CONTENTS

Long ago—so long ago that the details of the conflict are lost and only the merest legends remain—the world of Velgarth was wracked by sorcerous wars. The population was decimated. The land quickly turned to wilderness and was given over to the forest and the magically-engendered creatures that had been used to fight those wars, while the people who remained fled to the eastern coastline, there to resume their shattered lives. Humans are resilient creatures, however, and it was not overlong before the population once again was on the increase, and folk began to move westward again, building new kingdoms out of the wilderness.

One such kingdom was Valdemar. Founded by the once-Baron Valdemar and those of his people who had chosen exile with him rather than facing the wrath of a selfish and cruel monarch, it lay on the very western-and-northernmost edge of the civilized world. In part due to the nature of its founders, the monarchs of Valdemar welcomed fugitives and fellow exiles, and the customs and habits of its people had over the years become a polyglot patchwork. In point of fact, the one rule by which the monarchs of Valdemar governed their people was “There is no one, true way.’“

Governing such an ill-assorted lot of subjects might have been impossible—had it not been for the Heralds of Valdemar.

The Heralds served many functions; they were administrative overseers, dispensers of justice, information gatherers, even temporary military advisors; answerable only to the Monarch and their own circle of peers. Such a system might have seemed ripe for abuse—it would have been, but for the Companions,

To the unknowing eye, a Companion would seem little more than an extraordinarily graceful white horse. They were far more than that. Sent by some unknown power or powers at the pleading of King Valdemar himself, it was the Companions who chose new Heralds, forging between themselves and their Chosen a mind-to-mind bond that only death could sever. While no one knew precisely how intelligent they were, it was generally agreed that their capabilities were at least as high as those of their human partners. Companions could (and did) Choose irrespective of age and sex, although they tended to Choose youngsters just entering adolescence, and more boys were Chosen than girls. The one commonality among the Chosen (other than a specific personality type; patient, unselfish, responsible, and capable of heroic devotion to duty) was at least a trace of psychic ability. Contact with a Companion and continued development of the bond enhanced whatever latent paranormal capabilities lay within the Chosen, With time, as these Gifts became better understood, ways were developed to train and use them to the fullest extent to which the individual was capable. Gradually the Gifts displaced in importance whatever knowledge of “true magic” was left in Valdemar, until there was no record of how such magic had ever been learned or used.

So the governing of Valdemar evolved; the Monarch, advised by his Council, made the laws; the Heralds dispensed the laws and saw that they were observed. The Heralds themselves were nearly incapable of becoming corrupted or potential abusers of their temporal power; the Chosen were by nature remarkably self-sacrificing—their training only reinforced this. They had to be—there was a better than even chance that a Herald would die in the line of duty. But they were human for all of that; mostly young, mostly living on the edge of danger—so, it was inevitable that outside of their duty they tended to be a bit hedonistic and anything but chaste. And only seldom did a Herald form a tie beyond that of brotherhood and the pleasures of the moment—perhaps because the bond of brotherhood was so very strong, and because the Herald-Companion bond left little room for any other permanent ties. For the most part, few of the common or noble folk held this against them—knowing that, no matter how wanton a Herald might be on leave, the moment he donned his snowy uniform he was another creature altogether, for a Herald in Whites was a Herald on duty, and a Herald on duty had no time for anything outside of that duty, least to the the frivolity of his own pleasures. Still, there were those who held other opinions ... some of them in high places.

Laws laid down by the first King decreed that the Monarch himself must also be a Herald. Thus it was ensured that the ruler of Valdemar could never be the kind of tyrant who had caused the founders to flee their own homes.

Second in importance to the Monarch was the Herald known as the “King’s (or Queen’s) Own.” Chosen by a special Companion—one that never seemed to age (though it was possible to kill him) and was always a stallion—the Queen’s Own held the special position of confidant and most trusted friend and advisor to the ruler. Thus the Monarchs of Valdemar were assured that they would always have at least one person about them who could be trusted and counted on at all times. This tended to make for stable and confident rulers—and thus, a stable and dependable government

For generations it seemed that King Valdemar had planned his government perfectly. But the best-laid plans are still capable of being circumvented by accident or chance.

In the reign of King Sendar, the kingdom of Karse (that bordered Valdemar to the south-east) hired a nomadic nation of mercenaries to attack Valdemar, In the ensuing war, Sendar was killed, and his daughter, Selenay, assumed the throne, herself having only recently completed her Herald’s training. The Queen’s Own, an aged Herald called Talamir, was frequently confused and embarrassed at having to advise a young, headstrong, and attractive female. As a result, Selenay made an ill-advised marriage, one that nearly cost her both her throne and her life.

