Crossroads: And Other Tales of Valdemar (Other Tales of Valdemar)
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An original short fiction anthology set in Mercedes Lackey's bestselling world of Valdemar-featuring heroic Heralds and their horselike companions-and including an all-new novella by Lackey herself, as well as stories by masters such as Mickey Zucker Reichert, Judith Tarr, Tanya Huff, and others"
turned her thoughts away from the idea. Properly speaking, Warrl should have been Kethry’s familiar, not hers. Kethry was the sorceress. Kethry was the one who had cast the spell to summon a familiar. But Warrl was his own kyree and he had decided that Kethry, who already was bound to the spell-sword Need that gave her fighting powers equal to just about any swordswoman Tarma had ever seen, did not need a familiar. But Tarma evidently did. So the two of them were bound to exceedingly useful but
taking in his scent from beak to rump. A minute later, her assistant came in laden with cases and pouches. They extracted instruments and vials from them and took samples from the wounds, judged the colors they turned, and set them aside on a complex anatomical chart. Kelvren roused from slumber—barely—and rolled a glassy eye sideways to view the two new people. “Oh, good,” he murmured, and then drifted back to sleep. Whitebird glanced at Treyvan with an unreadable expression, then stood to
to attention and salute were parade-ground perfect, as was Erek’s response. The grins and strong handshake that followed were less than regulation. “Sergeant Krandal! I’ll never get used to you saluting me.” “Aye, Erek . . . er, Herald.” Sergeant Krandal’s eyes twinkled. “Who’d have thought the company’s biggest slacker would be chosen as a Herald. You even turned out a good soldier.” “Thanks to you, Sergeant.” “Maybe,” said Krandal with a crooked grin. “A few hundred laps around the parade
missing.” “You dreamed of Valdemar and of Haven, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Then trust your dreams like Vulshin told you to. If there’s anything missing you’ll dream of that, too, and we’ll find it together, yes?” Trey took a deep breath. “Yes.” “Then go and tell Captain Danel that we accept, shaman.” Deedun was not a large village, but nevertheless it took Trey some time to find his way through the dizzying crowds of people on the docks. Finally he spotted one of the guardsmen he recognized
off occasional offers for help, and took his time checking in on the units didn’t go unnoticed. If he had to plod along on a crutch to see to the soldiers’ well-being, rather than pass by in a driven carriage, then that’s how it would be done, and the mill be damned. He stopped in at one of the larger tents, an open-front, thirty-pole affair where cots and poorly strung hammocks were every one filled with the wounded. The most open section of the ill-set compound tent held a score of uniformed