Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

“Yes.” More silence, and then Dionne whispered, “Thank you for telling me about them.”

“Thank you for singing to me,” he said. “I’ll tell Rhiannon that, too.”

Two days later, they started their return journey to Haven. There, they’d tell their tales and see if there was a way to get help for Shelter’s End, maybe some guards or a few young families. They’d encourage the Crown to send out a hunting party to find the bandits and clean up after them. Ylia and Jared accompanied them to be witnesses, riding horses borrowed from a farm in a nearby town. Haven was stretched—it was always stretched—and Dionne expected that only a little could be offered. But they’d give whatever was possible.

Dionne cracked her sore knuckles and told her back there were a few more years of riding left. Shelter’s End was worth keeping, maybe a place they’d go themselves, although not for a while.

On the first night away from town, Lioran picked a campsite without being asked. He did go off with Mila, bare-backed and silent, but on his return he didn’t roll away from them all and stare out into the night.

He sat beside them at the fire, Ylia and Jared on one side, Lioran between Rhiannon and Dionne on the far side. When Rhiannon started to sing, he joined in. Dionne had never heard his voice. It was rich and full, and confident.

Midwinter Gifts

by Stephanie D. Shaver

Stephanie Shaver works in the online gaming industry, where she has donned the hat of writer, game designer, programmer, level designer, and webmaster at various points in her career. Like most people who work by day and write by whenever, her free time is notoriously elusive. She can be found online at

sdshaver.com

and other virtual hives of scum and villainy. Offline, she is either hiking with the smirking entity she calls “The Guy” or on the couch with cats and a laptop stacked atop her, recovering from the aforementioned hiking trail.

“This is madness,” Lelia said.

“This?” Her twin, Lyle, looked over his shoulder at the Haven marketplace, packed with people engaged in the mindless, happy activities that swirled about at this time of year. “It’s just the Midwinter Market.”

She punched his shoulder, a futile gesture as they were both bundled up against the cold; she in mittens and a coat, he in riding leathers and a heavy white cloak. Lyle’s Companion, Rivan, stood off to one side, saddled and ready to go. Five years as a Field Herald had whittled Lyle down—punching him felt like punching a tree. He grinned at her pitiful attempt to bruise.

“You’re such a mooncalf sometimes,” she muttered, sweeping her bangs back under her cap so she could fix him with a full glower.

“I was being—what d’ya call it? ‘Funny’?”

She only frowned. Anyone who knew the two would have been amused (or greatly alarmed) by their role reversal. She—solemn as a priest, he smirking like a page who’d filched cream cakes off the queen’s table.

They were in a snug side street off the market, one of the few not accommodating the overflow of stalls and hawkers. A few minutes ago she’d been happily browsing jewelry in her Scarlets, which was probably how he’d spotted her. Usually she wore plainer clothes, but she’d hoped formal regalia would drum up a little Midwinter work.

Work had found her, all right. And it wore Whites.

“They realize I’m a Bard?” she said. “Not a Herald?”

“That’s the point.”

“They also know that I will likely foul this up?”

“You don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”

“Even more likely!”

“Lelia.” He reached out and touched her shoulder, gracing her with a beatific smile that had reassured more than a few Valdemarans in its time. “You’re going to do fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you suggest me?”

Lyle cocked his head. “Actually, no.”

“Well, if you didn’t—”

Something nuzzled the back of her neck, and she shrieked, leaping forward. Lyle grabbed her shoulders and gently turned her around to face the Companion waiting there. The Companion inclined his head and bent his knee in an equine bow.

:Be polite to Vehs,: Lyle Mindspoke to her.

:Vehs? Companion to Herald Wil?: she thought back, sweating with the effort. Their twin-bond was not the stuff of legend. If they hadn’t been touching she wouldn’t have been able to MindSpeak to him at all.

:Yes.:

Lelia’s heart sank. Of course it would be him. The network of Heralds only went so far. Wil, Lyle’s senior on Circuit training. Wil, who probably only knew one Bard—her. Wil, the Herald she’d been obsessed with years ago. Just the memory of the way she’d romanticized him made her ears burn.

She tried to reassure herself. But you grew up. You stopped wearing that stupid necklace he gave you. You got over it. She straightened her spine. You’re a Master Bard now.

Suddenly Lyle hugged her, disrupting her train of thought. “Love you!”