Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

“... and Shorna was so mad Dorian would say it was a nice day after she landed on the grass like that.” Tamis gave his wet cough chuckle and tossed a stick into the fire. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

:Gervis . . .:

:Verati does not see that there is a problem.:

:But . . .:

:She says age is not a problem. It just is.:

Jors glanced over at the elderly mare, providing a warm support behind Tamis’s back and wondered if, all things considered, she was the best judge. :What do you think?:

He felt Gervis’s mental sigh. :I think I’m tired of hearing that story.:

“I wanted to be a Bard, you know,” Tamis said suddenly. “Good thing my lady arrived when she did or all that wanting would have broken my heart.”

“Your family didn’t want you to be a Bard?” Jors asked after it became obvious Tamis wasn’t going to continue.

The old man started and peered across the fire at him. “What do you know about it, boy?”

“You said wanting to be a Bard would have broken your heart.”

“I did? Well, it would have. Couldn’t carry a tune if my life depended on it. I never forget a story though, and there’s so many stories that are forgotten. You wouldn’t believe the stories I found going through the old reports, stories about Heralds long dead who lived lives that should be remembered. Not because they made the great heroic gestures—those, they get put to music to inspire a bunch more damned fool heroics—but because they did what needed to be done. Those are the stories that should live on. But if you write a report that holds just the facts and has none of you in it, well, that’s you gone, isn’t it?” Tamis snorted. “Heralds don’t die in bed, now do they?”

“Well, you’re not dead yet.”

Verati opened one sapphire eye.

:She doesn’t think you’re funny,: Gervis translated helpfully.

At Herald’s Hill, Tamis stirred three spoonfuls of honey into his breakfast tea and told a full common room the story of the merchant they’d met at Dog Inn. Later, while loading the mules, Jors saw a carter in the inn yard checking his axles.

:Oh, look, the moral of the story.:

:Chosen, that’s ...: The pause continued long enough that Jors turned to look. Gervis tossed his head, looking a little sheepish. :Okay, it’s actually pretty funny.:

At Crescent Lake, Tamis told the story of a farmer he’d met back when he’d been riding Circuit and the girl he’d spent twelve years wooing.

:He remembers every detail about that but he can’t remember my name?:

:Or that he told us about Shorna falling off her horse?:

:What does Verati talk about while we’re walking?: Jors wondered, setting the pack on Willow’s pad.

:How the roads were straighter and carrots were sweeter when she was young.:

:And I bet mules were better behaved,: Jors muttered, dodging a flailing hoof.

On their own, even with a mule, Jors figured he and Gervis could have made Crescent Lake to Hartsvale in one long day. Tamis and Verati didn’t do long days.

When it started to rain about mid-afternoon. Jors pulled an oilskin cloak out of Tamis’ bag, tucked it around him, and gave some serious thought to riding all night. He wanted to get Tamis out of the damp as soon as possible.

:Do you think Verati could do it?:

:I think she would try for her Herald’s sake, but she is also very old. We’ve been traveling for some time, and she is more tired than she will admit to.:

:All right, then, I’ll build a lean-to.: He repeated his plans out loud as he dismounted.

“You’re fussing.” Tamis’s protest would have held more heat had he not begun to cough.

“Gervis hates getting wet.” Which had the added benefit of being the truth. His Companion had a cat’s opinion of water.

“You’re handy with an axe.”

“My family are foresters.”

“My family are foresters,” Tamis repeated, rubbing a gleaming drop of mucus off the end of his nose. “What kind of a story is that?”

“A very short one,” Jors grunted as he drove the first of the stakes into the ground.

No children ran out to greet them as they entered the north end of the village late the next day.

Gervis lifted his head. :I smell smoke.:

:So do I.: