Three

As if that tiny insect bite had been an omen, things began to go wrong, starting with the weather.

The perfect spring turned sour; it seemed to rain every day without a letup, and the rain was cold and steadily dismal. The sun, when Talia actually saw it, gave a chill, washed-out light. Miserable, that was what it was; miserable and depressing. The few flowers that managed to bloom seemed dispirited, and hung limply on their stems. The damp crept into everything, and fires on the hearths all day and all night did little  to drive it out. The whole Kingdom was affected; there were new tales reaching the Court every day of flooding, sometimes in areas that hadn’t flooded in a hundred years or more.

This was bound to have an effect on the Councillors. They worked like heroes at all hours to cope with emergencies, but the grim atmosphere made them quarrelsome and inclined to snipe at each other at the least opportunity. Every Council session meant at least one major fight and two ruffled tempers to be soothed. The names they called each other would have been ample cause for dueling anywhere else.

At least they treated Talia with that same lack of respect—she came in for her share of sniping, and that was a positive sign, that she had been accepted as one of them, and their equal.

The sniping-among-equals was something she could cope with, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her temper when everyone around her was losing theirs. Far harder to deal with in any rational way were Orthallen’s subtle attempts at undercutting her authority. Clever, those attempts were; frighteningly clever. He never said anything that anyone could directly construe as criticism; no, what he did was hint—oh, so politely, and at every possible opportunity—that perhaps she was a bit young and inexperienced for her post. That she might be going overboard because of the tendency of youth to see things always in black and white. That she surely meant well, but. . . and so on. It made Talia want to scream and bite something. There was no way to counteract him except to be even more reasonable and mild-tempered than he. She felt as if she were standing on sand, and he was the flood tide washing it out from under her.

Things were not going all that well between herself and Kris either.

“Goddess, Talia,” Kris groaned, slumping back into his chair. “He’s just doing what he sees as his duty!”

Talia counted to ten, slowly, counted the Library bookshelves, then counted the rings of the knothole in the table in front of her. “He was claiming I was overreacting at the same time that Lady Kester was calling Hyron a pompous peabrain at the top of her lungs!”

“Well—”

“Kris, he’s said the same damn things every Council session and at least three times during each session! Every time it looks as if the other Councillors are beginning to listen to what I’m saying, he trots out the same speech!” She shoved her chair away from the table, and began pacing restlessly, up and down the length of the vacant Library. This had been a particularly bad session, and the muscles of her neck felt as tight as bridge cables.

“I just can’t see anything at all sinister in my uncle’s behavior—”

“Dammit, Kris—”

“Talia he’s old, he’s set in his ways—you’re frighteningly young to him, and likely to usurp his position! Have some pity on the man, he’s only human!”

“So what am I?” She struggled not to shout, but the argument was giving her a headache. “I’m supposed to like what he’s doing?”

“He’s not doing anything!” Kris scowled, as if he had a headache, too. “Frankly, I think you’re hearing insult and seeing peril that isn’t there.”

Talia turned abruptly, and stared at him, tight-lipped, fists clenched. “In that case,” she replied, after a dozen slow, careful breaths of dust-laden air, “maybe I should take my irrational fantasies elsewhere.”

“But—”

She turned again and all but ran down the staircase. He called something after her, in a distressed voice. She ignored it, and ran on.

So now they didn’t talk about much of anything anymore. And Talia missed that; missed the closeness they used to have, the way they used to be able to confide their deepest secrets to each other. Truth to be told, she missed that more than the physical side of their relationship—though now that she was no longer used to being celibate she missed that, too. . . .

Then there was her relationship—or more accurately, lack of one—with Dirk.

His behavior was baffling in the extreme; one moment he would seem determined to get her alone somewhere, the next, he shied away from even being in the same room. He would be lurking in the background everywhere she went for a day or two, then just as abruptly would vanish, only to reappear in a few days. Half the time he seemed determined to throw Kris at her, the other half, equally determined to block Kris from getting anywhere near her—

Talia saw her elusive quarry leaning on the fence surrounding Companion’s Field. He was staring, broodingly, off into the far distance. For a wonder, it wasn’t raining, although the sky was a dead, dull gray and threatening to pour any moment.

“Dirk?”

He jumped, whipped about, and stared at her with wide, startled eyes.

“W-what are you doing here?” he asked, somewhat ungraciously, his back pressed hard against the fence as if that barrier was all that was keeping him from running away.

“The same as you, probably,” Talia replied, forcing herself not to snap at him. “Looking for my Companion, and maybe somebody to ride with.”

“In that case, shouldn’t you be looking for Kris?” he asked, his expression twisted as if he’d swallowed something very unpleasant.

She couldn’t think of a reply, and chose not to answer him. Instead she moved to the fence herself, and stood with one booted foot on the first railing and her arms folded along the top, mimicking the pose he had held when she saw him.

“Talia—” He took one step toward her—she heard his boot squelch in the wet grass—then stopped. “I—Kris is—a very valuable friend. More than friend. I—”

She waited for him to say what was on his mind, hoping that this time he’d finish it. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, he’d be able to speak his piece.

“Yes?” she prompted when the silence went on so long she’d almost suspected him of sneaking away. She turned to catch his blue, blue eyes staring almost helplessly at her before he hastily averted them.

“I—I’ve got to go—” he gasped, and fled.

She was ready to scream with frustration. This was the fourth time he’d pulled this little trick, starting to say something, then running away. And with things somewhat at odds between herself and Kris, she really didn’t feel as if she wanted to ask Kris to help. Besides, she hadn’t seen Kris much since their last little set-to.

With an exasperated sigh she Mindcalled Rolan. They both needed exercise—and he, at least, would be a sympathetic listener.

Kris was avoiding Talia on purpose.

When he’d first returned, his uncle had taken tune out to give him familial greetings; that was only to be expected. But Orthallen lately seemed to be going out of his way to speak to his nephew two or three times a week, and the conversation somehow always turned to Talia.

Not by accident, either. Kris was mortally sure of that. Nor were they pleasant conversations, though they seemed to be on the surface. Kris was beginning to get an impression that Orthallen was looking for something— weaknesses in the Queen’s Own, perhaps. Certainly, whenever he happened to say something complimentary about Talia, his uncle would always insinuate a “Yes, but surely . . .” in a rather odd and confiding tone.

Like the latest example.

He’d been on his way back from a consultation with Elcarth about some of his latest Farseeing pupils, when Orthallen had just “happened” to intercept him.

“Nephew!” Orthallen had hailed him, “I have word from your brother—”

“Is anything wrong?” Kris had asked anxiously. The family holdings were in the heart of some of the worst flooding in a generation. “Does he need me at home? I’ll be free in a few weeks—”

“No, no; things are far from well, but it’s not an emergency yet. The smallholders have lost about a tenth of their fields, in total; obviously some are worse off than others. They’ve lost enough livestock that the spring births are barely going to make up for the losses—oh, and your brother lost one of his Shin’a’in cross-bred stallions.”

“Damn—he’s not going to find another one of those in a hurry. Are we needing any outside help?”

“Not yet. There’s enough grain in storage to make up for the losses. But he wanted you to know exactly how things stood, so that you wouldn’t worry.”

“Thank you, uncle. I appreciate your taking the time to let me know.”

“And is your young protegee settling in, do you think?” he then asked smoothly. “What with all the emergencies that have come up lately, I wonder if she has more than she can cope with, sometimes.”

“Havens, Uncle, I’m the last one to ask,” Kris had said with a little impatience. “I hardly see her anymore. We both have duties, and those duties don’t let us cross paths too often.”

“Oh? Somehow I had gotten the impression that you Heralds always knew what was happening in each others’ lives.”

Kris really hadn’t been able to think of a response to that; at least not a respectful one.

“I only asked because I thought she looked a bit careworn, and I thought perhaps she might have said something to you,” Orthallen continued, his cold eyes boring into Kris’. “She has a heavy burden of responsibility for one so young.”

“She’s equal to it, Uncle. I’ve told you that before. Rolan wouldn’t have Chosen her otherwise.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re correct,” Orthallen replied, sounding as if he meant the opposite. “Those rumors of her using her Gift to manipulate—”

“Were absolutely unfounded. I told you that. She has been so circumspect in even reading others that she practically has to be forced to it—” Kris broke off, wondering if he was saying too much.

“Ah,” Orthallen said after a moment. “That is a comfort. The child seems to have a wisdom out of keeping with her years. However, if she should feel she’s having problems, I would appreciate it if you’d tell me. After all, as the Queen’s eldest Councillor, I should be aware of possible trouble. I’d be only to happy to help her in any way I can, but she still seems to be carrying over that grudge from her student days, and I doubt she’d ever give me the correct time of day, much less confide in me.”

Kris had mumbled something noncommittal, and his uncle had gone away outwardly satisfied—but the whole encounter had left a very bad taste in Kris’s mouth. He was regretting now the fact that he’d confided to his uncle in one of those early conversations his belief that Talia and Dirk were lifebonded; the man had seized on the tidbit as avidly as a hawk on a mouse. But at the same time, he didn’t want to have to face Talia herself with these suspicions awakened; she’d get it out of him, no doubt of it. And while she wouldn’t say, “I told you so,” she had a particular look of lowered eyelids and a quirk at one corner of her mouth that spoke volumes, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Besides, it was only too possible that she’d infected him with her paranoia.

If only he could be sure of that—but he couldn’t. So he avoided her.

Dirk straddled an old, worn chair in his room, staring into the darkness beyond the windowpane. It was nearly dusk—and as black as midnight out there. He felt as if he were being torn into little bits.

He couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to do; part of him wanted to battle for Talia by all means fair or foul, part of him felt that he should be unselfish and give Kris a clear field with her, part of him was afraid to find out what she thought of all this, and a fourth part of him argued that he really didn’t want any commitments to females anyway—look what the last one had gotten him.

The last one. Lady Naril—oh, gods.

He stared at the sullen flickers of lightning in the heart of the clouds above the trees. It had been so long ago— and not long enough ago.

Gods, I was such a fool.

He and Kris had been posted to the Collegium, teaching their specialties—Fetching and Farsight. It had been his first experience of Court and Collegium as a full Herald.

I was a stupid sheep looking for a wolf.

Not that he hadn’t had his share of dalliances, even if he’d always had to play second to Kris. He hadn’t minded, not really. But he’d been feeling a little lost; Kris had been born to Court circles, and flowed back into them effortlessly. Dirk had been left on the outskirts.

Then Naril had introduced herself to him—

I thought she was so pure, so innocent. She seemed so alone in the great Court, so eager for a friend. And she was so young—so very beautiful.

How could he have known that in her sixteen short years she’d had more men in her thrall than a rosebush had thorns?

And how could he have guessed she intended to use him to snare Kris?

Gods, I was half out of my mind with love for her.

He stared at the reflection in the window, broodingly. I saw only what I wanted to see—that’s for certain. Lost most of my few wits.

But there had been just enough sense left to him that when she’d asked him to arrange a private meeting between herself and his friend, he’d hidden where he could overhear her. The artificial grotto in the garden that she had chosen was secluded—but had ample hiding space in the bushes to either side of the entrance.

Dirk probed at the aching memory as if it were a sore tooth, taking twisted pleasure from the pain. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard her issuing Kris an ultimatum: come to her bed until she tired of him, or she would make my life a living hell.

He had burst in on them, demanding to know what she meant, crazy-wild with anger and pain.

Kris had slipped away. And Naril turned to him with utter hatred in her enormous violet eyes. When she’d finished what she had to say to him, he’d wanted to kill himself.

Again he stared at his reflection. Not everything she said was wrong— he told himself sadly. What woman with any sense would want me? Especially with Kris in reach. . . .

It had been a long time before he’d stopped wanting to die—and a longer time before life became something he enjoyed instead of something he endured.

Now—was it all happening again?

He was doing his level best to come to terms with himself, and being stuck at the Collegium with Talia in sight at least once a day wasn’t helping. The whole situation was comical, but somehow when he tried to laugh it off, his “mirth” had a very hollow sound even to his ears. He had thrown himself into his work, only to find that he was watching for her constantly out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help himself; it was like scratching a rash. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway, and it gave him a perverse sort of satisfaction. And even though it troubled him to watch her, it troubled him more not to.

Gods, gods—what am I going to do?

The reflection gave him no answer.

After three weeks of rain, the weather had cleared for a bit. To Talia’s great relief, things were emotionally on a more even keel, at least where the tempers of Court and Collegium were concerned. The evening had been warm enough to leave windows open, and the fresh air had made a gratifying change in the stuffiness of her quarters. Talia was fast asleep when the Death Bell shattered the peace of the night with its brazen tolling.

It woke her from a nightmare of flame, fear, and agony. That nightmare had held her in a grip so tenacious that she expected to open her eyes to find her own room an inferno. She clutched the blankets to her chest, as she slowly became aware that the air she breathed was cool and scented with night mist, not smoke-filled and choking. It took several moments for her to clear her mind of the dream enough to think clearly again, and when at last she did, it was to realize that the dream and the Death Bell’s tolling had related causes.

Fire—her nails bit into her palms as she clenched her hands. When fire was involved, the Herald most likely to be involved with it was—Griffon! Dear gods—let it not be Griffon, not her year-mate, not her friend—

But as she stared unseeing into the darkness and forced herself into a calmer frame of mind, she knew without doubt that it was not Griffon, after all. The name and the face that hazed into her now-receptive mind were those of a student of the year following hers—Christa, whom she remembered as one of Dirk’s pupils in the Gift of Fetching.

And in many ways, this was an even greater tragedy, for Christa had still been on her internship assignment.

* * * *

When the pieces were all assembled from the various fragments the Heralds at the Collegium had “read” when the Death Bell began ringing, the result was almost as confusing as having no information at all. This much alone they knew; Christa was dead; the Herald assigned as her counselor, the cheerfully lascivious Destria, was badly hurt, and the cause had something to do both with raiders and a great fire.

The information they received from the Heralds stationed with the Healing Temple to which Destria had been carried was nearly as fragmentary. Their Gifts of Mindspeech weren’t nearly as strong as Kyril’s or Sherrill’s. But they made it plain that Destria needed more help than they could provide—and that there was urgent need of a different kind of aid. They were sending Destria back to Healer’s Collegium and the Palace, and with her would come clarification.

Within the week they came; one uninjured Herald, Destria (a pitiful thing carried on a titter swung between two Companions, one of them Destria’s Soft), and a battered and bruised farmer whose clothing still bore the smoke stains and ash of a fire. All three of them had to have traveled day and night with scarcely a pause to rest to reach the capital so quickly.

Selenay called the Council into immediate session, and the petitioner came before them. He sagged wearily into the chair they set for him, his eyes sunken deeply into their sockets, his hair so full of ash it was hard to tell what color it was. It was plain he had wasted not even a single hour, but had gotten on with the journey without taking time for his own comfort. And the tale he told, of well-armed, organized raiders, and the near-massacre of everyone in his town, was enough to chill the blood.

They had given him a seat, since he was plainly too weary to stand for very long, and he seemed like an omen of doom, sitting before the Council Table, both hands bandaged to the elbow. The taint of smoke had so permeated his clothing that it was carried even to the Councillors, and the smell of it brought his message home with terrible force.

“It was slaughter, pure and simple,” he told the Council in a voice roughened by the smoke. “And we walked into it like silly sheep. Up until this spring we’ve had so much problem with brigands, little bands of them, pecking away at us, that we’d come to expect them, like spring floods. Then, when they all vanished this winter— gods, you’d think we’d have had the sense to realize something was up. But we didn’t; we just thought they’d gone off to richer pickings. Ah, fools, fools and blind!”

He dropped his face into his hands for a moment, and when he lifted it again, there were tears on his cheeks from eyes already red. “They’d gotten together, you see; one of the wolves had finally proved the strongest, and they’d gotten together. We’d prided ourselves on having put the village in an unassailable valley; sheer rock to our back and sides, and only one narrow pass that let into it. We couldn’t be starved or forced out from thirst; we had our own wells, and plenty of food stockpiled. Well, they had an answer to that. A handful of them killed the sentries, and poisoned the dogs that patrolled the heights, then rained fire arrows down on the village by night. We build with wood and thatch, mostly; the buildings went up like pitch torches. The rest waited outside the pass, and picked off those of us that got as far as the cleft. Have you ever seen rabbits running before a grass fire? That was us—and they were the hungry wolves waiting for dinner to leap into their jaws. Men I’ve known all my life I watched getting their legs shot out from underneath them. Children hardly old enough to be wearing knives, too—even graybeards and grannies. Anybody likely to be able to take up a weapon. They shot to cripple, not to kill; dead mouths can’t tell where they’ve hid their little treasures, y’see. A good half of those they shot may never walk right again. A good quarter bled to death where they lay. And a full quarter of the children burned to death in the houses they set fire to.”

A muted murmur of horror crept around the table; Lady Kester hid her own face in her hands.

A beam of late afternoon sunlight spotlighted the speaker as it poured in through the high windows. It touched him with a clear gold that made his eyes seem even more like burned-out pits in his face. “Your Heralds were not far; overnighting in a Waystation, I think. How they knew our plight, I’ll never know—must’ve been more of your magic, I guess. They came charging up on the backs of the raiders, two of ‘em like a blessed army. Those white horses—the Companions—they were damn near an army by themselves. They broke up the ambush at the head of the pass, got them scattered off into the woods for a bit. Then the older one started getting us organized, got us clearing the snipers off the heights; the younger one took off into the burning buildings, hearing cries and looking for somebody to save, I guess. The older one didn’t even notice she was gone— until—”

He swallowed hard, and his hands were shaking. “I heard screaming, worse than before; the older Herald, she jerked like she’d been shot. She shouted at us to take the brigands before they got themselves over their fright, then she headed into the fires herself; I followed-—my hands were too burned to hold a weapon, but I thought I might be able to help with the fires. The younger one had gotten trapped on the second floor of one of the houses; I was right behind the older one and I could see her against the fire. Calm as you please, she’s tossing younglings out to their parents. At least I think she was tossing ‘em—she’d have a little one in her hands one moment, then the next, his mum or dad would be holding it. The older one ran up, started shouting at her to jump. She just shook her head, and turned back one more time—the floor collapsed then. That damn horse of hers crashed through the wall and went in after her—the other Herald was right on his heels. She’d no sooner cleared the door when the whole roof caved in. We got her out, but the other—”

One of Selenay’s pages brought him wine, and he drank it gratefully, his teeth chattering against the rim of the tankard.

“That’s what happened. For us, we beat ‘em back, but we didn’t get more than a handful of them compared to the numbers we know they’ve got. They’re comin’ back, we know they are. ‘Specially since they must know the Heralds are—gone. We lost half the town—most of the able-bodied. I was about the only one that could make the ride here. We need help, Majesty, m’lords—we need it bad-”

“You’ll have that help,” Selenay pledged, her eyes hard and black with anger as she stood. ‘This isn’t the first incursion of these bastards we’ve heard of, but it’s by far and away the worst. It’s obvious to me that there is no way we can expect you folk to handle brigands as organized as these are. Lord Marshal, and good sir, if you’ll come with me we’ll mobilize a company of the Guard.” She looked inquiringly at the rest of the Council.

Lady Cathan spoke for all of them. “Whatever is needed, Highness. You and the Lord Marshal are the best judge of what that is. We’ll stand surely for it.”

Talia nodded, with all the other Councillors. What Selenay had told the man was true; for the past few months there had been tales of bandits growing organized in Gyrefalcon’s Marches. Sporadic raids had occurred before this—but never had the brigands dared to put an entire town to the sword! It was obviously more than local militia could handle; the entire Council was agreed on that.

Talia slipped away then, knowing with certainty that Selenay did not need her at the moment, and that another most definitely did. The tug at her was unmistakable. She opened the door to the Council chamber just enough to slip through—and once she was out into the cool, dark hallway, broke into a run.

She ran out through the old Palace and passed the double doors of Herald’s Collegium—then down the echoing main hall, heading for the side door and for Healer’s. She felt the pull of a soul in agony as clearly as if she were being called by voice. She all but collided with Devan, who was on his way to look for her.

“I might have known you’d know,” he said gratefully, hitching up his green robes so that he could run with her. “Talia, she’s fighting us, and we can’t get past her shielding to do even the simplest painblocks. She blames herself for Christa, and all she wants to do now is die. Rynee can’t do anything with her.”

“That’s what I thought; Lord and Lady, the guilt is so thick I can almost see it. Well, let’s see if I can get through to her.”

They had accomplished a certain amount of Healing at the site of the battle, while Destria was still unconscious; enough to enable moving her safely. She still was a most unpretty sight, lying on a special pad in one of the rooms reserved for burn patients. The room itself was bare stone; scrubbed spotless twice a day when unoccupied, and not so much as a speck of dust was ever allowed to settle there. The one window was sealed tight so that nothing could blow in. Everything that was brought in was removed as soon as it was no longer needed, and scalded.

It was a tribute to the onsite Healers that Destria was still among the living. The last person Talia had seen with burns like hers had been Vostel, who had taken the full fury of an angry firebird on his fragile flesh. Where her burns had been relatively light—though the skin was red, puffed, and blistering—she was unbandaged. But her arms and hands were wrapped in special poultices of herbs and the thinnest and most fragile of tanned rabbit and calfskin, and Talia knew that beneath those bandages the skin was gone, and the flesh left raw. They had laid her on a pallet of lambskin, tanned with the wool on; the fibers would cushion her burned skin and prevent too much pressure from being exerted on it. Talia knelt at the head of the pallet and rested both her hands on Destria’s forehead. Destria’s face and head were the only portions of her that were relatively untouched. As Talia reached into the whirlwind of pain, delirium, and guilt with her Gift, she knew that this was likely to be the hardest such fight she’d ever faced.

* * * *

Guilt, black and full of despair, surrounded Talia from all directions. Pain, physical and mental, lanced through the guilt like red lightning. Talia knew her first priority was to find out why the guilt existed in the first place, and where it was coming from—

That was easy enough; she simply lowered her shielding a fraction more, and let herself be drawn in where the negative emotions were the thickest.

The fading core that was Destria spun an ever-tightening cocoon of bleakness around herself. Talia reached for that cocoon with a softly glowing mental “hand” and withered it until that which was Destria stood cringing before her.

Talia paid no heed to her attempts at escape, but drew her into a rapport in which nothing was hidden; not from her—and not from Destria. And she let Destria read her as she strove to begin the Healing of the other Herald’s mental hurts.

I failed— that was the most overwhelming. They counted on me, and I failed.

But there was something more, something that kept the guilt feeding on itself until Destria loathed her own being. And Talia found it, hiding underneath, festering. And I failed because I wanted something for me. I failed because I was selfish; I don’t deserve my Whites—I deserve to die.

This was something Talia was only too familiar with; and was something Rynee wouldn’t understand. Healers were firm believers in a little honest selfishness; it kept a person sane and healthy. Heralds, though—well, Heralds were supposed to be completely unselfish, totally devoted to duty. That was nonsense, of course; Heralds were only people. But sometimes they started to believe in that nonsense, and when something went wrong, because of their natures, the first people they tended to blame were themselves.

So now Talia had to prove to Destria that there was nothing wrong with being a Herald and human. No small task, since Destria’s guilt was akin to doubts she shared about herself.

How often had she berated herself for wanting a little corner of life to call her own—some time when she didn’t have to be a Herald—when she had been so tired of having to think first of others before taking the smallest action? How many times had she yearned for a little time to be lazy, a chance for a bit of privacy—and then felt guilty because she had?

And hadn’t she had been ready to assume that she was guilty of unconsciously using her Empathy to manipulate others?

Hadn’t she been angry enough to strangle someone more than once, and then been angry at herself for giving in to the weakness of rage?

Oh, she understood Destria’s self-loathing, only too well.

Rynee and the rest of the Healers watched soberly, sensing the battle Talia fought, though (except for the perspiration beading Talia’s brow) there were no outward signs of a struggle. They all remained in the same positions they had first taken as the shadows cast through the window lengthened almost imperceptibly and the light slowly faded; and still there was no outward indication of success or failure.

Then, after the first half-hour, Rynee whispered to Devan, “I think she’s getting somewhere; Destria threw me out after the first few minutes and wouldn’t let me in again.”

When a full hour had passed, Talia sighed, then carefully broke her physical contact with the other Herald, and slumped with exhaustion, her hands lying limply on her thighs.

“Go ahead; I’ve got her convinced for now. She won’t fight you at the moment.”

As she spoke, the waiting Healers converged on Destria tike worker-bees on an injured queen. Rynee, whose Gift of Healing was (like Talia’s) for minds rather than bodies, helped Talia to her feet.

“Why couldn’t I get through to her?” she asked plaintively.

“Simple; I’m a Herald, you’re not,” Talia said, edging past the Healers and out into the hall. “She reacted to you the way you would react to a nonHealer trying to tell you that a gut-stab was nothing to worry about. Gods, I’m tired! And I’ll have it all to do again tomorrow, or she’ll fight you again. And then, when I finally convince her permanently that it wasn’t her fault, I’ll have to convince her she isn’t going to revolt men with—the way she’ll look when you’re done. And that the scarring isn’t some punishment set on her for being a bit randy,”

“I was afraid of that.” Rynee bit her lip. “And she is going to scar; I can’t tell you how badly yet, but there’s no getting around it. Her face wasn’t touched, but the rest of her—some of it isn’t going to be at all pretty. The only burn victim I’ve ever heard of that was as bad was—”

Despite her weariness, Talia’s eyes lighted when she saw an idea begin to form behind Rynee’s frown. “Out with it, milady—you’ve the same Gift as I have, and if you’ve gotten a notion it’s probably going to work.” She paused in the hallway and leaned against the wood-paneled wall; Rynee rubbed the bridge of her long nose with her finger.

“Vostel—what does he do now? Could he be recalled here for a while?” she asked finally, hope in her cloud-gray eyes.

“Relay at the Fallflower Healing Temple; and yes, anyone on relay work can be replaced. What are you thinking of?”

“That he’ll be the best ‘medicine’ for her; he went through it all himself. He knows how it hurts, and when it’ll stop, and how you have to force yourself to work through the pain if you intend to get the full use of your limbs back. And he’s a Herald, so she’ll believe what he says. Besides all that, despite the old scars he’s still a better-than-passable-looking man. And he doesn’t believe in the fates dealing out arbitrary punishments for a little healthy hedonism.”

Talia chuckled in spite of herself. “Oh, very good! If we have him at her side coaxing and encouraging, he’ll do half our work for us! You’re right about his beliefs, too. All I had to do was keep reassuring him that the pain would end, and that he wasn’t being a coward and a whiner for occasionally wanting to give up. I’ve no doubt they’ll find each other quite congenial when Destria’s back to something like her old self and her old appetites. I’ll see Kyril and get Vostel sent here as soon as he can be replaced; he’ll be here by the time she starts to need him.”

Talia moved away from the wall and stumbled as her knees wobbled a little. They had only gotten a few feet down the hall, and already her exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm her. Rynee steered her toward a soft and comfortable-looking padded bench, one of many placed at intervals along the walls, for Healers were apt to catch oddments of rest wherever and whenever they could.

“And you—you get yourself down onto that couch and take a short nap. I’ll wake you, but if you don’t take some recovery time you won’t be of any use to any of us. You know the saying—never argue with a Healer—”

“And I never do!”

“See that you keep it that way.”

About a week later Talia was on her way from the Audience Chamber to her own room to change for arms practice, and her mood was a somber one. The audiences were no longer dull, and that was unfortunate. More and more often those seeking audience with the Queen were from Gyrefalcon’s Marches reporting the depredations of what was obviously a small army of bandits. It was the wild and rocky character of the countryside that had let them organize without anyone realizing it; that same wild countryside enabled them to vanish before the Guard could pin them down.

Orthallen was using the existence of these bandits as a political tool—a tactic that disgusted Talia, considering the suffering that they were causing, not to mention that they were preying on some of the lands supposedly in his jurisdiction.

She had just endured one such session.

There were six Heralds out there now—along with the Guard company Selenay had sent. The Heralds were organizing the common folk to their own defense, since the Guard could not be everywhere at once. One of those Heralds, Herald Patris, sent a messenger that had only arrived today.

“‘They seem to know exactly where the Guard is at all times’ Patris had written. ‘They strike, and are away before we can do anything. They know these hills of stone and the caves that honeycomb them better than we guessed; I suspect them of traveling a great deal underground, which would certainly answer the question of how they move about without being spotted. At this point, we are beyond saving the livestock or the harvest; Majesty, I must be frank with you. It will be all we can do just to save the lives of these people. And I must tell you worse yet—having stripped them of all possessions, the bastards have taken to carrying off the only thing these folk have left. Their children.’ “

“Great Goddess!” Lady Wyrist had exclaimed.

“I’m on it, Majesty,’* Lady Cathan had said grimly at almost the same moment. “They won’t get children out past my Guildsmen—not after that slaver scandal—with your permission?”

Selenay had nodded distractedly, and Lady Cathan sprinted from the room in a swirl of colorful brocades.

“Majesty,” Orthallen said then, “It is as I have been saying. We need a larger standing army—and we need more autonomy in local hands. If I had been given two or three companies of the Guard and the power to order them, this emergency would never have become the disaster it is!”

Then the debate had broken out—yet again. The Council had split on this issue of granting power at the local level and increasing the size of the Guard; split about equally. On Orthallen’s side were Lord Gartheser, Lady Wyrist, Bard Hyron, Father Aldon and the Seneschal. Selenay—who did not want the size of the army increased, because to do so would mean drafted levies and possibly impressment—preferred to keep the power where it was, with the Council, and was lobbying for hiring professional mercenaries to augment the existing troops. Backing her were Talia, Kyrit, Elcarth, Healer Myrrim, and the Lord Marshal. Lady Kester, Lord Gildas, and Lady Cathan remained undecided. They weren’t especially pleased with the notion of foreign troops, but they also weren’t much in favor of hauling folk away from their lands and trades either.

Talia was pondering the state of things when her sharp ears caught the sound of a muffled sob. Without hesitation she unshielded enough to determine the source, and set out to find out was wrong.

Her sharp ears led her into a seldom-used hallway near the Royal Library, one lined with alcoves which could contain statues or suits of plate-mail or other large works of art, but which were mostly vacant and screened off by velvet curtains. This was a favored place for courting couples during great revels, but the lack of seating tended to confine assignations to those conducted standing.

She had a little problem finding the source of the sob, as it was hiding itself behind the curtains in one of those alcoves along this section of hall. Only a tiny sniffle gave her the clue as to which of three it was.

She drew the heavy velvet curtain aside quietly; curled up on a cushion purloined from a chair in the audience chamber was a child.

He was a little boy of about seven or eight; his eyes were puffy from crying, his face was smeared where he’d scrubbed tears away with dirty fingers, and from the look of him, he hadn’t a friend in the world. She thought that he must have been adorable when he wasn’t crying, a dark-haired, dark-eyed cherub; the uniform Selenay’s pages wore, sky-blue trimmed in dark blue, suited his fair complexion. He looked up when the curtain moved, and his face was full of woe and dismay, his pupils dilated in the half-light of the hall.

“Hello,” Talia said, sitting on her heels to bring herself down to his level. “You look like you could use a friend. Homesick?”

A fat tear trickled slowly down one cheek as he nodded. He looked very young to have been made one of Selenay’s pages; she wondered if he weren’t a fosterling.

“I was, too, when I got here. There weren’t any girls my age when I first came, just boys. Where are you from?”

“G-g-gyrefalcon’s Marches,” he gulped, looking as if her sympathy had made him long for a comfortable shoulder to weep on, but not daring to fling himself on a strange adult.

“Can I share that pillow?” she asked, solving the problem for him. When he moved aside, she settled in with one arm comfortingly around his shoulders, projecting a gentle aura of sympathy. That released his inhibitions, and he sobbed into the velveteen of her jerkin while she soothingly stroked his hair. He didn’t need her Gift, really. All he needed was a friend and a chance to cry himself out. While she gentled him, she pummeled her memory for who he could be.

“Are you Robin?” she asked finally, when the tears had slowed a bit. At bis shaky affirmative she knew she’d identified him correctly. Robin’s parents, who held their land of Lord Orthallen, had prevailed on Orthallen to take their only child to the safest haven they knew— Court. Understandable, even laudable, but poor Robin didn’t see their reasoning. He only knew that he was alone for the first time in his young life.

“Haven’t you found any friends yet?”

Robin shook his head and clutched her sleeve as he looked up to read her expression. When he saw that she was still sympathetic and encouraging he took heart enough to explain.

“They—they’re all bigger an’ older. They call me ‘tag-along’ an’ they laugh at me ... an’ I don’t tike their games anyway. I—I can’t run as fast or keep up with ‘em.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes a little hi thought, trying to remember just what it was she’d seen the pages playing at. You took them so for granted, they were almost invisible—then she had it.

“You don’t like playing war and castles?” That was understandable enough, when fighting threatened his parents.

Hie flicker of the oil-lamp opposite their alcove showed her his sad, lost eyes. “I—I don’t know how to fight. Da said I wasn’t old enough to learn yet. That’s all they want to do—an’ anyway, I’d rather r-r-read—but all my books are still at h-h-home.”

And if she knew the Seneschal, he’d strictly forbidden the pages to enter the Palace Library. Not too surprising, seeing as most of them would have played catapults using the furniture, with the books as ammunition. She hugged his slight shoulders, and made a quick decision.

“Would you like to be able to read and take lessons at the Herald’s Collegium instead of with the pages?” Selenay had all of her pages schooled, but for most of them it was a plague to be endured or a nuisance to be avoided. He nodded, his eyes round with surprise. “Well, my master Alberich is going to have to wait a little ; you and I are going to go see Dean Elcarth.” She rose and offered her hand, he scrambled to his feet and clutched it.

Fortunately there were plenty of other youngsters being schooled at die Collegia—though few were as young as this one. They were the unaffiliated students—the “Blues” —who belonged to no Collegium, but were attending classes along with the Bardic, Healer and Heraldic students. They, too, wore uniforms, of a pale blue, and not unlike the page’s uniform. A good many of them were well-born brats, but there were others that were well-intentioned—those studying to be builders, architects, or scholars in many disciplines. They’d be well pleased to welcome Robin into their ranks, and they’d probably adopt him as a kind of mascot. Talia knew she’d have no trouble in arranging with Selenay for this little one to spend most of his time at the Collegium when he wasn’t standing his duty—and at his age, his “duty” was probably less than an hour or two a day. She was pretty certain she’d be able to convince Elcarth as well.

She was right. When she took the child to Elcarth’s cramped office, piled high with books, the Dean seemed to take to Robin immediately; Robin certainly did to him. She left him with Elcarth, the gray-haired Herald explaining some of the classes, Robin snuggled trustingly against his chair, both of them oblivious to the dust and clutter about them. It seemed that she’d unwittingly brought together a pair of kindred spirits.

So it proved; she met Robin from time to time thereafter—once or twice when he’d unthinkingly sought her out as a never-failing wellspring of comfort for homesickness, the rest of the time trudgingly merrily about the Collegium, his arms loaded with a pile of books almost as tall as he—and more than once, in the Library, with Elcarth. Once she found both of them bent over an ancient tome of history written in an archaic form of the language that little Robin couldn’t read himself, but just knew Elcarth could—and said so. He was convinced that Elcarth was the original fount of all knowledge. He was bringing Elcarth all his questions, as naturally as breathing.

Until now Talia frequently found both of them immersed in something so dry that she needed a drink just thinking about it! Kindred souls, indeed.

Four

Dirk sprawled in his favorite chair in his quarters, a battered old piece of furniture long ago faded to indeterminate beige, but one that was as comfortable as an old boot. He wished that he could be as comfortable inside as he was outside.

He stared at the half-empty glass in his hand morosely. He shouldn’t be drinking on such a fine night. He was drinking far too much of late, and he knew it.

But what’s a man to do when he can’t sleep? When all he thinks of is a certain pair of soft brown eyes? When he doesn’t know whether to betray his own heart or his best friend?

The only cure for his insomnia was to be found at the bottom of a bottle; so that’s where he usually was at day’s end.

Of course the cure had its drawbacks; wretched hangovers, increasingly ill temper, and the distinct feeling that avoiding problems was the coward’s way out. He longed for a field assignment—oh, gods, to get away from the Collegium and Her! But nothing of the kind was forth-coming—and anyway, they wouldn’t assign anything to Kris or him until their current batch of students was fully trained in the use of their Gifts.

Their students—gods, there was another reason to drink.

He finished the glass without even noticing he’d done so, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Poor little Christa. He wondered if anyone else had figured out she had been using her Gift to save the little ones in that fire.

Any tune I close my eyes, I can almost see her—

The self-conjured vision was horrific. He could picture her only too easily; surrounded by an inferno, steadfastly concentrating with all her soul—because moving anything alive by means of the Fetching Gift was hard; hard and dangerous—while the building went up in flames around her. And it was all his fault that she’d sacrificed herself that way.

He raised his glass to his lips, only to discover that it was empty already.

I’m drinking this bottle too fast—

And the way she’d died—it was all his fault.

Before Christa had finished training with him she’d asked him if it was possible to move living things by Fetching. Anyone else he’d have told “no”—-but she was so good, and he was so infernally proud of her. So he told her the truth, and what was more, done what he’d never done before and and showed her how; how to move live creatures without smothering them, without twisting them up inside. And he’d told her (gods, how well he remembered telling her) that when it had to be done, it was far safer to move a living thing from your bands to where you wanted it to go, than from where it was to your hands.

I am definitely drinking this too fast—the bottle’s half empty already.

That was why she’d gone in to send the babies out, not Fetched them out to her. If only he’d known when he’d taught her what he’d discovered since, researching in the Library—that under great stress it was often possible for someone with their Gift to transport themselves short distances. He’d meant to tell her—but somehow he never found the time.

Now she’s dead, horribly, painfully dead, because I “never found the time.”

He shook the bottle, surprised to find it empty already.

Oh, well, there’s another where that one came from.

He didn’t even have to get up; the second bottle was cooling on the windowsill. He reached out an unsteady hand and somehow managed to grab the neck of it. He’d already taken the cork out when he was sober, then stuck it back in loosely. If he hadn’t, he’d never have gotten the bottle open.

Gods, I’m disgusting.

He knew this was not the way to be handling the problem; that he should be doing what his heart was telling him to do—find Talia, and let her help him work it all out. But he couldn’t face her. Not like this.

I can’t let her see me like this. I can’t. She’ll think I’m—I’m worse than what Naril called me.

Besides, if he did go to her, she’d read the rest of what was on his mind, and then what would he do? Gods, what a tangle he’d gotten himself into.

I—I need her, dammit. But—do I need her more than Kris does? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

He couldn’t ask Kris for help, not when Kris was the other half of the problem. And music was no longer a solace, not when every time he played he could hear her singing, haunting every line.

Damn the woman. She steals my friend, she steals my music, she steals my peace of mind-

In the next instant he berated himself for even thinking such things. That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t the least notion of what she’d done to him.

And so far as he’d been able to tell, she really hadn’t been spending all that much time with Kris since she’d gotten back. Maybe there was hope for him, after all. She and Kris surely weren’t behaving like lovers.

But what would he do if they were in love?

For that matter, what would he do if they weren’t?

The level in the bottle continued to go down as he tried—and failed—to cope.

Robin trotted happily down the hall to the Herald’s quarters. He adored the Heralds, and was always the first to volunteer when someone had a task that would involve his helping them in any way. In this case it was twice the pleasure, for the Queen’s Own, Herald Talia, had come looking for a page to return some manuscripts she’d borrowed from Herald Dirk for copying. Robin loved Herald Talia better than all the others put together— excepting only EIcarth. Heralds were wonderful, and Talia was even more than usually wonderful; she always had time to talk, she never told him he was being a baby (like Lord Orthallen did) when he was homesick. His Mama had told him how important Lord Orthallen was, but so far as Robin was concerned, Talia was worth any twelve Orthallens. He had often wished he could make her smile the way she could cheer him up. She wasn’t looking very happy lately and anything he could do to make her brighten a little, he would, and gladly.

There was a swirl of somber robes ahead of him—one of the Great Lords. Maybe even his own Lord. Robin kept his eyes down as he’d always been told to do. It wasn’t proper for a little boy to gawk at the Great Lords of State, especially not when that little boy was supposed to be running an errand. If it was Orthallen, it was important for him to see that Robin was properly doing his duty.

So it was rather a shock, what with the fact that he was watching where he was going and all, when he tripped and went sprawling face-first, all his scrolls flying about him.

If the one ahead of him had been a fellow page, he would immediately have suspected he’d been tripped a-purpose. But a Great Lord could hardly be suspected of a childish prank like that.

The Great Lord paused just a moment, papers fluttering around his feet, then went on. Robin kept his eyes down, blushing scarlet in humiliation, and began collecting them.

Now that was odd. That was very odd. He’d had fourteen scrolls when he’d been sent on this errand. He knew, because he’d counted them in Talia’s presence twice. Now he had fifteen. And the fifteenth one was sealed, not just rolled up like the others.

He could have gotten muddled, of course.

But he could almost hear Dean Elcarth’s voice in his ear, because he’d asked Elcarth just this very week what he should do if he was asked to do something that didn’t seem quite right, or if something happened in the course of his duties that seemed odd. One of the older boys had been sent on a very dubious errand by one of the ladies of the Court, and there’d been trouble afterward. The page involved hadn’t had the nerve to tell anyone until it was too late, and by then his memory was all confused. So Robin had asked the wisest person he knew what he should do if he found himself in a similar case.

“Do it, don’t disobey—but remember, Robin,” Elcarth had told him, “remember everything; what happened, who asked you, and when, and why, and who was with them. It may be that what you’re being told to do is perfectly legitimate. You could have no way of knowing. But if it isn’t, you could be the only person to know the real truth of something. You pages are in a very special position, you know, people look at you, but they really don’t see you. So keep that in mind, and if anything ever happens around you that seems odd, remember it; remember the circumstances. You may help someone that way.”

“Isn’t that being a little like a sneak?” Robin had asked doubtfully.

Elcarth had laughed and ruffled his hair. “If you ask that question, you’re in no danger of becoming one, my little owl. Besides, it’s excellent training for your memory.”

Very well then. Robin would remember this.

There was no answer when Robin tapped at Herald Dirk’s half-open door. When he peeked inside, he could see Herald Dirk slumped in a chair at the farther end of the room by his open window. He seemed to be asleep, so Robin slipped inside, quiet as a cat, and left the scrolls on his desk.

Talia didn’t need a summons that morning; anyone with the vaguest hint of her Gift of Empathy would have come running to the Queen’s side. Emotional turmoil— anger, fear, worry—was so thick in the air Talia could taste it, bitter and metallic.

She caught the first notes of it as she was dressing, and ran for the royal chambers as soon as she was decent. The two Guards outside the door looked very uncomfortable, as if they were doing their level best to be deaf to the shouting behind the double doors they guarded. Talia tapped once, and cracked one door open.

Selenay was in her outer chamber, dressed for the day, but without her coronet. She was sitting behind her work-table in her “public” room; there was a sealed scroll on the table before her. With her were Lord Orthallen (looking unbearably smug), a very embarrassed Kris, an equally embarrassed Guardsman, and an extremely angry Dirk.

“I don’t give a fat damn how it got there—I didn’t take it!” Dirk was shouting as Talia glanced at the sentry outside and entered. She shut the door behind her quickly. Whatever was going on here, the fewer people there were who knew about it, the better.

“Then why were you trying to hide it?” Orthallen asked smoothly.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, dammit! I was looking for my headache-powders when this idiot barged in without a by-your-leave!” Dirk did look slightly ill; pale, with a pain-crease between his brows, his sapphire-blue eyes thoroughly bloodshot, his straw-blond hair more than usually tangled.

“We have only your word for that.” “Since when—” Talia said clearly and coldly “—has a Herald’s word been subject to cross-examination? Your pardon, Majesty, but what in the Haven’s name is going on here?”

“I discovered this morning that some rather sensitive documents were missing” Selenay answered, looking outwardly calm, though Talia knew she was anything but untroubled. “Lord Orthallen instigated a search, and he found them in Herald Dirk’s possession.”

“I haven’t been anywhere near the Palace wings for the past week! Besides, what use could I possibly make of the damned things?” Dirk’s mental anguish was so intense that Talia wanted to weep.

“Look, Uncle, you know my quarters are just down the hall from his. I can pledge the fact that he didn’t leave them all last night.”

“Nephew, I know this man is your friend.”

“If I have to be brutally frank, then I will be,” Kris said, flushing an angry and embarrassed red. “Dirk couldn’t have moved anywhere because he wasn’t in any shape to move. He was dead drunk last night, just like he’s been every night for the past couple of weeks.”

Dirk went almost purple, then deathly white.

“So? Since when has inability to move physically hampered anyone with his Gift?”

Now it was Kris’ turn to pale.

“I haven’t heard an answer to a very good question— Orthallen, what on earth would Dirk want with those documents?” Talia asked, trying to buy a little time to think.

“They would put someone in this Court in a rather indelicate position,” Orthallen replied, “And let us say that the person is entangled with a young lady with whom Herald Dirk was at one time very much involved himself. Their parting was somewhat acrimonious. His motivation could be complex—revenge, perhaps. Blackmail, perhaps. The Queen and I have been attempting to keep this situation from escalating into scandal, but if anyone excepting us saw the contents of these letters, it could throw the entire Court into an uproar.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing a Councillor accuse a Herald of blackmail!” Talia cried out indignantly.

“You just heard my nephew—his best friend—-say he’s been drinking himself insensible every night for the past few weeks. Does that sound like normal behavior for a Herald?” Orthallen turned to the Queen. “Majesty, I am not saying that this young man would have purloined these documents were he in his proper mind, but I think there is more than enough evidence to indicate that—”

“Orthallen,” the queen interrupted him, “I—”

“Wait just a moment—don’t anyone say anything.” Talia held one hand to her temple, feeling pain stab through her head. The hot press of the emotions of those around her was so intense she was getting a reaction-headache from trying to shield herself. “Let’s just assume for one moment that Dirk is telling the absolute truth, shall we?”

“But—”

“No, hear me out. Under that assumption, in what way—other than someone deliberately going into his room and planting them there—could those documents have gotten where they were found? Dirk, were they there after dinner?”

“Before I started drinking, you mean?” Dirk replied bitterly. “No. My desk was perfectly clean, for a change. When I woke up this morning, there were about a dozen scrolls there, and this was one of them.”

“Fine. I know if someone had gone into your room that normally didn’t belong there, you’d have woken up, no matter what. I can tell you that I sent Robin to you last night with those poems I borrowed. There were exactly fourteen scrolls, and that wasn’t one of them. Now unless Lord Orthallen would like to accuse me of purloining those documents—”

“I still had them after you left, Talia,” the Queen said, a distinct edge to her voice.

“I also know that none of the Heralds would wake up for a page entering their room unless the page deliberately woke them. The little devils are too ubiquitous; practically invisible, and we all know they’re harmless. So, it is possible that some tune between when Robin left me and when he got to your room, Dirk, an extra scroll got added to his pile.”

“Guard,” Selenay addressed the fourth person in the room, and the Guardsman turned to the Queen with gratitude suffusing his face, “Fetch Robin, please, would you? He’ll be having breakfast in the page’s room about now. Just ask for him.”

The Guard left, plainly happy to be out of the situation.

When he returned with Robin, Talia took the child to one side, away from the others, and closer to the Queen than to Orthallen. She spoke quietly and encouragingly, taking the initiative before Orthallen had a chance to try and bully him.

“Robin, I gave you some papers to take to Herald Dirk last night. How many were there?”

“I—” He looked troubled. “I thought there were fourteen, but—”

“But?”

“I fell down, and when I picked them up, there were fifteen. I know, because Dean Elcarth told me to remember things that were funny, and that was funny.”

“When did you fall down?”

“Near the staircase, by the lion tapestry.”

“Was anyone else nearby? Did you run into anyone?”

“I wasn’t running,” he said indignantly. “There was a m’lord, but—m’lady, Mama always told me not to stare at m’lords, so—I didn’t see who it was.”

“Bright Stars!” Orthallen suddenly looked shamefaced— almost horror-stricken—though somehow Talia had the feeling that he was putting on an act. Certainly there was nothing she could sense empathically behind his expression. “That was me—and I had the scroll at the time. Stars, I must have dropped it, and the child picked it up!” He turned to Dirk, a faint flush creeping over his face, and spread his hands with an apologetic grimace. “Herald Dirk, my most profound apologies. Majesty, I hardly know what to say.”

“I think we’ve all said quite enough for one morning,” Selenay replied tiredly. “Dirk, Kris, I am terribly sorry. I hope you’ll all put this down to an excess of zeal. Talia—”

Talia just shook her head a little, and said, “We can all talk about it when we’ve cooled down. Right now is not the time.”

Selenay gave her a smile of gratitude as Orthallen used this as a cue to excuse himself.

Talia was not sorry to see him leave.

Selenay detailed the Guard to escort Robin back, and asked Talia, “Have you had anything to eat yet? I thought not. Then go do so, and I’ll see you in Council.”

The three Heralds left together, the Guardsman right behind them, escorting a mystified Robin back to the page’s quarters. Talia could feel Dirk seething, and braced herself for the explosion.

As soon as they were a sufficient distance from the Queen’s chambers that they were likely to have no audience, it came.

“Thanks a lot, friend!” Dirk all but hissed. “Thanks ever so much, brother! How I ever managed without your help, I’ll never know!”

“Look, Dirk—I’m sorry—”

“Sorry! Dammit, you didn’t even believe me! My best friend, and you didn’t believe a single word I said!”

“Dirk!”

“Then telling everyone I’m some kind of drunken fool—”

“I didn’t say that!” Kris was beginning to get just as angry as Dirk was.

“You didn’t have to! You implied it very nicely! And gave your precious uncle more ammunition to use on me!”

“Dirk, Kris has every right to worry about you if you’ve been acting oddly. And Kris, Dirk’s right. Even I could tell you didn’t believe him without having to read you.” Talia knew she should have kept her mouth shut, but couldn’t help herself. “And he’s right about Orthallen.”

They both turned on her as one, and spoke in nearly the same breath.

“And I don’t need any more help from you, ‘Queen’s Own’—”

“Talia, I’m getting very tired of listening to your childish suspicions about my uncle—”

She went white-lipped with anger and hurt. “Fine, then—” she snarled, clenching her fists and telling herself that she would not deliver a pair of hearty blows to those stubborn chins. “I wash my hands of both of you! You can both go to Hell in a gilded carriage for all of me! With purple cushions!”

Unable to get another coherent word out, she spun on her toe and ran to the closest exit, and didn’t stop running until she reached the Field and the sympathetic shoulder of Rolan.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Dirk sneered in triumph.

“What I’ve done?” Kris lost what little remained of his temper and groped visibly for words adequate to express his anger. “Gods, I hope you’re satisfied—now that you’ve managed to get her mad at both of us!”

In point of fact, a nasty little part of him Dirk hadn’t dreamed existed was pleased, for now, at least, they were on an equally bad footing with Talia. He could hardly admit it, though. “Me? All I did was defend myself—”

“I,” Kris interrupted angrily, “have had just about enough of this. Til talk to you about this mess if and when you decide to stop behaving like a damn fool and when you quit drinking yourself into a stupor every night. Until then—-”

“This is just a little too public a place for you to start making threats.”

Kris bit back the angry words that he knew would put any hope of reconciliation out of reach. “Far too public,” he replied stiffly, “and what we have to say to each other is far too private, and can and should wait until then.”

Dirk made an ironic little bow. “At your pleasure.”

There didn’t seem to be any way to respond to that, so Kris just nodded abruptly, and stalked off down the corridor.

Dirk found himself standing alone in the deserted corridor, temples pounding with a hangover, feeling very much abused. He wanted to feel vindicated, and all he really felt like was a fool. And very much alone.

By the time Talia arrived for her weaponry lesson, Alberich had heard the rumors that Kris and Dirk had had a falling-out. He was not too terribly surprised when Talia appeared for her practice session wearing an expression so coldly impassive it might have been a mask. Few even at the Collegium would have guessed how well he could read the Queen’s Own, or how well he knew her. She had quite won his heart as a student—so very alone, and so determined to do everything perfectly. She seldom tried to make excuses for herself, and never gave up, not even when she knew she had no chance of success. She had reminded him of times long past, and a young and idealistic student-cadet of Karse—and his sympathy and soul had gone out to her. Not that he would ever have let her know. He never betrayed his feelings to his students while they were still students.

He had a shrewd idea of how matters stood with her in regard to her feelings about Dirk and Kris. So he had a fairly good idea what her reaction to the quarrel might be.

This afternoon the lesson called for Talia to work out alone against the Armsmaster. She did not hold back at the least—began attacking him, in fact, with blind fury as soon as the lesson began. Alberich let her wear herself out for a bit, scar-seamed face impassive, then caught her with a feint not even a beginner would have fallen for and disarmed her.

“Enough—quite enough,” he said, as she stood white and drained and panting with exhaustion. “Have I not told you many times, it is with your intellect you fight, not with your anger? Anger you are to leave at the door. It will kill you. Look how you have let it wear you out! Had this been a real fight, your anger would have done half your enemy’s work for him.”

Talia’s shoulders sagged. “Master Alberich—”

“Enough, I have said it,” he interrupted, picking up her blade from the floor. He took three soundless steps toward her, and placed one callused hand on her shoulder. “Since the anger cannot be left at the door, you will confide it?”

Talia capitulated, letting him push her gently toward the seats at the edge of the floor. She slumped dispiritedly down onto a bench pushed up against the wall as he seated himself beside her. After a long moment of silence, she gave him a brief outline of the morning’s events. She kept her eyes for the most part on a beam of the late afternoon sunlight that fell upon the smooth, sanded, gray-brown wooden floor. No sound penetrated into the salle from the outside, and the ancient building smelled of dust and sweat. Alberich sat beside her, absolutely motionless, hands clasped around the ankle that rested on his right knee. Talia glanced at him from time to time, but his harsh, hawklike face remained unreadable.

Finally when she had finished, he stirred just a little, raising his hand to rub the side of his nose.

“I tell you what I have never admitted,” he said after a long pause, tapping his lips with one finger, thoughtfully. “I have never trusted Lord Orthallen. And I have served Valdemar fully as long as he.”

Talia was taken aback. “But—”

“Why? Any number of small things. He is too perfect the servant of the State, never does he take for himself any reward. And when a man does not claim a reward visibly, I look for a reward hidden. He does not openly oppose the Heraldic Circle, but when others do, he is always just behind them, pushing, gently pushing. He is everyone’s friend—and no one’s intimate companion. Also, my Companion does not like him.”

“Rolan doesn’t either.”

“A good measure by which to judge the man, I think. I believe that your suspicions are correct; that he has been striving to undermine your influence with Selenay. I think that since he has failed at that, he turns to eliminating your friends, to weaken your emotional base. I think he well knows how it hurts you to see young Dirk injured.”

Talia blushed.

“You are the best judge of the truth of what I say.” He shifted on the hard, worn bench and recrossed his legs, ankle over knee. “My guess—he knows Kris is your partisan; he could not get Kris to repudiate you so he decided to set the two great friends at odds with each other in hopes you would be caught in the middle.”

“Me? But—”

“If he is of the mind to undermine your authority, this is one way of it,” Alberich added quietly, hands clasped thoughtfully over one knee. “To chip away at those supporting you until they are so entangled in their own misfortune that they can spare no time for helping you.”

“I see what you’re getting at, now. He’s removing my support in such a way that I’m set off-balance. Then, when I’m in a particularly delicate position, give me a little shove—” Talia flicked out a finger, “—and with no one to advise me or give me backing, I vacillate, or start making mistakes. And all the things he’s been whispering about my not being quite up to the job look like something more than an old man’s mistrust of the young. I thought you didn’t deal with Court politics . . .” She smiled wanly at her instructor.

“I said I do not play the game; I never said I did not know how the game was played.” His mouth turned up a little at one corner. “Be advised, however, that I have never told anyone of my suspicions because I seemed to be alone in them—and I did not intend to give Lord Orthallen a reason to gaze in my direction. It is difficult enough being from Karse—without earning high-placed enemies.”

Talia nodded with sympathy. It had been hard enough on her during her first years at the Collegium. She could hardly imagine what it had been like for someone hailing from the land that was Valdemar’s traditional enemy.

“Now I do think he has miscalculated, perhaps to his eventual grief. It is that he has badly underestimated the unity of the Circle, I think, or it is that he cannot understand it. Among the courtiers, such a falling out as is between Kris and Dirk would be permanent—and woe betide she caught between them!”

Talia sighed. “I know they’ll make up eventually—Lord of Lights, though, I’m not sure I can deal with the emotional lightnings and thunders till they do! Why couldn’t Ahrodie and Tantris get their hooves into this and straighten it out?”

“Why do you not?” Alberich retorted. “They are our Companions and friends, delinda, not our overseers. They leave our personal lives to ourselves, nor would any of us thank them for interfering. Yes, they will most probably be whispering sensible things into their Chosen’s minds, but you know well they will not force either of the two into anything.”

She sighed wistfully. “If I were a little less ethical, I’d fix both of them.”

“If you were a little less ethical, you would not have been Chosen,” Alberich pointed out. “Now, since the anger is gone, shall we return to the exercise of the body in place of the tongue?”

“Do I have a choice?” Talia asked, as she rose from her place on the bench.

“No, delinda, you do not—so guard yourself!”

Elspeth had encountered Orthallen during one of her rare moments of leisure; she was dawdling a bit on her way back to her suite in the Palace to dress for dinner with the Court. She took dinner with the Court once a week—”to remind everyone” (in her own wry words) “that they still have a Heir.”

She was standing before an open second-story window; some of the gardens were directly below her. She was wearing a rather wistful expression and  hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the corridor with her until Orthallen touched her elbow.

She jumped and started back (one hand brushing a hidden dagger) when she realized who it was and relaxed.

“Havens, Lord-Un—Lord Orthallen, you startled me out of a year’s life!”

“I most sincerely hope not,” he replied, “But I do wish you would continue to call me ‘Lord-Uncle’ as you started to. Surely now that you’re nearly through your studies you aren’t going to become formal with me!”

“All right, Lord-Uncle, since you ask it. Just remember to defend me for my impudence when Mother takes me to task for it!” Elspeth grinned, and leaned back on the window-frame a little.

“Now what is it that you were watching with such a long face?” he asked lightly, coming close enough to look out of the window himself.

Below the window were some of the Palace gardens; in the gardens a hatf-dozen couples—children of courtiers or courtiers themselves—ranging from Elspeth’s age upward to twenty or so. They were involved in the usual sorts of activities that might be expected from a group of adolescents in a sunny garden in the spring. One couple was engaged in a mock-game of “tag,” one girl was embroidering while her gallant read to her, two maids were giggling and gasping at the antics of two lads balancing on the basin of a fountain, one young gentleman was peacefully asleep with his head in the lap of his chosen lady, two couples were simply strolling hand in hand.

Elspeth sighed.

“And why aren’t you down there, my lady?” Orthallen asked quietly.

“Havens, Lord-Uncle, where would I get the time?” Elspeth’s reply was impatient and a touch self-pitying. “Between my classes and everything else—besides, I don’t know any boys, at least not well. Well, there’s Skif, but he’s busy chasing Nerissa. Besides, he’s even older than Talia.”

“You don’t know any young men—when half the swains of the Court are near dying just to speak to you?’*

Orthallen’s expression of incredulity held as much of bitter as playful mockery, though Elspeth was so used to his manners that she hardly noted it,

“Well if they’re near-dying, nobody told me about it, and nobody’s bothered to introduce us.”

“If that’s all that’s lacking, I will be happy to make the introductions. Seriously, Elspeth, you are spending far too much of your time among the Heralds and Heraldic Students. Heralds make up only a very small part of Valdemar, my dear. You need to get to know your courtiers better, particularly those of your own age. Who knows? You may one day wish to choose a consort from among them. You can hardly do that if you don’t know any of them.”

“You have a point, Lord-Uncle,” Elspeth mused, taking another wistful glance out the window, “But when am I going to find the time?”

“Surely you have an hour or two in the evenings?”

“Well, yes, usually.”

“There’s your answer.”

Elspeth smiled. “Lord-Uncle, you’re almost as good at solving problems as Talia!”

Her race fell a trifle then, and Orthalien’s right eyebrow rose as he took note of her expression.

“Is there some problem with Talia?”

“Only—only that there’s only one of her. Mother needs her more than I do, I know that—but—I wish I could talk to her the way I used to when she was still a student. She doesn’t have the time anymore.”

“You could talk to me,” Orthallen pointed out. “Besides, Talia’s first loyalty is to your mother; she might feel obliged to tell her what you confided in her.”

Elspeth did not reply to this, but his words made her very thoughtful.

“At any rate, we were speaking of those young gentlemen who are perishing to make your acquaintance. Would you care to meet some of them tonight, after dinner? In the garden by the fountain, for instance?”

Elspeth blushed and her eyes sparkled. “I’d love to!”

“Then,” Orthallen made her a sweeping bow, “it shall be as my lady commands.”

Elspeth thought a great deal about that conversation as she sat through dinner. On the one hand, she trusted Talia; on the other, if there were a conflict of loyalties there was no doubt who her first allegiance was due. She hadn’t thought about it before—but the idea of her mother knowing everything about her wasn’t a comfortable one.

Especially since Selenay didn’t appear to be taking Elspeth’s maturity very seriously.

But Elspeth had gained inches since Talia had gone— and with the inches, a woman’s curves. She was taking more care with her appearance; she’d seen the glances given some of her older friends by the young males of the Collegium and recently those glances had seemed very desirable things to collect. She found that lately she was looking to the young men of Collegium and Court with an eye less bemused and more calculating. And to the eyes of a stranger—

She’d looked at herself in her mirror before dinner, trying to appraise what she saw there. Lithe, taller than Talia by half a head, wavy sable hair and velvety brown eyes—the body of a young goddess, if certain people were to be believed, and the look of one more than ready to know more of life—yes. There was no doubt that to a stranger, she looked more than ready to be thinking about wedding or bedding, certainly old enough by the standards of the Court.

Or so Elspeth thought, setting her chin stubbornly. Well, if her mother wouldn’t see on her own that Elspeth was quite fully grown now, perhaps there were ways to to bring that knowledge home to her.

And, she thought, catching sight of Lord Orthallen among a group of quite fascinating-looking young men, it just might be rather exciting as well. . .

Five

The weather, which had briefly taken a turn for the better, soured again. Talia’s mood was none too sweet either.

The rains returned, and with them, spoiled tempers among the Councillors. Again Talia found herself spending as much time intervening in personal quarrels as helping to make decisions. Orthallen, strangely enough, seemed content now to let her alone. He brooded down at his end of the Council table like some huge white owl, face blank and inscrutable, pondering mysterious thoughts of his own. This alarmed her more than it reassured her. She took to examining every word she intended to say, and weighing it against all the possible ways Orthallen might be able to use what she said against her at some later date.

Dirk split his free time either lurking in her vicinity or hiding out in the wet. The one was as frustrating as the other. Either she didn’t see him at all, or she saw him but couldn’t get near him. For whenever she tried to approach him, he turned pale, looked around—wearing a frantic expression—for the nearest exit, and escaped with whatever haste was seemly. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was trying to catch him; she couldn’t even trap him in his rooms. Either that, or he somehow knew when she was at the door, and pretended he wasn’t there.

Kris all but hibernated in his room. And Talia was determined not to see him until he apologized for what he’d said to her. While then quarrel of itself was of no great moment, she was tired to death of having to justify her feelings about his uncle. After her little talk with Alberich, she was certain—with a surety that came all too seldom—that in the case of Orthallen she was entirely in the right, and he was entirely in the wrong. And this time she was going to hold out until he acknowledged the fact!

Meanwhile she made up for the absence of both of them by trying to be everywhere at once.

She was shorting herself of sleep to do so, and still felt there was much she wasn’t doing. But there was just so much work; Selenay had asked her to take on the interviews of petitioners from the flooded areas, Devan needed her with three profoundly depressed patients, and there were all those quarrels among the Councillors.

It was with heartfelt gratitude that she found the sessions with Destria going well; Vostel’s arrival put the cap on their success. It was plain to Talia that his reaction to Destria’s appearance comforted her immensely. It helped that he regarded her scars as badges of honor and told her so in as many words. And as Rynee had thought, he was of tremendous aid when they began Destria’s rehabilitative therapy—for he had gone through all this himself. He coaxed her when she faltered, bolstered her courage when it ran out, goaded her when she turned sulky, and held her when she wept with pain. He was doing so much for her that she needed Talia’s Gift less with every day.

Which was just as well, for Selenay needed it the more. As soon as one crisis was solved, another sprang up like a noxious weed, and Selenay’s resources were wearing thin. And when some of the choices she made turned out to be the wrong ones—as, soon or late, happened—Talia found herself exercising her good sense and Gift to the utmost.

A drenched and mud-splattered messenger from Herald Patris stood before the Council; when the door-Guard had learned his news, he’d interrupted the session to bring him there himself.

“Majesty,” the man said, with a blank expression that Talia found very disconcerting, and which made her very uneasy, “Herald Patris sends this to tell you that the outlaws are no more.”

He held out a sealed message pouch as those at the Council board erupted in cheers and congratulations. Only the Queen, Kyril, and Selenay did not join in the rejoicing. There was something about the messenger’s expression that told them there was much he had not said.

Selenay opened the message and scanned it, the blood draining from her face as she did so.

“Goddess—” the parchment sheet fell from her nerveless fingers, and Talia caught it. The Queen covered her face with trembling hands, as the tumult around the Council table died into absolute silence.

Her Councillors stared at their monarch, and at an equally pale Queen’s Own, as Talia read Patris’ grim words in a voice that shook.

“ ‘We ran the brigands to earth, but by the time they were brought to bay, the temper of the Guard was fully aroused. We cornered them at their own camp, a valley overlooked by Darkfell Peak. It was then that they made the mistake of killing the envoy sent to parley. At that point the Guard declared “no quarter.” They went mad— that is the only way I can describe it. They were no longer rational men; they were blood-mad berserkers. Perhaps it was being out here too long, chasing phantoms—perhaps the foul weather—I do not know. It was hideous. Nothing I or anyone else could say or do was able to curb them. They fell on the encampment—and the outlaws were slaughtered to the last man.’ “

Talia took a deep breath, and continued. “ ‘It was not just the outlaws themselves; the Guard slew every living thing in their bolt-hole, be it man, woman, or beast. But that was not the worst of the horrors, though that was horror enough. Among the dead—* “

Talia’s voice failed, then, and Kyril took the message from her, and continued in a hoarse half-whisper.

“ ‘Among the dead were the very children we had hoped to save. All—all of them, dead. Slain by their captors when it became obvious that they would get no mercy from the Guard.’ “

The Councillors stared in dumb shock, as Selenay wept without shame.

Selenay blamed herself for not replacing the Guard companies with fresher troops or for not sending someone who could have controlled the weary Guardsmen no matter what strain the troops were under.

Nor was the murder of the children the only tragedy, although it was the greatest. Vital intelligence had been lost in that slaughter—who their leader had been, and whether or not he had been acting under orders from outside the Kingdom.

It took days before Selenay was anything like her normal self.

The one blessing, so far as Talia was concerned, was that Orthallen exercised a little good sense and chose to back down on his militant stance for more local autonomy; just as well, for Lady Kester’s people began having the expected troubles with pirates and coastal raiders, and the promised troops had to be shifted to the West. But before they could reach their deployments, Herald Nathen was seriously hurt leading the fisherfolk in beating off a slaving raid.

And that opened up another wonder-chest of troubles.

Nathen himself came before them, although the Healers protested that he was not yet well enough to do so. He was a sharp-featured man, not old, but no longer young; brown-haired, brown-eyed—quite unremarkable except for the intensity in those eyes, and an anger that kept him going when nothing else was left to him. He sat, rather than stood, facing the entire Council. He was heavily bandaged, with his arm bound against his side, and still physically so weak he could scarcely speak above a whisper.

“My ladies, my lords—” he coughed,”—I did not dare trust this to anyone but myself. Messengers can be waylaid, documents purloined —”

“My lord Herald,” Gartheser said smoothly, “I think you may be overreacting. Your injuries ...”

“Did not cause me to hallucinate what I heard,” Nathan snapped, his anger giving him a burst of strength. “We captured a prisoner, Councillors; I interrogated him myself under Truth Spell before I was hurt. The brigands are serving those slavers we thought banished!”

“What?” Lady Cathan choked out, as she half-stood, then collapsed back into her seat.

“There is worse. The slave-traders are not working unaided. I have it by my prisoner’s confession and by written proofs that they have been aided and abetted by Lord Geoffery of Helmscarp, Lord Nestor of Laverin, Lord Tavis of Brengard, and TradeGuildsmen Osten Deveral, Jerard Stonesmith, Petar Ringwright, and Igan Horstfel.”

He sank back into his own chair, eyes still burning with controlled rage, as the Council erupted into accusation and counter-accusation.

“How could this have occurred without your knowledge, Cathan?” Gartheser demanded. “By the gods, I begin to wonder just how assiduous you were in rooting out the last lot—”

“You were right up there in the front ranks to accuse me the last time, Gartheser,” Cathan sneered “but I seem to remember you were also the one who insisted I do all the dirty work. I am only one woman; I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“But Cathan, I cannot see how this could have escaped your knowledge,” Hyron protested. “Those four named are of first-rank.”

“And the other three are Kester’s liegemen,” added Wyrist, suspiciously, “I’d like to know how they managed to operate a slaving ring under Kester’s nose.”

“And so would I,” Lady Kester snapped. “More than you, I reckon.”

And so it went, as Selenay mediated the strife among her Councillors. Talia had her hands full seeing that she remained sane during all of it.

All this, of course, meant that she had no time to pay heed to her own problems—most particularly that of the rift between Dirk and Kris, Kris and herself, and Dirk and herself.

It was bad enough that the quarrel existed—but to add yet another pine-bough to the conflagrations, Rolan was causing her considerable discomfort.

He was the premier stallion of the Companion herd and while Talia had been on internship, had only had another stallion—Kris’ Tantris—for company. Now he was making up for his enforced celibacy with a vengeance—and the partner he dallied with most often was Dirk’s Ahrodie.

And Talia shared it—couldn’t block it if she tried. Not that she blamed Rolan; Ahrodie was sweet, attractive, and a most cooperative partner. She ought to know; she was on the empathic receiving end of all of it. But to have this going on, two and three times a week, while she positively ached for Ahrodie’s Chosen—well, it was unpleasantly like torture. Rolan evidently had no notion of what he was doing to his Chosen, and Talia refused to spoil his pleasure by letting him know.

So she lost further sleep at night; either in suffering through what Rolan was unknowingly inflicting on her or in dreams in which she worked desperately to knit up some undefined but important object that kept unraveling.

* * * *

She didn’t see Elspeth except at training sessions with Alberich, occasional meals, or now and again with Gwena out in the Field. She seemed a little distracted, and maybe a touch shy, but that was normal for a girl just into puberty, and besides, Talia had her hands full to overflowing. So Talia never once worried about her— until one day she realized with a chill of foreboding that she hadn’t seen the girl in several days, not even at arms practice.

Well, that could have been simple circumstance, but it was a situation that needed rectifying. So Talia went looking for her.

She found the Heir in the garden, which was not a place where Elspeth usually spent any time. But she was reading, so she could have decided simply that she needed some fresh air.

“Hello, catling,” Talia called cheerfully, seeing Elspeth’s head snap up at the sound of her voice. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“No—no, just got tired of the Library—” Had she hesitated a fraction of a second before denying that? “Say, you’ve been so busy, I’ll bet you haven’t heard the latest scrape Tuli’s gotten himself into, and I’ll bet you could use a good laugh—”

With that, Elspeth kept the conversation on Collegium gossip, and then pled tasks elsewhere before Talia could gain control of the situation.

The incident left Talia very disconcerted, and when she began seeking the girl out on a regular basis, she only got repetitions of the same. Then Talia began to take note of the specific changes in the girl’s behavior. She was secretive—which was unlike her. There was just the vaguest hint of guilt in the way she evaded Talia’s questions.

Talia took an indirect approach then, and began checking on her through her year-mates and teachers. What she found made her truly alarmed.

“Havens,” Tuli said, scratching his curly head in puzzlement. “I don’t know where she is. She just sort of vanishes about this time of day.”

“Uh-huh,” Gerond agreed, nodding so hard Talia thought his head was going to come off. “Just lately. She’s swapped me chores a couple times so she had the hour free—an’ she hates floorwashing! Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, I’ve just been having trouble finding her today,” Talia replied, taking care to seem nonchalant.

But she was unnerved. These two were Elspeth’s closest friends among her year-mates, and they only confirmed what Talia had begun to fear. There were gaps of an hour or so in Elspeth’s day during which she was vanishing, and no one seemed to have any idea of where she was.

It was time she checked her other sources—the Palace servants.

Talia perched herself on a settle, next to the cold fireplace in the Servant’s Hall. She had come to her friends—for many of the servants were her friends, and had been since she was a student—rather than raise anyone’s attention by having them come to her. Seated about her were a half-dozen servitors she had found to be the most observant and most trustworthy. Two of them, a chambermaid called Elise and a groom named Ralf, had pinpointed the guilty parties when a group of the “Blues” (or unaffiliated students) had tried to murder her as a student by attacking her and throwing her into the ice-covered river. Elise had seen several of Talia’s attackers coming in mucky, and thought it more than odd; Ralf had spotted the entire group hanging about the stable earlier. Both had reported their observations to Elcarth when word spread of the attempt on Talia’s life.

“All right,” Talia began, “I have a problem. Elspeth is going off somewhere about midafternoon every day, and I can’t find out where or why. I was hoping one of you would know.”

From the looks exchanged within the group, she knew she’d found her answer.

“She’s—this goes no farther, young Talia—” this from Jan, one of the oldest there. He was a gardener, and to him, she would always be “young” Talia. Talia nodded and he continued. “She’s hangin’ about with young m’lord Joserlin Corby’s crew. Them as is no better’n rowdies.”

“Rowdies!” Elise snorted. “If ‘tweren’t for their highborn da’s, they’d been sent home long ago for the way they paw over every girl they can catch unawares.” “Girl” here meant “female servant”; if Elise had intended to say that the young men had been mishandling other females, she’d have said “m’ladies.” Not that this difference was very comforting; it meant that they were only confining unwanted attentions to the women who dared not protest overmuch.

“It’s said,” added another chambermaid, “that at home they gets t’ more’n pawings.”

“Such as?” Talia replied. “You know I won’t take it elsewhere.”

“Well—mind, m’lady, this is just tales, but it’s tales I hear from their people—this lot is plain vicious.”

Besides forcing their attentions on the servants of their estates, it seemed that “Corby’s Crew” was given to so-called pranks that were very unfunny. A cut saddle-girth before a rough hunt was no joking matter, not when it nearly caused a death. And some of these same adolescents were the younger brothers and sisters of those who had tried to murder Talia.

But thus far—that anyone knew—Elspeth had not been a participant in any of their activities. It seemed that at the moment she was simply being paid elaborate court to—something new to her that she evidently found very enjoyable. But it could well be only a matter of time before they lured her into some indiscretion—then used that indiscretion to blackmail her into deeper participation.

Elspeth’s good sense had probably protected her so far, but Talia was worried that it might not be enough protection for very much longer.

This required active measures.

She tried to set a watch on the girl, but Elspeth was very clever and kept eluding her. She tried once or twice to read her with a surface probe, but Elspeth’s shields were better than Talia’s ability to penetrate without forcing her.

Something was going to have to be done, or among the three of them, Elspeth, Dirk, and Kris were going to drive her mad in white linen.

So she decided to try to do something about Dirk first, as being the easiest to get at—and since he wasn’t talking to Kris, the way to him was through her blood-brother Skif.

“I’m as baffled as you are, little sister,” Skif confessed, running a nervous hand through his dark curls, “I haven’t got the vaguest notion why Dirk’s making such an ass of himself.”

“Lord and Lady,” Talia moaned, rubbing her temple and collapsing onto an old chair in Skifs room, “I’d hoped he’d have said something to you—you were my last hope! If this doesn’t clear up soon, I think I’m going to go rather noisily mad!”

When she had finally given up on trying to manage the problem of Dirk by herself, and had sought out Skifs aid, he’d invited her up to his quarters. He’d been to hers a time or two, but this was the first time she’d seen his. Skif s room was much like Skif himself; neat, decked with odd weapons and thick with books. Lately Talia hadn’t had much time to devote to picking her own rooms up, and she found his quarters a haven from chaos. He had only one window, but it looked out over Companion’s Field—always a tranquilizing view.

“First things first—this bond you’ve got. Kris was right. It’s a lifebond—and he’s got it, too. I have no doubt whatsoever of that. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at me? When? I never see him anymore! Since the fight he spends all of his tune out in the mud.”

“Except at meals—any meal you take at the Collegium—he spends so much time watching you that he hardly eats. And I think he knows your schedule by heart. Any time you might be passing under a window, he’s got an excuse to be near that window.” Skif paced the length of the room restlessly as he spoke, his arms folded. “He’s wearing himself to a thread. That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone here.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to be able to help when the man won’t let me near him.”

“Oh, great!”

“He acts like I was a plague-carrier. I’ve tried to get him alone; he won’t let me. And that was before all this mess with the argument with Kris. Now it’s twice as bad.”

“Havens, what a mess.” Skif shook his head ruefully. “He hasn’t said anything to me. I can’t imagine why he’s acting this way. I’ve had it though, and I know you’re at your wits’ end. It’s about time we brought this out into the sunlight. Since he won’t talk to you, I’m going to make damned sure he talks to me. I’m going to have it out with him as soon as I can corner him, and I’ll do it if I have to trap him in the bathing-room and steal his clothes! I’m going to get things settled between him and Kris and him and you if I have to tie you all together in a bundle to do it!”

Neither of them had reckoned on the whims of Fate.

Dirk had been fighting what he thought was a slight cold—one of the many varieties that were currently decimating Court and Collegium alike—for about a week. Perversely he refused to care for it; continuing to escape Talia and Kris by retreating into the dismal weather out-of-doors. In a bizarre way, he didn’t really mind feeling miserable; concentrating on his symptoms kept him from thinking about Her and Him. Physical misery provided a relief from emotional misery.

So he ducked in and out of the cold and rain, day after day, getting soaked to the skin more often than not, but not doing much about it except to change his clothing. Added to that, the emotional strain was taking a greater toll on him than anyone—including himself—realized.

It was midweek, and Talia was taking dinner with the Collegium instead of the Court. She was watching Dirk out of the corner of her eye the entire time, and hoping that Skif was going to be able to fulfill his promise. She was worried—very worried. Dirk was white to the ears; he kept rubbing his head as if it ached. She could see him shiver, although the common-room was warm. He seemed to be unable to keep his mind on what anyone was saying, and he couldn’t speak more than two words in a row without going into a fit of coughing.

She could also see that Kris was watching him, and looking just as concerned.

He pushed his food around without eating much. Kris finally seemed to come to some conclusion, visibly steeled himself, and walked over to sit down next to him.

Kris said something to him, which he answered with a shake of his head. Then he stood up—and Kris had to catch him as he started to crumple.

Kris had decided he’d had enough. He couldn’t stand watching his dearest friend fret himself to pieces—and he’d come to some unhappy conclusions over the past couple of weeks. He’d gone over to sit next to Dirk before the Herald was aware that he was even in the common room, and spoke his piece before Dirk had a chance to escape.

“I was wrong; I was wrong to put so much trust in my uncle, wrong to have doubted you, and wrong to have said anything about your private life. I apologize. Are you going to forgive me, or will I have to throw myself from the battlements in despair?”

Dirk had started a little when Kris first began speaking in his ear, but hadn’t moved away. He’d listened with a mixture of relief and bemusement, then shook his head with a weak smile at Kris’ last sally. Then he stood up—

And the room faded from before his eyes, as he felt his legs give under him.

Half a dozen instructors and field Heralds made a rush for him as Kris caught him. They lowered him back down into his seat, as he protested weakly that he was all right.

“I—” he coughed, rackingly. “I just was dizzy a minute—” he bent over in a fit of coughs, unable to continue, hardly able to catch his breath.

“Like Hell!” replied Teren, one hand on his forehead, “You’re on fire, man. You’re for the Healers, and I don’t want to hear any nonsense out of you about it.”

Before he could regain enough breath to object, Teren draped one of his arms over his own shoulders, while a very worried Kris did the same on Dirk’s other side. The rest surrounded the three of them, allowing no opportunity to escape, and escorted them out the door.

By the time they’d reached their goal, his breath was rattling in his chest and there was little doubt of what ailed him. The Healers isolated him and ran everyone else off, and there was very little that anyone could do about it.

Talia had turned ashen when he’d collapsed, and had left her dinner uneaten, waiting for Kris’ return.

Kris finally reappeared, to be engulfed by everyone who’d been present, demanding to know what the Healers had said.

“They tell me he has pneumonia, and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better,” he replied, his voice carrying easily across from the doorway to the bench where Talia sat. “And they won’t let anyone see him for at least a day or two.”

Talia made a little noise like a strangled sob, stood quickly, and pushed blindly away from the table. The knot of people surrounding Kris had blocked the door nearest her; she stumbled against benches twice as she fled to the door opposite and to her room. She ran all the way down the corridors of the Collegium and through the double doors leading to the Herald’s Wing. She hurled herself up the darkened spiral staircase of the tower that held her room, pushed the door open and flung herself down on the couch in the outer room of her suite, sobbing with a lost despair she hadn’t felt since that awful moment in the Waystation. . . .

She hadn’t closed the door behind her in her flight, and wasn’t in much shape to pay attention to sounds around her. She only realized that she was not alone when she heard someone settle beside her, and somehow knew it was Keren and Sherrill.

She tried to get herself back under control, but Keren’s first words, spoken in a tone of such deep and unmistakable love that Talia hardly believed her ears, completely undid her.

“Little centaur, dearheart, what cause tha’ greeting?”

Keren had slipped into the dialect of her home, something she only did on the rarest of occasions, and then mostly with her twin or her lifemate—moments of profound intimacy.

That broke down the last of her reserve, and she turned with gratitude into Keren’s arms and wept bitterly on her ready shoulder.

“Everything’s gone wrong!” she sobbed, “Elspeth isn’t talking to me anymore, and I know there’s something going on—something she doesn’t want either Selenay or me to know about—but I can’t find out what! And Dirk— and Kris—we fought, and now they won’t talk to me either and—and—now Dirk’s sick, and I can’t bear it! Oh, gods, I’m a total failure!”

Keren, wisely, said nothing, and let the hysterical words and tears wear themselves out. Sherrill meanwhile went quietly about the room, closing the door and fighting candles against the growing darkness. That done, she seated herself at Keren’s feet to wait.

“For tha’ problem of Elspeth I can think of no solution,” Keren said thoughtfully when Talia was in a better state to listen. “But if there was anything truly wrong, her Gwena would surely seek out Rolan—and thee would know.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Talia looked up into Keren’s eyes from where she rested on her shoulder, crestfallen at her own stupidity.

“Why should thee? She’s never given thee anxiety before.” Keren almost-smiled.

“I’m not thinking very clearly. No, that’s not true. I’m not thinking at all. It’s wrong of me, but—Keren, I don’t know how much longer I can bear this trouble with Dirk without flying to pieces. Keren, I want to be with him so much sometimes I think it would be easier to die!”

Keren sighed. “Lifebond, then, is it? And with Dirk— gods, what a tangle! Well, that explains his madness, for certain. Lady only knows what cracked notion the lad has in his head, and ‘tis sure the thing’s got him all turned round about.”

“We know how it can be—an agony.” Sherrill rose from her place, sat next to Talia, and slipped her arm around Talia’s waist, joining Keren in supporting her. “It’s hellish, being pulled inside out by something that can’t be denied and won’t be turned to anything else. Is anyone trying to help you get this straightened out?”

At Talia’s nod, Keren pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I can’t think of anything at all to help thee, little centaur. First it’s a matter of getting Dirk and Kris speaking, then getting Dirk’s mind made up about thee. Hopefully the first is done already. But the second—my best guess is that he’s gotten confused somewhere, and has been chasing his own tail. Time, dearling. That’s all it will take. Time.”

“If I can just hold out a little longer—” Talia relaxed herself with an effort while Keren and Sherrill held her in a circle of love and comfort for long moments.

“You know we understand, dearling,” Sherrill said at last for both of them. “Who better? Now, let’s change the subject. We’re determined to make you smile again.”

With that she and Keren took turns telling her the most hilarious stories that they could think of—mostly of some of the goings-on at the Collegium during her absence. No few of them were libelous; all of them were at least undignified. Talia wished profoundly that she had been present to witness the grave and aloof Kyril picking himself out of the fish pond with a strand of waterweed behind his ear. Between the two of them, they soon had her laughing again, and had drained at least some of the tension from her.

Finally, Keren nodded to her lifemate and gave Talia a comforting hug. “I think you’re cheered enough to survive the night, dear one,” the older woman said. “Yes?”

“I think so,” Talia replied.

“Then let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, and have a good long sleep,” Keren advised, and she and Sherrill departed as quietly as they had come.

Talia wandered back into her bedroom to shed her uniform. She dressed for bed, then changed her mind and wrapped a robe about herself and settled down on her couch with a book. She must have dozed off without meaning to, because the next thing she knew, Kris was standing beside her and touching her arm lightly to wake her, and the candles were burned down to stubs in their holders.

He was hardly what she expected to see. “Kris!” she exclaimed joyfully, then fear took the place of joy. “Is Dirk—worse?” she asked, feeling the color drain from her face.

“No, little bird, he’s no worse. I’ve just come from there. He’s asleep, and the Healers say he’ll be all right in a week or two. And we’re friends again. I thought you’d want to know—and I wanted to make up with you, too.”

“Oh, Kris—I—I’ve never been so miserable in my life,” she confessed. “I was so angry with you, that I swore I wasn’t going to speak to you until you came to me and apologized, but my pride isn’t worth wrecking our friendship over.”

His expression softened a little, and she realized he’d been tensed against her answer. “I’ve never been so miserable either, little bird. And I’ve never felt like quite so much of an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot. Your uncle is—”

“My uncle is—not what I thought,” he interrupted. “I have to apologize to you, like I apologized to Dirk. I was wrong about my uncle. I’m not certain what his problem is, but he is trying to undermine you. And he’s trying to wean me away from you. I’ve extracted information from the unwary often enough that I ought to have recognized it when he was doing it to me—but I didn’t until just recently. He became a little too eager, and failed to cover his trail.” Kris’ expression was troubled. “I hope that what he did to Dirk was unintentional, but I’m afraid I can’t be certain anymore. I wish I knew what his game is. At the moment if I were to hazard a guess, it would be this: he wants the postion he had as Seienay’s closest advisor, and he wants me slightly disaffected from the Heralds so that my family loyalty is just a trifle stronger than my loyalty to the Circle. You were right; I was wrong.”

“I—I’m almost sorry to hear you say that.” A little breeze from the open window behind her made the candles flicker and stirred locks of his hair as she assessed his rueful expression. “What happened to change your mind?”

“Mostly that he tried too hard after the squabble; as I said, he tried to pump me for information about you, and made one too many slighting remarks about Dirk. You were right, that he has a grudge against you, though why, I have no idea. And I think he used that incident with the scrolls as a chance to get at you through Dirk . . . and as a chance to come between me and Dirk. I can only hope he didn’t manufacture it, too.”

She almost said angrily that the dropped scroll was no accident, that Orthallen had manufactured the incident, but decided to hold her tongue. He was in a receptive mood, but the quickest way to close his mind would be to make further accusations. “I have to admit I’m of two minds about this. I’m glad you’re coming around to my way of thinking, but I’m sorry to have changed your faith in your uncle.”

“Don’t be, it isn’t you that has problems, it’s him.”

“Well, this is the first time anything has gone right in weeks. Kris, I’m glad we’re friends again.”

He dropped easily to the floor beside her couch. “So am I. I’ve missed talking to you. But as for things not going right ... I don’t know about that.” He grinned ironically. “That advice you gave me on how to deal with Nessa certainly worked.”

“I meant to ask you about that,” she said, grateful for the way they dropped back into easy conversation, and dad of his company. “I noticed she seems to be pursuing Skif these days.”

He sighed, and drooped like a mime displaying dejection. “Once she had her way with me, she was off to other conquests. Oh, the perfidy of women! When will I ever learn? My heart is forever broken!”

“That’s the first time I ever heard that forever’ equaled the time it takes to boil an egg,” she replied wryly.

“Oh, less, I assure you. I had a chance to drop Skif a word on the subject of the fair Nessa. Now he happens to be very appreciative of Nerissa’s quite real charms. So now that he knows the means of keeping her attention— which is to play hard-to-get—she may very well find herself in the position of hunter-turned-hunted.”

“Like the old man said about that handfasted couple in Fivetree ... do you remember?”

Kris screwed his face up into a fair imitation of the old man’s age-twisted countenance. “Lor’ help you, Herald!” he croaked. “Chased ‘er? ‘Deed he did, in very deed. Chased ‘er till she caught him!”

Talia smiled wistfully. “We had some good times out there, didn’t we?”

“There’ll be more. Don’t worry, little bird. I’ll get this tangle straightened as soon as the Healers will let me near to talk to Dirk. You know, this illness may be a blessing in disguise; he won’t be able to avoid me or find something that urgently needs his attention, and hopefully he’ll believe the things I tell him.”

He stood to leave, and Talia gently touched his hand in thanks.

“Take heart, little bird. Things will get better. I can always slip Dirk lovepotions with his medicines!” He winked, and ran lightly down the staircase.

She laughed, feeling much eased, and rose; laving her book down on the table beside the couch. She went slowly about the room and extinguished her lights, and then went to bed with a happier heart and mind.

* * * *

By the next morning Talia felt far more optimistic— and far readier to tackle her problems face on. And since Dirk was out of reach, the logical problem to tackle was Elspeth.

Now she was determined to corner Elspeth and confront her about her behavior. Council and Court kept her occupied most of the day, she missed the girl at arms practice by scant moments. Finally she tried tracking her down after dinner—but Elspeth managed to elude Talia again. She had no doubt this time that it was no accident, but a purposeful avoidance.

Talia was badly worried. All her instincts told her that things were about to come to a head. She opened her shields and was unsuccessfully trying to locate the girl when she felt an urgent and unmistakable summons from Rolan. With a sinking heart she left the Collegium and ran for the Field. When she reached the fence that surrounded it she saw her worst fears realized. Waiting with Rolan was Elspeth’$ Gwena, both of them like marble statues in the moonlight.

The images she received from both of them—especially Gwena—were blurred and chaotic, though there was no mistaking Gwena’s anxiety. Tafia touched both their necks and concentrated in an effort to make some sense of the images. Finally she got a series that came clear . . . and Orthallen was at the center of them. Orthatlen, and a young courtier who was his creature, one of “Corby’s Crew”—and they were planning Elspeth’s disgrace!

She threw herself onto Rolan’s back without a moment’s hesitation. He galloped at full speed to the fence that separated the Field from the barn and stables of the ordinary horses, with Gwena barely keeping up beside him. They vaulted the fence like a pair of great white birds, and headed straight for the haybarn. Talia flung herself off Rolan’s back before they had fully stopped.

As she sprinted for the barn, she heard a young male voice murmuring something in the darkness, and she flung open the great door with a strength she never even knew she had.

Moonlight poured in on the pair disclosed, and Talia saw with relief that matters had not yet had a chance to proceed very far between Elspeth and her would-be lover. He was rattled considerably by Talia’s sudden appearance. If Elspeth was, she wasn’t showing it.

“What do you want?” Elspeth asked flatly, refusing pridefully to snatch her jerkin closed where it was unlaced.

“To prevent you from making the same mistake your mother did,” Talia replied just as coldly. “The mistake of thinking that fine words mean a lofty mind, and a pretty face goes with a noble heart. This young peacock has little more in his mind except to put you in a position where you have no choice but to take him as your consort or disgrace yourself, your mother, and your Kingdom.”

“You’re wrong!” Elspeth defended him passionately. “He loves me! He told me so!”

“And you believed him, even when your own Companion would have nothing to do with him?” Talia was white-hot with anger now. Elspeth was not willing to listen to reason. Very well then, she should have evidence that she would accept—in plenty.

Talia ruthlessly forced rapport on the young courtier. His petty evil was no match for some of the minds Talia had been forced to touch, though his slimy slyness made her skin crawl. Before Elspeth had a chance to shield herself, Talia pulled her in as well—and forced her to see for herself the true thoughts of one who had claimed that he cared for her.

With a cry of revulsion, Elspeth tore herself away from him and fled to the opposite side of the barn, while Talia released her mind from the enforced union. She was less gentle with the young popinjay. She had him in a crushing mental grip, and fed his fear without compunction as he gazed at her in dumb terror.

“You will say nothing of this to anyone,” she told him, burning each word into his mind. “Because if you dare, you’ll never sleep again—for every time you shut your misbegotten eyes, this is what you’ll see—”

She tore the memory of his worst nightmare out of the bowels of recollection and flung it in his face, brutally invoking terror and forcing that on him as well. He whimpered and groveled at her feet until she threw him violently out of rapport.

“Get out of here,” she growled. “Get out, go back to your father’s holding, and don’t come back.”

He fled without a single backward glance.

She turned to face Elspeth, trying to control her anger by slowing her breathing. “I thought better of you than that,” she said, each word built of ice. “I thought you would have had better taste than to let a creature like that touch you.”

Elspeth was crying, but as much out of anger as unhap-piness. “Fine words from the Herald Vestal,” she spat. “First Skif, then Kris—and now who? Why shouldn’t I have my lovers as well as you?”

Talia closed her hands into fists so tightly that her nails cut her palms. “I think I hear the Brat speaking,” she replied. “The little bitch who wants all the glory of being the Heir, but none of the responsibilities. Oh, Hulda taught you very well, didn’t she? Grab and take—snatch all you can, think only of yourself, and never mind what repercussions your actions may have on others. Others don’t matter. Oh, no, not now that you’re Heir. After all, your word is law, right? Or it should be. And if somebody tries to make you see reason, well, dredge up the worst you can about them and throw it in their faces— then they’ll be afraid to try and stop you from doing what you want. Well, that doesn’t work with me, young woman. For alt the importance it has, I could be sleeping with men, women, or chirras, because I’m not the Heir. You seem to have conveniently forgotten that you will sit on the Throne when your mother dies. You may have to make a marriage of state to save us from a powerful enemy. That was what this business with Alessandar and Ancar was all about, or have you forgotten that, too? No one will want you or respect you outKingdom after dallying with a petty schemer like he is. And I, at least, have never been intimate with anyone that I didn’t know, and who wasn’t willing to let me inside his thoughts. He wouldn’t let you do that, would he? Didn’t that make you the least bit suspicious? Lady’s Breasts, girl—where was your mind? Your own Companion wouldn’t have anything to do with him! Didn’t that tell you anything? If you’re so hot to have a man between your legs, why the hell didn’t you choose a fellow student or someone from the Circle? They will at least never betray you and they know when to keep their mouths shut!”

Elspeth burst into frantic tears. “Go away!” she wailed. “Leave me alone! It wasn’t like that at all! I thought—I thought—he loved me! I hate you—I never want to see you ever again!”

“That pleases me very well,” Talia snapped. “I’m ashamed that I wasted so much of my time trying to help a damned fool.”

She stalked out of the barn, vaulted onto Rolan’s back, and returned to the Palace without a backward glance.

But before she was halfway there, she was already rueing half of what she had said.

She reported to Selenay in an agony of self-accusation.

The Queen was in her private quarters, which were as Spartan as her public rooms were opulent. She had wrapped herself in a robe of old and shabby brown velveteen, nearly the same age and color as the couch she curled up on. Talia stood before her, unable to look her in the eyes, as she related the entire bitter tale.

“Goddess, Selenay, I couldn’t have made a bigger mess of the situation if I’d planned it out in advance,1* she finished, nibbing one temple and very near to weeping with vexation. “I’m as big an idiot as I accused Elspeth of being. I let all my training go flying merrily out the window, let my own problems get the better of me, and completely lost my temper. Maybe you’d better send me back through the Collegium with the babies again.”

“Just wait a moment. I’m not sure that your reaction was the wrong one, and I’m not sure that you didn’t do the right thing,” the Queen replied thoughtfully, candlelight reflecting in her wide eyes. “Sit down, little friend, and hear me out. Firstly, we’ve been very gentle with Elspeth up until now insofar as exposing her to the kind of emotional blackmail and double-dealing perfidy that we both know is fairly commonplace at Court. Well, now she’s learned that deceit can arrive packaged very attractively, and that isn’t a bad thing. She was hurt and frightened—but that will send the lesson home the more deeply. I believe you were correct in thinking that this experience will prevent her from making the same kind of mistake I made. That’s not to say that you didn’t overreact and say some things you shouldn’t have, but on the whole, I think the good will outweigh the mistakes.”

“How can you say that after the way I’ve alienated her? I’m supposed to be her friend and counselor!”

“And when, in all the time you’ve known her, have you ever lost your temper with her? Not once. So she learns something else—that it’s possible to go too far with you, and that you’re as human and fallible as the rest of us. I doubt she’ll ever provoke you that far again.”

“There isn’t likely to be another chance,” Talia said bitterly. “Not the way I’ve fouled things up.”

“I disagree.” Selenay shook her head emphatically. “Since you’ve been gone I’ve gotten to know my daughter very well. She meant what she said ... for now. She has a temper, but once it cools she doesn’t hold a grudge. And when she realizes that you were right—and acting in her defense—she’ll come around. If you were to disappear for a while, I think she’ll eventually realize that while you did overreact, so did she.”

The Queen pondered for a moment. “I think I have the perfect solution. Remember Alessandar’s marriage proposal? I intended to make a state visit there in the next few weeks, and I wanted to send an envoy on ahead to look the prince over. As my own personal advisor you would be perfect for that, the more especially as I intend to send Kris as well. I heard about the quarrel between Kris and Dirk, and I had figured on giving them a bit of time for things to cool as well. I was going to send Dirk and Kyril, until Dirk fell ill last night, so I’ll separate the pair by sending Kris off.”

“That’s mended,” Talia sighed.

“I still want to send Kris; he has the manner and the blood to be acceptable, and I would as soon keep Kyril here. You and Kris worked outstandingly well as a team, and I trust your judgment completely. I think that rather than canceling the visit, I’ll move the date up and send the two of you on ahead to spy things out for me. I’ll take Elspeth with me. And I’ll have a word with Orthallen about those protege’s of his.” Selenay’s eyes grew cold. “It’s about time he stopped being their defender and stopped letting them use his good name to get away with whatever they please.”

Talia realized then that she had not told Selenay her belief that Orthallen had put the boy up to the attempted seduction. But—what proof did she have? Nothing, except the vague image of Orthallen in the boy’s mind— and that could have been because he was hoping to escape punishment by sheltering behind his protector. Best not to mention it, she thought wearily. I’m not up to going through the same arguments I faced with Kris.

“By the time we all meet again,” Selenay was saying, “Elspeth will have had time to think. Do you think you could be ready in the morning? The sooner you drop out of Elspeth’s sight, the better.”

“I could be ready in an hour,” Talia replied. “Although I’m not sure you should be so quick to trust me after tonight.”

“Talia, I trust you even more,” Selenay replied, as Talia seemed to read understanding in her eyes. “You’ve come to me hot from the quarrel to claim it was all your fault—how many people, how many Heralds, even, would have done the same? But you haven’t told me what has set you so on edge. Is it something to do with Kris? Did you get caught in the middle of his feud with Dirk? If you have problems with Kris, I’ll send a different Herald with you.”

“Kris?” Talia’s honest surprise seemed to relieve the Queen. “No, thank the Lady, we’ve more than made up our differences, just as he and Dirk made up. Bright Havens, if anything he’ll help straighten out this awful tangle! It’s nothing that can’t be worked out with time, just like this row with Elspeth; it’s just that the time it’s taking to set everything straight is driving me out of patience and out of temper.”

“Good. Then the plan stands. You and Kris will leave in the morning.”

“Selenay, if you don’t think it’s a bad idea ...” Talia began hesitantly.

“I doubt that it would be. What is it you’d like to do?”

“I’d like to write a note of apology to Elspeth and leave it with you. There’s no doubt in my mind that I was partially in the wrong, that I overreacted, and that I said a great many hurtful things because I was unhappy and I wanted to hurt someone else. I certainty was far too hard on her. You can use your own judgment whether or not to give it to her, and when.”

“It sounds reasonable to me,” Selenay replied, ‘“although a bit unnecessary. We’ll be following a week or two behind you, and apologies are always more effective in person.”

“That’s quite true—but you never know what’s likely to happen, and you may to want to give it to her before you start off. I don’t like the idea of leaving unfinished business behind me, especially something as wretched as this. Who knows? I might never get another chance.”

“Bright Havens, dear! I should hire you out as my official doomsayer!” Selenay laughed, but it was a little uneasy.

Talia shook her head with a vague smile. “Gods, I’m seeing everything miserable just because I’m miserable. I will leave that note with you, but because the catling may well decide to be a human being again once I’ve left. Now—are they expecting any two Heralds, or Dirk and Kyril? Will there be any problem with me showing up?”

“The underlings are probably just expecting two Heralds,” Selenay said. “I hadn’t specified. I’ll send the appropriate papers with you, of course. The guards on Aiessandar’s side of the Border will send the specifics on ahead of you. I’ve heard he has some special way of relaying messages, faster than birds or couriers. I would depends from allies or not—or whether it’s a secret at all. We’ll do our best,” Talia managed half a smile. “You know, having the two of us on this assignment will work rather well at ferreting secrets out. Anybody involved with state secrets will be nervous; I can pick that up, and Kris can follow my anchor to Farsee what’s going on. My Queen, you are very sly.”

“Me?” Selenay contrived to look innocent, then caught her eyes squarely. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I won’t send you if you don’t feel capable of political intrigue and all the rest that this will entail. It is likely to be simple and straightforward, but it could involve ferreting out secrets, and at the very least you’ll be dealing with the same amount of scheming you have here.”

“I’m ready,” Talia sighed. “It can’t be worse than the mess I’ve already been dealing with.”

Six

“I feel like I’m running away.”

Talia’s voice was quiet, but in the hush of pre-dawn Kris had no trouble hearing her.

“Don’t,” Kris replied, tightening Tantris’ girth with a little grunt.

Their Companions stood patiently side by side in the tackshed, as they had so many times during Talia’s internship, waiting for their Chosen to finish harnessing them. The rain mat had blown up just past midnight had died away to nothing, but the skies were still overcast; both Heralds wore their cloaks against the chill damp. Tantris and Rolan were being decked out in full “formal” array; the silver brightwork gleamed in the light from the lantern just above Tantris’ shoulder and the bridle bells tinkled softly as the Companions shifted. The homey scent of leather and hay made Talia’s throat ache with tears she refused to shed.

“Look, there isn’t anything either of us can do here at the moment, right?” Kris threw his saddlebags over Tantris’ hindquarters and fastened them to the saddle’s skirting. “Elspeth won’t talk to you, and Dirk can’t. So you might as well be doing something useful—something different. There won’t be anybody who’s going to need you during the few weeks we’ll be gone, will there?”

“No, not really.” Talia had been very busy this past evening; her lack of sleep was apparent from the dark circles under her eyes. “Destria is doing fine; anything she needs now Vostel is more than competent to give her. I talked to Alberich; he took me to see Kyril. They promised me that they’d keep an eye on your uncle—I’m sorry, Kris....”

“Don’t apologize; I’m just a little surprised you managed to convince Kyril he needed watching. Tantris, stand, dammit!”

“I didn’t, really, Alberich did.”

“Huh. Alberich? Nobody convinces him of anything; he must have had reasons of his own to agree with you.” He digested this in silence for a moment. Tantris shifted over another step.

“Alberich is going to have a word or two with Elspeth, too,” she continued after the silence had become a little uncomfortable. She ran her hands down Rolan’s legs to confirm that the bindings on his pasterns and fetlocks were firm. “And Keren promised to beard Dirk in his lair as soon as she can bully her way past the Healers. So did Skif.”

“Skif said as much to me. Poor Dirk, I could almost feel sorry for him. He’s not likely to get much sympathy from either of those two.” Tantris’ bridle bells tinkled as he shifted again.

“Sympathy isn’t what he needs,” she replied a little waspishly, straightening up. “He’s been wallowing in self-pity long enough ...” her voice trailed off, and she concluded shamefacedly: “for that matter, so have I.”

“Work is the best cure I know for self-pity, little bird,” Kris said, self-consciously. “And—hey!”

With that last step Tantris had managed to shift over far enough that Kris and Talia were trapped between the two Companions, breast-to-breast.

:Kiss and make up, brother-mine. And be nice. She’s having a hard time.:

Kris sighed with exasperation, then looking down at Talia’s wistful eyes, softened.

“It’ll be all right, little bird—and you have every reason to feel sorry for yourself.” He kissed her softly on the forehead and the lips.

She relaxed just a little, and leaned her head for a short moment on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a friend like you” she sighed, then took hold of herself. “But we have a long road ahead of us—”

Tantris had moved away so that they were no longer trapped, and Kris could hear him laughing in his mind. “—and we’ve got a limited time to cover it,” Kris finished for her. “And since my Companion has decided to cooperate again, wrought to get moving.” He gave Tantris’ harness a final tug and swung into the saddle. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They took with them only what Tantris and Rolan could carry. They needed to carry no supplies; they would be housed and fed at inns along the way until they reached the Border, and thereafter would be using the hostels of King Alessandar. They also needed to bring a minimum in the way of personal belongings. The Queen and her entourage would be following at a pace geared to her baggage train, and they would bring whatever might be required for the term of official visits. Selenay and Alessandar were long-time allies; he and her father had been that rarest of things among rulers—personal friends. Although it was a slim chance, the possibility of Elspeth being willing to make a marriage with Alessandar’s own heir was not to be dismissed offhand. Alessandar had not been discouraged by Selenay’s initial reply to his offer— rather he had urged this visit on her, so that she and Elspeth could see Ancar for themselves. He had argued convincingly that such marriages took years to arrange; even were they to agree now, Elspeth would be past her internship when it became a reality.

Since Selenay had not seen the young man since he was an infant, on the occasion of his naming and her last state visit, she agreed. This would be the ideal time for such a visit. Since the Collegium was about to go into summer recess, she could bring Elspeth with her. She was still determined that Elspeth would not be forced into any marriage unless the safety of the entire realm rested on it. She was equally determined that any young man that Elspeth chose, be he royal or common, would at least be of the frame of mind to agree with the principles that governed her Kingdom. If possible, he should be of Heraldic material himself. Ideally, Elspeth’s consort would be someone who was either Chosen already or who would be Chosen once he was brought to the attention of the Companions. If this came to pass, it would fulfill Selenay’s highest hopes, for the Heir’s consort would be co-ruler if also a Herald.

Besides preceding their Monarch and making certain all was in readiness for her, Kris’ and Talia’s primary duty was to examine the proposed bridegroom—and to determine how his own people felt about him—for themselves; and then give Selenay their opinions of his character. It was no small trust.

This was all in the back of Talia’s mind as they rode away in the darkness before dawn. Troubling her thoughts was her feeling that, in spite of the importance of this mission, she was running away from unfinished business by accepting it.

She had labored for hours over the simple note to Elspeth, tearing up dozens of false starts. It stitl wasn’t right; she wished she’d been able to find better words to explain why she had overreacted, and nothing she could say would unspeak some of the hurtful things she’d said. The incident was evidence that she and Elspeth had drawn apart during Talia’s interning, and the rift that had come between them needed to be healed, and quickly. She couldn’t help but berate herself for not seeing it when she’d first returned.

Then there was Dirk . . .

She couldn’t help but think she was being cowardly. Anyone with any courage at all would have remained, despite everything. And yet—what could she truly do back there besides fret? Kris was right; Elspeth would refuse to speak with her, and Dirk was out of bounds in the Healers’ hands.

It seemed appropriate that they rode away through darkness, and that the sky was so gloomy and overcast there was no bright dawn at all, merely a gradual lightening of the dark to gray, leaden daylight.

Kris was not very happy with himself at the moment, :I haven’t been doing too well by my friends lately, have I?: he sent to Tantris’ backward-pointing ears.

:No, little brother, you haven’t,: his Companion agreed.

He sighed, and settled himself a little more comfortably in the saddle. Now that he looked back on it, there were things he should have done. He should have told Dirk right off about the way Talia felt—about Dirk, and about himself. When Dirk started acting oddly, he should have had it out with him. He should never have let things get to the point where Dirk was leaning on the bottle to cope.

Lord and Lady, I’d be willing to bet gold he thinks its me Talia’s in love with. Gods, gods, I’ve been tearing his heart and soul into ragged bits and I never even noticed. No wonder he picked a fight with me, no wonder he was drinking. Ah, Dirk, my poor brother—I did it to you again. How am I going to make it up to you?

Then there was Talia. He should have believed that Talia wasn’t indulging in a grudge. He should have known, what with all the time he’d spent with her, that she wasn’t inclined to hold grudges, even though she wasn’t inclined to forgive a hurt too easily. He should have believed that her feeling about his uncle was rooted in fact, not dislike. Alberich obviously believed her—and the Armsmaster was hardly noted for making hasty judgments.

:Might-have-beens don’t mend the broken pot,: Tantris said in his mind. :Little brother, why didn’t you do these things?:

Good question. Kris thought about that one while the road passed under Tantris’ hooves. There weren’t many folk out this early, so they had the road to themselves, and there was nothing to distract him.

One thing at a time. Why hadn’t he done anything about Dirk?

He came to the sobering conclusion that he hadn’t done anything because he hadn’t seen the problem until Dirk was drinking himself to sleep every night. And he hadn’t seen it because he was so pleased with himself for the completion of a successful assignment on his own—so wrapped up in a glow of self-congratulation—that he hadn’t noticed anything else. He’d been like a child on holiday; selfishly intent only on his own pleasures now that the onerous burden of school was done with for the nonce. Teaching the classes in Farseeing was so very easy for him that it was like having no duty at all, and he’d been spending the rest of his time up to his eyebrows in his own pleasures.

:Very good,: Tantris said dryly. :Now don’t go overboard in beating your breast about it. I wasn’t too remiss in enjoying myself, either. It had been a long lime to be out—and Ahrodie and I missed each other. :

:Hedonist,: Kris sent, a little relieved that his Companion was being so reasonable.

:Not realty. We’re as close as you and Dirk—in a slightly different fashion. More like you and Talia, really.:

Yes, Talia—it was easy to figure out why he’d been so slow to see her plight. Orthallen was, in all honesty, a politician, a schemer, and power-hungry. Kris had been forced to defend his uncle’s actions to other Heralds more than once, although never against an accusation of deliberate and malicious wrongdoing. Kris knew Orthallen never did anything for just one reason; yes, he might well manage to gain a little more power, influence, or put someone in his debt by the things he did, but there was always a profit for the Kingdom as well. Heralds though— the use of authority for personal benefit bothered them, probably because such usage was forbidden them, both by training and by inclination. Most Heralds weren’t highborn, and didn’t grow up with the intrigue and politics that were a part of the rhythm of Court life. Things Kris accepted matter-of-factly disgusted them. But the fact was that Heralds were very sheltered creatures—except the ones who lived and worked in the Court, or were highborn. Court politics were a reality most Heralds could remain blissfully unaware of, for they dealt only with the highest level of Court life—the Queen, her immediate entourage, and the Seniors—where for all intents and purposes, the politicking didn’t exist. It was at Orthallen’s level, the mid-to-upper level nobility, that the competition was fiercest. And it was very possible he had seen only the political implications of the ascension of the new Queen’s Own. More than possible. Most likely . . .

Which meant he’d seen Talia as a political rival to be trimmed down; seen her only as a political rival. Her duties and responsibilities as a Herald—Orthallen probably didn’t understand them, and certainly discounted them as irrelevant. Old Talamir had been no threat to Orthallen, but this quick, intelligent, young woman was.

All of which boiled down to the fact that Talia was likely dead-accurate in reading Orthallen’s motives toward her.

Yes, Kris had dealt with fellow Heralds’ censure of his uncle before. But Talia’s accusations had been different— and he had been as shocked by the idea that a member of his family could be suspected of real wrongdoing as Talia had been that a Herald was accused of it. He’d taken it almost as an attack on himself, and had reacted just as unthinkingly.

:I wish you’d spoken your mind to me before this,: Kris told Tantris, just a hint of accusation flavoring the thought.

:It doesn’t work that way, little brother,: Tantris replied, :and you know that perfectly well. We only give advice when we’re asked for it. It isn’t our job to interfere in your personal lives. How do you think poor Ahrodie was feeling, with her Chosen making a muck of things and not even talking to her, hm? And Rolan can’t even properly talk with his Chosen. But now that you are finally asking—:

:Impart to me your deathless wisdom.:

:Now, now, there’s no need to be sarcastic. As it happens, I don’t like Orthallen either, but he’s never given anyone any real evidence of ill-will before this. All I’ve ever had to go on were my instincts.:

:Which are far better than any human’s,: Kris reminded him.

:Well, don’t blame yourself for not seeing anything,: Tantris continued. :But when someone like Talia insists on a thing, it’s probably a good idea to lay aside your feelings about it and consider it as dispassionately as possible. Now that she’s got that Gift of hers in full control, her instincts in these matters are as good as mine.:

:Yes, graybeard,: Kris thought, his good humor somewhat restored by the fact that Tantns wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty about the mess.

:Graybeard, am I?: Tantris snorted and shook his mane. :We’ll see about that.: And he performed a little caracole, a half-buck that shook Kris’ bones, and a kick or two before settling back down to his original steady pace.

While Rolan could not Mindspeak Talia as Tantris could Kris, he was making his feelings abundantly clear. It was quite plain to Talia that her Companion thought she was indulging in a good deal more self-pity than the occasion warranted. Perversely, his disapproval made her feel all the sorrier for herself.

Eventually he gave up on her, and let her wallow in her misery to her heart’s content.

The weather, unseasonable for the edge of summer, was certainly cooperating; it was a perfect day for being depressed. The chill, leaden skies threatened rain, but it never quite made up its mind to fall. The few people they met on the roadway were taciturn and scant in their greetings. The threat of rainfall made folk in the villages they passed inclined to stay indoors.

Because they were traveling light, they would make the best possible time to the Border, even though they would be stopping to rest at night. According to Kyril, it was probable that they would proceed still on their own as far as the capital, since the Companions would be able to make far better time than any steeds the King could send with an escort. Which meant, given the probable speed of Selenay and her entourage, they would have several days at least to assess the prince and the situation before one of them rode back to meet the Queen on the Border.

That likeliest would be Kris; Talia, as Queen’s Own, was the better choice for envoy. Although her reason acknowledged the wisdom of this, her emotions rebelled, wanting it to be her who made that first contact with Selenay—and with Elspeth—and possibly, with Dirk, if he were well enough by then.

Nothing was going as she would have chosen; and on top of it all, she had been experiencing an odd foreboding about this trip from the moment Selenay mentioned it. There was no reason for it, yet she couldn’t shake it. It was as if she were riding from bad into worse, and there was no way to stop what was coming.

Talia remained turned inward, determined to control her own internal turmoil by herself. Weeping on Kris’ shoulder would accomplish nothing. Rolan was a solace— but this was a matter of dealing with her own emotions and her own control. A Herald, she told herself for the thousandth time, was supposed to be self-sufficient, able to cope no matter how difficult the situation. She would, by the Havens, control herself—there was no excuse for her own emotional weakness. She had learned to control her Gift—she would learn to school her emotions to the same degree.

The hard pace they were setting left little opportunity for conversation, but Kris was very aware of her unhappiness. Talia had told him in detail about the confrontation with the Heir as they were saddling up. He was sadly aware that there was little he could do to help her; it was extremely frustrating to see her in such emotional pain and be unable to do anything constructive about it. Not long ago, he would have fled the prospect of emotional demands. Now in the light of this morning’s introspection his sole regret was that he could not find some way to help.

When she’d lost control over her Gift, there had been something he could do. He was a teacher; he knew the fundamentals of training any Gift, and he had Tantris and Rolan to help him with the specifics of hers. Now...

Well, maybe there was one small way in which he could help her. If he talked to his uncle, perhaps he could make him understand that Talia was not a political threat. With that pressure off, the problem of dealing with Elspeth and Dirk might assume more manageable proportions.

They stopped for a brief lunch at an inn, but mindful of the time constraints they were under, they ate it standing in the stable-yard.

“How are you doing so far?*’ he asked around a mouthful of meat pie.

“I’m all right,” she replied. She’d already bolted down her portion so fast she couldn’t have tasted it. Now she was giving Rolan a brisk rubdown, and was putting far more energy into Rolan’s currying than was strictly necessary.

“Well I know you haven’t ridden much at forced pace; if you have any problems, let me know.”

“I will,” was her only reply.

He tried again. “I hope the weather breaks; it’s bad for riding, but I would think it’s worse for crops.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’ll have to ride right up until dark to make Trevale, but the inn there should make up for the ride. I’ve been there before.” He waited. No response. “Think you can make it that far?”

“Yes.”

“Their wine is good. Their beer is better.”

“Oh.”

“Their heartbeats have two tails.”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave up.

They stopped long after dark when Kris was beginning to go numb in his legs, and staggered into an inn neither of them really saw. The innkeeper saw that both of them were exhausted, and wisely kept his other customers away from them, giving them a table right on the hearth and a good dinner.

The inn was a big one, and catered to traders, carters, and other mercantile travel. The common room was nearly full, and noisy enough that Kris did not attempt conversation. Talia was just as glad; she knew she wasn’t decent company at the moment, and she rather hoped he’d ignore her until she was. After a meal which she did not even taste and choked down only because she needed to fuel her body, they went straight to their beds. She was able to force herself to sleep, but she could do nothing about her dreams. They were tortured and nightmarish, and not at all restful.

They again left before dawn, rising before any of the other guests of the inn, breaking their fast with hot bread and milk before swinging up into their saddles and resuming the journey.

Talia, having found no answers within, began resolutely turning her attention without. The sides had begun clearing, and by late morning they were able to roll up their cloaks and fasten them behind their saddles. When birds began voicing their songs, her spirits finally began to lighten. By noon she had managed to regain enough of her good humor to speak normally with Kris, and the whole mess she’d left behind her began to assume better proportions. She was still conscious of a faint foreboding, but in the bright sunlight it seemed hardly more than the remnants of her nightmares.

Toward midday Talia suddenly perked up and became more like her old self, for which Kris was very grateful. Riding next to a person who strongly resembled the undead of the tales was not his idea of the way to make a journey.

Diplomatic missions were not entirely new to Kris, though he’d not been senior Herald before. This was Talia’s first stint as an envoy, and they really needed to talk about it while it was possible to do so unobserved.

Kris was relieved by her apparent return to normal, and ventured a tentative prompting. She responded immediately with a flood of questions, and that was more like the Talia he knew, but he could not help but note (with a feeling of profound sympathy) her dark-circled eyes. While he was no Empath, he knew her sleep must have been scant.

By the time they reached the Border itself at the end of a week of hard riding, things were back on their old footing between them. They had discussed every contingency that they could think of between them (ranging from the possibility that Ancar should seem to be perfect in every way, to the possibility that he was a worse marital prospect than Selenay’s late consort) and talked over graceful ways to get them all out if the latter should be the case. Kris was fairly sure she was ready to face whatever the fates should throw at her.

As they rounded a curve, late in the afternoon of the fourth day of the journey, Talia got her first sight of the Border. The Border itself, here where two civilized and allied countries touched, was manned by small outposts from each Kingdom.

On the Valdemar side stood a small building, a few feet from the road, and a few feet from the simple bar that marked the Border itself. It served as dwelling and office for the two pairs of Guardsfolk stationed there. The pair on duty were checking the papers of an incoming trader; they looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, and grinned to see the two Heralds. The taller of the two left the trader’s wagon and took down the bar for them, waving them through with an elaborate mock bow.

A few lengths farther on was a proper gate, marking Alessandar’s side of the Border. It was manned by another pair of guards, this time in the black-and-gold uniforms of Alessandar’s army. With them was a young man in a slightly more elaborate uniform; a Captain of Alessandar’s army.

The Captain was young, friendly, and quite handsome; he passed them in without more than a cursory glance at their credentials.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he told them, “but I truly didn’t expect you here this soon. You must have made very good time.”

“Fairly good,” Kris replied, “and we started out a bit sooner than planned. We’ve been out in the field for the last year or so. Field Heralds are used to being ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“As opposed to folks with soft bunks at Court, hm?” the Captain grinned. “Same with us. That lot stationed at Court couldn’t have a half-day of maneuvers without a full baggage train and enough supplies to feed a town. Well, I do have some basic orders about what to do with you . . .”

“You do?” Talia said, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, it isn’t much—just wait until you arrive, then inform the capital.”

Talia recalled then what Selenay had said, that Alessandar was rumored to have some new system of passing messages swiftly. She also remembered that Selenay had asked her to find out what she could about it.

Evidently Kris had gotten similar instructions.

“Now how are you going to get further instructions about us in any reasonable amount of time?” Kris asked. “I know the nearest authority is several days away on horseback, and you don’t have Heralds to carry messages quickly.”

The young Captain smiled proudly. “It’s no secret,” he replied, his brown eyes frank. “In fact, I would be honored to show you, if you aren’t too tired.”

“Not likely—not when you’re offering to show us what sounds like magic!”

The Captain laughed. “From what I understand, you’re fine ones to talk about wonders and magic! Well, one man’s magic is another man’s commonplace, so they say. Come along then, and I’ll show you.”

Out of courtesy to him, since he was afoot, Talia and Kris dismounted and walked with him up the packed-gravel roadway to his outpost; a building much bigger man the one on the Valdemar side, and shaded on three sides by trees.

“Will it interest you to know that I may very well get my orders within a matter of hours, if someone is found of high enough rank to issue them before the sun sets?”

“That’s amazing! We can’t even do that,” Talia replied. “But what does the sun setting have to do with it?”

“You see the tower attached to the outpost?” He shook dark hair out of his eyes as he pointed to a slim, skeletal edifice of gray wood. This tower rose several feet above the tree tops, and was anchored on one side to the main barracks of the Border station. It had had both of them puzzled since it seemed to have no real use except perhaps as a lookout point.

“I must admit we were wondering about that,” Kris told him. “Are forest fires that much of a danger around here? I wouldn’t have thought so, what with all the land under cultivation.”

“Oh, it’s not a firetower, though that’s where the design is from.” The young Captain laughed. “Come up to the top with me, and I’ll show you something to set you on your ears.”

They followed him up the series of ladders that led to the broad platform on the top. Once there, though, Talia didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—just two men in the black uniform tunics of Alessandar’s army, and an enormous concave mirror, as wide as Talia was tall. Although it was not quite perfect, its surface a bit wavering, it was an impressive piece of workmanship. Talia marveled at the skill that had gone into first producing and then silvering such an enormous piece of glass.

The mirror stood on a pivoting pedestal, and as they watched, one of the two men turned it until it reflected a beam of the westering sunlight at the southwestern corner of the platform. When he’d done that, the second man picked up a smaller mirror about three handspans across and took his position in the beam of reflected light.

That was when Talia realized just how they were going to pull off the trick. It was a very clever variant on the old scheme of signaling across distance by means of the sun flashing off a reflective object. It was clever because in this case there was no need to hope that the sun was in the correct position when you needed to send a message.

The Captain smiled broadly as he saw understanding in their faces. “It was the idea of some savant in Ancar’s entourage. We started building these towers last year at all the outposts; when we realized how useful they are we sped up the building and put towers up as fast as we could get the mirrors for them. We have relay towers all across the Kingdom now,” he continued, with cheerful pride. *’We can transmit a message from one end of the Kingdom to the other in a matter of hours. That’s rather better than you Heralds can do, from what I understand.”

“That’s quite true, but anyone who knows your code has no trouble in learning the content of any messages you send,” Kris pointed out. “That makes it a bit difficult to keep anything secret, doesn’t it?”

The Captain laughed. “In that case, the couriers need never fret that there will be no job for them, true? Solan,” he addressed the man holding the smaller mirror, “tell them down the line that Queen Selenay of Valdemar’s two envoys are here, and waiting for instructions on how to proceed.”

“Sir!” The signalman saluted smartly, and carried out his orders. In the far distance the Heralds could just barely make out what might be the top of another tower above the treetops. Shortly after their man had completed his message, a series of flashes winked back at them from this point.

“He’s repeating our entire message back to us,” the Captain explained. “We started this check after a few too many misreadings had caused some serious tangles. Now if he’s mistaken any of it, we can correct him before he sends it on.”

“Sir. Message correct, sir,” the signalman replied.

“Send the confirmation,” the Captain ordered, then continued his commentary. “Now the closer you get to any of the major cities, especially the capital, the more men we have on each tower. That makes sure that several incoming messages can be handled at once. If the originator doesn’t get confirmation, he assumes that there was a momentary jam-up, and keeps sending until he does.”

“It’s really brilliant,” Talia said, and she and the Captain exchanged a grin at her pun, “but what do you do on cloudy days or at night?”

He laughed. “We go back to the old, reliable courier system in bad weather. We back it up by making our posting stations part of the tower system, so as soon as the clouds break or the sun rises, the message can be relayed. Even when conditions have been at their worst the towers usually still manage to beat the courier. At night, of course, we can signal with lanterns, but that won’t be of any help in this case, since no one is going to want to trouble envoys with orders after they’ve presumably retired. That’s assuming anyone highborn enough to issue those orders is willing to take the time to do so after the sun sets!”

They followed him back down the ladders. Once back on the ground, since neither of them showed any signs of fatigue, he gave them a tour of the post that lasted until darkness fell. Talia was intrigued, and not just by the signal towers. This was more than simply a Border-guard station; there was a company of Alessandar’s army on permanent duty here. When not patrolling the road for bandits or standing watch on the relay tower, the men (there were no women in Alessandar’s army) performed policing functions for local villages.

It was an interesting contrast to to the Valdemar system, where Selenay’s soldiery was kept in central locations, and shifted about at need. But then, Alessandar had a much larger standing army.

In addition to the army company, there were four Healers—all women—permanently assigned here. There were three buildings, not including the tower; the barracks, the Border station where the Healers lived and where Customs checks were made and taxes collected from those passing across the Border, and a kind of all-purpose building that included the kitchen and storage facilities.

“Well,” the Captain said with resignation, when the tour was over and no one had appeared from the tower with a message. “It looks like the folks at the other end couldn’t find anyone with enough authority to issue orders about you before it became too late. That means you’ll have to spend the night here—unless you’d rather recross the Border?”

“Here will be fine, providing it’s no imposition,” Kris answered.

The Captain looked doubtfully from Kris to Talia and back again, and coughed politely.

“I haven’t got private quarters for you,” he said a bit awkwardly. “I could easily find you space in the barracks, of course, and the young lady could take a bed with the Healers, since they re all women. But if you’d rather not be separated. ...”

“Captain, Herald Tali a and I are colleagues, nothing more.” Kris looked sober enough, but Taha could read his amusement at the Captain’s embarrassment.

“Your arrangements are perfectly fine,” Talia said smoothly. “We’re both used to barracks-style quarters; I promise you that they’re quite a luxury compared with some of the Waystations I’ve spent my nights in.”

Talia had been careful to use “I” instead of “we” in speaking of the Waystations. She saw out of the corner of her eye Kris winking at her to congratulate her on her tact.

“If that’s the case, I’ll escort you to the officer’s mess for some dinner,” the Captain replied, apparently relieved that they’d made no awkwardness over the situation. His attitude made Talia wonder if other guests at this outpost had been less than cooperative, or if it was simply that he’d heard some of the more exaggerated tales about Heralds.

While somewhat restrained by the presence of outsiders, the officers were a very congenial lot. They were terribly curious about Heralds, of course, and some of the questions were as naive as any child’s. If all of Alessandar’s people were as open-handed and content with their lot as these men were, Talia was inclined to think he was every bit as good a ruler as Selenay.

Although Kris got a real bed, Talia had to make do with a cot in the Healer’s quarters. She didn’t mind in the least. The nightmares that had plagued her nightly all the way here had left her so weary she thought that she could quite probably sleep on a slab of stone.

This night, however, the nightmares seemed to have been partially thwarted. That might have been due to the soothing presence of the Healers bedded all around her. After all, she was an Empath; Kris was not. There had been enough bad fortune this spring that it was possible she might well have been picking up the general air of disaster everyone was sharing lately. She’d thought she’d made her shields strong enough to block just about anything, but she had been stressed, and that put a strain on her shielding.

Or the fact that the nightmares went away might have been just because she had worn herself out past the point of being disturbed by them. For whatever reason, she slept soundly for the first time since leaving, and had only the vaguest memories of disturbing dreams in the morning.