Valdemar

Well, the most famous of everything that Misty wrote is the Velgarth Series. Velgarth's a make-believe world, where magic reigns, being psychic was not very uncommon, and generally utterly balanced. Not that it doesn't have its fair share of villains and "take over the world" bids. Velgarth's the perfect world. And that's my unbiased opinion!

:?:

Raul doesn't like being spoken of as if he was fictional. Not that he isn't in the first place... ;)

Anyway, the focus of the novels are on the land of Valdemar, a country in Velgarth. The Heralds of Valdemar (note the capital "H" in "Herald") are the police, ambassadors and judges of Valemar. Not everybody can be a Herald however.

Heralds were Chosen by Companions, horselike creatures who can speak to a person using telepathy (called "mindspeech" ). Companions would go up to the Herald-to-be, and speak to the child (usually still in puberty or younger) mind to mind. Heralds are all psychic, or hold the power of "mind-magic". They are the ultimate goody two shoes (please don't flame me!) who wear pure white to set themselves off from others. Oh, and the white is also to match their uniforms with their Companion's coat. The Companions are all white in colour, with sapphire-blue eyes, and silver hooves.

The Monarch of Valdemar needs to be a Herald. He/She is aided by another Herald called the "Monarch's Own". This other Herald is specially Chosen by a Companion that never seems to die except of old age, and in battle.

Now, if you want a more detailed information concerning the hierarchy of Valdemar, you'd have to read the books yourself. ;) Of course, there are other countries in Velgarth. There's Rethwellan, Karse, Iftel, The Eastern Empire, Hardorn, The Haighlei, and more! It's a real world out there!

Of course, there are several more races to go with the lands. The Haighlei Kings are called the "Black Kings", not because of racial prejudice, but because they were well and truly black. The Kaled'a'in were of golden skin and ice-blue eyes, with ebony hair. The Tayledras (or Hawkbrothers) were an offshoot of the Kaled'a'in. They had white (or silver) hair because (according to Misty) magic bleached their hair and eye pigments. The Hawkbrothers were called so because each of them had a bondbird. Bondbirds were usually raptors, cultivated to a higher intelligence, and given psychic abilities at a rudimentary level. Hence "Hawk".

Another offshoot of the Kaled'a'in are the Shin'a'in (or "People of the Plains). They too had the golden skin and ice eyes with ebony hair, but they were primarily nomads keeping to the plains. They bred horses, until the horses had become about as clever as possible, resulting in a very ugly specimen (since the horse was bred for endurance, intelligence, and strength). Their horses were prized by all, but the Shin'a'in never parted with their herds (save the culls, and never the Battlesteeds). The Shin'a'in practiced no magic at all. Only the Shamans were allowed to use magic. The Shin'a'in were not allowed to wage blood fued against each clan however. Their Goddess, Kal'enel, forbade them to do so. So if anything went wrong, the only "law-enforcers" that they had were the Kal'enedral. These were the Swordsworn, sworn to the Goddess' Warrior aspect to forever place the race above the clans, and the clans above their ownself. The Swordsworn were also the only ones allowed to swear blood fued. They were as sexless as a blade though. The dead Swordsworn returned as teachers to the still live ones. These teachers wore a veil across their face, the only thing that marked them apart from the living. The Wise were another group sworn to the Goddess. This time to the Crone aspect. They kept the histories, and aided in the keeping of records. Much like Shaman, except one step further.

The Karsites were ancient enemies of Valdemar. It began with Religion (which is rather a stupid reason to wage war, if you ask me). Thank the gods that they solved that. After over 700 years of war. Oh well.

The Iftel people actually shared the same God as the Karsites, Vkandis (though they spell it Vykaendis). These two races are very religious. Until recently, Iftel was surrounded by a magical barrier that prevented anyone from entering without permission. Much like a customs check!

The Hardonens were allies of Valdemar as were the Rethwellans, until Ancar of Hardorn tried to vanquish Valdemar. Then, was a bloody war waged, with about half of Hardorn's male population going to the birds. Ancar, as you've gathered, was rather ruthless.

The Rethwellans had a treaty with Valdemar. Well, not exactly a treaty. A past ruler of Rethwellan promised the Heir of Valdemar a favour, because Valdemar's Heir had done something for him. This favour resulted in Valdemar winning a crucial battle against Ancar of Hardorn, the gain of a co-ruler of Valdemar, and a Herald-Captain Kerowyn, Captain of the Skybolts, a mercenary team.

