:It is for this hope that we have come,: Ardatha said.
“To crush it,” Navar growled, for he had discovered that it was far more painful to have a dream destroyed than to live without dreams at all.
:No. Never.: And though Ardatha’s face was a horse’s face, in his mind Navar could feel the Companion’s emotions as if he could see them on Ardatha’s face: horror, and disgust, and anger, and an utter repudiation of the thought of tricking King Valdemar into a tyrannous rule.
Navar desperately wanted to believe. And he knew that faces and voices could lie.
But for the first time since he had discovered that Valdemar had become infested by mind-controlling spirit-beasts, it occurred to him to wonder: If these “Companions” were, in fact, the answer to King Valdemar’s prayer to keep his kingdom free of tyranny and corruption, just how were they going to go about it?
:We Choose,: Ardatha said. :And those we Choose are good men and good women, who will govern, and lead, and administer the laws of Valdemar wisely.:
“That’s all?” Navar asked after a moment. “You just pick people?” It didn’t seem like much.
He had the sense that Ardatha was clearing his throat in mild rebuke, though he could not say how he came to have that sense. :We Choose,: Ardatha corrected. :And we advise our Chosen, speaking to them mind-to-mind, as I am to you, though you are the first who can hear all of us. Each whom we Choose has some Gift of Magery, though perhaps so small that it has never been noticed before. To be Chosen is a great responsibility.:
“You haven’t Chosen me, have you?” Navar asked in alarm. If he could hear Ardatha . . .
The silvery laughter of a dozen Companions filled his mind, until Ardatha stamped his hoof. :I have Chosen Kordas, and our bond shall endure until one of us dies. You and I merely speak together through your Gift of Mindspeech, as I hope to persuade what is surely the stubbornest man in all Valdemar not to leave.:
“You could tell the king to order me to stay,” Navar said.
:I could ask Kordas to ask you,: Ardatha corrected. :He would not compel you to remain against your will. Nor will I. Nor will any of those who have been Chosen compel you to stay: Prince Restil, or Herald Beltran, or Herald Peralas. They will but ask. As do I.:
Peralas, Navar recalled, was General Harleth’s milk-name. He thought of the Herald’s Council and its unlikely membership.
It seemed to him—standing here in the freezing dark, beside a horse that was far more than a horse—that this was no more than a dream. But Valdemar itself was a dream—the best dream the hearts of men could hold, rather than the uneasy nightmare of oppression and tyranny they had fled. He thought of the Pelagiris Forest, and he knew there would be no sanctuary for him and for Doladan there. And a man might live rough for one moonturn or even a dozen, but in the end, all that might be found in a solitary life in the wilderness was starvation and an early death. Worth it to die in freedom.
Foolishness if he fled merely from shadows in his own mind.
“I am nothing and no one,” he said at last. “I can hardly threaten your plans for Valdemar.”
Ardatha seemed to sigh in exasperation. :Hardly,: the Companion said. :But you can make them a reality—if you have the courage.:
“Courage?” Navar asked. His voice was hard, for no one had ever questioned his courage.
:Not even a . . . oh, what did you call us? ‘Mind-controlling spirit-beast infesting Valdemar and tricking Kordas—poor simple-minded Kordas!—into placing his people under a tyrannous rule.’: The voice in Navar’s mind was a new one. Somehow as feminine as Ardatha’s was masculine. It belonged to the white horse—the Companion—who walked from the stand of woods behind Ardatha and stood at his side. :If you believe that King Valdemar is so weak and foolish, it’s a wonder you followed him all this way,: the new Companion added.
“I believed,” Navar said simply.
:Then believe in him still,: the new Companion said, more gently now. :Help him. He needs good men. And yes—stubborn ones.:
“To do what?” Navar asked roughly, taking a step toward her.
:What is right,: she answered. :Always—only—what is right.:
Her words were feast after famine, water in the desert. In the east, the baron had been accounted a good man, but to keep his people safe, he had been forced to turn a blind eye to injustices done outside his own borders. So many times in his service to the barony Navar had been forced to balance what was right against what was safe—or politic—or possible—and the actions he had taken had caused him to armor his heart so that he could deafen himself to its promptings.
The reality was so simple, now that he could see it. He had lived so long in that chambered silence that he had nearly succumbed to the greatest folly of alclass="underline" of believing in evil and refusing to believe in good.
He had believed in Valdemar’s dream when it had seemed dangerous and impossible. He would believe now.
He took a last step forward and reached out his hand. The not-horse placed her soft muzzle into it. :My name is Tisarand, Navar. I would Choose you for my Companion, if you would have a mind-controlling spirit-beast.:
It was as if the sound of her name had unlocked a floodgate within his own mind. His answer—promise and agreement and avowal—came faster than he could form words, conscious choice and automatic answer all at once. Navar took another step forward, wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his face in her silken mane. His body shook with reaction—he had come so close to stealing away into the night thinking Valdemar had been taken over by monsters! Not monsters at all, but something far greater.
Hope.
:I might have gone after you to bring you back,: Tisarand said. :And I would have disliked that very much. We have a great deal of work to do here, Navar.:
“Yes,” Navar said. “Yes, we do.” He took a deep breath. “And the first thing we have to do is get back to the tavern before Doladan comes looking for me. He’s a man of many gifts—including that of getting hopelessly lost within a few yards of his own doorway.”
Tisarand’s mirth sounded like silver bells within his mind, and Navar’s voice sounded strange in his own ears. It was a moment before he recognized the new note in it.
It was joy.
Softly Falling Snow
by Elizabeth A. Vaughan
Elizabeth A. Vaughan writes fantasy romance; her most recent novel is
White Star
, part of the Star series. At the present, she is owned by three incredibly spoiled cats and lives in the Northwest Territory, on the outskirts of the Black Swamp, along Mad Anthony’s Trail on the banks of the Maumee River.
“I believe that is the last issue before us today?” Queen Elspeth the Peacemaker kept her face composed as she rose stiffly from her seat, thus cutting off the possibility of further discussion. Her knees creaked as she straightened up. She’d had more than enough for one day. “The council is adjourned. My thanks, my lords.”
Chairs scraped back as the councilors rose and bowed as she swept out of the room, the full skirts of her Royal Whites brushing the floor.