Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

“I know that,” said the king, “and I’m grateful.” He raised his eyes to take in the rest of the militia. “I’m grateful also, to every man and woman standing for our kingdom against the Tedrel. You may guess that I know your sergeant of old. I know, then, you are well trained. I see you are well-armed. This battle’s outcome will depend on each of you. I depend on you. I know you will not fail me or Valdemar.”

Rury felt his heart swell with pride, and sensed the same from his comrades. This was a king to follow, a king to fight for!

King Sendar sketched a salute to Sergeant Krandal, wheeled his Companion, and he and his entourage cantered back to the road.

All save one. One Herald, with the insignia of the Communications branch on his surcoat, remained behind. His Companion shifted with a delicate grace as he dismounted.

Sergeant Krandal walked over and saluted the Herald, then bowed deeply to his Companion, and it seemed to the gawking militia that the shining Companion returned the bow.

“My greetings to you, Lady Deanara.” said Krandal. “You look even lovelier than usual.” The Herald’s companion dipped her head gravely and snorted.

“Dee says it’s always a pleasure to meet the legendary Sergeant Krandal,” said Erek, “and when’s lunch?”

“We break in fifteen minutes or so,” said Krandal with a grin. He turned back to the ranked militia.

“Back to work, people! You heard His Majesty. He’s depending on you to save the kingdom. But don’t get big heads about it!”

They sat on the grass in the common area between the company cook fires and the drill field. Lunch was cracked grain boiled with bits of sausage and what vegetables might be available, a staple of the Guard in the field. The troops had a dozen nicknames for it. The commonest and least profane was “Thunder Mud.”

“The cooks are trying to kill us with this stuff,” said Aed. “They sure cooked this until it’s dead.”

Sergeant Krandal snorted. He pulled a tiny bottle from his belt pouch, undid the stopper, and sprinkled a bit of reddish-orange powder on his food.

“Never let the cooks hear you gripe about the food,” he said. “If you do, don’t eat camp soup after that. Besides, any dish loses a lot when it’s made for five hundred at a time. Perking it up’s your problem.”

“What’s that stuff, Sarge?”

“Ground Karsite peppers. Guaranteed to put a little zip into anything the Guard dishes out.” He restoppered the bottle, tasted his food, and nodded.

“Sarge,” said Aed, looking to where Rury and Erek sat apart, with the Herald’s white Companion standing behind, “is Rury in trouble?”

“We’re all in trouble,” muttered Sergeant Krandal. “It’s just that we might be able to help Tellar with some of his.”

Herald Erek seemed likable enough, but Rury had never met a Herald before, let alone had the personal attention of one. He was nervous.

“Guardsman Tellar,” said Herald Erek after they got settled, “can I call you Rury?”

“Uh, sure,” said Rury. “Am I in trouble or something?”

Erek smiled slightly. “Not with me, you’re not. I’m just here to help with a problem you may have.”

Rury felt the Herald’s sincere concern, but he still didn’t like where this was going. “I’m, uh, not sure what you mean.”

“Let me make a guess,” said Erek. “You think everyone around you is trying to climb into your head, or that maybe you’re just going crazy.” Erek’s voice stayed calm, but it took control not to laugh aloud at Rury’s open-mouthed, goggle-eyed response.

“What . . . how . . . ?”

“It’s all right,” said Erek. “May I touch your arm for a moment? It should help me help you.” Rury held out his left arm in reply. Erek grasped Rury’s wrist. His Companion, whom he’d introduced as Deanara, left off nibbling grain from a canvas bucket and swung her head to where Erek could place his free hand on her nose. Rury felt a gentle coolness brush his mind. A few moments passed and Erek released Rury’s wrist.

“I was almost certain, but Dee confirms it.” Said Erek. “you have a strong Gift of Empathy. I have a touch of it myself, though my major Gift is Mindspeech.”

“It doesn’t feel like a Gift,” said Rury, “More like a curse.”

“That’s because you haven’t learned how to keep other peoples’ feelings out. It can go both ways, too. If you have strong emotions of your own, you can influence others around you.”

“You mean like the rest of the militia?”

“Yes, especially with feelings like fear. They could feel afraid for no reason other than you’re afraid.”

Rury didn’t want to think about what that might mean in a fight; the entire militia panicking because of him.

“Is there a cure?”

Erek chuckled, but cut it off. “Sorry. It’s not a disease, so there’s really no ‘cure’. You can make it easier for yourself, though, and safer for your comrades. You need to learn ways to shield your feelings from others, and keep the emotions of others out.”

“I could do that?” Rury looked like he’d been reprieved from a death sentence, which was just what Erek was trying to do.