Disclaimer: All things relating to the Valdemar series, and the concepts of Heralds, Companions, Tayledras, etc. are the sole property of the author Mercedes Lackey.

Original characters herein are owned as follows: Herald Avi, the main character in this story, and most of the minor supporting cast are mine.

Notes: Timing on this story is set a few years after the end of the Storm series, where the known world is slowly rebuilding from the devastation.

Dust and Echoes

Chapter One

The sound of thunder was a harsh crash across the village, as dark streets were lit only occasionally by bright flashes of lightning and the wind whipped loose shutters around like a child playing with a toy. The rain accompanying the storm was a driving downpour certain to make anyone miserable if they were unlucky enough to be caught in it. For the young man huddled at the bottom of a large pit, however, none of these made half as much impression on him as the all pervading cold seeping into his skin through the tattered clothes draped across him.

Sitting huddled on the ground, his back to a rough dirt wall, he glanced up briefly, letting the bitter drops wash the tears from his face. His throat was too sore to speak, ragged from hoarse screaming for hour after hour, but it mattered little, he imagined, as there was no one to speak with. Strewn around him were scraps of food, rocks and remnants of broken eggs, all of which had matching bruises on his body where they had landed hours earlier, while the crowd had gathered to jeer down at him and taunt him.

His mind was still reeling with the speed of it. Not five hours ago he had been on his casually weaving his way in and out of crowds; stopping here and there at a merchant's to pick up some goods for his family. Market day was a grand adventure for him, usually. The village of Willowdeep was the largest for many leagues, and his father had been allowing him to make the trip since his last birthday, when he turned fourteen. It had been a proud moment for him then, and he still enjoyed the freedom of the walk to and from the village.

This time, however, something had gone wrong. He had skipped around a corner and stopped in his tracks, staring at the ground in front of him. He barely had a chance to register what he was seeing before a rough hand slapped down on his shoulder and a voice spoke from behind him. "Well now, lad. Seems you're in a bit of trouble."

Thinking back, he wished now he had spoken up, claimed his innocence, tried to explain – but he had been too shocked. The image of the woman and her child, both lying there in a pool of blood, their necks ripped like—he sobbed into his sleeve, trying to make the vision go away, but each flash of lightning made him see it again, as though it were burned into his eyelids.

The villagers had been sick with anger, and in their fury they had cast him here, into a pit dug near the center of town, where refuse was usually burned, and criminals sometimes kept until judgment could be passed. The only reason he was still alive, one of them had said, was that they were going to wait until after the storm had had its way with him. The worst of them, however, had braved the beginnings of the cold rain to throw things at him before retreating to their warm houses and hot meals. Now he huddled in this pit, sitting in three inches of water, and wondered if he might not drown before the storm ended. Then he shook his head as he started to wonder if that might not be mercy compared to the villager's anger.

Just then a sound came to him, and he shook his head to try and clear his ears of water, certain he must have been mistaken. There was no way someone would be chiming bells out in this storm. But a moment later he heard it again, more clearly. It was definitely a soft chiming noise, like a sweet bard's bell, and not even the incessant thunder was drowning it out now. He realized in a flash as sudden as the lightning what it must be, and began screaming once again, ignoring the pain in his throat. "Help! Help me, please!"

The chiming paused a moment, and then changed, becoming more rapid and then the sounds of hooves pounding into the ground accompanied them. A moment later a head looked over the edge of the pit. The figure was difficult to make out, but judging from the cloak and the horse he assumed the rider was in fact a Herald as he had hoped. "Please, help me!"

The figure sat there a long moment, and he felt his hope fading, for surely a Herald would not sit by and watch a man suffer. Then the figure disappeared and he felt his heart sink, felt tears begin to flow again – just as the end of a rope sank into the mud next to him. A voice from above, sounding very tired, trickled down along with the rain, which was beginning to turn to sleet, stinging his skin. "Grab hold."

He did, his fingers not working at first, and he had to force the bones to work as the cold had frozen them into a slumber. When he had the rope, he pulled once and then he was rising, sliding belly first up the slimy muddy wall, not caring as freedom came ever closer. When he reached the top however, what he saw dismayed him. The Herald, for that was what the figure was, by his white outfit, was surrounded by villagers, all speaking and demanding justice immediately upon the criminal – the murderer.

The next few moments passed in a blink, as he was picked up harshly and carried into a large room and dumped unceremoniously on the hard wooden floor. When he started to rise a kick slammed into his stomach and he reeled, curling up to protect himself. When he could see again, the Herald was sitting at a table, staring at him. The villagers were silent, except for one who was explaining that he had killed the wife and child of a merchant in town in cold blood, and embellishing the details with more gore than even his vivid mental image carried.

The Herald's eyes dimmed and he shook his head, his mouth curling down in distaste, lips pressed thinly together. He raised a hand, looking as though even that much movement took a supreme effort, and the villager fell quiet. When the Herald spoke, the world fell apart for the young man curled on the floor. "Have your justice, then."

He tried to crawl towards the Herald, to plead with him, but another kick slammed him back into darkness, and a brief image of many villagers approaching him flashed into his eyes before the blows began landing, growing in strength and speed. He could do nothing but cry and scream through his torn throat as he felt bones break and the breath was forced from him. Brief images of men and women holding wooden planks, chairs and other instruments seemed to drag on in slow motion.

Then a new sound arose, and for just a moment he wondered if the Herald were riding away already, when suddenly the door smashed open, splintering, and a large horse crashed into the crowd, sending villagers flying in every direction. The horse screamed, and hooves lashed out, the crowd dashing away. For an instant he thought he was dead, that the hooves would crash down and crush him, but then the horse came down softly and reached down, its mouth closing on his shirt back, and he felt himself being lifted, and swung, and then he landed on the horses back, hanging on desperately, draped over it on his sore belly. The horse swept its head around to the other side and looked at him, and he realized then that it was no horse, but a companion, when the most peculiar voice screamed, seemingly inside his head. :No! They can not have you, you are mine! I choose you! They can not have you!:

Then the world went dark and he knew no more.