DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Valdemar book series. That is Mercedes Lackey's property, but I've decided to play in her universe. No profit is earned.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I recently wrote a brief crossover with this series after finishing another of Lackey's Valdemar series. I'm really enjoying it, but a few things in the books I've read have made me wonder about the Companions. Pains have been taken to point out that they are mortal and fallible. Good intentions can go awry far too easily, and actions taken for the greater good aren't necessarily good themselves. Please read and review.

A Companion's Worth

Chapter 1: A Wanderer's Worth

Jebel had never been very lucky. His family had been nomadic for generations, though not exactly by choice. It was unclear, even to his grandfather, where their family had originally come from. An old story, that not even his grandfather's father was sure of, had their ancestors fleeing the Treterine empire after their involvement in a failed coup. Another story said their family were originally from the Altvar Confederation, but had left hastily after one of their ancestors had seduced the wife of a particularly vindictive noble.

Neither one precisely fit the facts, given how close they were, relatively speaking, to both countries, and given they possessed both skin tone and facial features not seen in the Confederation or the Empire, they didn't look like natives of either. Comments overheard from a few travelers they had met along the way suggested that their ancestors hailed from much farther south.

No one was actually sure. Both stories or neither might be true, and at the moment, none of the dubious, and sometimes malleable, family history actually mattered to Jebel. He hadn't seen a family member in almost two years.

Their passage through Seejay had been rough, as the once stable and peaceful country had, unexpectedly, erupted into a violent civil war that none of them understood or wanted any part of. Mages on both sides of the conflict were throwing powerful spells like party favors, and at least some of the fighting was being done by mageborn beasts that did not discriminate between enemy and innocent bystander.

The family's troubles had only multiplied when they reached Karse. They had scattered after a violent encounter with a group of that nation's fanatics, hoping to reunite in Hardorn, in a month's time, having heard that that country was peaceful and prosperous. After that, they had set Valdemar as a goal. They had heard many fine tales of the old and powerful nation, and hoped they could finally end their wanderings there. That was the last he'd seen any of them. Jebel knew that his uncle Turim had been caught and executed by the Sunpriests for reasons he was unclear on. There was a rumor that Mijad, one of his older brothers, had taken up with a group of bandits, though, he hadn't been able to confirm it.

Of the rest, his father, aunt, cousin, and his two brothers, there was no sign.

The family had been larger once, but misfortunes had always dogged them, and though they tried to maintain the principles his grandfather, the family's patriarch, had worked hard to instill in them, it became harder and harder, and Jebel found that his faith in his fellow man was waning, despite his best efforts. His grandfather had died when he was 16. The long life of hard work and hard living had eventually caught up with once strong and proud old man. Traveling had gotten harder on him as he got older, but there was little choice.

Jebel was never sure why, but sometimes the family would pack up everything and move for reasons they would not share with the children, as they were still young. It had happened last when he was 13, and his father still wouldn't tell him. He gathered that the family had an enemy, but the reasons for it were unclear. After his mother and grandfather had died, his father had told him the reasons no longer mattered, and were best left in the past. The family had continued to travel, though. Whether that was precaution or simple habit, Jebel didn't know. The reasons didn't matter anymore.

Now, he traveled alone.

He had made it across the border into Hardorn more by dumb luck than skill or the kindness of others. Unfortunately, the people living near the border were wary of anyone coming in from Karse, which he found understandable. He had moved on quickly, despite his desire to wait and see if his family made it across. It had taken a month of travel, doing any odd job he could get to reach the capital. He had spent a year in Crown City, while he waited and searched for any sign of his family. Life there had not been easy, and Jebel found himself in one scrape after another, too often cast aside or sold out by those he tried to help or put his faith in. At age 20, he was rapidly becoming a hardened cynic.

Eventually, he had decided to leave Hardorn for Valdemar. Hardorn and Crown City in particular, had proven less hospitable to foreigners than he had initially hoped, and there were signs, discovered in dealings with unsavory individuals he would have avoided if he'd had the choice, that the country was going to become far less hospitable in the near future. This encouraged his hasty departure, as he had no desire to get involved or have someone even suspect he had discovered anything amiss.

Leaving Crown City had been relatively easy. He'd left while blending into a large group of farmers headed home after a market day. Such subterfuge might not have been necessary, but he decided it was a worthwhile precaution. Blending in hadn't been difficult, and he'd parted ways with them as soon as he was able, but that left him in the middle of open country, far too close to the capital for his liking.