The Eastern Empire was called that because it's influence spread over the entire Eastern horizon. That was how vast it was. The Empire (sounds much like Star Wars, doesn't it?) depended much on magic. So when all magic was disrupted in a Mage Storm, the Empire was hit the hardest and almost crumbled to pieces.

How about I give you two excerpts? The Velgarth universe is much more extensive than the other universes! Here's a funny one, and the next one is much more sober. The first excerpt deals with a group of friends, comprising of three Gryphons, and three humans. The second excerpt is a meeting between a father and his eldest son. The only problem is that his son is homosexual and the father can't understand (or accept ) the fact. Did I tell you that his son is Herald - Mage Vanyel Ashkevron? The greatest legend of Valdemar? ;)

Amberdrake came out of his own reverie and sighed. "Your memory isn't faulty, old bird. I remember picking out quite a few pieces of broken foliage and not a few rocks out of your hide, and more than once." He patted Skan's shoulder. "I don't know why you couldn't have picked a gentler way of collecting souvenirs."
Skan winced and Aubri grinned at his discomfort. From the look in his eyes, Aubri was about to make another stab at punturing Skan's pride.
But Aubri had reckoned without Winterhart, who had been listening just as intently to the conversation as Judeth had.
"And I recall the rather than collecting souvenirs of enemy territory, Aubri specialized in attracting enemy fire," she said, with a little smirk and a wink at Judeth that was so fast, Aubri didn't catch it. "In fact, he did it so often that his wing used to refer to getting hit by flamestrike as being "Aubri'd". As in, 'Well, I've been Aubri'd out until my primaries grow back.' Or, 'Well, you certainly got Aubri'd back there!"
Aubri met this piece of intelligence with his beak open in a gape. "They did not!" he gasped indignantly.
Of course they didn't. Skan, who had known every piece of gossip there was to know back then, would have heard of this long before did. In fact, Winterhart would probably never have heard any such thing, since before she was Amberdrake's lover, she had tended to treat gryphons of her wing as little more than intelligent animals. Such an attitude was not likely to make anyone tell her anything.
But Aubri's reaction was so delightful that everyone fell in with the joke. For once, someone besides Skan was going to come in for a share of abuse.
Is it my birthday? Or has the Kaled'a'in Lady decided to bless me, however momentarily?
Judeth rubbed the side of her nose with her finger. "I'm afraid they did," she confirmed impishly, and then elaborated on it. "When I deployed your wing, they always liked to fly formation with you on the end since it just about guaranteed that no one else would get hit by lightning or mage-fire. Once or twice, I heard them talking about 'Old Charcoal', and I think they meant you."
Aubri's beak worked, but nothing came out; the muscles of his throat were moving too, but he didn't even utter as much as a squeak.
"It could have been worse," Winterhart continued, delivering the final blow. "I did succed in discouraging the nickname of 'Fried Chicken'."
Aubri's eyes widened; his head came up and his beak continued to move, but all he managed to say was, "Well!" over and over. Since he sounded exactly like a highly-offended old matron, he only managed to cause the entire gathering to break up into laughter. And if the laughter was slightly nervous, well there were four nervous parents who drastically needed the release of laughter.
They laughed long enough to bring tears to the eyes of the humans and make Aubri's nares blush bright red. Before Aubri managed to have an apoplectic fit though, Winterhart confessed that she had made it all up. "Not that you didn't deserve the nickname, after all the times you came back singed," she added. "But no one suggested pinning on you."
Aubri growled, his hackles up. "They wouldn't have dared," was all he said, and Judeth led him off to ease his ruffled feelings and ruffled feathers.
"What?" Withen asked, his brow wrinkling in perplexity.
"I said we have to talk. Now." Vanyel walked slowly and carefully toward his father, exerting every bit of control he possessed to keep his face impassive. "About you. About me. And about some assumptions about me that you keep making."
He stood just out of arm’s length of Withen’s chair, struggling to maintain his composure. "When I brought Medren in here, I knew what you were thinking, just looking at your expression."
The fire flared up, lighting Withen’s face perfectly.
And you’re still thinking it—
Vanyel came as close as he had ever in his life to exploding, and kept his voice down only by dint of much self-control. It took several moments before he could speak.
"Dammit, Father, I’m not like that! I don’t do things like that! I’m a Herald – and dammit, I’m a decent man – I don’t molest little boys! Gods, the idea makes me want to vomit, and that you automatically assumed that I had--"
