Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar

Table of Contents

 

 

“Fans of Lackey’s epic Valdemar series will devour this superb anthology. Of the thirteen stories included, there is no weak link—an attribute exceedingly rare in collections of this sort. Highly recommended.”

—The Barnes and Noble Review

 

“This high-quality anthology mixes pieces by experienced authors and enthusiastic fans of editor Lackey’s Valdemar. Valdemar fandom, especially, will revel in this sterling example of what such a mixture of fans’ and pros’ work can be. Engrossing even for newcomers to Valdemar.”—
Booklist

 

“Josepha Sherman, Tanya Huff, Mickey Zucker Reichert, and Michelle West have quite good stories, and there’s another by Lackey herself. Familiarity with the series helps but is not a prerequisite to enjoying this book.”—
Science Fiction Chronicle

 

“Each tale adheres to the Lackey laws of the realm yet provides each author’s personal stamp on the story. Well written and fun, Valdemarites will especially appreciate the magic of this book.”—
The Midwest Book Review

THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR
:

Written with LARRY DIXON
:

AND DON’T MISS
:
THE VALDEMAR COMPANION
Edited by John Helfers and Denise Little

Copyright © 2010 by Mercedes Lackey and Tekno Books.

 

 

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

 

 

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

First Printing, December 2010

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-44566-2

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“Finding the Way,” copyright © 2010 by Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon

“In Burning Zones We Build Against the Sun,” copyright © 2010 by Rosemary Edghill and Denise McCune.

“Unintended Consequences,” copyright © 2010 by Elizabeth A. Vaughan

“The Education of Evita,” copyright © 2010 by Mickey Zucker Reichert

“A Charm of Finches,” copyright © 2010 by Elisabeth Waters

“Healing in White,” copyright © 2010 by Kristen Schwengel

“Songs of a Certain Sort,” copyright © 2010 by Brenda Cooper

“Otherwise Engaged,” copyright © 2010 by Stephanie Shaver

“Heart’s Choice,” copyright © 2010 by Kate Paulk

“Heart’s Own,” copyright © 2010 by Sarah A. Hoyt

“The Time We Have,” copyright © 2010 by Tanya Huff

“A Bard by Any Other Name,” copyright © 2010 by Fiona Patton

“Change of Life,” copyright © 2010 by Judith Tarr

“Lack of Vision,” copyright © 2010 by Nancy Asire

“The Groom’s Price,” copyright © 2010 by Michael Z. Williamson and Gail Sanders

Finding the Way

 

 

The air was so still that not even the thinnest reeds were moving. A steady chorus of frogs was interrupted now and again by the splash of one of them jumping into the swamp-water or the dull plop of a fish rising to take a bug. All in all, it was deceptively peaceful. Sherra watched the float on the end of her fishing line and let her nictating membranes rise slowly over her eyes to wash away the pollen. It was spring, so of course the air was thick with pollen here on the edge of the swamp. It hung in the air and left a golden haze on everything. Sherra rather liked the pollen, actually, because with the sun shining on it, the air itself seemed gilded, but it was giving some of the humans over in Singing Stones Vale fits; they were going about with red, watering eyes and running noses, poor things.

If Sherra were to open her mouth, she would even taste the pollen: soft and a little sweet (which was why bees loved it so), with a faint undertaste that would tell her where it came from. Resinous from the yellow pines, tangy from the swamp oak, perfumed from the mallow. Poor humans, who couldn’t detect any of that. It seemed grossly unfair. If you were going to have to suffer from it, it was too bad you couldn’t at least enjoy the taste of it. This was as unjust as getting a hangover without drinking.

She sat with her back to the sun, basking as much as fishing.
Hertasi
were technically cold-blooded, and as a consequence, they loved heat as much as their distant swamp-lizard cousins did. The sun was making her feel lazy; if she’d dared, she’d have settled in for a nap.

There were no humans waiting here at her little Guide Station now, neither Hawkbrother nor Traveler; Sherra was alone and had no one she needed to take across the swamp. That was all right, it meant she was left in peace as
hertasi
rarely were, and it was a state she cherished.

Most
hertasi
spent their whole lives within a Vale, sharing tunnels and caves with their extended families; they delighted in the close companionship of others and in their service to the Hawkbrothers. It was the way
hertasi
were; being idle drove them mad with boredom, and being alone generally made them feel uneasy. And they were scarcely overworked by the Tayledras. In a Vale, there were so very many
hertasi
that all of them had plenty of leisure time and time to socialize. They spent at least twice as much time on their own pursuits as in serving the Hawkbrothers, and because they were so social, a great deal of that was spent in groups of three or more.

But Sherra was . . . different. A throwback, perhaps, to when
hertasi
had been barely intelligent, if large, lizards, and certainly had not been self-aware; from a time when they each staked a claim to a bit of swamp and vigorously defended it against all comers except in mating season. Then they had been solitary; the only time
hertasi
were together would be a mother and her two or three offspring, until the young lizards were old enough to fend for themselves. Once they were old enough, if they didn’t wander off on their own, the mother would drive them out of her territory.

That had been before Urtho, of course. The
hertasi
remembered Urtho with gratitude; he was in many ways, the father of the
hertasi
species. He had taken lizards with the intelligence of a dog, and made them what they were now—just as he had taken a now-extinct species of grasslands lupine and created
kyree,
a certain breed of giant songbirds and made
tervardi.
And, of course, the culmination of his work, the gryphons, which, so far as Sherra could tell, had been made up out of magic, and vanity, and air.

At any rate, Sherra was that rarity among
hertasi;
she preferred solitude and swampland to company and the
hertasi
tunnels and caves in a Vale. And with that preference had come what seemed to be a linked power: she was a Pathfinder.

No matter what wind and weather and changing seasons did to the swamp, she could find a path through it. In fact, she could find a path virtually anywhere, so long as she had a vague notion of where she should be going. However, it was here in the swamp where her talent was in the most demand; Gripping Mire was one of the most treacherous places in all of the very treacherous Pelagirs, and now, with the Mage Storms over and magic dispersed wildly instead of following neatly in the proper channels and ley lines, it was worse than ever before. There had been plenty of Change-Circles in that nasty expanse, and there was no telling what had been caught in them. Certainly she had encountered plenty of things that not even the Hawkbrothers recognized.

Sherra’s talent, or Gift, or whatever it was, still served her well. She could, and did, get everyone who hired her services safely to the other side. Yes, she charged a fee, for she was another rarity; since she lived outside a Vale, she had to supply all her own needs, which meant she needed to be paid. No one seemed to begrudge it, however, at least not once they had gotten well inside and had gotten glimpses of the sort of hazards Sherra could get them safely past.