
Title Page
Copyright
One Town at a Time
Jennifer Brozek
A Midwinter’s Gift
Kristin Schwengel
Unknowable Consequences
Elizabeth A. Vaughan
The Price of Friendship
Dayle A. Dermatis
The Gift of Love
Anthea Sharp
No Place for a Proper Kyree
Ron Collins
An Omniscience of Godwits
Elisabeth Waters
Going Home
Louisa Swann
Holiday Reunions
Dylan Birtolo
Cloudwalker
Michele Lang
Preparing for the Worst
Brigid Collins
The Rose Fair
Fiona Patton
The Maralud Comes A-Knocking
Stephanie Shaver
Seeing the Truth
Angela Penrose
A Darkling Light
Phaedra Weldon
A Midnight Clear
Mercedes Lackey
About the Authors
About the Editor
One Town at a Time
Jennifer Brozek
All trade in the marketplace had ceased. All eyes were turned to the Herald and the two merchant farmers he questioned.
Glad she wasn’t in the spotlight, Astrid paid attention as well. It was the only thing she could do as an outlander rope and string merchant. Entertainment, even of the tense variety, was scarce in the Holderkin lands. No one wanted to miss the excitement.
“One and all will see who is telling the truth and who is not,” Herald Kalen said, his voice loud enough to carry throughout the marketplace.
The two merchant farmers, one local, one not, stood before the Herald, flanked by a couple of burly Holderkin men. They were rougher toward the outlander than their own man, but they held both fast nonetheless as the Herald began the Truth Spell.
Bowing his head, the Herald chanted half under his breath. He repeated the words—the cadence told careful listeners that he repeated it nine times. As he ended the chant and raised his head, a light blue glow settled about the heads and shoulders of both men. As one, the men acting as guards took an involuntary step backward as soon as the blue glow appeared. Several spectators made warding signs against evil.
“Now,” Herald Kalen said, pointing to the outlander, “Is it true that the lamb is yours?”
“Yes, Herald.” The merchant farmer nodded vigorously. “I saw my farm’s mark on its wool—faint but there. Then he shaved the wool, erasing it. He m-m-m . . .” The farmer stopped trying to force the lie and sighed. “The lamb had been left behind because of a lame foot. It wasn’t where I left it when I went back. I thought a wolf had gotten it. I had given up on it.”
Turning to the Holderkin wool farmer, Herald Kalen asked, “Is it true that the lamb is yours?”
“Yes.” The man struggled, words wanted to leap from his mouth, but he pressed his lips together.
“Why do you claim the lamb as yours?”
After another struggle, the Holderkin farmer was forced to speak, “The lamb was abandoned. It is mine by right. I found it. I nursed it to health over the last week. One of my ewes adopted it. It’s my lamb.”
“No. I tethered it. He stole it,” the first farmer insisted.
The Holderkin farmer turned red.
Herald Kalen asked, “Did you untether the lamb from its spot?”
/> “Yes.” The word came out resigned and angry.
Herald Kalen tilted his head as if listening for something. Then he nodded. “This is my judgment: The lamb will be returned to the rightful owner. You may keep the lamb’s wool you shaved as recompense for tending to the injured creature.”
He raised his voice to address the crowd. “As you are of the Holderkin lands, if there are other punishments deemed necessary for thieves in Crag’s Bluff, that is up to the leaders of the town.” He paused, “The lamb is to be returned at once.”
A mutter ran through the market as both merchant farmers turned away from the Herald. Unease and unhappiness floated on the wind. The Herald seemed to pay it no mind as he returned to his Companion. The large white animal whickered gently.
“Who’s to say that’s really the truth? How can we trust such magic?”
Though the words were whispered, Astrid heard them clearly. She shifted closer. Such provocative words were worth eavesdropping on.
“What do you mean?” Darbin asked.
His voice was pitched lower than the man he was speaking to, but now that Astrid was paying attention, she could follow the conversation. Darbin was a local baker. She’d found him pleasant but dull—which was more than could be said of most Holderkin. They tended to be suspicious and rude to outsiders.
“I mean, it’s magic. How do we know that Herald didn’t force your kinsman to say he stole the lamb?”
This time, Astrid saw the speaker. Wendel, a traveling merchant like her. Whereas she sold good rope and string, he sold berries. Probably from Hardorn. Must’ve crossed Cebu Pass to get to town, she thought.
Crag’s Bluff was the most open town she had encountered in the Holderkin lands. Located on Old Quarry Road near the Border of both Karse and Hardorn, the town saw many more travelers than most Holderkin enclaves. For a single female merchant, Crag’s Bluff was downright progressive, with nary a side-eye directed at her. It made for a pleasant change in the mostly insular, patriarchal Holderkin lands. Of course, if she’d had a male worker, things might’ve been different.
Darbin frowned and watched the Herald talk to the boldest of the children in the marketplace. His job done, he made himself available, but most of the adults returned to work or headed off toward the call of distant drums beating out what sounded like a slow dirge.