Two days travel overland had led him to a farm that needed a temporary hand, so he stayed a few days to earn a little coin. It was the first of many such stops he made over the next two months. Jebel had only been interested in getting to his destination as quickly as possible, but as before, had been forced to proceed toward his goal in stages. He worked any job he could find that would fill his belly and put a roof over his head for a night or three. He had helped to bring in harvests, he had mucked out stables, and he had shoed horses. Any job that no one else wanted to do, he jumped at.

He thought he had caught a lucky break in a town called Donid, when he was offered the chance to act as a guard on a caravan headed to Valdemar. Unfortunately, on arrival, he found himself penniless, as the caravan master had been poorly chosen.

Lesamo was a merchant with goods to move and a need for armed guards to get them there safely. It seemed he was down a couple of men from his usual compliment. Trouble with the local authorities, Jebel surmised, but decided not to ask. The man was in a hurry to leave Hardorn for Valdemar, and that was all that mattered to Jebel. The money Lesamo offered was a good incentive, as well. There first major stop, after passing the Cebu Pass would be the town of Cordor. From what he was able to learn of it, it sounded like just the place he should start looking for his family.

If he had had the time to follow his grandfather's advice, and been more careful in gathering information, Jebel would have avoided the overweight merchant with calculating glint in his eye and the too generous offer, but he was in as much a hurry as Lesamo. When they reached the small town that marked the border between Hardorn and Valdemar that was one of the caravan's first stops, he barely managed to keep his few meagre possessions when Lesamo had refused to pay him.

The venture, the merchant claimed, was not as profitable as he had hoped. That was a baldly ludicrous statement, given they had only just arrived in Valdemar. Jebel was the least experienced, and thus, the least useful of the guards. The young man took that to mean that he was the safest to cheat. The other guards, thugs mostly, he had discovered during the journey, had just snickered at his misfortune. After all, it wasn't happening to them, and they, frankly, seemed like the type that would cut their employer's throat if he tried to cheat them. The fat merchant might be a thief, but he wasn't a fool.

Jebel could have changed the merchant's mind easily enough. His father had trained him well in the use of the kopis he carried, but he knew that that would not end well. Lesamo would call on the town guards, and his men, knowing where their pay was coming from, would back whatever fanciful tale Lesamo chose to tell the local authorities. He did take a little vindictive pleasure, however, in warning off a few mercenaries that were looking for work. Word of merchants that refused to pay their guards tended to spread fast. He had seen it before, and he knew that word would reach local merchants, as well. Hopefully, Lesamo would find his prospects in Valdemar somewhat disappointing.

The town where he found himself was fairly small, and fortified to a degree, as well. This was normal for border towns. Fortunately, the border between Valdemar and Hardorn was peaceful, so no elaborate precautions were deemed necessary. The two countries had been allies, or at least good neighbors, for centuries. The small size of the town, however, meant that prospects for work were very limited, assuming he could find someone willing to hire a vagabond foreigner for anything.

Wandering the streets near the market where he and the caravan had parted ways, he contemplated his string of misfortunes and poor choices as he looked for a way to feed himself and find shelter. It always seemed to come down to trusting people. As much as he hated to admit it, and he knew his grandfather would be disappointed, he had to conclude that trusting anyone outside his family had almost always led to trouble.

Such introspection wasn't helping him, and it was depressing besides. Instead, he turned his attention to the immediate future. He was fairly skilled at living rough and hunting, but there were mostly farms in the part of Valdemar he found himself in, and he suspected he'd become rather unpopular if he tried hunting or gathering in the area around the town. There was a fair-sized military outpost there, given the tensions between Valdemar and Karse, which was only a couple of days ride to the south, and he reasoned that he would be able to join the military if he could convince the local commanders that he'd be loyal. Of course, it was possible they would treat him no better than the caravan master, but his options were limited.

There were good, decent people in the world, and he liked to think they outnumbered the selfish liars. He'd met many honest, honorable people that would help a stranger if they could. Jebel himself tried to be such a person.

There were many others.

Well, some.

He paused, thinking hard. One or two?

Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, he walked toward the outpost. It didn't pay to dwell. It was best to believe in the good in people. Despite everything, he still believed what his grandfather and father had taught him about that. Caution was always necessary, but as long as he behaved in an honorable manner and kept to his principles, he would live a good life. Pessimism, as his grandfather used to say, never got anyone anywhere. Neither did optimism, a sour little voice at the back of his head noted. That voice had been gaining ground in his internal arguments for a while now.

As he approached the main gate, the two soldiers on guard duty eyed his ragged clothes, his odd complexion, his sword and his ancient and much abused mail shirt, suspiciously. The armor they wore was worn, but well maintained. While there was no hint of polish, there was no hint of rust, either. He could see spots where the armor had been repaired in the past by someone with moderate skills. Their tunics were, likewise, faded but well-maintained. A bit more care seemed to have been taken in maintaining their gear than in some places he'd been. He had been told by his uncle once, that a well-equipped and well-maintained border guard could be seen as an indication of a prosperous and peaceful country. It was, overall, what Jebel had come to expect of border stations.

The soldiers at the gate, sadly, also fit his expectations. They looked like a rough pair, accustomed to dealing with, and quite likely making, trouble. Their suspicion was understandable, he supposed. It was quite possible they had never seen someone like him before. The one on the right eyed the odd, curved short-sword he carried, but soon dismissed it. His own blade was longer and heavier.

"What do you want?" the guard on the left asked. His tone was not openly hostile, nor was it welcoming.

Calling upon his memories of his mother's lessons in proper speech and manners, he spoke to the guards. "I want to speak to someone in authority about joining Valdemar's military. My family and I wish to settle in Valdemar, and I had hoped to join the army here, to better protect them and our new home."

The other guard snorted derisively, eyeing the travel-worn clothes that hadn't been terribly presentable when they were new. "Fine words. Are you a family of beggars? Do you even know how to use that weird looking knife?"

"Fine words, indeed," the first said, not unkindly. "But we know nothing of you or your family. With tensions being what they are, we can't just take in anyone who wanders by, especially foreigners."

"Understandable," Jebel nodded, having expected such a reaction. Suspicion of foreigners was, sadly, near universal, and worse in border towns. "I'm willing to prove myself in whatever way your commanders see fit."

The first guard, apparently, decided this was reasonable, or at least, beyond his pay grade, and was about to call for a superior to deal with the odd stranger, but the other guard was having none of it.

"Prove how fast you can run first," the man snorted. "Start going that way." He pointed away from the gate, "and see how long you can go without collapsing."

Jebel swallowed his irritation. "I would like to speak to your commander, instead." Should have saved the etiquette for someone in charge, anyway. He suppressed a sigh.

"No need to trouble him," the loudmouthed guard replied, starting to grow irritated. "I can tell you to get lost just fine."

Any response Jebel might have made to that was preempted by a shout from inside the gate, and the gate itself opening. A man in much a finer and better maintained uniform than the guards wore came out. He was accompanied by a white stallion. Much to Jebel's confusion, the man was talking to the horse as he would to another person, a person he respected. The two guards snapped to attention at the sight of the two.

"Pity you didn't find anyone," the man said, addressing the horse. "Can't honestly say I'm surprised, though, given the type that get assigned here, but who'm I to judge for Herald material?" He offered a self-deprecating laugh. Jebel, who had stepped to the side to allow whoever was emerging from the outpost to pass, watched, somewhat bemused, as the officer talked to the horse.

Jebel kept his expression neutral, and was careful not to stare. He glanced at the guards instead, and found them stiffly at attention with the same blank expression he was aiming for. No clues there. Was this a case of a high-ranking officer, perhaps even a noble, being eccentric? Who'm I to judge eccentric? He wondered. I still have faith in people despite evidence that I'm a fool.

Much to the surprise of everyone, the horse stopped. It turned toward him and regarded him curiously for a moment, before approaching. Jebel blinked and watched the approaching animal in some confusion. Then, he met its eyes.

:Hello, Jebel.: A voice spoke directly to his mind. :My name is Arctus, and I believe we shall be great friends.:

"Uh… What?"

The finely garbed officer began to laugh at Jebel's obvious confusion. "Oh! Oh, that look. It never gets old. Being chosen is nothing to be scared of, lad."

"Chosen?" Jebel blinked again. "For what?"

:Come along with me,: Arctus said, sounding a bit amused himself. :I'll explain everything.: