Page 44 of Valdemar

Restil reeled a little and balanced himself with a palm on Darshay’s shoulder. The transition from what the Companion called “the Moonpaths” to the real world was a bit like being suddenly very drunk, and then suddenly far too sober. But that wasn’t what had him so disoriented that the world whirled around him. It was the sense that his head was stuffed full of a lifetime’s worth of information, and right now it was all swirling around in there in no sort of order—like learning a hundred subjects by alternating one sentence at a time. But beneath it all was something else: powerful, deep emotions, and a sense of connection to Darshay that transcended anything he had ever read about or imagined. He clung to that as incoherent, random bits of thought and information tumbled him like a leaf on the wind.

:Steady, Chosen. Give it a moment.:Darshay’s Mindvoice in his head—it gave him such a rush of joy that for a moment he could scarcely bear it. Until Darshay had Chosen him, he had never really realized how lonely he had been. Yes, he had friends, almost all of whom had been his friends since childhood when they were all pages . . . but he was always the leader, always the one everyone else depended on for answers, and it had been like that from roughly the time they first settled here. As if first being a Valdemar, and then being himself, had made them decide he was their leader, his friends deferred to him. Rather like the way the rest of the Kingdom had decided his father should be King. And it seemed like betraying their faith to face them with anything other than confidence. That went doubly when he was acting as Crown Prince. Yes, this was exactly the same situation his father was in, with even more pressure, but his father had his mother. Restil hadn’t had anyone.

Until now. Until now, when he had looked into those blue eyes and knew that he would never, ever be alone again.

That steadied him, even though his head was swimming.

Steadied him enough to notice that although it had been past midnight when he found himself drawn to the grove his father had brought him to earlier today, it was now dawn, and the dawn was glorious.

Delicate, transparent spears of pale gold streaked the pale blue sky, touching the bottoms of the few clouds with gilt. Still in shadow, across the river the Palace stood, blue-gray against the luminous blue of the sky. Not cold and oppressive, but a bulwark against danger, as it was meant to be. The gardens and lawns stretched out between here and the Palace, painted in the same blue shadows as the building, and interrupted only by the silver and splash of the river.

There wasn’t so much as a hint of breeze, and flower-and-herb scent hung heavily in the air. Dew had formed on the tips of the grass stems, and the pearly droplets gleamed in the growing light. The horses didn’t seem the least disturbed by this activity in the corner of their field. Most still drowsed, and instead of the steady munching sounds that Restil was used to out here, the air trembled with birdsong. It almost seemed as if he, his father, and Beltran were the only people awake in the entire world.

He felt alive in a way he had never been before; every leaf and grass-stem glowed faintly with the energies of magic and life. All his senses were preternaturally sharp, and his body felt as full of sensation as his mind was full of thoughts and information. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to leap on Darshay’s bare back and ride like the wind to the end of the world and back again. And instead, he just stood there, paralyzed with joy and delight.

Movement caught his eye, the movement of people coming this way on the other side of the river, and with a start, he realized that people had emerged from the Palace and the wall, dressed as if they had just thrown on whatever was to hand, and they were moving toward the bridge to this field as if they were enchanted.

He jumped, startled, as a white form brushed gently past him, coming from the Grove behind him. Then another. And another.

Exquisite white horses, silver-hooved and sapphire-eyed, drifted across the flower-studded grass to meet the enraptured humans moving across the bridge toward them.

Wait—not all of them. Some of the Companions emerging from the Grove drifted off away, deeper into the meadow, to join the horses grazing there.

:They will Choose later. When their Heralds are ready to be Chosen.:

“So . . . we’re to be called Heralds, now?” he managed.

:You first three are Kordas King Valdemar, Crown Prince Restil, and Herald Beltran. Only one person can be King. Only one can be Crown Prince. But anyone can be a Herald—and to be sure, at the moment there are no other Royal Heralds in the Kingdom except Beltran, so it will be easy to redefine the word.:Darshay tossed her head and looked exceedingly pleased with her own logic. :Once we arrived and Ardatha Chose him, your father helped to define what a Herald would be, though he doesn’t likely remember it now. He felt . . . very alone, like you, and was overwhelmed. When they emerged from their communion, we all understood what being a Herald would entail.:

He ventured to drape an arm over her shoulder. It felt right, and he sensed her pleasure in the contact. Slowly, his exultant joy subsided to something a lot easier to maintain. For a moment, he felt regret, but not for long. Being at the absolute peak of pleasure was . . . exhausting.

Together they watched the first meeting of Companion and—well, Herald—play out over and over in front of them. He was delighted to see that his mother was one of the first—and unsurprised a moment later to see Delia staring rapturously into the eyes of a particularly athletic-looking young stallion.

“Not my brothers Jon and Hakkon?” he ventured.

:For our purposes, now, we need responsible adults, who will be able to defend themselves at any time. Hakkon and Jonwill be Chosen, unless by their own actions they render themselves unsuitable, but not now. You Heralds will be in danger . . . rather too often for us to risk a child. We will not Choose children until there is a pathway to training them and allowing them to become adults in safety, under wise care.:

For the rest, the people meeting their own Companions were a mix of high and low: at least one guard, a smattering of young nobles, a few Palace servants, one of Grim’s best stablemen, a gardener, a huntsman, three apprentice mages. They were an apparently-random mix of complexions and genders, and Restil figured that was so there could be a voice for everyone, from their own perspective.

:Most of them have actual or latent mage-Gift,:said Darshay. :We believe that for now, you will mostly need mages, since an expert mage is as effective as a full squad of trained guards. Being Chosen will bring that out now, and being paired with one of us will mean we can guide them as their own teachers cannot. The ones that don’t have pure Magic have some form of Mind-Magic, and we’ll bring that out, too, and teach them how to use their Gifts, although your mother and Delia need no teaching in mage-craft and Fetching. They are masters of their Gifts. All of you have Mindspeech now, at least with your Companion, and possibly more.:

“Well . . . if we didn’t, my conversations would be very one-sided,” he replied. She snorted, and bumped him with her shoulder.

:There are drawbacks to this form. For one thing, you Heralds are going to have to speak for us in the Council. I would suggest recruiting your religious leaders to help. By now I think you will find that they all know something momentous has happened, and to be frank, acknowledging that we are Instruments only helps bolster their own credibility. They’ll be happy to help.:

This was clearly not a mere observation. “So that’s my job to bring up at the Council meeting that will surely be over breakfast?” he hazarded. “And make sure our religious leaders verify we haven’t all dropped into some terrible deception?”

:Exactly.:

Well, that certainly deflated his euphoria—though not entirely. There was still a part of him, deep inside, that was speechless with wonder.

“Will I have to bring a wooden cutout of you to the Council Chamber to represent you?”

Darshay laughed in his mind, and he took it as a good sign that he could joke amidst these momentous events.

:Will you make its mouth move when you speak for me?:

Restil laughed out loud. He hadn’t expected that joke to work at all, much less that he’d get one back. At least there was one thing: his all-night sojourn in the wherever-it-was had left him feeling as if he’d had the soundest sleep of his life. He had never felt better, and more able to take on challenges, in his life. “I’m ready,” he said. And then his stomach growled.