Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey Page A

trembled as he tried to lift them. She did not know how long he had lain in that cot, inactive, but his hands were so weak they were like butterfly wings against her neck.
    â€œThe dragon,” he whispered, his voice a rasp, a creak. “The dragon will eat us.”
    â€œNo,” she told him firmly. “The dragon can’t land. He can only fly, making night wherever he goes. He can roar. He can scream. But he can’t land.”
    â€œHe hates us.”
    â€œAye,” she replied. She had never lied to her children; she felt no need to lie to this one. “He hates all living things. All happy things.” And as she said those words, she felt the truth of them, although she had never thought to speak them before. The boy’s hands touched her cheeks. “You were scared,” he whispered.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBut you were. You have tears on your face.”
    She could not dry them; both of her hands were occupied with his scant weight. But she turned to the priest who was watching in utter silence.
    â€œYou can breathe now,” she said.
    The priest’s eyes were wide. “Herald,” he said again, and this time she did not correct him, “can you reach the others?”
    â€œI—”
    :No.:
    She frowned. It was Darius’ voice. :Darius—why?:
    :You are exhausted, Kayla. You are light-headed. You—you will put yourself at grave risk if you attempt to proceed. These people have lain immobile for some weeks, and the townspeople are decent; they will care for them.
    :But if we do not reach the capital before he finds you, they will have no way back.:
    :Before who finds me?:
    Darius was silent.
    She drew the boy up in her arms, into a hug; her arms were as gentle as she could make them in a grip so tight. She felt his bony chin in the hollow between her neck and her shoulder, and the weight of it, resting there, was everything she desired for that moment.
    But this is how she had quieted her sorrow; she had filled it with life, small life, the immediacy of children.
    â€œWhere are his parents?” She asked the Priest.
    â€œHe has no parents. I am sorry. They passed away a year and a half ago in the summer crippling plague.”
    â€œHis family?”
    â€œHe was their only child. They were newly married. His grandmother is in the town to the east. She is his only living relation; it is why he was here—when it happened.”
    She pulled the boy away from her chest and her neck; held him out so that she could meet his serious, brown eyes. He was so damn thin. “Daniel,” she said softly, “my name is Kayla.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI am going to the capital. I am going to learn how to become a—a Herald.”
    He was too tired to look awed, and she loved him for it. Was afraid of that emotion, because she knew it should not have come so quickly, so easily, for a stranger.
    â€œBut I don’t want to leave you here, alone. I dream of the dragon. I have always dreamed of the dragon; he hunts me in my sleep. But he has never caught me, never once. If you want—if you would like—you can come with me.”
    :Kayla, that is not allowed—:
    :I don’t give a damn.:
    The boy slid his arms around her neck and held her tightly, and that was his entire answer. She turned to the priest, a mixture of defiance and possessiveness lending strength to the soft lines of her face. “I cannot help them all,” she said quietly. “Not yet. But I promise, if it is in my power, that I will.”
    And wondered what the word of an Oathbreaker was worth.
    Looked at the child’s head, his messy hair, the wax in his ears that hadn’t been cleaned out by whoever had been attending him.
    And knew that the word was everything. Mother, forgive me. Forgive me. I will return to Riverend when I am done.
    â€œI am taking this child with me,” she told the priest. She almost lied. She almost told him that if