Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

It was not merely that they spoke of sharing Doladan’s report with those absent, for any might do that, or that they spoke names he did not know, for even now he did not know all the inhabitants of Haven. It was that they spoke of these others as if they were present now. Again and again he heard, “Ardatha says—” or, “Kyrith thinks—” and whoever they were—for those names, too, were strange to him—they were obviously held in high regard, for their advice was always heeded.

Doladan would have willingly talked the sun out of the sky, so on fire was he to tell of all he had seen and learned, but at last King Valdemar broke off with a rueful laugh. “But Ardatha tells me I am being very rude to keep you standing and talking, when you are undoubtedly tired and thirsty and wish for nothing more than a hot meal and a clean bed. I am certain Juuso can see you lodged. Be certain, though, that we hope to hear more of your journey.”

Even the most informal court was a court nonetheless. Navar said nothing as he and Doladan followed Lord Beltran from the salon, but when the doors had closed behind the three of them, he cleared his throat.

“Meaning no disrespect, but I’d as soon go back to barracks. I’d be more comfortable there than in a palace.”

Lord Beltran did not answer immediately. He seemed to be listening to words Navar could not hear, and whatever they were, he found them amusing. “Indeed, there have been many changes in Haven since you left us. I hope you will find them to your liking.”

And if I do not? Navar wondered. “We’d thought the western lands were empty,” he said carefully. “It’s good to see we’ve found friends here. I saw their horses, I think, as I walked through the park.”

To his surprise and consternation, Lord Beltran threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Horses!” he said, when he could draw breath again. “Oh, they have the look of horses—I grant you that—but the Companions are the answer to a prayer.”

“Aren’t they horses?” Doladan asked, before Navar could make some polite demur to get the two of them out of there. Whatever madness had taken the new kingdom for its nursery, Chancellor Beltran was obviously its nurserymaid.

Lord Beltran clapped Doladan on the shoulder, and Navar bristled with the helpless need to protect one who had become dearer than self in the past moonturns. “Come,” the King’s Chancellor said. “Let us share a cup of wine—or a stoup of new ale—and I shall tell you both of how fortune and all the good gods have smiled upon our kingdom.”

The ale was good—and Beltran was no fool, for he provided bread and cheese as well. The food and drink went down Navar’s throat with more ease than the tale he was told.

Their band of refugees had grown to twice its original size during their flight from the Eastern Empire. During Navar’s absence, the kingdom of Valdemar had grown again, for Valdemar’s legend had taken root, and all knew that the new king meant his land to be a haven of freedom tempered by law—one that would fall equally upon the shoulders of high and low, mage and commoner. Navar had heard the inevitable problems whispered about: that not merely law-abiding exiles and fugitives would flock to Valdemar’s banner, but every stormcrow and wolfshead and gallowglass that Velgarth held, men and women who would make of their refuge a sanctuary for lawlessness and depravity. In fact, many such had attempted to join them, seeking protection from well-deserved justice—only to find that they had leaped from the cooking pot into the cook-stove itself. And so, one spring night, when a new band of refugees had arrived, petitioning to become citizens of Valdemar, King Valdemar had prayed to all the gods and goddesses that his kingdom would be saved for all time from corruption such as he and his people had fled, so that Valdemar would never fear to be a haven for the innocent nor a judge of the wicked.

His prayer had been answered—so Lord Beltran would have it—by the appearance (from a copse of woodland in the palace park) of a shining creature in the shape of a horse—save that its hooves were of shining silver and its eyes of deepest blue. These horses—or, as Lord Beltran would style them, Companions (for there were now nearly twenty of the creatures in Valdemar)—were able to speak directly into the minds of their Chosen, though not directly to any other. They were as smart as any man or woman but infinitely wiser and more good.

“I should like to see one,” Doladan said yearningly.

“And Kyrith is eager to meet you as well,” Lord Beltran said, smiling, “but without a Companion of your own, what conversations you might have would be more than a little one-sided. Tomorrow we will go to Companion’s Field and speak to him.”