Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
“I cannot tell you what you want to know.”
The man certainly had been paying people to try to foment discontent against the Queen—quite a few of them, in fact, but with, by his own admission, limited success. And he had been doing so on the orders, and with the money, of someone else.
The only problem was, he didn’t know this “someone else.” He had never even seen the man’s face.
Myste had not even needed to cast the Truth Spell to force the truth out of the man; her own innate Truth-sensing Gift had told her he was telling them everything he knew. He himself had a grudge against the Crown in general, and Selenay in particular, for when she had served her internship in the City Courts of law with Herald Mirilin, she had made a ruling against him. So there was his personal motive—
Only one thing was absolutely certain; the trail came to a dead end now. It was unlikely that the man would ever be contacted again, for someone astute enough to find him in the first place would certainly be sharp enough to discover he had been arrested and know not to use him again.
“Now what will you do?” Myste asked, as they neared the Collegium.
“Keep looking,” Alberich said, and shrugged.
There seemed nothing more he could say. Or do.
NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY
available from DAW Books:
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
KEROWYN’S TALE
BY THE SWORD
VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILE’S HONOR
EXILE’S VALOR
VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
Written with LARRY DIXON:
THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON
DARIAN’S TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT
OTHER NOVELS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY*
THE BLACK SWAN
THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENT’S SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE VALDEMAR COMPANION
Edited by John Helfers and
Denise Little
Copyright © 2003 by Mercedes R. Lackey.
All rights reserved.
Time Line by Pat Tobin
DAW Books Collectors No. 1271.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
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First Printing, October 2004
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—MARCA REGISTRADA.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-11863-4
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Dedicated to the members of the NYFD, lost 9/11/01
Engine 1: Andrew Desperito; Michael Weinberg
Engine 4: Calixto Anaya Jr.; James Riches; Thomas Schoales; Paul Tegtmeier
Engine 5: Manuel Delvalle
Engine 6: Paul Beyer; Thomas Holohan; William Johnston
Engine 8: Robert Parro
Engine 10: Gregg Atlas; Jeffrey Olsen; Paul Pansini
Engine 21: William Burke, Jr.
Engine 22: Thomas Castoria; Michael Elferis; Vincent Kane; Martin McWilliams
Engine 23: Robert McPadden; James Pappageorge; Hector Tirado, Jr.; Mark Whitford
Engine 26: Thomas Farino; Dana Hannon
Engine 33: Kevin Pfeifer; David Arce; Michael Boyle; Robert Evans; Robert King, Jr.; Keithroy Maynard
Engine 37: John Giordano
Engine 40: John Ginley; Kevin Bracken; Michael Dauria; Bruce Gary; Michael Lynch; Steve Mercado
Engine 50: Robert Spear, Jr.
Engine 54: Paul Gill; Jose Guadalupe; Leonard Ragaglia; Christopher Santora
Engine 55: Peter Freund; Robert Lane; Christopher Mozzillo; Stephen Russell
Engine 58: Robert Nagel
Engine 74: Ruben Correa
Engine 201: Paul Martini; Greg Buck; Christopher Pickford; John Schardt
Engine 205: Robert Wallace
Engine 207: Karl Joseph: Shawn Powell; Kevin Reilly
Engine 214: Carl Bedigian; John Florio; Michael Roberts; Kenneth Watson
Engine 216: Daniel Suhr
Engine 217: Kenneth Phelan; Steven Coakley; Philip T. Hayes (Retired); Neil Leavy
Engine 219: John Chipura
Engine 226: David DeRubbio; Brian McAleese; Stanley Smagala, Jr.
Engine 230: Brian Ahearn; Frank Bonomo; Michael Carlo; Jeffrey Stark; Eugene Whelan; Edward White
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Engine 238: Glenn Wilkinson
Engine 279: Ronnie Henderson; Michael Ragusa; Anthony Rodriguez
Engine 285: Raymond York
Engine 320: James J. Corrigan (Retired)
OFFICIAL TIMELINE FOR THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR SERIES
by Mercedes Lackey
Sequence of events by Valdemar reckoning
1
MUTED light, richly colored, poured gold and sapphire into the sparsely furnished sitting room in Herald Alberich’s private quarters behind the training salle.
Now that the colored window was installed, and the protective blanket taken off, it made that little room look entirely different. Alberich hardly recognized it.
The four Journeymen glass workers who had helped their Master install the piece were gone now, leaving Alberich alone with the artist himself.
Both of them gazed on the finished product in silence, while behind them a warm fire crackled on the hearth. It was a staggeringly beautiful piece of stained-glass work; in fact, Alberich thought, it would not be exaggerating to say it was a masterpiece. Not that he had expected less than
a fine piece from the Master of the Glassworkers Guild, but this was over and above those expectations.
The artisan responsible for its creation stepped forward and gave the top right-hand corner a final polish with a soft cloth, removing some smudge not visible to ordinary eyes. He flicked off an equally invisible dust mote as well, and stepped back to view the expanse of blues and golds with a critical eye. A man gone gray in his profession, he was tall, but not powerful, with wiry, knotty muscles rather than bulging ones. His expression was unreadable, a square-jawed, hook-nosed fellow whose face might have been stone rather than flesh.
“It’ll do,” he grunted finally, his long face betraying nothing but a flicker of content.
“A work of power and beauty, it is,” Alberich replied, unusual warmth of feeling in his voice. “It is exceeding my expectations, which were high already. Your skill is formidable, Master Cuelin.”
“It’ll do,” the artisan repeated, but with just a touch more satisfaction in his own voice. “I’ll not praise myself, but it’ll do.”
This was such understatement that Alberich shook his head. In so many ways, this was a piece of artwork that went far, far beyond even the monumental works that only the great and wealthy could afford, be they individuals or organizations. It was the care to every detail, as much as the design, that showed that expertise. For instance, to protect the fragile leaded glass, made up of pieces no larger than a coin, the panel had been installed against the existing window. Now, the bars holding those old panes in place could have cast distracting lines across the new pattern—except that Master Cuelin had taken that into account in his design, and the shadows had been integrated in such a way that unless you looked for them, you did not notice them.
Yet Master Cuelin seemed no more than mildly pleased that everything had worked out as he had planned. Alberich knew that tone; not only from working with Master Cuelin on this window, but from working with others who shared the same obsessive drive to excellence that marked the man’s work. No point in heaping him with effusive praise, for it would only make him uncomfortable, and he would begin to point out “flaws” in the work not visible to anyone but him.
“Very happy, you have made me,” he said instead. “Never shall I weary of this piece.” And although he had paid Master Cuelin already, when he shook the man’s hands in thanks, a heavy little purse that had been in his hand slipped quietly into the Master’s. That was the way of doing business, in Karse, when one was pleased with special work. Some things, Alberich felt, were probably universal—an extra “consideration” for work that exceeded expectation being one of them.
Evidently the custom held true in Valdemar, because Master Cuelin did not seem in the least surprised; he said nothing, only pocketed the purse with a nod of thanks. He dusted off his hands on the side of his brown leather tunic—all of his clothing, tunic, breeches, even his shirt, was leather, because leather wasn’t likely to catch fire.
“Well, if you’re that satisfied, Herald Alberich, I’ll be off,” the Glassmaster said. “I’ve that lazy lot of ’prentices to beat back at my studio, for no doubt they’ll have ruined the cobalt plate I laid out for them to cut for the new ’Pothecary Guild window, aye, and muddled the designs I set them to copy, and complain I’ve assigned them too much work.”
Alberich shook his head, in mock sadness. “It is ever so,” he agreed, and sighed. “The younger generation—”
“We were never like that, eh?” Master Cuelin barked a laugh and slapped Alberich’s back. The Weaponsmaster allowed a hint of a smile to show, and the Glassmaster winked. “Well, ’tis heavy work we have before us—you know what the old saw is, ‘A boy’s ears are on his backside, he heeds better when he’s beaten!’ ”
Since there was nearly the identical saying in Karse, Alberich nodded, and with another exchange of pleasantries, he escorted the Glassmaster out. Indeed, some things were universal.
But since it was not yet time for the next class of Heraldic Trainees to arrive for their weapons’ training, he returned to his sitting room in the back of the training salle to admire his newly installed possession once more.
This was more than mere ornament; while there was a Temple of Vkandis Sunlord down in Haven proper—though for obvious reasons, it was referred to even by Karsite exiles as “the Temple of the Lord of Light”—Alberich seldom was able to get there for the daylight ceremonies. Certainly he was never able to arrive for the all-important SunRising rite.
Contrary to what the current Karsite priesthood wished their followers to think, it was very clear in the Writ—now that Alberich had seen copies of the old, original versions—that any follower of the Sunlord could perform the rites, with or without a sunpriest. It was what was in the heart, not the words, that mattered, and prayerful meditation at any time was appropriate. And now Alberich had an image here, a proper image, that would put him in the proper frame of mind.
There had been a plain glass window here, but the presence of such an expanse of clear glass had made Alberich, on reflection, rather uneasy. It was fine for the former Weaponsmaster, Herald Dethor, to have such a thing, but Dethor didn’t have to think about potential Karsite assassins peering through it—or the far more common, but equally annoying habits of the young, idle, and foolish offspring of Valdemaran nobles daring each other to spy on the dreaded Weaponsmaster from Karse. Not that they’d see anything except Alberich reading, pacing, or staring at the fire, or occasionally entertaining a visitor, but it made him irritated to think of them watching him. It wasted their time, annoyed the Companions, and made the back of his neck prickle for no good reason. If he sensed someone watching him, he wanted to know there was danger, not adolescent curiosity behind it.
But he hadn’t wanted to block off the window either. Very useful light came in there by day, although the view was nothing spectacular, just one of the groves of Companion’s Field. It had been Herald Elcarth who had suggested the stained-glass panel when he had mentioned the annoyance of looking up to see lurkers in the bushes one night.
It had nearly been former lurkers in the bushes, and it was a good thing for them that he had Kantor out there to warn him it was only some Unaffiliates and a Bardic Trainee, because his hand had been on the one-handed crossbow he kept under the table, and he had no problem with shooting out a window. Especially not his own window. A bit of broken glass was a small price to pay for your life.
He hadn’t mentioned that to Elcarth, however, though he thought he saw some understanding in the other’s nod. Perhaps that was why the Herald had suggested the stained-glass panel. And at that moment, Alberich had realized how he could bring a kind of Vkandis chapel into his own home, make this place truly his home, and solve that problem of the huge window in a single stroke.
Elcarth hadn’t known where to obtain such a thing, but Herald Jadus had. In fact, Jadus had pointed him to the particular glassworks involved in creating most of the stained- and etched-glass windows for the various Temples in and around Haven, whenever a generous patron was moved to donate such a thing.
Until he went to the workshop and saw some of the designs, Alberich hadn’t been entirely certain of the exact shape and image of the design, only that it should have some link, somehow, to the Temples that he had felt most comfortable in. As soon as he realized what Cuelin specialized in, heraldic (rather than Heraldic) designs, he had realized what his window surely must show.
The Sun-In-Glory of the God of Karse, of course; Vkandis Sunlord in a form that few in Valdemar would recognize as such, and no one who mattered would likely take offense to. Particularly as this Sun-In-Glory would be laid out, not on the usual field of reds as in a similar window in Karse, but on a field of Heraldic blue.
If Master Cuelin realized just what the pattern was, he hadn’t said anything. Alberich would not have wagered on his being ignorant, though. He had been doing religious glasswork for far too long not to have learned virtually every symbol of every deity worshiped in Haven, and every possible v
ariation and nuance of each symbol. Vkandis was worshiped here, and by Karsite exiles—just not under that name. The “Lord of Light” was what He was called here; all things considered, a title and a name less likely to evoke hostility from the good neighbors of those exiles.
Alberich would not have taken it much amiss had Master Cuelin delegated the work to his apprentices either—but he hadn’t. He’d attended to it all himself. And the result was glorious, well worth the cost of the one indulgence that Alberich had permitted himself since he’d been made Weaponsmaster.
:Very nice for us, too,: his Companion Kantor commented, as Alberich sat down and allowed himself to drink in the color and composition. :We get the best view of it at night, when the light is coming from inside. Clever of you to station lanterns with reflectors shining outward at the bottom corners. Gives us a lovely piece to look at.:
:And prevents any shadows falling upon it and telling people what goes on in my sitting room,: he pointed out. :After paying no small fortune for such a piece, I’ve no mind to have it shattered by an ill-considered crossbow bolt from outside, because I was foolish enough to show a target.:
Since there was no graceful reply to that, Kantor wisely declined to make one.
The leaded glass was thicker and heavier than the window it had been mounted against, and Alberich realized after a moment of sitting there that the drafts he’d become accustomed to were gone. Well. An unforeseen advantage.
And a third—as he bathed in the golden light from the Sun-In-Glory, despite the fact that on the other side of the glass, there was a bleak winter landscape under overcast skies, he understood why Master Cuelin had insisted that the Sun dominate the panel. No matter what the weather outside, the light coming in would be warm and welcoming. Already Alberich felt his spirits become a little lighter.