Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

Carthea shook her head, falling into lockstep with Rinny. :Stop shouting. I heard you the first time.: She timed her steps to the bay’s, so that it sounded as if one giant horse walked the cobbled street instead of two smaller ones.

Lubonne reined toward the woodland path, preferring to take the back route to Honoria’s home over trying to explain the presence of the Companion to every passerby. He could imagine getting stopped every few steps as someone new admired the white mare and questioned him about her presence. He tried to put together mental words without the emphasis, wondering how much thought the creature could read. :I’m sure I told you to go away.:

:You did.:

:But you’re still here.:

That being self-evident, it scarcely needed acknowledging; but Carthea obliged him. :I am.:

:Why?: It surprised Lubonne how easily Rinny accepted the presence of a strange horse. Usually, such a meeting would result in sniffling, sharp whinnied challenges, sometimes even a bit of mock battle.

:Because, Chosen One, you are my heartmate, my soulmate, my lifemate.:

Lubonne suppressed a scream. As they moved from cobbled road to wooded dirt, he returned to regular speech. It felt more natural. “Exactly how many times, and in how many ways, do I have to say ‘no’? Find another heartmate, Carthea. I’m not it.”

:But you are.:

“I’m not.”

:And you have to undergo your Herald training.:

“I don’t.”

:You must come—:

“I mustn’t.”

Carthea pulled up directly in front of Rinny, perpendicular to the path, and the bay pranced to a stop. :You can do this, Lubonne. You really can.:

Lubonne sighed. Drawing Rinny to the left, he walked around the living road block. “I told you, I’m not insecure. I know I can do it. I’ve got decent weapons training, and I’m a damn-sight smarter than Herald Walthin, bless his kindly heart.”

Carthea followed, drawing abreast of Rinny again. A quaver entered her sending. : All right. Perhaps it’s me who’s insecure, then. I’m only three years old.:

Lubonne looked at Carthea. “Three years . . . you’re just a baby.” A fluttering wave of guilt and empathy passed through him, and his patience softened. He felt abruptly sorry for the persistent creature.

:You take that back.: Carthea’s lips tightened, and her wide nostrils flared. :I’m not a baby! I’m big enough and strong enough to carry a grown man.:

“I’m sorry,” Lubonne said sincerely. He had not intended to offend her. “Look, Carthea. I’m just not the heroic type, all right? I’m a bit spoiled, somewhat of a gadabout, and satisfied with my life the way it is. If I didn’t wear this face . . .” He waved a hand in front of his homely features, “I’d probably be a carouser, like my little brother. As it is, I’m lucky to have my beautiful Honoria.” He could not help smiling.

Emotion clearly crept through in his voice or thoughts. :You love her, this Honoria.:

“I do.” Lubonne sat back as the trees bounced by them, unnoticed. “We’re getting engaged, officially, tonight. We’re having a party.”

Carthea tipped her head toward him. :And what, exactly, is wrong with your face?:

Lubonne stared at the Companion. “My nose is . . . well, like a second head.”

:I don’t see anything wrong with your nose.:

“Of course not. You’re a horse. Your nose is your head.”

:Hey!:

“I’m not being mean. It’s what a horse is supposed to look like. On a horse, a giant honker is sweet and soft, it’s ideal.” Lubonne had come to grips with his appearance long ago. “I have a nickname: Hawknose. My brothers call me Beaky. I’m cursed with pale, squinty little eyes, too, that only make the nose more obvious; and I’ve never found a way to tame this crazy hair.”

:Me, either.: Carthea tossed her matted, burr- filled mane.

“Ah, but a simple grooming will make yours shine like the stars. Brushing just makes my hair fluffy.”

Carthea rolled back the eye on the side of her head toward Rinny to look directly at Lubonne. Her ear went with it, pressed nearly flat to her head, while the other cupped forward to catch upcoming sounds. :Why quibble over features? All humans look essentially alike to me on the outside. It’s the inside that matters; and your insides, my Chosen, are the insides of a Herald.: