Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

:No, I’m not hurting him.: He managed to pry one handful of goat hair out of the grubby fingers, but it was almost impossible to hold that hand and pry open the other.

“Ossy!”

“That’s right, Torbin. Horsey.”

:Is is wise to lie to the child, Chosen?:

:It’s not a lie, it’s a simplification.: “Torbin, do you want to ride on the horsey?”

“Ide ossy!”

“Then you have to let go of the goat.” The goat aimed a cloven hoof at Jors’ ankle as he bounced the toddler and made clucking noises that didn’t sound remotely like a Companion’s hooves against hard packed dirt, but the combination was enough to convince Torbin.

“Ossy!” Releasing the goat, he squirmed out of Jors’ grip and wrapped himself around Gervais’ front leg.

:He’s still sticky.:

Practice made getting up into the saddle this second time a little easier.

:Fast as you can, Heartbrother. We’re down to half a canteen of water, one cloth, and . . . : “Ow!” :Why does he keep hitting me there?:

:Perhaps he wants to make certain you never have children of your own,: Gervais sighed as he lengthened his stride.

They reached the settlement just as dusk was deepening into dark. Like all family compounds in the deep woods, it was surrounded by a strong palisade designed to protect against both wild animals and bandits who might consider that isolation meant easy pickings. The gate was already closed, but Jors wasn’t too concerned.

He was not only a Herald, he was a Herald holding a small child.

Followed by a goat.

Steadying Torbin with one hand, he rose in the stirrups and hailed the settlement. He caught a quick glimpse of a blond head over the wall by the gate, then his entire attention was taken up by the sudden need to stop Torbin from crawling up Gervais’ neck to chew on his ears. At least he assumed that was the intended destination as “Ears!” seemed to be one of the words being shrieked during the struggle.

By the time he managed to pay a little more attention to his surroundings, Gervais had entered through the palisade, the gate was swinging shut behind them, and a middle-aged woman was plucking Torbin from the saddle saying, “Oh, the poor wee mite! No wonder he’s unhappy, he’s wet.”

“Usually,” Jors muttered, dismounting.

Besides the dried blood left on his knee by Torbin’s father, he had yellow-brown smears on one thigh, various fluids drying on his shoulder, vomited-up apple on one boot, and his lap was distinctly damp and unpleasant smelling.

He felt weirdly smug when Torbin, still shrieking and now clearly furious, tried to launch himself out of the woman’s arms and back to his. He felt understandably relieved when the woman competently prevented the launch and said, “I’ll just get him straightened out and quiet, and you can explain what’s happening when you’re all clean and fed.”

There was, apparently, a trick to making oneself heard over a screaming child.

“I assume,” she continued, “that there’s no emergency requiring more immediate attention?”

When Jors assured her that there was not—mostly with a combination of sign language and facial expressions—she left him to the care of her brothers, who just as competently showed him where he could tend to Gervais, wash, and change into his other, distinctly cleaner uniform. He had to borrow a shirt.

The deep woods settlements didn’t have Waystations, as sleeping outside the palisades ranged from being a bad to a suicidal idea depending on how long the settlement had been in place. Since most were single-family dwellings spread over a number of buildings, it was difficult for anyone to claim favor if Heralds bunked down with their Companions either in the communal barn if the weather was bad or outside it if not. Some of the older settlements had built a Herald’s Corner that offered a little privacy, but this one, young enough that some of the logs in the palisade were still leaking sap, was still concentrating on getting a secure roof over everyone’s head before the cold weather came.

With Gervais unsaddled, brushed down, and settled with water, food, and three little girls who stared at him in adoration, Jors headed off to the male side of the communal showers, dumped a hide bag of sunwarmed water over his head, scrubbed himself down with a bar of soap and a soft brush, and felt a lot better. His ears had almost stopped ringing.

“Ah, Dylan, he got broke a bit when he lost Tiria.” Allin, the older of the brothers, leaned back against the wall and scratched at the edge of his beard. “Was a fine fellow before, ’s why we agreed to let him set up on the edge of our grant. Got to say, I’m not surprised he ended like you found him though, Herald, all alone out there like he was, heartbroken, no one to watch his back.”