He was trembling, half in anger, half in anguished frustration that had been held in check for nearly ten years.
Withen squirmed, acutely uncomfortable with this confrontation. "Son, I --"
Vanyel cut him off with an abrupt shake of his head, then held both of his hands outstretched toward Withen in entreaty. "Why, Father, why? Why can’t you believe what I tell you? What have I ever done to make you think I have no sense of honor? When have I ever been anything but honest with you?"
Withen stared at the floor.
"Look," Vanyel said, grasping at anything to get his point across, "let’s turn this around. I know damn good and well that you’ve had other bedpartners than Mother, but do I assume that you would try to – to seduce that little-girl chambermaid of hers? Have I looked sideways at you whenever you’ve been around one of her ladies? So why should you constantly accuse me in your mind -- assuming that I would obviously be trying to seduce every susceptible young man and vulnerable little boy in sight?"
Withen coughed, and flushed crimson.
He’d probably be angry, Vanyel thought, in a part of his mind somewhere beyond his anguish, except that this frontal assault isn’t giving him time to be anything other than embarrassed.
"You – could use your reputation. As a – kind of person they write those songs about." Withen flushed even redder. "A hero-worshipping lad would find it hard to – deny you. Might even think it your due and his duty."
"Yes, Father, that's only too true. Yes, I could use my reputation. Don't even think that I'm not acutely aware of that. But I won't -- would never! Can't you understand that? I'm a Herald. I have a moral obligation that I've pledged myself to by accepting that position."
By the blankness of Withen's expression, Vanyel guessed he had gone beyond Withen's comprehension of what a Herald was. He tried again. "There's more reasons than that; I'm a Thought-senser, Father, did you ever think what that means? The constraints it puts upon me? The things I'm open to? It's a harder school of honor than ever Jervis taught. There are no compromises, mind-to-mind. There are no falsehoods, there can't be. A relationship for me has to be one of absolute equals; freely giving, freely sharing -- or nothing." Still no flicker of understanding. He used blunter language. "No rape, Father. No unwilling seduction. No lies, no deception. No harm. No one who doesn't already know what he is. No one who hasn't made peace with what he is, and accepted it. No innocents, who haven't learned what they are. No children."
Withen looked away, fidgeting a little in his chair. Vanyel moved swiftly to kneel between him and the fire, where Withen couldn't avoid looking at him. "Father -- dammit, Father, I care about you. I don't want to make you unhappy, but I can't help what I am."
"Why, Van?" Withen's voice sounded half-strangled. "Why? What in hell did I do wrong?"
"Nothing! Everything! I don't know!" Vanyel cried out, his words trembling in the air, a tragic song tortured from the strings of a broken lute. "Why am I Gifted? Why am I anything? Maybe it's something I was born with. Maybe the Gods willed it. Maybe it's nothing more than the fact that the only person I'll ever love was born into the same sex body as I was!" Grief knotted his throat and twisted his voice further. "All I know is that I am this way and nothing is going to change that. And that I care for my father, and nothing is going to change that. And if you can't believe in me, in my sense of honor -- oh, Gods, Father --"
He got to his feet somehow, and held out his open hands toward Withen in a desperate plea for understanding. 'Please, Father -- I'm not asking for much. I'm not asking you to do anything. Only to believe that I am a decent human being. Believe in Herald Vanyel if you won't believe in your son. Only believe; believe that no one will ever come to harm at my hands. And try to understand. Please."
But there was still no understanding in Withen's eyes. Only uncertainty, and acute discomfort. Vanyel let his hands fall and turned away, defeated. The last dregs of his energy had been burned out, probably for nothing.
"I -- I'm sorry, son --"
"Never mind," Vanyel said dully, bleakly, walking slowly toward the door. "Never mind. I've lived with it this long, I should be used to it. Listen; I'm going to make you a pledge, since you won't believ me without one. Medren is safe from my advances, Father. Your grandsons are safe. Every damned thing on this holding down to the sheep is safe. All right? You have my damned oath as a damned Herald on it. Will that be enough for you?"
He didn't wait to hear the answer, but opened the door quickly and shut it behind him.
He leaned against it, feeling bitterness and hurt knotting his gut, making his chest ache and his head throb. And eleven years' experience as a Herald was all that enabled him to cram that hurt back down into a little corner and slap a lid on it, to fiercely tell that lump in his throat that it was not tears, and it would go away. Maybe he would deal with all this later -- not now. Not when he was drained dry and not when he was alone.

Back to Main