A small, satisfied smile flickered across Wendel’s face as Darbin walked away, distrust furrowed in the man’s brow. She walked to the merchant’s side and asked, “What did you mean about the Herald?”
The older man whirled, his eyes wide. They narrowed even as his tension faded and an easy smile appeared as he saw the short, round young woman next to him. “What do you think I meant?”
Shrugging with a side-eye at the loitering Herald and his Companion—a beautiful white horse with blue and white tackle—“I think you meant you can’t trust them. But I’ve been taught that you can.”
“Taught by whom?”
“Everyone . . . ?”
He hmphed. “That is dangerous thinking . . . to believe something is true just because ‘everyone’ believes it’s true. I need proof.”
“I’ve seen Heralds save people in danger. They’re the personal guard of the Queen—”
“Exactly. In Hardorn, we know our King is true. His will is the land’s, and protecting the land is his will. If either fails, the other one will, too. We can see the King’s will. Can you say the same of those white-clad enforcers? Ones who do magic that can force a man to speak with no one to speak otherwise?”
Astrid didn’t know what to say to that. It went against everything she’d ever been taught.
“Ah, never mind me.” Wendel shook his head. “Maybe it takes an outsider’s eyes to see what is wrong. A fish doesn’t know it breathes water until it’s yanked into the air by the hook.”
“Maybe.” Anything else she could’ve said was lost to the approaching drums.
Fair time in the Holderkin lands was unlike any other place Astrid had ever visited. While they acknowledged and celebrated the Harvest Festival, they did so in a restrained and sober manner. The harvest market was as busy as one should be, but it was interrupted twice a day by a solemn procession that wound through the town and the market, gathering all the good Holderkin to walk to the temple to pray. Twice, because it allowed commerce to continue while one partner attended to their souls and the other tended to their stalls; then they switched when the second time for prayer arrived. Holderkin were nothing if not pragmatic.
Astrid watched the procession with respect and veiled curiosity. Were she vending in another city, the procession would be more of a parade, with smiling crowds and cheering revelers. This procession held many more dark looks and few smiles for those who remained behind. The baker, Darbin, joined the procession after one last considering look at the Herald who stood with polite respect next to his Companion as the people passed by, nearly emptying the marketplace as they left.
It took more than five minutes for a new set of customers to appear. Shaking her head, Astrid returned to her cart and began the work of persuading the farmers and townsfolk of the value of her wares.
* * *
• • •
The tavern wasn’t overly busy, but most of the customers were traveling merchants who crossed from country to country to sell their harvest goods in nearby lands. Despite the borders between them, people from Valdemar, Karse, and Hardorn often broke bread together. Borderlands had a way of either softening the differences between the countries or intensifying them. This Fair season showed a more gentle side of the different countries.
Astrid considered Wendel, who was sitting by himself with his back to the wall. It could be said that the man didn’t trust anyone at his back. Or, taking a kinder route, was inviting travelers to join him.
She took her drink over to his table and gesture to the chair. “May I?”
He gave her a long, considered look before nodding. “Company is good in a strange town, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She sat and thought how to start the conversation.
Wendel gave her a shyster’s smile. “I know what you’re wondering. Aye, you want to know if my thought about the white-clad bastards is true . . . or if it’s a trap for the unwary.”
Astrid tilted her head and gestured for him to go on. She didn’t accept or deny his assertion, but she let a smile grace her face. He could interpret it anyway he wanted.
“Well, it’s true. I speak the words of my heart. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust a land that requires that all children must be taught about the Companions and that if one Chooses them, it is an honor. How do we know those white horses aren’t demons? Did you know, dirt won’t cling to them? Dye won’t stain them? They’ve been cursed to show their true nature at all times. Why would that be?”
She had her thoughts, but she didn’t express them. “I don’t know.”
“I suspect its some god’s curse . . . or a way of protecting people who have the eyes to see.”
“See what?”
“That the people of Valdemar are not well served by their monarchs.”
Astrid sat back and frowned.
“I see you thinking now.” Wendel leaned forward. “When has the crown ever served you?”
She shook her head. “The Waystations?”
“Paid for by you. Your taxes. The military, paid for by you. The Heralds . . . beholden only to the crown . . . paid for by you.”
“I . . .” Astrid stopped and shook her head again.
“It’s hard to go against what you’ve been told to believe, I know. But have you ever seen it in action?”
“No,” she admitted.
“This is why Hardorn is better. The King lives for the land. If the land suffers, so does he.”
“Magic?”
“A blessing. A geas. One our monarch takes on willingly in order to serve the people.” Wendel sat back. “Imagine if this land . . . relegated to the Holderkin because none other would have it . . . imagine if it were part of Hardorn. Mud would become fertile soil. Streams would run clear and strong. It wouldn’t be this harsh, unforgiving place, but a paradise.”
Astrid blinked slowly at him. “Is that true? Could Hardorn’s King do that?”
