Mercedes Lackey - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

"Too bad."

She laughed. "I'm sure Evan thinks so, too."

"But do you think he's lost his Herald? Do you think he needs help? Do you think-"

"I think," she said, "that he'll have died of old age before I can see him if I answer all your questions first."

"Just one more?"

"One more."

"Do you think he'll let me ride?"

"No, little, I think you'll fall off his back, and Companions aren't in the business of visiting villages just to injure the dearest of their people." She kissed the girl's forehead, just as she would have once kissed the forehead of her youngest.

Tess wrapped her arms around Kayla's neck. "But what do you think he wants?"

"I think," she said quietly, "that we'll find out soon. Now hush."

* * *

Widow Davis was there, in the clearing by river's side. The river itself, cold and loud, was a thin one, but it was clear and the water, fresh. She looked up when Kayla approached, her eyes narrowed and wrinkled by exposure to wind, to cold, and yes, to the scant sun. "Well, then," she said, "You've heard."

"I've...heard."

"Your mother told me," the widow said, turning back to her bucket.

"Told you?"

"To be careful of the Companions."

"They're not evil, Widow Davis."

"No, I'm certain of it. All of our stories say so, and they've come to the aid of the village at least three times in my living memory." She was silent a moment. "But this will be the first time they take more than they offer."

"Widow Davis-"

The old woman's look stopped her flat. "Come on, then. You're here, and we might as well have it out." She offered Kayla an arm; Kayla shifted Tess to one side and took it.

Together they crossed the uneven ground that led from stream to the shadows cast by the tall, white Companion, caparisoned in livery of blue and sliver, belled so his movements might evoke a sense of music, a sense of play. But his eyes were dark, and large as the palms of a child's hand, and he did not blink when he turned his massive head toward the two women Children dogged their steps, crossed their shadows, whispered eagerly and quickly amongst themselves. Not even the dour expression of the Widow Davis could silence them completely.

The widow's hand tightened; Kayla's arm began to tingle. She did not, however, ask the old woman to let go.

"He's here for you, girl," the woman said, pulling her arm free Kayla looked up at the Companion, and then she reached out with her free hand. Her fingers stopped inches from his nose, and she let that hand fall. She said, quietly, "Do I have to go with you?"

He looked into her eyes and said, in a voice that made all song seem flat and thin,

:The choice is yours.

:I have waited long for this day. I have waited, bright heart, and promised myself that I would let you lead the life the mountain would give you.

:But I have heard your cries from across the continent; I have been with you when you buried your dead, when you cradled the living that you knew you could not hold on to.: She looked up at his eyes; his gaze never wavered. "You know that this choice is no choice."

He was silent a moment; she thought he would offer no answer. And then, quietly, he said, :Better than you would understand.:

"Because the choice has always been yours to make."

:Because the Companions Choose, yes.:

"And the Heralds?"

:They are Chosen. But they feel the bond, and they desire it, and they accept it for all that it is; all that it can be.:

"And my oath?" she asked him, voice steady, arm now drawing on an young child for support.

:There are oaths that are made that cannot be kept in the manner that their maker envisioned. If a child promises to love you, and only you, for all of forever, could you hold him to that vow? Would you desire it?:

"I was no child when I made that vow."

:Dear heart,: he said gently, :you are barely an adult now, and you made that vow when your older brother moved away, long before you had husband or children.: He stepped forward, and she shied away.

Because she wanted what he offered.

Because she had never wanted anything so badly. :I choose you, Kayla.: She heard the song of his name, although she had never asked it of him, and he had never offered it-as if they both understood, in the dreams of her youth, that his name was a binding they had avoided by careful dance until this moment.

"Darius."

Widow David coughed. The old woman's face was set in its harshest lines. In the distance, children that had been silent until that moment surged forward as Kayla did; they came in a press of small bodies, eager and excited.

But she knew that they would understand it truly later.

For now, all they said was, "You're to be Chosen, Kayla? You're going to be a Herald?

Will you wear white? Will you have a sword? Will you have a bow?"

She answered all questions gravely, until one lone boy spoke. Evan.

"Will you come back?"

"Yes," she said, fiercely. "Often. I will come back with a saddlebag full of Northern toys and treats and books, and I will come at the edge of winter, just before they close the passes, like some foolish, green merchant."

Darius had saddlebags. She knew, without looking, that they were full; full enough for a long journey.

"Widow Davis," she said softly. "Can you do without me?"

The old woman had some mercy. "Aye," she said gruffly. "We did before your mother came. We managed." She started to say something else, and then stopped. "They must need you, Kayla, They must need you even more than we do."

Kayla said nothing.

Because she knew a lie when she heard it. What could they need from her that a hundred other girls. couldn't give them? They had Heralds, full-trained; they had soldiers, they had lords, ladies, Kings. They had so much.

And Riverend had so little.

"I'll be back," she whispered.

Widow Davis met her eyes, without blinking, and then to Kayla's astonishment, the old woman stepped forward and wrapped arms around her shoulders. "Come back, child," she said, although it had been years since she had called Kayla a child. "Come back whole."

Kayla flinched. She felt her eyes sting. "Widow Davis-"

"You've not come back to us with the spring. We missed your song in the winter. It may be that you need what it is he offers; it may be he'll help you to sing for us again."

Kayla buried her face in the old woman's shoulders.

* * *

Before lunch that day, she was on the road. Her neck was cramped; she'd done nothing but gaze backward, over her shoulder, until not even the hills that were home to Riverend could be seen in the distance. All of her life lay in that village, or beneath it; all of the things she valued.

Promise me, Kayla, that you'll stay. Promise me that you'll take care of Riverend when I'm gone.

I promise, Mother. But you won't be gone for a long time, will you?

Not if I have anything to say about it. Of course, she hadn't.

* * *

Riding was nothing like it had been in her dreams. It was hard work. And painful.

She could feel Darius' rueful smile. She could not see his face, of course.

"They need me, you know," she told him, the accusation soft.

:I am sorry, dear heart, but so do we.:

"Why?"

:That I cannot tell you yet. But you will understand, I fear, as we approach the city.:

"What city?"

:The King's city,: he told her quietly. :The capital. Or what's left of it.:

"What do you mean, Darius?"

Darius didn't answer.

"Are we at war?"

:We are always at war, Kayla. But the battlefields shift and change with time.: