Eleven

Dirk’s pure joy could not last for long: all too soon he recalled that there were far more important issues at stake than just his happiness. Talia alone knew what had transpired in Ancar’s capital; might know what they could expect. Surely, surely there was danger to Valdemar, and only she might be able to guess how much.

He sobered; she caught his mood immediately. “Orthallen isn’t the only enemy,” he said slowly.

.She couldn’t have gotten any paler, but her eyes widened and pupils dilated. “No—how long—was I—”

“Since we Fetched you? Let me think—” he reckoned it up. He’d been unconscious for two days; then spent six more recovering from backlash. “Just about eight days.” He guessed at what she’d ask next. “We’re in Lord Falthern’s keep, right on the edge of the Border.”

“Selenay?”

“Devan’s sent for her. You’re in pain—”

“No choice, you know that.” She managed a wan smile. “I—”

She forgot what she was about to say completely as Selenay fairly flew in the open door, face alight with a fierce joy.

“You see, Majesty.” Alberich was close on her heels. “It is only the truth I told you.” Dirk was astonished to see that the Armsmaster’s face wore a nearly identical expression.

“Talia, Talia—” Selenay could manage no more before she was overcome with tears of happiness. She took the hand that Dirk had not claimed gently in her own, holding it with every care, lest she cause more pain. Alberich stood beside her, beaming as if it had all been his doing. Never in his entire life had Dirk seen the Armsmaster smile so broadly.

“Selenay—?”

The anxiety in Talia’s voice penetrated even their joy, and brought them abruptly back to earth.

“There’s still danger?”

Talia nodded wearily. Dirk arranged the bedding so that she was spared as much pain as he could manage, and she cast him a look that made him flush with pleasure. “Ancar—has his own army.”

“And he may attack with it?”

“Will attack. Has to, now. He meant to kill you. Then take Elspeth.”

“God of Light—”

“Last I knew—planned to take Border. He—has to have—missed me. Can’t guess his reaction—but he has to assume—I lived long enough to talk.”

“So we’re in as much danger as before, maybe more,” Selenay stood, jaw clenched in anger. “He’ll have a fight on his hands!”

“Magicians. He has magicians. Old magic. Kept me from Mindcalling—kept Heralds from knowing Kris was dead; don’t know what else they can do. Just know they can block us. And Orthallen—kept him well informed.”

“Orthallen?” Selenay lost some of her anger; now she looked bewildered. “Orthallen—Lady help me, I still can’t believe it of him—Goddess—he was Kris’ uncle!”

“He was unpleased that you had sent the lad, Selenay,” Alberich reminded her. “I think that we know the reason, now. And his grief at hearing—that was unfeigned.”

“But over—perhaps a bit too soon,” the Queen replied, biting her lip. “Though he had never been one for making much of a show of feelings.”

“He killed your father,” Talia whispered, her eyes closed again, exhausted with the effort of speaking for so long. “During the battle—sent an assassin in the confusion.”

“He—” Selenay went white. “I never guessed—I trusted him!”

Silence then; the silence before the tempest.

* * * *

“Dirk?” Talia opened her eyes very briefly, only to close them quickly, as if she found her vision wavering when she did so.

He needed no other clue than the dazed way she looked at him; he touched her cheek gently and went looking for Devan himself.

When he came back, he brought with him not only Devan but three other Healers as well. By then the little  room was rather crowded; Kyril was back, and Elspeth with him. The Seneschal had returned and had brought the Lord Marshal. Candles had been brought, lighted and stuck on every available surface; the room was bright and a little warm and stuffy.

“I hate to ask this of you and of her, Devan,” Selenay said, looking guilty, “But we haven’t got the choice. Can you Healers hold her together long enough for her to tell us what we need to know?”

Dirk wanted to protest—then his rebellion subsided. He knew what he’d be doing in Talia’s place; using his last breath to gasp out every bit of information he could. Why should she be any different?

“Majesty,” Devan bowed his head in resignation. “I will say that I do not approve, and we will not let her kill herself with exhaustion.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“Like Talia, we have no choice.” The Healers surrounded her, touched her lightly, and went into their Healing trances. She sighed; her pain-twisted expression eased and she opened her eyes, which were alert and clear again.

“Ask—quickly.”

“Ancar—what can we expect from him?” the Lord Marshal spoke first. “How large is this private army? What kind of men does he have in it?”

“Prison scum; about three thousand. No mercenaries I heard of. But they’re trained, well trained.”

“What about the standing army? Will he use them?”

“I don’t think yet. He murdered Alessandar; don’t think he controls officers in the regular army yet. Have to put down rebels in the corps before he can use them. Needs to replace all officers with his own puppets.”

“Do you think—can we expect defections?”

“I think so. Whole Border Guard may come over when they learn what happened. Welcome them, but Truth Spell them.”

“Where was his own army last?”

“Just outside the capital.”

“Does he know you know about his three thousand?”

“No.” Her eyes were almost unnaturally bright. “He didn’t ask any questions of me, ever.”

“The more fool, he. A bit overconfident, wouldn’t you say, Alberich? So,” the Lord Marshal mused, stroking his beard, his black brows knitted in thought. “Twelve to fourteen days of forced marching would get them here. Much cavalry?”

“I don’t think so; these were prison scum before he recruited them. But they’re trained to work together, been training for at least three years. He also has magicians. Old magic, real magic, like in tales. If he thinks he’ll come up against Heralds, he’ll use them.”

“How good are they?” asked Kyril.

“Don’t know. One of them kept me from Mindspeaking, from probing Ancar, from defending myself, and kept Kris’ passing from reaching you here—but he couldn’t block empathic link with Rolan. Gods—this is important— they can block us, but they can’t read us. Ancar let that slip—said something about ‘damn Heralds and your barriers.’ “

“Which means they can’t possibly use their magic to learn our plans, especially not if we keep shields up?” Kyril asked, with hope in his eyes.

“Think so. Didn’t even bother to try to read me, and Hulda is a mage, too—taught Ancar; I don’t know how good they are. This isn’t mind-magic; can’t guess how it works.”

“Orthallen,” said the Seneschal. “How long has he been working against the Queen?”

“Decades; he had an assassin take the King during battle.”

“Who was he working with?”

“Nobody then. Wanted the Throne for himself; just took advantage of Tedrel Wars.”

“When did he change?”

“When Hulda contacted him. He thought he was using her.”

“That was years ago—!”

“Right. She came to groom Elspeth as Ancar’s consort. She found Orthallen, worked with him. He warned her in time to escape. Later Ancar offered him the Throne in exchange for information and internal help.”

“The magicians—?” said Kyril, anxiously.

“Not much I can tell. Told you about the mindblock. Same mage kept Ancar shielded. Hulda shielded herself, I think. She looked physically about twenty-five years old. Could have been illusion, but don’t think so. She’s old enough to have been actually Ancar’s nurse—makes her at least forty. Saw her make a witchlight—” Talia pulled her bandaged hand away from Dirk’s for a moment, and pulled her loose gown away from her shoulder. Selenay and Elspeth gasped, and the Seneschal bit back an exclamation at what was revealed there—a handprint, burned into the flesh of her chest as if with a branding iron. “She did that, while they were—playing with me. Just laid her hand there, casually. Like it was easy as breathing. Rumors were they can do worse; lots worse.”

The four Healers were beginning to look drawn; even with their aid, Talia was visibly fading.

“Tired—” she said, begging with her eyes for a rest.

“We’ve got enough to go on for now,” Selenay looked to each of the others and they nodded in confirmation. “We can get our defenses organized, at least. Rest, my brave one.”

She led the others out; one by one the Healers disengaged themselves. As they did, Talia seemed to wilt, and more than a little. Devan caught Dirk’s shoulder before he had a chance to panic.

“Shell live; she just needs rest and a chance to heal,” he said wearily. “And she’s going to get at least some of both right now—if I have to post guards to keep people out!”

Dirk nodded, and returned to her side. She opened her eyes with an effort.

“Love—you—” she whispered.

“My own—” His throat closed for a moment, and he fought down a renewal of tears. “I’m going to leave you for a while; Devan says you need rest. But I’ll be back as soon as he lets me!”

“Make it—soon—”

He left, walking backward; she keeping her eyes on him until the door closed.

As Alberich had suspected would be the case, when dawn came, the bivouac on the Border as well as the smaller collection of Councillors and officials at the Keep were in an uproar. Units of the Guard—heartbreakingly small—arrived every hour. Tales, more or less garbled, of what had occurred the previous night were spreading like oil from a shattered urn, and were just as potentially flammable. Talia slept in an induced Healing-trance, blissfully unaware of the confusion.

The Guard was easiest to deal with; the Lord Marshal simply called all the officers together, and with Alberich present to verify exactly what had been said and done, related to them the entire true story. The officers of the Guard, for the most part, had never associated closely with Orthallen; thus, while they were shocked by his betrayal, they took the tale at its face value. They were far more worried about the army Ancar would bring against them, for they numbered something around a thousand to Ancar’s three thousand. The magicians they dismissed out of hand.

“My lord,” one veteran officer said, his face as scar-seamed as Alberich’s “Begging your pardon, but there’s nothing we can do about mages. We’ll leave that in the hands of those that deal with magic—”

His gaze flickered to Alberich; the Armsmaster gave him a barely perceptible nod.

“—we’ve more than enough on our plate with what’s coming at us.”

And Ancar’s army was on its way; Alberich and the Lord Marshal knew that for a fact. There were two Heralds in Selenay’s entourage gifted with Farsight who had also been in Hardorn on more than one mission. They had bent their talents beyond the Border during the Bight, at Alberich’s urging. They had seen Ancar’s army, plainly camped for a few hours’ rest. More disturbingly, they had “looked” again for that army with the coming of dawn—and found nothing, nothing but empty countryside.

“So there’s at least one mage with them,” Kyril deduced, as the warleaders conferred over breakfast. “And he’s concealing their movements from our Farsight somehow.” Knowing what they now knew about mages being in Ancar’s entourage—however little that was—Kyril and Alberich had been made co-equal with the Lord Marshal. Their task was to lead the assembled Heralds in combat—either by steel or by Gift. One of the Heralds’ most important tasks was communications; each officer would have a Mindspeaking Herald with him at all times, and Kyril would be with Selenay to coordinate all of them. That was the trick that had won the Tedrel Wars far them, the one thing no other army could match.

“Doesn’t matter,” the Lord Marshal replied, “at least not at the moment. We know where they were; we know by that how fast they’ve come, and how soon they’re likely to get here. We also know those mages haven’t been moving ‘em somehow—else they wouldn’t have needed all the horses your Heralds ‘saw.’ “

“My lord?” One of his officers had appeared beyond the open tent flap, saluting smartly. He was scarcely old enough to have grown a beard; morning sun gilded his fair ban, and he was having a difficult time repressing a grin. “We’re getting the recruits you warned us of.”

“Recruits?” Kyril said, puzzled, as Alberich nodded.

The Lord Marshal gave a brief snort that might have been a laugh. “You’ll see, Herald. Bring them on up here, lad; we’ve got two here that can test them.”

“All of them, sir?”

“How many are there?” The Lord Marshal was surprised now.

“Over a hundred, sir.”

“Lady Bright—aye, bring them all up. We’ll get them sorted out, somehow.”

As the three Warleaders left the tent to stand in the brilliant sunlight, there was a small dust-cloud in the vicinity of the trade road. As those who made the cloud neared, Kyril and Alberich saw that those at the front of the crowd that approached afoot were wearing the black-and-gold uniforms of Alessandar’s regular army.

It appeared that the entire force guarding the Border, from officers to Healers and all their dependents, had defected when they had learned of Alessandar’s murder.

Elspeth had the joyous task of breaking the news to the rest of the Council. There was no such accord among the political leaders of Valdemar as there was among her military leaders.

Lord Gartheser was speechless with outrage and shock; Bard Hyron was dazed. Lady Kester and Lady Cathan, still seething over Orthallen’s accusations of complicity with the slavers, were surprised, but not altogether unhappy. Father Aldon had closeted himself in the tiny chapel of the Keep; Lord Gildas was with him. Healer Myrim made no attempt to conceal the fact that Orthallen’s treachery had not surprised her. Nor did she conceal that his demise gave her a certain grim satisfaction. But then, she might well be forgiven such uncharitable thoughts; she was one of the four Healers who were tending Talia’s wounds.

Once the bare bones had been told to the Councillors as a group, Elspeth went to each of these Councillors in turn, privately. She gave a simple explanation of what had occurred, but would answer no questions. Questions, she told them, must wait until Talia had recovered enough to tell them all more.

Long before then, Ancar’s army arrived.

* * * *

Alberich was beginning to feel hopeful. The ranks of Valdemar’s forces had been swelled to nearly double the original size by deserters—partisans of Alessandar—from across the Border. The Lord Marshal was fairly dancing with glee; with the exception of the dependents, every one of the men and women who sought sanctuary with them was a well-trained fighter or Healer—and every one burned with hatred and anger for the murder of their beloved King.

For the true tale had been spread to the countryside, from the capital westward, by a most unexpected source— the members of Trader Evan’s clan.

Evan, it seemed had taken to heart Talia’s warning to flee—and done more than that. He had spread the word among the traders of his own clan as he fled; they in turn had carried the tale farther. Cose to the capital, the people were cowed and afraid, too frightened to dare even escape; but close to the Border where Ancar’s hand ted not yet fallen so heavily, and where Alessandar had been served out of love, feelings ran high. High enough, that when two or three Border officers decided to defect to Valdemar’s side of the Border, nearly the entire contingent of the regular army stationed in the area chose to come with them.

Ancar surely had not anticipated this, nor would Ancar have any way of knowing they had gone. A small group of volunteers had remained behind at the signal towers and continued to send messages and information—all of it false.

“They’ll fade into the villages when Ancar has gone by,” the Captain who had hosted Kris and Talia told Alberich. “They’ve got civilian clothing at hand now. If they can, they’ll come across to us, but all the men who volunteered have families, and they won’t leave ‘em.”

“Understandable,” Alberich replied. “If it is that we win this battle, we shall post watchers to guide them here at every likely crossing. If not...”

“Then it won’t matter a damn, because Ancar will have us all,” the Captain answered grimly.

The Lord Marshal, with his forces doubled, was in no doubt as to the outcome.

“Randon,” Selenay said anxiously, as they waited for some sign that Ancar was within striking distance, “I know it’s your job to be confident, but he still has us Outnumbered three to two—”

They were standing, as they had every day since the Border had been alerted, at the top of the highest hill in the vicinity. Ancar’s mages probably could mask the movements of his troops from Farsight, but they’d be hard put to eliminate the dust-cloud of their passing, or the disturbance of birds, or any one of a number of other signs of the movement of many men. From this hill there was a clear line-of-sight for miles into Hardorn. Trained watchers were posted here, but Selenay and the Lord Marshal also spent most of their time not otherwise occupied squinting into the bright sunshine alongside them.

“My lady, we have more on our side than he can guess at. We have a thousand trained fighters besides our own that he knows nothing about. We have the choice of battleground. And we have the Heralds to ensure that there are no botched orders or misheard messages, or commands that come too late to be effective. The only thing I fear are his mages.” Now doubt did shadow the Lord Marshal’s eyes, and creep into his voice. “We have no way of knowing what they can do, how many he has, or if we can counteract them. And they may turn the day for him.”

“And Heraldic Gifts for the most part are not much use offensively,” Selenay added, sobered by the thought of the mages. “If only we had one of the Herald-mages alive today.”

“Lady-Queen, will I do?”

Selenay whirled, startled. As she and Randon had been absorbed in watching the Border and in their conversation, two Heralds had climbed the hill behind them. One was Dirk, pale, but looking better than he had in days.

The other, so begrimed with dust that his Whites were gray, his face lined with exhaustion, but sporting a self-conscious grin despite his weariness, was Griffon.

“I brought him right here as soon as we’d pried him off his saddle, Majesty,” Dirk said. “This lout just may be our answer to the mages—remember his Gift? He’s a Firestarter, Majesty.”

“Just point out what you want to go up in flames—or who,” Griffon added. “I guarantee it’ll go. Kyril hasn’t found anything that’ll block me yet.”

“That’s no boast, Majesty; I trained him, I know what be can do. He’s limited to line-of-sight, but that should be good enough.”

“But—you were riding circuit up North,” Selenay said, dazed with the sudden turn in their fortunes that brought Griffon there when he was most needed. “How did you even find out we were under threat, much less get here in toe?”

“Pure, dumb, Herald’s luck,” Griffon replied. “I ran into a Herald Courier whose Gift just happens to be Foresight; her message was delivered and we were—ah— passing an evening together. That night she got a really strong vision; all but dragged me out of bed and threw me into the saddle stark naked. She took over my circuit, I rode for the Border as fast as the horse could carry me. And here I am. I just hope I can do you some good.”

The setting sun was turning the clouds bloody when one of the lookouts reported the first long-awaited sign of Ancar’s army. Selenay prayed that the blood-red of the sunset was not an ill omen for her forces, even while die and the Lord Marshal issued the first of the orders for die battle to come.

The Lord Marshal had chosen as the battlefield a low, bare hill just on the Valdemar side of the Border. It had woods to the rear and the left of it, and open fields to the right. What Ancar couldn’t know—and what even now the scouts and skirmishers heading into the woods intended to keep him from learning—was that the woods to the rear of the hill had flooded with the bursting of an earthen dam earlier this spring. Water lay two and three feet deep all through them, and the hitherto-spongy ground was a morass of mud.

Others besides those skirmishers were moving into the woods to the left of the chosen field—the thousand or so fighters who had defected to Valdemar. In groups of a hundred or thereabouts, each with a mindspeaking Herald, they were taking positions to lie in wait past any point where Ancar’s scouts would be allowed to penetrate.

Teren slapped at another mosquito, and curbed his irritation. Tlie ground was high enough here that they weren’t up to their rears in mud, but the stinging insects were having a rare old party—not only acres of new-made marsh to lay eggs in, but this unexpected bonus of humans as refreshments! It was dark, the air was damp, and it was chilly. Wythra didn’t like it any better than he did; he could hear his Companion blowing impatiently in the darkness to his right.

:Twin?: he mind-sent. :We’re in position, how about you?:

:The same,: was Keren’s reply, with an overtone of exasperation, :and up to our armpits in goddamn midges!:

:Mosquitos here. :

:Count your blessings,: came her retort. :The midges are crawling into people’s armor and you beat yourself black and blue trying to get them.:

:They’re everywhere—: That had the unmistakable overtones of Keren’s stallion Dantris, and he was irritated. Unlike most other Heralds, the twins could Mindspeak as well with each other’s Companions as with their own. :Even fellis-oil isn’t helping,: Dantris concluded in annoyance.

:Sounds like you may have more casualties from the wildlife than in battle.: Teren grinned to himself despite his discomfort.

:Let’s all hope you’re right,: his twin answered soberly.

“Be my eyes and ears, love,” Talia had begged Dirk. “They’re going to need me—”

“But—” he’d protested.

“Take Rolan; you know you can link to him. And when they need me—”

“Not if?” He’d sighed. “No, never mind. I link to Rolan and he links to you? Gods, can’t you rest for a moment?”

“Dare I?”

He’d had no answer to give her. So here he waited, in the lines behind Selenay, waiting for dawn. Praying she didn’t kill herself—because if he lost her, now that he’d just found her. . . .

When dawn came, Selenay’s forces were formed up along the top of the hill, with their backs to the woods. There was a heavy knot of Heralds in Whites at the end of die left flank, hard against the woods to the side. With them was Jen, wearing some of Elspeth’s student Grays; they were hoping Ancar would mistake her for Elspeth and drive for that part of the line. Elspeth herself was back at the Keep, ready to flee at a moment’s notice if the tide turned against them. She had agreed to this reluctantly, but saw the sense in it, and she wanted to be certain if everything went wrong that Talia was not left behind. During one of her brief moments of wakefulness, the Queen’s Own had soberly asked the Heir to personally be certain that she didn’t fall back into Ancar’s bands, and Elspeth had promised just as soberly. Although Elspeth had a shrewd notion that Talia meant she should see to it that the Queen’s Own received coup de grace, the Heir was determined to bring her along even if it meant carrying the injured Herald herself!

* * * *

In the pale light of dawn, Selenay’s original thousand looked pitiful against Ancar’s three thousand.

They were a shade more heavily armored than the Guard; from the way they obeyed their officers’ orders, they were as well trained. About five hundred of the three thousand were still mounted; cavalry then, but light cavalry, not heavy. The good news was that their bows were all crossbows—in an open field battle, virtually useless in combat once fired, and lacking the range of a longbow.

Selenay’s forces waited, patiently, Ancar would have to come to them.

“He’s a good commander, I’ll give him that,” the Lord Marshal growled, when after an hour of waiting nothing had happened. “He’s assessing his chances—and I hope to blazes we look like fools! Wait a minute, something’s happening— “

A rider came forward from the ranks with a white flag. He rode to the exact middle of the battle, and paused.

The Lord Marshal rode forward three paces, his battle-harness jingling, and thundered, “Speak, man! Or are you just here to look pretty?”

The rider, a slightly foppish fellow wearing highly ornamented plate with a helmet that bore an outlandish crest, colored angrily and spoke up. “Queen Selenay, your envoys murdered King Alessandar, clearly on your orders. King Ancar has declared a state of war upon Valdemar for your heinous act. Your forces are outnumbered—will you surrender yourself now to Ancar’s justice?”

An angry muttering went up along the line, as Selenay grimaced. “I wondered what sort of tale he’d concoct,” she murmured to Kyril, then called to the rider: “And just what can I expect from Ancar’s justice?”

“You must abdicate and give over your daughter Elspeth in marriage to Ancar. The Heralds of Valdemar must be disbanded and outlawed. Ancar will rule Valdemar jointly with Elspeth; you will be imprisoned in a place of Ancar’s choosing for as long as you live.”

“Which will be about ten minutes once Ancar has me in his hands,” Selenay said loud enough for the envoy to hear. Then she stood up in her stirrups, removed her helm so that the sun shone fully on her golden hair, and called aloud, “What do you say, my people? Shall I surrender?”

The resounding “No!” that met her question rang across the hilltop and caused the envoy’s horse to start and shy.

“Now hear me—” she said, in a voice so clear and carrying that there was no doubt that every one of Ancar’s men could hear it. “Ancar murdered his own father, and my envoy as well. He consorts with evil magicians, and dabbles in blood-sacrifice, and I’d sooner set a blade across Elspeth’s throat than have her spend so much as five minutes in his company! Let him beware the vengeance of the gods for his false accusations—and the only way he’ll rule Valdemar is when every one of her citizens is dead in her defense!”

The envoy turned his horse back to his own lines, the cheering that followed Selenay’s words seeming to push him along before it like a leaf before the wind.

“Well, now we’re for it,” Selenay said to her commanders, settling her sword a little more comfortably at her side. She replaced her helm, and patted her Companion’s neck. “Now we see if our plans work, even at three-to-two.”

“And,” Kyril replied, “if a Firestarter’s the equal of Ancar’s mages.”

“Why are they just sitting there?” Griffon asked, his expression perplexed. “Why aren’t they charging?”

He was far back behind the first and second lines, with the bowmen. His Gift was far too precious to risk him anywhere near the front, but he chafed at his enforced safety.

They found out in the next few moments as fog seemed to begin rising from the earth at a point between their fines and Ancar’s. The fog was a sickly yellow, and the breeze moving across the battle field did not disturb it at aft. Then it seemed to writhe and curdle; there was an eerie green glow all about it. The breeze brought a whiff of a sulfurous stench, the whole battlefield seemed to sfaift sideways for an instant, and Griffon’s stomach torched—and in place of the fog was a clutch of demonic monsters.

They were easily seven feet tall, with dark pits in their skulls in place of eyes, in the depths of which a dim red fire seemed to flicker. Their mouths were fanged: their leathery yellow hides, the color of rancid butter, seemed armor enough. They each carried a double-bladed axe in one hand, a knife nearly the length of a sword in the other. There were nearly a hundred of them. A fearful murmuring arose from the ranks of Selenay’s forces—a few arrows flew in the direction of the things, but those that connected merely bounced off. As they opened their fanged mouths to roar and began advancing on the center of Selenay’s lines, her own troops fell back a step or two involuntarily.

Then, without warning, one of the demon-warriors stopped dead in its tracks, and let out a howl that caused men to dap their hands to their ears; then it burst into flame.

It howled again, and began staggering in circles, a walking pyre. Selenay’s troops cheered again; then the cheering died, for the rest of the demons were still coming, oblivious to the fate of the burning one, which had fallen to the ground, still afire.

A second and a third ignited—and still they kept coming. They moved fairly slowly, but it was evident that they would reach Selenay’s lines in a few moments.

And so they did—and the slaughter they caused was hideous. The demons waded into the line of fighters as a man might wade into a pack of yipping curs. They swung their heavy axes with deceptive slowness—and sheared through armor and the flesh beneath as if the armor were paper and the flesh as soft as melted cheese. There was no deflecting the blows of those vicious axes; a man in the way of one of them went down with his shield split, and his skull split as well. Incredibly, fighters pressed to replace those that had fallen, but their bravery was useless. The axes continued to swing, and the replacements joined their fellows, either in death or in mangled agony. The Guard swarmed to make a protective wall around Selenay and her commanders, but the demons were inexorably cutting through them. There was blood everywhere—some of it yellow, but precious little compared to the amount of red, human blood flowing. Men cried out in fear or in pain, the monsters roared, and under all was the screech of blade-edge meeting armor and the stink of demon-flesh burning.

Griffon, standing far behind the lines, brow furrowed with concentration, was focusing on yet another of the demons. As it, too, went up in flames, he looked for a new target in despair. It seemed that he alone could kill these monsters—but there were so many of them!

“Herald—” He tried to ignore the insistent voice in his ear, but the man would not go away. He turned impatiently, to see that his persistant companion was the Councillor, Bard Hyron. Hyron was enough of a trained bowman to have warranted a place back here, alongside Griffon.

“Herald—the tales say these things are dependent on their sorcerer. If you kill him, they’ll vanish!”

“What if the tales are wrong?”

“You won’t have lost anything,” the Bard pointed out. “Look—the mage must be in that knot of people back by the standard; just to the left of the center and the rear of Ancar’s lines.”

“Get me a Farseer!” Before Griffon had finished speaking, the man was off, running faster than Griffon would have guessed he could.

The Bard was back in an instant—too long for Griffon, who watched, sickened, as the demons carved down another swath of the Guard.

“I’m looking, Grif—” It was Griffon’s red-haired year-mate, Davan, who came stumbling up in the Bard’s wake— stumbling because he had one hand pressed to his forehead, trying to “See” as he ran. “I’ve—bloody hell! I know he’s there, but they’re blocking me! Damn you, you bastards—”

Davan went to his knees, face twisted and unrecognizable with the effort of fighting the blockage the mages were putting on him.

“Come on, Davan—” Griffon glanced up; and swallowed bile and fear. The demons were continuing to advance. He concentrated, and sent the nearest up in flames, but another took its place.

Hyron froze for a moment, then ran off again. Griffon hardly noticed; he was doing what he could—and it wasn’t enough.

Pounding hooves and a flash of white that Griffon saw out of the corner of his eye signaled the arrival of another Herald. Distracted, Griffon turned to see who it was.

Dirk—and not Ahrodie, but Rolan!

Dirk slid off the stallion’s bare back, and took Davan by the shoulder, shaking him. “Break it off, little brother— that isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he shouted over the noise of battle. “You two—don’t argue. Link with us—’;

Griffon did not even bother to think, much less argue. He linked in with Dirk, as he had so often done as a student—

To find himself, not in a four-way linkage, but a five.

Dirk was linked to Rolan—who in his turn was linked to—Talia?

Yes, it was Talia.

Dirk’s ability at Mindspeech was limited, but urgency made it clear and strong. :Davan, follow Her. Mage used death to raise power—pain, despair—She can track it to him. Grif, follow Davan—I hold here.:

Davan caught that; they all remembered how Talia had used Ylsa’s dying to lead Kris’ Farsight to where her body lay. The thread of Talia’s sending was faint, but unmistakable. Davan caught and followed it, and Griffon, linked in as closely as he dared, was hot on his “heels.”

:Yes—yes, I’ve got him! I See him! He’s dressed in a bright sky-blue velvet robe—Grif, strike now, through me!:

Clear in Davan’s mind, Griffon saw a wizened man in a robe of vivid blue just a little to one side of the knot of people around Ancar’s standard. And that was all he needed.

With hatred and anger he hadn’t known he could feel, born of the horror he felt watching his fellows being slaughtered, he reached—

And found himself blocked, as he’d never been before.

He strove against the wall blocking him, fighting his way through it with every ounce of energy he possessed, fueled by his rage—

He felt it yield just the tiniest amount, and dragged up new reserves of energy—from where, he neither knew nor cared.

There was an explosion in Ancar’s lines. And a tower of flame rose next to Ancar’s standard—

And the demons vanished.

Griffon’s eyes rolled up into his head, he fainted dead away, and Davan went with him; Hyron and Dirk caught them as they fell.

When the demon-warriors vanished, Selenay’s forces let out a cheer of relief. Selenay cheered with them, but wondered if they were being a bit premature.

When no other arcane attacks manifested, then she truly felt like cheering. There must have been only the one mage, and somehow the Heralds had been able to defeat him.

“Griffon and Davan found the mage and burned him,” Kyril said at Selenay’s glance of inquiry. “They both collapsed, after. Griffon’s still passed out, but it doesn’t look as if he’ll be needed again in a hurry.”

No, it didn’t; for now Ancar’s regular troops were charging Selenay’s tine. The bowmen showered them with arrows—no few of which found their marks. Ancar’s own crossbowmen had long since expended their own bolts—uselessly, it might be added—and had switched to charging with the rest, swords in hand. Selenay’s Guards-folk braced themselves for the shock, for now the first step of their battle plan was about to take place.

When Ancar’s line hit Selenay’s with a clangor of metal on metal and cries of battle-rage and pain, most of their force was concentrated on the middle, where Selenay’s standard was. She waited, ignoring the sight and sound of her people killing and being killed, for several long moments—for she, not the Lord Marshal, was the field commander. Her Gift of Foresight was not a strong one, but it was an invaluable one, for it operated best on the battlefield. It would not tell her what was to happen, but given that there were plans already made, it would tell her when the exact instant occurred that those plans should be set into motion.

She waited, listening for that insistent inner prompting. Then—”Tell the left to pull in,” she said to Kyril.

He Mindsent, with a frown of concentration, and almost instantly the troops on the lefthand side of the standard began making their way toward the center.

As she’d hoped, Ancar sent his cavalry to the left, with foot following—supposing that he could encircle their ftne at that point, or even capture the supposed Heir.

“Wheel—•” she told Kyril. And relayed by the Heralds with each group, the entire force pivoted on the center, with the leftmost end being on the very edge of the swamp, where some of Ancar’s cavalry were even now discovering the two and three feet of water and mud.

She waited another long moment, until all of Ancar’s forces were between her line and the woods on the left.

Then—”Now, Kyril! Call them in!”

And pouring from the woods came the troops that had hidden there all night—fresh, angry, and out for blood; the defectors from Alessandar’s army, and the Heralds that were their link to the command post. The defectors looked a little odd, for each of them had spent a few moments of his hours in waiting cutting away the sleeves of his uniform tunic so that the sleeves of the white, padded gambeson showed. There could now be no mistaking them on the battlefield for Ancar’s troopers.

Caught between two forces, with a morass in front of them, even Ancar’s seasoned veterans began to panic.

After that, it was a rout.

Griffon was the first to reach the Keep, half-blind with reaction-headache. He had stayed only long enough to assure himself that the victory was indeed Selenay’s, then pulled himself onto his Companion’s back and sought the Healers.

“We did it; we pulled it off,” he told Elspeth, downing a swallow of headache-potion with a grimace. “Those extra troops from Hardorn turned the tide. By now what’s left of Ancar’s army is probably being chased across the border with its tail between its legs.”

“What about Ancar himself?”

“Never got into the thick of battle; probably he’s gotten away. And before you ask, I don’t know if Hulda was with him, but I’d guess not. From what I’ve been able to pick up from you and Talia, I’d say she isn’t one to put herself at any kind of risk. She’s probably safely back at the capital, consolidating things for her ‘little dear.’ “

“What about—”

“Elspeth, my head is about ready to break open. I think I know why Lavan called the Firestorm down on himself—it probably felt better than his reaction-headache! I’m going to go pass out for a while. Thank Talia for me. We couldn’t have done it without her. And you stay ready; they’ll be bringing battle casualties back any minute now. The Healers will need every hand they can get, and there’ll be plenty of fellows eager for the privilege of having the Heir listening to their boasts while they’re being patched up.”

So it proved . . . and Elspeth learned firsthand of the aftermath of battle. She grew a great deal older in the next few hours. And never again would she think of war as “glorious.”

Selenay remained on the Border, as fresh troops came to help with mopping-up, but Elspeth, the Councillors, the wounded, and most of the Heralds (including Talia and Dirk) returned to the capital.

Just before the Councillors left, Selenay called them all together.

I must remain here,” she said, feeling gray with exhaustion. “Elspeth has full powers of regency; in my absence she heads the Council—with full vote.”

Lord Gartheser looked as if he was about to protest, then subsided, sullenly. The Councillors who had been Qrthallen’s advocates—with the exception of Hyron—were angry and unhappy and would be Elspeth’s first problem.

“You have no choice in this, my Councillors,” Selenay told them, fixing her eyes on Gartheser in particular. “In war the Monarch has right of decree, as you well know. And should there be any trouble ...”

She paused significantly.

“Be certain that I shall hear of it—and act.”

Elspeth called a Council meeting as soon as they were all settled, but sent messages that it would be held in Talia’s quarters.

With the more aged or slothful of the Councillors grumbling and panting their way up the stairs to the top story, the meeting convened.

Talia was by no means well; she was healed enough to an hour or two undrugged, but no more than was propped up on her little couch, positioned under her window. She wore bandages everywhere except her head and neck; her ruined feet were encased mood bootlike contraptions. She was nearly as white as the uniform she wore. Elspeth sat next to her, with one eye on her at all times.

Lord Gartheser (predictably) was the first to speak. “What has been going on here?” he snapped angrily. “What’s all this nonsense about Orthallen being a traitor? I—”

“It is not nonsense, my lord,” Talia interrupted him quietly. “I heard it from his co-conspirators, and his own actions when confronted merely with their names proves his guilt.”

Simply, and without elaboration, she told the whole story of what she and Kris had learned about Ancar, of the massacre at the banquet, of Kris’ death, and her confrontations with Hulda and Ancar.

When she paused, obviously tired, Elspeth took up the tale, relating what Talia had told them after Dirk had brought her back, and the scene with Orthallen.

Lord Gartheser sat silently through it all, mouth agape, growing paler by the moment.

“So you can see, Councillors,” Elspeth finished, “why my very first act as regent must be to ascertain your loyalty under Truth Spell. Kyril, would you be willing to administer to your fellow Councillors? I have only one question to put to all of us—where and with whom do your first loyalties lie?”

“Certainly, Elspeth,” Kyril replied, nodding his gray head toward her obediently. “And Elcarth can administer the test to me.”

“But—I—” Gartheser was sweating profusely.

“You have some objection, Gartheser?” Lady Cathan asked with honeyed sweetness.

“I—uh—”

“If you prefer not to take the test, you could resign your position—”

Lord Gartheser looked from face to face, hoping for a reprieve, and found none. “I—Lady Elspeth, I fear the— the stress of my position is too much for me. With your leave, I should prefer to resign it.”

“Very well, Gartheser,” Elspeth said calmly. “Does anyone else object? No? Then, my lord, you may leave us. I would suggest you retire to your estates for the quiet, peaceful life you have so richly earned. I do not think, given the stress you have been through, that it would be wise to entertain many visitors.”

She watched Gartheser rise and stumble out the door with an impassive expression not even Selenay could have matched.

“Kyril,” she said when he was gone, “you may begin with me.”

“And after Elspeth, I should like to be tested,” Hyron said, shamefacedly, “being as I was one of Orthallen’s stronger supporters.”

“If you wish. Kyril?”

The testing took a very short time; not surprisingly, all passed.

“Next, we have two Council seats to fill, speaker for the North, and speaker for the Central districts. Any suggestions?”

“For the Central, I would suggest Lord Jelthan,” said Lady Kester. “He’s young, he’s got some good ideas, but he’s been lord of his holdings for nearly fourteen years— his father died young.”

“Anyone else? No? And the North?”

No one spoke, until Talia’s whisper broke the silence. “If no one has any other notions, I suggest Mayor Loschal of Trevendale. He’s quite able, he knows the problems of the North intimately, he has no private axe to grind that I am aware of, and he has enough years to balance Lord Jelthan’s youth.”

“Any other suggestions? So be it—Kyril, see to it, will you? Now, the other matter facing us is Hardorn and Ancar. We are going to have to increase the size of the Guard; that means a tax increase—”

“Why? We beat them, right soundly!”

“There’s no need—”

“You’re starting at shadows—”

“I know for a fact your mother gave you no such orders—”

“Quiet!” Kyril thundered out over the bedlam. When stared at him dumbfounded, he continued, “Herald Talia wishes to speak, and she can’t be heard over your babbling.”

“Elspeth is right,” Talia whispered wearily. “I know Ancar better than any of you. He’ll be back at us, again and again, until one of our lands lacks its leader. And I tell you, this kingdom is in more danger now than we were before the battle we just won! Now he knows some of what we can do, and what kind of strength we can raise at short notice. The next time he comes for us, it will be with a force he deems overwhelming; we must be ready to meet that force.”

“And that means a larger Guard; taxes to support it—”

“And your help, Councillors. Bard Hyron, the help of your Circle especially,” Talia continued.

“My Circle? Why?”

“Because, as you ably demonstrated with Griffon, the Bardic Circle is the only source of information we have on old magic.”

“Surely you overestimate these mages—” Lady Wyrist began.

“Look here and tell me I overestimate!” Again Talia pulled gown and bandage from her shoulder to display the handprint-brand, still livid and raw-looking. “I will bear this mark until the day I die, and this was just a parlor-trick for Hulda!” Lady Wyrist paled and turned her head away. “Ask the widows and children and widowers of those slain by demons if I overestimate the danger! I tell you now that what Ancar brought with him is likely to be one of his lesser mages—he would not risk the greater in battle. And Hyron, your Circle alone preserves the tradition of what we can expect and how we can defend against it. If, indeed, we can.”

“We can,” Hyron said thoughtfully. “It’s in some of the chronicles from Vanyel’s time—when the Gifts were superseding the mage-crafts. It may be that you Heralds and your Companions are all that will be able to guard us from Ancar’s magicians.”

“Sounds like a rare good reason to have them by us, if you ask me,” said Lady Kester wryly.

“And we’ll need you and your Circle for your traditional reason as well,” Elspeth said, smiling at Hyron. “Especially if we’re not to end up conscripting for the Guard.”

“Rousing patriotic fervor and spreading tales of what’s happened and what we can expect? Aye, Lady Elspeth, as always, the Circle is yours to command.”

“And keeping the spirits of our people high.”

“Ever in your service—”

Elspeth took a quick glance at Talia, as she lay back on her pillows, face pinched and drained. “If there’s no more business at hand?”

“None that can’t wait,” said Lord Gildas.

“Then I think we’d best dismiss, and let the Healers see to Talia.”

As the Councillors filed out, Skif slipped in, Healer Devan and Healer Rynee with him.

“Little sister, Dirk’s waiting downstairs—” Skif began.

Talia’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. “Please— not now—I’m so tired. ...”

“Listen to me—listen—” He caught one of her hands in his own and knelt beside her couch. “I know what’s happening to you, I understand! I’ve seen you trying not to wince away when he touches you. I’ve talked him into going home to tell his parents about you; I’m going with him. By the tune we get back, you’ll be fine again, I know you will. Now gather your courage and give him a wonderful good-bye to keep him going, eh?”

She shuddered; he wiped her tears, and she relaxed. “Is that why you brought Rynee?”

He chuckled. “You’ve got it. She’ll give you a little mental painblock, as it were. Let her work while I fetch Dirk.”

She was able to do all Skif had asked and more, but when the two of them left, she crumbled again.

“Rynee, am I ever going to be able to—be whole again? I love him, I need him—but whenever he touches me, I see Ancar and Ancar’s guards—”

“Hush, now, hush,” Rynee soothed her as if Talia wens twelve years her junior instead of four her senior.

“It was fine at first, but after the battle it started to build every time a man touched me, and it was worse than that when the man was him! Rynee, I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!”

“Talia, dear friend, be easy. Yes, you’ll be fine, just like Skif said. It’s just a matter of Healing, inside instead of out. Now sleep.”

“Will she Heal?” Devan looked at Rynee somberly, as Talia dropped into Healing-trance.

“She will,” Rynee replied serenely. “And it’ll be mostly her own doing. You’ll see.”

“I pray you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

Twelve

Skif took the tower stairs at a run, though for all the sound he made, no one would ever have known there was anyone on the stairs at all. He’d been back from the North for several hours now, and he was more than impatient. “You can’t see Talia yet,” they’d told him. “She’s with the Healers every morning, and they’ve left orders that they’re never to be disturbed.” Well, all right, but that didn’t make a fellow any less twitchy, not when he was worried about her. He’d determined to get up to her room as soon as he’d finished lunch; he’d all but bolted his food and nearly choked as a consequence.

He’d evidently misjudged the timing by a bit, for as he approached the half-open door at the top of the stairs, he’d heard voices inside. He shrank back into a shadow on the landing, and peeked around the corner. From where he was hidden he could see inside the room quite easily. There were two Healers there, both easily identifiable by their Greens, one on either side of a lounge that held someone in Herald’s Whites—Talia, without a doubt.

He winced inside, for her face was distorted by pain and her eyes streamed tears, although she did not utter so much as a single moan.

“Enough,” said the Healer on her right; and Skif recognized Devan. “That’s absolutely all for today, Talia.”

Her face relaxed somewhat, and the woman on her left gave her a look of caring sympathy and a handkerchief to dry her tears with.

“You really don’t need to be enduring all this, you know,” Devan said, a bit crossly. “If you’d let us Heal you at the normal rate it could all be done quite painlessly.”

“Dear Devan, I don’t have time, and you know that perfectly well,” Talia replied softly.

“Then you ought to at least let us work under painblock! And I still don’t understand why you don’t think you have time!”

“But if you worked under painblocks, I wouldn’t be able to help—and if I can’t help, neither can Rolan. In that case, it would take six of you to do what one does now.” Her voice actually held a touch of amusement.

“She’s got you there, Devan,” the woman Healer— Myrim, the Healer’s representative on the Council—pointed out wryly.

He snorted with disgust. “Heralds! I don’t know why we put up with you! If you’re not out killing yourselves, you’re trying to get us to speed-Heal you so that you can go back out and get yourselves ruined that much sooner!”

“Well, old friend, if you’ll recall—the first time you ever saw me, I was your patient. There’d already been an attempt to rid the world of me, and I was only a student. You could hardly expect this tabbycat to change color after such an auspicious beginning, could you?”

The Healer reached out and touched her cheek in a spontaneous gesture of affection. “It’s just that it hurts me to have to put you through such agony, dearling.”

She caught the hand and held it, smiling at him. The smile transformed her from a simply pretty woman (swollen and red-rimmed eyes notwithstanding) to a lovely one. “Take heart, old friend. There are not many more days of this to come; then whatever Healing is left will all be bone-Healing—and you can’t speed that.” She laughed. “As for why I don’t have time, well, I can’t tell you, because I don’t know myself. I only know it’s true, just as true as the fact that Rolan’s eyes are blue. Besides, I know you. I’m a cooperative patient; unlike Keren and Dirk, I do exactly what I’m told. Since you can’t complain of that, you have to find something to be annoyed about!”

Myrim chuckled, as did Healer Devan. “Oh, you know him far too well, milady,” she said, standing and stretching. “And we will see you on the morrow.”

They left the room and passed Skif without ever noticing that he was there.

But Talia seemed to sense that someone was there. “Whoever’s outside, please come in,” she called out. “It can’t be comfortable on that cold, dark landing.”

Skif chuckled, and pushed the door open all the way, to see Talia regarding him with her head tilted to one side and an expectant look on her face. “I never could fool you, could I?”

“Skif” she exclaimed with delight, and held out both arms to him. “I hadn’t expected you back this soon!”

“Oh, you know me—a box of soap and a spare uniform, and I’m ready to go.” He embraced her very carefully, and kissed her forehead, before sitting on the floor next to her couch. “And where Skif is—seeing as we went to the same destination—can Dirk be far behind?” “

“You tell me.” He was pleased to see her eyes light with carefully contained joy.

“Well, he’s not. Far behind, that is. He planned to stay one day longer, but if I’m any judge, he’ll have made that up on the road. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him here this afternoon. Dear heart, I’m glad to see you want him again.”

Her eyes glowed, and she smiled. “I didn’t fool you either, did I?”

“Not a bit. That’s why I came up with the notion of sending him home to tell his family in person. I could see all that old fear of men—and worse—building up in you every time he touched you, and you trying not to show it so that you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Oh, Skif—what ever did I do to deserve you? You were right; it was horrible, I felt like I was at war with myself.”

“Dearling, I served a Border Sector, remember? And my old home neighborhood was a pretty rough place. You weren’t the first woman I’ve seen that was suffering the aftereffects of rape and abuse. I know what the reaction is. I take it you’re—”

“Fine. Better than ever; and half-mad with wanting to see him again.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had for a long tune. Well, don’t you want to know how it all went?”

“I’m consumed with curiosity because if I know Dirk, he probably sent his family a two-line note—”I’m getting married. I’ll be there in a week,”—and no further explanation whatsoever.”

Skif laughed, and admitted that that was just about what Dirk had written, word for word. “And a fine turmoil it sent them into, I can tell you! Especially coming on top of the rest of it—well, let me take it from the beginning.”

He settled himself a bit more comfortably. “We got to the farm just about a week after we left here, and it was hard riding all the way. Dirk didn’t want to spend any more time traveling than he had to; well, I can’t say as I much blame him. When we got there, the entire clan was out waiting for us, since they’d had the children playing lookout ever since his message. Holy Stars, what a mob! You’re going to like them, heartsister, they’re all as mad as he is. They got us separated almost at once; the younglings plying me with food and drink while Dirk’s mother ana father dragged him off for a family conference. I could tell that he’d had them fairly worried, especially after the last time—that bitch Naril and the way she played with him—”

“I know all about that. I don’t blame them for being worried.”

“It didn’t help much that he was still a bit thin and worn-looking, I’m sure. They weren’t easy to convince that everything was all right, because they had him incommunicado for several hours, at least an hour past supper, and we got there just at lunch. The poor youngsters were at their wit’s end, trying to find something to distract me with!” Skifs lips pursed in a mischievous smile. “And I’m afraid I didn’t help much. I wasn’t cooperating at all. Well, they all finally emerged; Father looked satisfied, but Mother still had doubts in her eyes. They fed us all, then it was my turn to come under fire. Let me tell you, Dirk’s mother is a lovely lady, and she ought to be put in charge of questioning witnesses; the Truth Spell would become entirely superfluous! By the time she was done with me, she knew everything I’ve ever known about you, including a lot of things I’d forgotten. We were up practically all night, talking; one of the best conversations I’ve ever had. I didn’t mind in the least, she’s such a dear. It was worth every yawn to see the worry going out of her eyes, the more I told her.”

Talia sighed, and Skif could feel her relief and gratitude as she wordlessly squeezed his hand. “I can’t tell you how glad I was that you insisted on going with him. You’re a good friend to both of us.”

“Hm—you’ll be even gladder, I think—none of them are going to be able to be here for the wedding. That’s what I meant by ‘coming on top of all the rest of it.’ “

“What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

“His third sister is having a real problem with this child she’s bearing. She can’t travel, obviously, her older sisters don’t want to leave her. Needless to say, her mother, as Healer as well as parent, feels obligated to stay. And Dirk’s father’s joint problem is so bad he can’t even take long wagon journey anymore, never mind riding. I did my best to assure them that you wouldn’t feel slighted or insulted if they didn’t come, given the circumstances.”

“I’d never forgive myself if they had come, and something had gone wrong at home while they were here.”

“Well, that’s what I told them. By the next day, we were all good friends, and I was part of the family. Then I had tte hardest task I’ve ever faced. They asked me about Kris.”

He looked at his hands, his voice fogged a little with tears. “I—they loved him, little sister. He was like another son to them. I’ve never had to tell anyone how their son died before.”

He felt her hand lightly on his shoulder, and looked up. The sadness that never quite left her face was plain in net eyes. A single tear slid slowly down her cheek, and she aid not trouble to wipe it away. He reached up, and brushed it away with gentle fingers.

“I miss him,” she said simply. “I miss him every day. If it weren’t for what I felt when he—left—it would be unbearable. At least—I know he must be happy. I have that. They don’t even have that much comfort.”

“I’m glad I got Dirk to go home for that reason, too,” Skif replied quietly. “Kris was something special to him— more than a friend, more than anyone else could ever be, I think. When he finally let himself grieve, he needed his family around him . . ..”

He took both of her hands in his own and they sat in silence for long moments, mourning their loss.

“Well,” he coughed a little, “I wish you had the leisure to wait on this until you were entirely well again.”

“I know. So do I,” Talia sighed. “But as soon as I can use my feet again, I have to return to duty; in fact, Selenay wrote me herself yesterday that if it weren’t so damnably painful for me to move, she’d have me on duty now.”

“I know, too. Well, it can’t be helped. Listen—I have got to tell you what that tribe is like—” Skif launched into a series of affectionate descriptions of the various members of Dirk’s family, and had the pleasure of seeing some of the sorrow leave her eyes.

“So that’s the last of them,” he concluded. Then he noticed a basket of sewing beside her—and none of the garments were her own! “What’s all this?” he asked, holding up an enormous shirt with both sleeves pulling out.

Talia blushed a charming crimson. “I can’t go anywhere except this couch or my bed. I’m tired of reading, I can’t handle my harp very long without hurting myself, and I can’t stand having nothing to do. I suppose it goes back to my farmgirl days, when I wasn’t even allowed to read without having a task in my hands. So since my embroidery is bad enough to make a cat laugh, I made Elspeth hunt out all of Dirk’s clothing, and I’ve been mending it. I can’t keep him from looking rumpled, but at least I can keep him from looking like a rag-bag!”

Before Skif could tease her further, the sound of a familiar footstep—taking the tower stairs three at a time— caused her to direct all her attention to the open door, her visitor momentarily forgotten.

There was no mistaking it—it could only be Dirk. Skif bounced to his feet and took himself out of the way before Dirk reached the door, not wanting to intrude on their greeting. Every time Dirk had spoken of Talia when he’d been with his family, he’d practically glowed. It had been that, at least in part, that had convinced them that all was well. Well, if Skif had thought he’d glowed when he only spoke of Talia, he was incandescent when he saw her waiting for him, with both her hands stretched yearningly out toward him. A quick glance at her proved that she was equally radiant.

Dirk was across the room in a few steps and went to one knee beside her, taking both her hands in his and kissing them gently. What would have been a hopelessly melodramatic scene for anyone else seemed natural for them. Talia drew his hands toward her and laid her cheek against them, and the expression on her face made Skif hold his breath and freeze absolutely still lest he break the mood.

“Has it been very bad, my love?” Dirk asked, so softly Skif could barely make out the words.

“I don’t know—while you were gone, all I could think of was how I wished you were here; and now you’re here, I’m too busy being glad you’re with me,” she replied teasingly.

Why then I must needs find a way to shrink thee, and carry thee in my pocket always,” he said tenderly, falling into the speech-mode of his childhood.

Talia freed one hand from his and laid it softly along his cheek. “Would not having me in thy pocket soon make thee tired of my company?”

“Not so long as it spares thee any pain at all. Oh, have a care to thyself, little bird!” he murmured. “Thou hast my soul in thy keeping, and without thee, I would be nothing but an empty, dead shell!”

His tone was jesting, but the light in his eyes said that he spoke nothing less than the truth.

“Oh, beloved, then we are surely lost beyond redemption,” she whispered “for in truth I find myself in the like case. Thou hast mine in trade for thine.”

Their joy in each other seemed to brighten the very air around them.

Skif soon realized, however, that it is only possible to go without breathing for a limited amount of time. On the other hand, he couldn’t bear the notion that his interference would break the mood of the two before him.

“Dearest,” Talia said with laughter in her voice, “my brotherling Skif is trying to decide between disturbing us and fainting from lack of air—”

Dirk chuckled, and turned his head slightly so that he could see Skif out of the corner of his eye. “Thought I hadn’t noticed you were there, did you? Come out of your corner, and stop pretending you’re here to pick pockets!”

To Skif’s intense relief, the mood had not broken. Perhaps the glow had been dimmed a little, but if so, it had been a deliberate action on their part, to make it easier for him. As he took a chair and pulled it nearer to the couch, Dirk removed the pillows behind Talia and took their place. Now she was leaning on his chest and shoulder instead, one of his arms protectively circling her. The vague shadow of anxiety was gone from his face, and the pain that had faintly echoed in her eyes was gone as well. There was a “tightness” about them that defied analysis.

No sooner were they all settled again when more footsteps could be heard running up the stairs. Elspeth came bursting into the room, her arms full of glorious scarlet silk.

“Talia, the dresses are done! Has—” She stopped short at the sight of Dirk, and gave a whoop of joy. She threw the dress at Skif (who caught it gingerly), and danced around to grab both of Dirk’s ears and plant an enthusiastic kiss squarely on his mouth.

“Well!” he said, when he could finally speak. “If that’s how I’m going to get greeted on my return, I’m going to go away more often!”

“Oh, horse manure,” Elspeth giggled, then rescued Skif from the folds of the dress, and planted an equally enthusiastic kiss on his mouth. “I’m just glad to see you for Talia’s sake. She’s been drooping like a wilted lily since you left!”

“Elspeth!” Talia protested.

“I’m just as glad to see Skif. More—he can help me. Or hadn’t you heard, oh, cloud-scraper? You get to help me with putting this wedding together. Talia can’t, and Dirk hasn’t been here.”

“And besides that, Dirk has no idea of what is supposed to go on at weddings,” Dirk said ruefully. “If you told me I was supposed to suspend myself by my knees from a treelimb, I’d probably believe you.”

“Oooh—what a wonderful opportunity!” Elspeth sparkled with mischief. “Maybe I’ll do that. No, I’d better not. Talia might tell you to beat me.”

I’d do worse than have Dirk beat you,” Talia twinkled back. “I’d tell Alberich that I thought you were shirking your practices.”

“You are a beast, aren’t you? Are you safe to hug, dearling?”

“As of this morning, quite safe.”

With that assurance, Elspeth bent over the Heralds and hugged Talia with warmth and enthusiasm, then tweaked Dirk’s nose with an impudent grin.

“I have been wanting to do that for eons,” she said, snatching a pillow from the pile that Dirk had displaced and seating herself on the floor at Talia’s feet.

“The hug, or the nose?” Dirk asked.

“Both—but the hug more,” she turned to Skif. “You wouldn’t know, since you were gone, too—but you hardly knew where you could touch her, at first. Poor Dirk, practically all he could touch were her fingertips before he left!”

“Oh, I found a few other places,” Dirk chuckled, and Tafia blushed furiously. “So tell me, what new and wonderful plans for this fiasco have you managed to crush since I’ve been gone?”

“You’ll adore this one—and it’s new today. The Lord Marshal thought it would be a grand idea to load Talia up on a flower-bedecked platform and carry her to the priest oo the shoulders of half the Heralds in the Kingdom. You know, like the image of the Goddess in a Midsummer pageant.”

“Oh, no!” Talia plainly was torn between laughter and embarrassment.

“Oh, yes! And once I’d managed to convince him that poor Talia would probably die of mortification if anyone even suggested it, the Lord Patriarch came storming in, demanding to know why the thing wasn’t being held in the High Temple!”

“Lord of Lights!”

“After I’d told him that since the Companions had a big part in the rescue, they were being invited, too, he agreed that the High Temple probably wasn’t the best site.”

“I can just see Dantris helping himself to the Goddess’ lilies out of sheer mischief,” Dirk muttered.

“Dantris? Bright Havens, love, Rolan and Ahrodie would probably decide to watch from the choir loft and leave hoofmarks all over the hardwood floor!” Talia replied. “And to think that all I ever wanted was a private pledging with a few friends.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been Chosen Queen’s Own,” Elspeth told her sweetly. “You’re a figure of national importance, so you can’t begrudge people their fun any more than I can.”

“And I suppose it’s too late to back out now.”

“Out of the wedding, or being Queen’s Own?” Dirk chuckled.

“Guess.”

“I’d rather not. I might not like the answer.”

“Look,” Elspeth interjected, “since Skif is right here now, why don’t I drag him off and tell him what I’ve gotten set up so far? That way we won’t be interrupted.”

“Good idea,” Dirk approved.

Elspeth gathered up her dress and drew Skif with her into the bedroom, shutting the door after them.

“I really don’t need any help in getting these things organized, but let’s pretend I do, all right? And let’s take lots of time about it,” Elspeth said in a low voice. “Being Heir has some advantages. As long as it’s me that’s up here, nobody is going to come bursting in on them the way they do when the Healers aren’t with her. You’d think people would give them a little time alone! But even though he’s just gotten back, they won’t.”

“But—why?”

“Why are people always up here? A lot of reasons. The Lord Marshal always manages to think up something more about Ancar he’d like to know. Kyril and Hyron are always asking about Hulda. Only the gods know what her powers could mean. Even her friends, Lady bless them, are always coming in to ‘make sure that she’s all right’. Havens, I’m as bad as they are! Here, as long as you’re here, you can help me—I want to show this off.” She hid behind the wardrobe door for a moment, emerging in the scarlet dress. “Lace me up, would you? Then there’s the emergencies, though gods be thanked we haven’t had any really bad ones, like the backlash of a Herald getting killed.” Her face clouded, “Except for poor Nessa. Well, Talia fixed that quickly enough, once she was well enough to handle it.”

“Gods, does everyone in the world pop in and out of here?”

“Sometimes it seems that way. You know, I don’t think anyone ever really realized how many lives she’s touched until we thought we’d lost her. That dress, for instance—have you ever seen anything like that fabric in your life?”

“Never.” Skif admired the gown, with an eye trained by thieving to evaluate it; it was of scarlet silk, and patterned through the scarlet of the main fabric were threads of pure gold and deep vermilion. It was incredible stuff.

“Neither have I—and I have seen a lot of Court gowns. It came by special messenger, after Dirk had them keep watch tot the trader who smuggled in the argonel and the arrows to her, then got the message out to Rolan. Dirk was hoping he could find him and thank him, and let him know she was ail right. Well, he managed to get back acron the Border before Ancar closed his side, and he got Dirk’s message and sent this in reply. The note that went with that said that among his people the bride always wore scarlet, and while he knew that this would not be the case among us, he hoped his ‘little gift’ could be put to good use. ‘Little gift!’ Mother said that the last time she saw anything like this it was priced at a rate that would purchase a small town!” Elspeth finished tying up the laces in back. “Talia thought it would be lovely to use it for attendants’ dresses. I am not going to argue with her! Mother would never get me anything like this unless they discovered diamonds growing on the trees in Sorrows!” She wiggled sensuously. “Then there was the other truly strange gift. Did she ever tell you about the woman she helped up in Berrybay? The one they called ‘Weatherwitch’?”

“A bit.”

“Out of the blue came this really elderly Herald—I mean, he was supposed have retired, that’s how old. He came with a message from this Weatherwitch person— the exactly perfect day to have the wedding, and you know fall weather. Since we’re having it outside, we’d been a good bit worried about that. Talia says Maeven’s never wrong, so that’s why we’re having it then.”

She pressed her ear briefly against the door and giggled. “I think it’s safe enough to go out now, but I’ll bet it wasn’t a few minutes ago. Let’s go show off.”

As far as Skif could tell, neither Talia nor Dirk had moved an inch since they’d left them—although Talia’s hair was a trifle mussed, and both of them wore preoccupied and dreaming expressions.

“Well, what do you think?” Elspeth asked, posing dramatically.

“I think it looks wonderful. No one in their right mind is going to be watching me with you and Jeri around,” Talia said admiringly.

“Well, Elspeth and I are agreed; we’ll take care of the wedding arrangements,” Skif said with a proprietary air. “That will free you up a bit more, Dirk—that is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, and I think it’s very good of you,” Dirk replied, surprised. “Especially since you know very well that I don’t have to be freed up to do anything except spend more time up here.”

“That was the general idea,” Elspeth said mockingly.

“Enough, enough! It’s settled then,” he laughed, “and much thanks to you both.”

“Remember that the next time I do something wrong!” Elspeth giggled back.

She teased Dirk for a few moments longer — then her face clouded with anxiety when she realized that Talia had fallen asleep. She’d been doing that a great deal lately, sometimes right in the middle of a conversation. Elspeth was afraid that this was a sign that she would never be quite well again.

But Dirk and Skif just exchanged amused glances while Dirk settled the sleeping Herald a little more comfortably on his shoulder. Elspeth heaved an audible sigh of relief at this; surely if anyone would know if something were wrong, Dirk would. Dirk hadn’t missed the anxious look or the sigh of relief.

“It’s nothing important,” he told her; quietly, to avoid waking Talia.

“He’s right— honestly!” Skif assured her. “Dirk’s mother told us she’ll be dropping off like this. It’s just a side-effect of speed-Healing. It has something to do with all the energy you’re using, and all the strain you’re putting on yourself. She says it’s the same kind of effect you’d get if you ran twenty or thirty miles, swam a river, and climbed a mountain or two, then stayed up three days straight.”

“According to mother,” Dirk continued, “It has to do with— fatigue poisons? — I think that’s what she called them. When you speed-Heal, they build up faster than the body can get rid of them, and the person you’re Healing tends to fall asleep a lot. When they stop the speed-Healing, she’ll stop falling asleep all the time.”

“Show-off,” Skif taunted.

Dirk grinned and shrugged. “See all the useless information you pick up when you’re a Healer’s offspring?”

Elspeth protested; “Useless, my eye! I thought for sure there was something wrong that nobody wanted to tell me about—like there was when she wouldn’t wake up. Nobody ever thinks to tell me anything anymore!”

“Well, imp,” Dirk retorted, “That’s the price you pay for poking your nose into things all the time. People think you already know everything!”

The Border was officially closed, but refugees kept slipping across every night, each of them with a worse tale to tell than the last. Selenay had had a premonition that Ancar wasn’t quite through with Valdemar, and had stayed on the Border with a force built mainly of the defectors from Hardorn’s army, now fanatically devoted to her. She had been absolutely right.

This time the attack came at night, preceded by a storm Selenay suspected of being mage-caused. There was a feint in the direction of the Border Guardpost, a strong enough feint that it would have convinced most leaders that the attack there was genuine.

But Selenay had Davan—a Farseer—and Alberich—a Foreseer—with her, and knew better. Ancar meant to regain some of his lost soldiers—and plant some traitors in Selenay’s new Border Guards. And to do both, he was going to use some of the other talents of what was left of his army of thieves and murderers.

But the force of black-clad infiltrators who attempted to penetrate the stockade-enclosed village that housed the defectors and their dependents met with a grave surprise.

They got all the way to the foot of the stockade, when suddenly—

Light! Blinding light burst above their heads, light nearly as bright as day. As they cringed, and looked up through watering eyes, four white-clad figures appeared above them, and out of the darkness at the top of the stockade fence rose hundreds of angry men and women armed with bows, who in no way wished to return to the man who called himself their King. Suspended from the trees by thin wires were burning balls of some unknown substance that flamed with a white ferocity.

“You could have knocked,” Griffon called down to them, “We’d have been glad to let you in.”

“But perhaps it is that this is no friendly visit—” Alberich dodged as one of those below threw a knife at him in desperation.

“By God, Alberich, I believe you might be right,” Davan dodged a second missile. “Majesty?”

“Take them,” Selenay ordered shortly. If A few were taken alive; what they had to tell was interesting. More interesting by far was the assortment of drugs and potions they had intended to use on the village.

Drugs that, according to those Selenay questioned under Truth Spell, would open the minds of those that took them to the influence of Ancar’s mages—and Ancar himself.

That told them much about what Ancar was currently abte to accomplish. What happened next on Ancar’s side of the Border told them more.

He fortified it, created a zone a mile deep in which he allowed neither farm nor dwelling place—then left it. And neither Foreseer nor Farseer could see him doing aaything offensive for some time.

So for the moment, Ancar’s knife was no longer at Valdemar’s throat—and Selenay felt free to come home to resume her Throne, and in time for Talia’s wedding.

Companion’s Field was the only suitable place within easy reach of the Collegium that could hold all the people expected to attend. The wedding site had to be within easy reach, because Talia’s feet were still not healed. The Healers were satisified that the bones had all set well (after so many sessions of arranging the tiny fragments that nonHealers had begun to wonder if her feet would ever be usable) but they had only begun to knit, and she had been absolutely forbidden to put one ounce of weight on them. That meant that wherever she needed to go, she had to be carried.

The Healers had chosen not to put the kind of plaster casts on her that they had used to hold Keren’s broken hip in place. This was mostly because they needed to be able to monitor the Healing they were doing on a much finer level than they had with Keren, but also partially because such casts would have been a considerable burden on a body already heavily taxed and exhausted. Instead they constructed stiff half-boots of glue, wood strips, and hardened leather, all lined with lambswool felt. These had been made in two halves that laced together and could be removed at will. Talia had been much relieved by this solution, needless to say.

“Can you imagine trying to bathe with those plaster things on your feet?” she’d said with a comical expression. “Or trying to find some way of covering them during the wedding? Or finding someone strong enough to carry me and all that damned plaster as well?”

“Not to mention Dirk’s displeasure at trying to deal with them afterward—” Elspeth had teased, while Talia blushed.

Elspeth was waiting in Talia’s room, watching Keren and Jeri put the final touches on her hair and face. The Heir privately thought that Talia was lovely enough to make anyone’s heart break. She was still thin, and very pale from her ordeal, but that only served to make her more attractive, in an odd way. It was rather as if she’d been distilled into the true essence of herself—or tempered and honed like an heirloom blade. They’d taken great pains with her dress of white silk and silver, designing something that draped well when the wearer was being carried and extended past her feet to cover the ugly leather boots. By the same token, nothing would fall far enough to the floor that the person carrying her would be likely to trip over it. Jeri had given her a very simple hairstyle to complement the simplicity of the dress, and her only ornaments were fresh flowers.

“ ‘Nobody in their right mind is going to look at me with you and Jeri around,’ “ Elspeth quoted to Keren under her breath, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Bright Havens, next to her I look like a half-fledged red heron!”

“I hope after all this time you women are finally ready,” Dirk announced as he came through the door, for once in his life totally immaculate, and resplendent in white velvet.

“Dirk!” Jeri laughed, interposing herself between him and Talia. “Tradition says you’re not supposed to see the bride until you meet before the priest!”

“Tradition be damned. The only reason I’m letting Skif carry her at all is because if I try and manage her and the ring, I’ll drop one of the two!”

“All right. I can see you’re too stubborn to argue with.”  She stepped aside, and at the sight of one another, they seemed to glow from deep within.

“Two hours I spend on her — “ Jeri muttered under her breath, obviously amused, “ — and in two eyeblinks he makes everything I did look insignificant.”

Dirk gathered her up carefully, holding her in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing. “Ready, loveling?” he asked softly.

“I’ve been ready forever,” she replied, never once taking her eyes from his.

The field was alive with color; Healer Green, Bard Scarlet, Guard Blue — the muted grays, pale greens and red-brown of the students moving among them, the gilded and bejeweled courtiers catching the sun. Most prevalent, of course, was Heraldic White, and not just because even more Heralds had managed to appear for this occa-flion than had arrived for Elspeth’s fealty ceremony. Half of the white figures in the crowd were Companions, be-flowered and be-ribboned by the loving hands of their Chosen, and looking for all the world as if it were they who were being wedded. Even Cymry’s foal had a garland— though he kept trying to eat it.

The ceremony was a simple one, though it was not one that was often performed—for the wedding of a lifebonded couple was less of a promising than an affirmation. Despite well-meaning efforts to the contrary, Skif and Elspeth had managed to keep the pomp and ritual to an absolute minimum.

Dirk carried his love as far as the priest, handing her very carefully to Skif, who felt proud and happy enough when he did so to burst. Elspeth gave him Talia’s ring, and he supped it onto her finger. Skif and Elspeth both bit their lips to keep from shedding a tear or two at that moment; partially because she’d moved Kris’ friendship ring to the finger next to it, and partially because the wedding ring was still so large for her.

Dirk repeated his vows in a voice that seemed soft, but carried to the edge of the crowd. Then Talia took his ring from Keren, slipped it onto his ring-finger and made her own vows in her clear, sweet voice.

Dirk took her back from Skif—and as he did so, the massed Heralds cheered spontaneously.

Somehow, it seemed totally appropriate.

The wedded couple was enthroned on a pile of cushions brought by every hand in the Collegium, with Talia arranged so that she could see everything without having to strain herself. Elcarth waited until most of the well-wishers had cleared away, and Talia and Dirk were pretty much alone before strolling over to them.

He shook his head at the sight. “I hope you two realize this display of yours is fevering the imaginations of an entire generation of Bards,” he said with mock-severity. “I hesitate to think of all the the truly awful creations we’ll have to suffer through for the next year from the students alone—and every full Bard is going to be determined that he will be the writer of the next ‘Sun and Shadow.’ “

“Oh, gods,” Dirk groaned, “I never thought of that. D’you suppose I could give her back?”

Talia eyed him speculatively. “We could always have a horrible fight here and now.” She hefted a wine bottle, appraising its weight. “This would make a lovely dent in his skull—not to mention the truly spectacular effect it will have when the bottle breaks and the red wine splashes all over that spotless white velvet.” She considered it and him for a long moment, then sighed. “No, it just won’t do. I might get some of the wine on me. And if I knock him cold, how will I get back to my room?”

“And if I give her away, who will I sleep with tonight?” Dirk added, as Talia giggled. “Sorry, Elcarth. You’re just going to have to suffer. What can we do for you?”

“Actually, there is something. I wanted to let you both know what the Circle has decided about Dirk’s assignments.”

Talia stiffened a little, but otherwise gave no sign that she was dreading what Elcarth’s next words might contain.

“First of all—I am retiring as Dean. I intend to stay on as Historian, but to handle both positions is a little more than I can manage these days. I’m a lot older than I look, I’m afraid, and I’m beginning to feel the years. Teren is replacing me. Dirk, you are replacing Teren as Orientation instructor, as well as working with training students in their Gifts.”

Talia was stunned; she’d expected to learn that he was being given a new partner, or that he would be assigned Sector duty at the least. She had partially resigned herself to the idea, telling herself that having him part of the time the was a distinct improvement over not having him at all.

“Elcarth—you can’t be serious—” Dirk protested. “I’m no kind of a scholar, you know that! If the Circle is trying to do us a favor by giving us preferential treatment…”

“Then we’d rather you didn’t,” Talia finished for him.

“My dear children! It is not preferential treatment that you are getting. Dirk, you will still be expected to take on die kinds of special jobs you used to, make no mistake about it. The only thing we’re really pulling you off from riding the problem Sectors. We’ve picked you to replace Teren for the same reason we picked him to replace Werda as Orientation instructor; your ability to handle children. Both of you are able to take confused, frightened children and give them warmth, reassurance, and die certain knowledge that they are in a place where they belong and have friends. Dirk, you have demonstrated that over and over in training Gifts—the way you brought Griffon along, giving him confidence without once making him feel that his Gift was a frightening or dangerous one, was nothing short of masterful—and look at the result. He trusted you so completely that he linked with you without asking why or wherefore; he trusted you enough to follow your directions exactly, and now Griffon is the unsung hero of the Battle of Demons. That kind of ability in a teacher is much rarer than scholasticism, and it’s one we need. So let’s bear no more about ‘preferential treatment,’ shall we?”

Dirk sighed with relief, and his arm tightened around Talia. She thanked Elcarth with her shining eyes; no words were necessary.

“That isn’t quite all. You’ll also be working with Kyril— Dirk on a regular basis, Talia as time permits. This is the first we’ve ever heard of the Companions augmenting anyone’s abilities purposefully except in chronicles so old we can’t winnow fable from truth; we’d like to know if it’s something that any Herald can take advantage of, or if it’s something peculiar to you two and Elspeth, or even if it’s peculiar to your Companions. Before Kyril is through with you, you may wish yourself back in the field again!”

They laughed a little ruefully; Kyril drove himself mercilessly in the cause of investigating Heraldic Gifts, and would expect no less from them.

“Last of all, I bring your wedding gift from the Circle; the next two weeks are yours to do with as you like. We can all get along without either of you for that long. Talia still has to have her sessions with the Healers, of course, but barring that—well, if you should choose to vanish on a few overnight trips, no one will come looking for you. After all, Talia, you may not be able to walk, but you can certainly ride! Just make sure you schedule everything with your Healers. The last thing I need or want is to have Devan after my head! That man can be positively vicious!”

Talia laughed, and promised; she could tell by the speculative glint in Dirk’s eyes that he already had a destination or two in mind. They traded a few more pleasantries with Elcarth, then the Historian—Dean no longer, and that would take some getting used to—took himself off.

Dirk shook his head. “I never, ever pictured myself as a teacher,” he said quietly. ‘That was always Kr—”

He choked off the end of the name.

“That was what Kris wanted,” Talia finished, watching him. “You’ve been avoiding speaking about him, love. Why?”

“Fear,” he replied frankly. “Fear that I’d hurt you—I’d be hurt myself. I—I still don’t really know how you felt about each other—”

‘‘All you ever had to do was ask,” she said softly, and drew him into rapport with gentle mental fingers.

After a moment he raised his eyes to hers and smiled. “And you said emotions don’t speak clearly. So that’s how it was?”

She nodded. “No more, no less. He tried to tell you, but you weren’t hearing.”

“I wasn’t, was I?” He sighed. “Gods—I miss him. I miss him so damn much....”

“We lost more than a friend when we lost him,” she said, hesitating over the words. “I think—I think we lost a part of ourselves.”

“He was silent for a long moment. “Talia, what happened after he died? You said some very strange things when you answered my call and came back to us.”

She shook her head slightly, her brow wrinkled in thought. “Love, I’m not sure. It’s not very clear, and it’s all mixed up with pain and fever and drug-dreams. All I can tell you for certain is that I wanted to die, and I should have died—but something kept me from dying.”

“Or someone.”

“Or someone,” she agreed. “Maybe it was Kris. That’s who my memories say it was.”

“I have a lot to thank him for, and not just that,” he said thoughtfully.

“Hm?”

“You learned from him about loving before those beasts hurt you.”

“It helped,” she said, after a long moment of thought.

“Loveling, are you ready to go through with this?” he asked after a pause. “Are you sure?”

For answer she kissed him with rapport still strung between them. When they came up for air he chuckled, nuch more relaxed.

“Hedonist,” he said.

“At least” she agreed, wrinkling her nose at him, then sobered again. “Yes, there are scars—but you have them, too. The wounds are healed—I’m not the only Healer of minds, you know—just the only one that’s a Herald as well. Rynee—she’s very good, as good as I am. Besides, I refuse to let what happened ruin what’s between us— and really, all they did was hurt my body, they didn’t touch me. What happened to you was worse—Naril raped your soul.”

“That’s healed, too,” he said quietly.

“Then leave it in the dead past. No one goes through life without picking up a scar or two.” She nestled closer to him as someone else came to offer their congratulations.

Then suddenly sat up. “Gods!”

“What?” Dirk asked, anxious until he saw that there was no sign of pain on her face. “What is it?”

“Back on my internship—that business with Maeven Weatherwitch—she ForeSaw something for me, and I couldn’t even guess what she meant, then. Now I know! She said that I would see the Havens but that love and duty would bar me from them—and—”

She faltered.

“And?” he prompted, gently.

“That—my greatest joy would be preceded by my greatest grief. Oh, gods—if only I’d known—if only I’d guessed—”

“You could never have anticipated what happened,” Dirk replied with such force that she shook off her anguish to stare at him. “No one could. Don’t ever blame yourself. Don’t you think that with all the ForeSeers among the Heralds if there had been any way of preventing what happened it would have been done?”

She sighed, and relaxed again. “You’re right. . .” she said, slowly. “You’re right.”

The celebrating continued on well past dusk, until at last, by ones and twos, the wedding guests began to drift away. Some were heading for other gatherings—like the one Talia and Dirk knew their fellow Heralds must be having somewhere. Some had more private affairs in mind. Finally Talia and Dirk were left alone, a state with which they were not at all displeased.

She rested contentedly on his shoulder, both of his arms lightly around her, and watched the stars blossoming overhead.

“It’s getting chilly,” she said at last.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “They’ve certainly made it easy for us to depart unnoticed.”

“I’m fairly certain that was on purpose. All that cheering was embarrassing enough, without chivaree, too.”

“It could have been worse. Think of the flower-bedecked platform! Think of Companions in the High Temple! Think of the life-sized sugar replicas of both of us!”

“I’d rather not!” She laughed.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes,” she said, putting her arms around his neck so that he could lift her.

He took her up the stairs to her rooms—now their rooms—this time taking them one at a time, and slowly, so as not to jar her.

To their mutual surprise, they found Elspeth seated on the top step.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked.

“Guarding your threshold, oh, magnificent one. It was the students’ idea. We took it turn and turn about since you left this morning. Except for during the ceremony itself that is—we left the staircase booby-trapped then. Not that we’re suspicious of anyone, mind, but we did want to make certain no one could get in to play any little  tricks while you were gone. Some people have very rotten ideas about what’s funny. Anyway, that’s our wedding present.” With that, she skipped down the stairs without waiting for thanks.

“‘The caring heart,’ “ Talia said softly. “She’ll be a good Queen, one day.”

Dirk nudged the door open with his foot, placed Talia carefully on her couch inside, then turned to close it and throw the latch.

“Not that I’m suspicious of anyone,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “but a certain earlier performance of yours makes me wish to be certain that we’re undisturbed.”

“Not quite yet” she said with a smile. “First I’ve got a bride-gift for you.”

“A what?”

“One good custom of my people. The bride always has a gift for her husband. It’s over there—on the hearth.”

“But—” for a moment he was speechless. “Talia, that’s My Lady. She’s your harp, I couldn’t take her!”

“Look again.”

He did—and realized that there was a second harp hidden in the shadows. He pulled both of them out into the light and scrutinized them closely.

“I can’t tell them apart,” he admitted at last.

“Well, I can, but I’ve had My Lady for years, I know every line of her grain. No one else can, though. They’re twins, made by the same hand, from the same wood; they’re even the same age. No—” she held up a warning hand. “Don’t ask me where or how I found it. That’s my secret. But in return for this one, you’ll have to promise to teach me to play My Lady as well as she deserves to be played.”

“Willingly—gladly. We can play duets—like—”

“Like you and Kris used to play,” she finished for him when he could not.

“Love—I think it’s time for one last gift—” and she touched his mind, sharing with him the incredulous joy that had marked Kris’ passing.

“Gods—oh, gods, that helps . . . you must know how much that helps,” he managed after a moment. “Now if only—I wish I could know for certain that he knows about us—about now.”

He lifted her from the couch to move to the bedroom.

“If I were to have one wish granted, that would be mine, too,” she replied, her cheek resting against the velvet of his tunic. “He told me once that it was his own dearest wish to see the two people he loved most find happiness with each other—”

She would have said more, but a familiar perfume wreathed around her, and she gasped.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt something?” Dirk asked anxiously.

“There—on the bed—”

Lying on the coverlet, in the middle and heart-high, was a spray of the little flowers known as Maiden’s Hope. Dirk set her down on the bed and she picked it up with trembling hands.

“Did you put this here?” she asked in a voice that shook.

“No.”

“And no one else has been here since we left—” In hushed tones she continued: “When Kris gave me this ring, it was around a Midsummer bouquet of those flowers. I’d never smelled anything like them before—and he promised he’d find some for my wedding garland if he had to grow them himself—but I’ve never seen them anywhere around here—”

“There’s more to it than that, little bird,” Dirk said, taking the flowers from her and regarding them with wondering eyes. “This flower only blooms for the week before and after Midsummer. We’re well into fall. They can’t be grown in hothouses. People have tried. To find even one bloom, much less as many as this, would take a miracle. No human could do it.”

They looked from the flowers to each other—and slowly began to smile; smiles that, for the first time in weeks, had no underlying hint of sadness.

Dirk took her into his arms, with the flowers held between them. “We’ve had our wish—shall we give him his?”

She carefully reached behind her, and inserted the blossoms into the vase on her night stand.

“Yes,” she breathed, turning back to him, and beginning to touch him with her rapport even as she touched her lips to his, “I think we should.”

APPENDIX

Songs of Valdemar

HER FATHER’S EYES

Lyrics:

Music: Kristoph Klover

(Setenay: Arrows of the Queen)

How tenuous the boundary between love and hate—

How easy to mistake the first, and learn the truth too late—

How hard to bear what brings to mind mistakes that we despise—

And when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes.

He tried to steal away my throne—he tried to rule my life—

And I am not made to forgive, a cowed and coward wife!

My love became my enemy who sought his Queen’s demise—

And when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes.

Poor child, we battled over her as two dogs with a bone—

I should not see his treachery in temper-tantrums thrown—

I should not see betrayal where there’s naught but childish lies—

But when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes.

Now how am I to deal with this rebellion in my soul?

I cannot treat her fairly when my own heart is not whole.

I truly wish to love her—but I’m not so strong, nor wise—

For when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes—

Only—her father’s eyes.

FIRST LOVE

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Frank Hayes

(Jadus: Arrows of the Queen)

Was it so long ago now that we met, you and I?

Both held fast in a passion that we could not deny?

If my hands gave you life, then your voice woke my heart—

From such simple beginnings, how such wonder may start!

Chorus:

Through my long, empty nights,

through my cold, lonely days,

How you comfort and cheer me,

delight and amaze—

And your soft silver voice could charm life into stone—

My sweet mistress of music, My Lady, my own.

With your sweet song to guide me you have taught me to care

How to open my soul to both love and despair

Though you’re wood and bright silver, and not warm flesh and bone

I think no one here doubts you’ve a soul of your own.

And I know my own journey will too soon reach its end—

I must leave you with one I am proud to call friend.

How she opened my life when she opened my door!

Give her comfort, my dear one, when I am no more.

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(Talia: Arrows of the Queen)

It was a dark and stormy night—or so the Heralds say—

And lightning striking constantly transformed the night to day

The thunder roared the castle round—or thusly runs the tale—

And rising from the Northeast Tower there came a fearful wail.

It was no beast nor banshee that, the castle folk knew well,

Nor prisoner in agony, nor demon trapped by spell,

No ghost that moaned in penance, nor a soul in mortal fright—

Twas just the Countess “singing”—for she practiced every night.

The Countess was convinced that she should have been born a Bard

And thus she made the lives of those within her power hard.

For they must listen to her sing, and smile at what they heard,

And swear she had a golden voice that rivaled any bird.

The Countess was convinced that she had wedded ‘neath her state

And so the worst lot fell upon her meek and mild mate.

Not only must the Count each night endure her every song

But suffer silent her abuse, be blamed for every wrong.

It was a dark and stormy night—or so the Bards aver—

And so perhaps that was the reason why there was no stir

When suddenly the “music” ceased; so when dawn raised his head

Within the Tower servants found the Countess stiff and dead.

The Heralds came at once to judge if there had been foul play.

They questioned all most carefully to hear what they would say.

And one fact most astounding to them quickly came to light—

That every moment of the Count was vouched for on that night.

The castle folk by ones and twos came forward on their own

To swear the Count had never once that night been all alone.

So though the Tower had been locked tight, with two keys to the door,

One his, one hers; the Count of guilt was plain absolved for sure.

At length the Heralds then pronounced her death as “suicide.”

And all within the district voiced themselves quite satisified.

It was a verdict, after all, that none wished to refute—

Though no one could imagine why she’d try to eat her lute.

MUSINGS

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Mercedes Lackey

(Selenay: Arrows of the Queen)

How did you grow so wise, so young?

Tell me Herald, tell me.

How did you grow so wise, so young, Queen’s Own?

Where did you learn the words to say

That take my pain and guilt away

And give me strength again today

To sit upon my throne?

How could you be so brave, so young?

Tell me, Herald, tell me.

How could you be so brave, so young, Queen’s Own?

How do you overcome your fear?

To know my path was never clear

While knowing Death walks ever near

Would chill me to the bone.

How can you be so kind, so young?

Tell me, Herald, tell me.

How can you be so kind, so young, Queen’s Own?

To see the best, and not the worst—

To soothe an anger, pain, or thirst—

To always think of others first

And never self alone.

Where did you learn to love so young?

Tell me Herald, tell me.

Where did you learn to love so young, Queen’s Own?

How did you teach your heart to care—

To touch in ways I would not dare?

Oh, where did you find the courage? Where?

Ah, Herald—how you’ve grown!

PHILOSOPHY

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Kristoph Klover

(Skif: Arrows of the Queen)

What’s the use of living if you never learn to laugh?

Look at me, I grew up down among the riff and raff

But you won’t catch me glooming ‘round without a hint of smile

And when I have to do a thing, I do it right, with style!

Chorus;

‘Cause if you’re gonna be the one to take that tightrope walk,

And if you’re gonna be the one to make the gossips talk,

If it’s your job to be the one who always takes the chance,

And if you have to cross thin ice—then cross it in a dance!

Now take the time when I was “borrowing” a thing or two—

The owner of the house walked in—well, what was I to do?

I bowed and said, “Don’t stir yourself,” before he raised a shout,

“Thanks for your hospitality, I’ll find my own way out!”

I’d just come up a chimney, I was black from head to toe—

Climbed to the yard to find a watchman—wouldn’t you just know!

But in the dark he took me for a demon, I would bet,

‘Cause when I howled and went for him—I think he’s running yet!

Take my Companion—did you know I thought to steal her too?

This pretty horse out in the street, no owner in my view—

I grabbed her reins and hopped aboard, I thought I was home free,

Until I looked into her eyes—and now the joke’s on me!

‘Cause now I’ve got to be the one to take that tightrope walk

And now I’ve got to be the one who’ll make the gossips talk,

And it’s my job to be the one who always takes the chance—

But when I have to cross thin ice, I’ll cross it in a dance!

LAWS

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(Skif: Arrows of the Queen)

The Law of the Streetwise is “grab all you can

For there’s nothing that’s true—nothing lasts.”

The Law of the Dodger is “learn all the dirt—

The most pious of priests have their pasts.”

The Law of the Grifter is “cheat the fool first

Or the one who’ll be cheated is you.’*

But the Law of the Herald is “give all you can

For some day you will need a gift too.”

The Law of the Liar is “there is no truth

It is all shades of meaning and greed.”

The Law of the Hopeless is “never believe

For all faith is a hollowed-out reed.”

The Law of the Empty is “there’s nothing more,

Life is nothing but shadow and air.”

But the Law of the Herald is “Seek out and find.”

And the Law of the Heralds is “Care.”

The Law of the Hunted is “guard your own back,

For the enemy strikes from behind.”

The Law of the Greedy is “trust no one else,

Hide and hoard anything that you find.”

The Law of the Hater is “crush and destroy,”

And the Law of the Bigot is “kill.”

But the Law of the Herald is “faith, hope and trust,”

And the strength of the Herald is will.

All these Laws I have learned from the first to the last

From the ones who would teach me they’re true—

And full many the ones who taught anger and fear,

But the ones who taught hope—they were few.

And I ask myself, “Which is the Law I must take,

Fitting truth as a hand fits a glove?”

Then I chose, and I never looked back from that day,

For the Law of the Heralds is “Love.”

THE FACE WITHIN

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Kristoph Klover and Larry Warner

(Dirk and Kris: Arrow’s Flight)

The Weaponsmaster has no heart; his hide is iron-cold

His soul within that hide is steel; or so I have been told.

His only care is for your skill, his only love, his own.

And where another has a heart, he has a marble stone.

That’s what the common wisdom holds, but common is not true.

For there is often truth behind what’s in the common view.

And so it is the Herald’s task that hidden truth to win

To see behind the face without and find the face within.

He goads his students into rage, he drives them into pain;

He mocks them and he does not care that tears may fall like rain.

He works them when they’re weary, and rebukes them when they fail—

Cuts them to ribbons with his tongue, as they stand meek and pale—

And will our enemies be fair, or come on us behind?

And will they stay their tongues or in their words a weapon find?

Or wait till we are rested before making their attacks?

Or will they rather beat us down and then go for our backs?

But he has no compassion, does not care for man nor beast—

And when a student’s gone, he does not notice in the least—

And no one calls this man their love, and no one calls him friend

And none can judge him by his face, or what he may intend.

But I have seen him speak the word that brings hope from despair—

Or drop the one-word compliment that makes a student care—

And I have seen his sorrow when he hears the Death Bell cry—

His soul-deep agony of doubt that nothing can deny—

For on his shoulders rests the job of fitting us for war

With nothing to give him the clue of what to train us for.

And if he foils it is not he that pays, but you and I—

And so he dies a little when he hears the Death Bell cry.

And now you know the face within hid by the face without

The pain that he must harbor, all the guilt and all the doubt.

The Weaponsmaster has a heart; so grant his stony mask

For you and I aren’t strong enough to bear that kind of task.

ARROW’S FLIGHT

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Paul Espinoza

(Talia: Arrow’s Flight)

Finding your center—not hard for a child—

But I am a woman now, patterned and grown.

Thrown out of balance, my Gift has run wild;

Never have I felt so lost and alone.

Now all the questions that I did not ask

Come back to haunt me by day and by night.

Finding your center—so simple a task— A

nd one that I fear I shall never set right.

Chorus:

Where has my balance gone, what did I know

That I have forgotten in Time’s ebb and flow?

Wrong or right, dark or light, I cannot see—

For I’ve lost the heart of the creature called “me.”

Doubt shatters certainty, fosters despair;

Guilt harbors weakness and fear makes me blind—

Fear of the secrets that I dare not share—

Lost in the spiral maze of my own mind.

Knowing the cost to us all if I foil—

Feeling that failure breathe cold at my back—

All I thought strong now revealed as so frail

That I could not weather one spiteful attack.

An arrow in flight must be sent with control—

But all my control was illusion at best.

Instinct alone cannot captain a soul—

Direction must be learned and not merely guessed.

Seeking with purpose, not flailing about—

Trusting in others as they trust in me—

Starting again from the shadows of doubt Gods,

how I fear what I yet know must be!

Chorus 2:

Finding my center, and with it, control;

Disciplined knowledge must now be my goal.

Knowing my limits, out judging what’s right—

Till nothing can hinder the arrow in flight.

FUNDAMENTALS

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Kristoph Klover

(Kris: Arrow’s Flight)

Ground and center; we begin

Feel the shape inside your skin

Feel the earth and feel the air—

Ground and center; “how” and “where.”

Ground and center—don’t just frown,

Find the leaks and lock them down.

Baby-games you never learned

Bring you pain you never earned.

Ground and center; do it, child

If you’d tame that Talent wild—

Girl, you learned it in your youth—

Life’s not fair, and that’s the truth.

Ground and center, once again;

You’re not finished--I’ll say when.

Ground and center in your sleep

Ground and center ‘till you weep.

Ground and center; that’s the way—

You might get somewhere, someday.

Yes, I know I’m being cruel

And you’re as stubborn as a mule!

Ground and center, feel the flow

Can you tell which way to go?

Instinct’s not enough, my friend—

Make it reflex in the end.

Ground and center; hold it tight—

Dammit, greenie, that’s not right!

(Every tear you shed hurts me,

But that’s the way it has to be.)

Ground and center; good, at last!

Once again; grab hard, hold fast.

Half asleep or half awake—

Both of us know what’s at stake.

Ground and center; now it’s sure;

What you have now will endure,

Forgive me what I had to do—

Healing hurts—you know that’s true.

Ground and center; lover, friend—

You won’t break, but now you bend.

Costly lesson, high the price—

But you won’t have to learn it twice!

OTHERLOVE

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(Talia: Arrow’s Flight)

I need you as a friend, dear one,

I love you as a brother;

And my body lies beside you

While my heart yearns for another.

I wonder if you understand—

Beneath your careless guise

I seem to sense uneasiness

When looking in your eyes.

I need your help, my friend, and I

Had sworn to stand alone;

How foolish were the vows I made

My present plight has shown.

But don’t mistake my need for love

However strong it seems—

For while I lie beside you

Someone else is in my dreams.

I wish that I could know your thoughts;

I only sense your pain—

Unease behind the smile you wear—

A haunted, sad refrain.

I would not be the cause of grief—

I’ve often told you so—

Yet there’s a place within my heart

Where you, love, cannot go.

AFTER MIDNIGHT

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(Kris: Arrow’s Flight)

In the dead, dark hours after midnight

When the world seems to stop in its place,

You can see a little more clearly,

You can look your life in the face;

You can see the things that you have to—

Speak the words too true for the day.

In the dead, dark hours after midnight,

Little friend, will you listen—and stay?

In the time when I never knew you

I could view the world as my own—

I was God’s own gift to his creatures,

And I wore an armor of stone.

I was wise and faithful and noble—

I was pompous, pious and cold.

I was cruel when I never meant it—

Far too cool to touch or to hold.

It was you who broke through my armor;

It was you who broke through the wall,

With your pain and your desperation—

How could I not answer your call?

How could I have guessed you would touch me,

And in ways I could not control?

How could I have known I would need you—

Or have guessed you’d see to my soul?

For as I taught you, so you taught me,

Taught me how to love and to care—

For your own love melted my armor,

Taught me how to feel and to dare.

When I looked tonight, I discovered

I could not again stand apart—

In the dead, dark hours after midnight,

I discovered I owe you my heart.

SUN AND SHADOW: MEETINGS

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(Kris: Arrow’s Flight)

(When the “long version” of “Sun and Shadow” is sung, this is sung as a kind of prologue)

She dances in the shadows; like a shadow is her hair.

Her eyes hold midnight captive, like a phantom, fell and fair.

While the woodlarks sing the measures that her flying feet retrace

She dances in the shadows like a dream of darkling grace.

He sings in summer sunlight to the cloudless summer skies;

His head is crowned with sunlight and the heavens match his eyes.

All the wildwood seems to listen to the singer’s gladsome voice

He sings in summer sunlight and all those who hear rejoice.

She dances in the shadows, for a doom upon her lies;

That if once the sunlight touches her the Shadowdancer dies.

And on his line is this curse laid—that once the day is sped

In sleep like death he lies until again the night has fled.

One evening in the twilight that is neither day nor night,

The time part bred of shadow, and partly born of light,

A trembling Shadowdancer heard the voice of love and doom

That sang a song of sunlight through the gathering evening gloom.

A spell it cast upon her, and she followed in its wake

To where Sunsinger sang it, all unheeding, by her lake.

She saw the one that she must love until the day she died—

Bitter tears for bitter loving then Shadowdancer cried.

One evening in the twilight e’er his curse could work its will,

Sunsinger sang of sunlight by a lake serene and still—

When out among the shadow stepped a woman, fey and fair—

A woman sweet as twilight, with the shadows in her hair.

He saw her, and he loved her, and he knew his love was vain

For he was born of sunlight and must be the shadow’s bane.

So e’er the curse could claim him, then, he shed one bitter tear

For he knew his only love must also be his only fear.

So now they meet at twilight, though they only meet to part.

Sad meetings, sadder partings, and the breaking of each heart.

Why blame them, if they pray for time or death to bring a cure?

For the sake of bitter loving, nonetheless they will endure.

SUN AND SHADOW

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Paul Espinoza

(Talia and Kris: Arrow’s Flight)

“What has touched me, reaching deep

Piercing my ensorceled sleep?

Darkling lady, do you weep?

Am I the cause of your grieving?

Why do tears of balm and bane

Bathe my heart with bitter rain?

What is this longing? Why this pain?

What is this spell you are weaving?”

“Sunlight Singer, Morning’s peer—

How I long for what I fear!

Not by my will are you here

How I wish I could free you!

Gladly in your arms I’d lie

But I dare not come you nigh

For if you touch me I shall die—

If I were wise I would flee you.”

“Shadowdancer, dark and fell,

Lady that I love too well—

Won’t you free me from this spell

That you have cast around me?

Star-eyed maid beyond compare,

Mist of twilight in your hair—

Why must you be so sweet and fair?

How is it that you have bound me?”

“In your eyes your soul lies bare

Hope is mingled with despair;

Sunborn lover do I dare

Trust my heart to your keeping?

Sunrise means that I must flee—

Moonrise steals your soul from me;

Nothing behind but agony,

Nothing before us but weeping.”

“Sun and Shadow, dark and light;

Child of day and child of night,

Who can set our tale aright?

Is there no future but sorrow?

Will some power hear our plea—

Take the curse from you and me—

Great us death, or set us free?

Dare we to hope for tomorrow?”

THE HEALER’S DILEMMA

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Bill Roper

(Devan: Arrow’s Fall)

My child, the child of my heart, though never of my name,

Who shares my Gift; whose eyes, though young, are mine—the very same

Who shares my every thought, whose skillful hands I taught so well

Now hear the hardest lesson I shall ever have to tell.

Young Healer, I have taught you all I know of wounds and pain—

Of illnesses, and all the herbs of blessing and of bane—

Of all the usage of your Gift; all that I could impart—

And how you learned, young Healer, brought rejoicing to my heart.

But there is yet one lessoning I cannot give to you

For you must find your own way there—judge what is sound and true

This lesson is the crudest ever Healer had to teach—

It is—what you must do when there are those you cannot reach.

However great your Gift there will be times when you will fail

There will be those you cannot help, your skill cannot prevail.

When you fight Death, and lose to Him, or what may yet be worse

You win—to find the wreck He left regards you with a curse.

And worst of all, and harder still, the times when it’s a friend

Who looks to you to bring him peace and make his torment end—

What will you do, young Healer, when there’s nothing you can do?

I can give only counsel, for the rest is up to you.

This only will I counsel you; that if you build a shell

Of armor close about you, then you close yourself in Hell.

And if your heart should harden, then your Gift will fade and die

And all that you have lived and learned will then become a lie.

My child, your Healing hands are guided by your Healing heart

And that is all the wisdom all my learning can impart.

You take this pain upon you as you challenge life unknown—

And there can be no answer here but one—and that’s your own.

HERALD’S LAMENT

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: C. J. Cherryh

(Dirk: Arrow’s Fait)

A hand to aid along the road—

A laugh to lighten any load—

A place to bring a burdened heart

And heal the ache of sorrow’s dart—

Who’d willing share in joy or tears

And help to ease the darkest fears

Or my soul like his own defend—

And all because he was my friend.

No grave could hold so free a soul.

I see him in the frisking foal—

I hear him laughing on the breeze

That stirs the very tops of trees.

He soars with falcons on the wing—

He is the song that nightbirds sing.

Death never dared him captive keep.

He lies not there. He does not sleep.

But—there is silence at my side

That haunts the place he used to ride.

And my Companion can’t allay

The loss I have sustained this day.

How bleak the future now has grown

Since I must face it all alone.

My road is weary, dark and steep—

And it is for myself I weep.

ARROW’S FALL FOR TALIA

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Larry Warner and Kristoph Klover

(Dirk: Arrow’s Fall}

The lady that I cherish is enamored of a fool —

A fool who lacks the wit to speak his mind,

A fool who often wears a mask indifferent and cool,

A fool who’s often selfish, dense, and blind.

The lady that I cherish is enamored of a fool —

A fool too often wrapped in other cares,

Forgetting that his singlemindedness is wrong and cruel

To lock her out who gladly trouble shares.

The lady that I cherish is enamored of a fool

Who sometimes does not value what he holds

Until his loneliness confirms ‘twere time his heart should rule

And the comfort of her love around him folds.

But though he must have hurt her without ever meaning to

Her temper never breaks and never frays,

And she forgives whatever careless thing that he may do

And loves him still despite his thoughtless ways.

She only smiles and says that there is nothing to forgive —

And I thank God she does so, for you see

I fear without her love and care

this poor fool could not live —

The fool she loves and cherishes is me.

KEROWYN’S RIDE

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Leslie Fish

(This is a fairly common song in Valdemar, although it originated several lands to the south.)

Kerowyn, Kerowyn, where are you going,

Dressed in men’s clothing, a sword by your side,

Your face pale as death, and your eyes full of fury,

Kerowyn, Kerowyn, where do you ride?

Last night in the darkness foul raiders attacked us—

Our home lies in ruins below—

They’ve stolen our treasure, and the bride of my brother

And to her side now I must go

To her aid now I must go.

Kerowyn, Kerowyn, where is your father?

Where is your brother? This fight should be theirs.

It is not seemly that maids should be warriors—

Your pride is your folly; go tend women’s cares.

This is far more than a matter of honor

And more than a matter of pride—

She’s only a child, all alone, all unaided

Though foolish and reckless beside,

Still now to her aid I must ride.

Grandmother, sorceress, I need a weapon—

I’m one against many—and I am afraid—

For the bastards have bought them a fell wizard’s powers—

I can’t hope to help her without magic aid.

Kerowyn, granddaughter, into your keeping

I now give the sword I once wore

“Need” is her name, yes, and great are her powers—

She’ll serve you as many before—

Though her name be not found in men’s lore.

Grandmother, grandmother, now you confuse me—

Was this a testing I got at your hand?

Whence comes this weapon of steel and of magic

And why do you put her now at my command?

Kerowyn, not for the weak or the coward

Is the path of the warrior maid.

Yes my child, you’ve been tested—now ride with my

blessing

And trust in yourself and your blade.

Ride now, and go unafraid!

THREES

Music: Leslie Fish

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

(Again: a similar song from the same region as “Kerowyn’s Ride” that migrated northward.)

Deep into the stony hills, miles from town or hold

A troupe of guards conies riding, with a lady and her gold

She rides bemused among them, shrouded in her cloak of fur

Companioned by a maiden and a toothless, aged cur.

Three things see no end, a flower blighted ere it bloomed,

A message that miscarries and a journey that is doomed.

One among the guardsmen has a shifting, restless eye

And as they ride, he scans the hills that rise against the sky

He wears a sword and bracelet worth more than he can afford

And hidden in his baggage is a heavy, secret hoard.

Of three things be wary, of a feather on a cat

The shepherd eating mutton, and the guardsman that is fat.

Little does the lady care what all the guardsmen know—

That bandits ambush caravans that on these traderoads go.

In spite of tricks and clever traps and alt that men can do

The brigands seem to always sense which trains are false or true.

Three things are most perilous—the shape that walks behind,

The ice that will not hold you and the spy you cannot find.

From ambush bandits screaming charge the packtrain and its prize

And all but four within the train are taken by surprise

And all but four are cut down as a woodsman fells a log;

The guardsman and the lady and the maiden and the dog.

Three things hold a secret—lady riding in a dream,

The dog that sounds no warning, and the maid who does not scream.

Then off the lady pulls her cloak, in armor she is clad—

Her sword is out and ready, and her eyes are fierce and glad.

The maiden makes a gesture, and the dog’s a cur no more—

A wolf, sword-maid and sorceress now face the bandit corps.

Three things never anger, or you will not live for long,

A wolf with cubs, a man with power, and a woman’s sense of wrong.

The lady and her sister by a single trader lone

Were hired out to try to lay a trap all of their own

And no one knew their plan except the two who rode that day

For what you do not know you cannot ever give away!

Three things is it better, far, that only two should know—

Where treasure hides, who shares your bed, and how to catch your foe!

The bandits growl a challenge, and the lady only grins

The sorceress bows mockingly, and then the fight begins!

When it ends there are but four left standing from that horde—

The witch, the wolf, the traitor and the woman with the sword!

Three things never trust in; the maiden sworn as pure,

The vows a king has given, and the ambush that is “sure.”

They strip the traitor naked and then whip him on his Way.

Into the barren hillsides, like the folk he used to slay—

And what of all the maidens that this filth despoiled, then slew?

Why, as revenge, the sorceress makes him a woman too!

Three things trust above all else—the horse on which you ride,

The beast that guards your sleeping, and your sister at your side.