The issue of that marriage, the Heir-presumptive, was a female child whom Selenay called Elspeth. Elspeth came under the influence of the nurse Selenay’s husband had brought from his own land, and became an intractable, spoiled brat. It became obvious that if things went on as they were tending, the girl would never be Chosen, and thus could never inherit. This would leave Seienay with two choices; marry again (with the attendant risks) and attempt to produce another, more suitable Heir, or declare someone already Chosen and with the proper bloodline to be Heir. Or, somehow, salvage the Heir-presumptive. Talamir had a plan—one that it seemed had a good chance of success—which involved sending the child into fosterage in a remote province, away from the influence of the nurse and Court, with those who could be counted upon to take no nonsense from her.

Then Talamir was murdered, throwing the situation into confusion again. His Companion, Rolan, Chose a new Queen’s Own—but instead of picking an adult or someone already a full Herald, Chose an adolescent girl named Talia.

Talia was of Holderkin—a puritanical Border group which did its best to discourage knowledge of outsiders. Talia had no idea what it meant to have a Herald’s Companion accost her, and then (apparently) carry her off. Among her people, females held very subordinate positions, and nonconformity was punished immediately and harshly. And since Talia herself was ill-suited to a subordinate role, she was constantly being told that everything she said or did was wrong at best, and evil at worst. She was ill-prepared for the new world of the Heralds and their Collegium. The one thing she did have experience in was the handling and schooling of children, for she had been the teacher to her Holding’s younger members from the time she was nine.

But she managed—to find a true home among the Heralds, and to civilize the Brat. Now the year-and-a-half of Field duty awaited her—and a trial she never dreamed of having to pass.

One

Thwack!

The flat of Alberich’s practice-blade cracked against Talia’s ill-guarded side. She hadn’t seen the blow coming, she truly hadn’t. That had hurt, and she would lay money on having a bruise despite the padded jerkin that had absorbed most of the blow. The practice blades may have only been wood, but Alberich tended to wield them all the harder for that.

“Faugh!” he spat in disgust, and came at her again before she had recovered from the last blow. This time he connected with her knife-arm, right at the elbow. She yelped, the arm went numb, and she lost her blade entirely.

The hawklike eyes glared at her with no trace of pity, and the scar-seamed face was a demonic mask as he passed judgment on her performance.

He was at least in his mid-forties, if not older, but he hadn’t lost a fraction of his edge or agility in the five years Talia had known him. She was panting with exertion—he might as well have been taking a leisurely stroll. His well-worn, dark leathers (he was the only working Herald in Talia’s experience who never wore Whites) showed not so much as a tiny sweat stain. The afternoon sun pouring down on all of them had made him look as thin and insubstantial as a shadow. And he had been just as hard to catch.

“A pity it is that Skif is not here to see you. Die of laughter he surely would!” he growled. “Eighteen you are—one would think you eight. Slow, clumsy, and stupid! Paugh! Had I been a real assassin—”

“I would have died of fright before you touched me.”

“Now it is jokes! This is a battle-practice—not a comedy. If I wish amusement, I shall find a jester. Once again—and correctly, this time.”

Once she was ready to drop with exhaustion, he turned his attention to Elspeth. Now that both of them deserved special tutelage he had changed the hour of their lessons to one shared by no one else, so that he could give his full devotion to the Queen’s Own and Heir-presumptive. Rather than being held on the training grounds outside, the two had their drills in the salle. This was a barn-like building with a sanded wooden floor, lined with mirrors, with high derestory windows to admit the maximum amount of light. Lessons were always held here during inclement weather, but it was too small for mass practices and classes for the combined Heraldic-Bardic-Healer’s Collegium students. Only those “privileged” to receive private lessons with Alberich took those lessons habitually in the salle.

Now that his attention was off her, Talia found her thoughts drifting back to her surprise of this afternoon.

Talia tugged and wriggled impatiently until she had succeeded in getting the supple, soft, white leather tunic over her head. Pulling it into place over the White raime shirt and leather breeches, she finally turned to admire the effect in the polished metal mirror in front of her.

“Havens!” she laughed, not a little surprised, “Why don’t the Grays ever look like this?”

“Because,” a harsh voice drawled from the next room, “You youngsters would have your minds on anything but your studies if they did!”

Talia laughed, turned back to the mirror, and preened. Today was the anniversary of her first class at Herald’s Collegium—a fact that she’d forgotten until Keren and Sherrill (senior Heralds both, and instructors at the Collegium as well as Talia’s longtime friends) arrived at her room with their arms full of white uniforms and wearing broad grins.

For the Heraldic Circle had considered—for less than five minutes, all told—had voted—and had passed Talia into full Herald status with the rest of her year-mates—no surprise to anyone in the Collegium, though by tradition the trainees were not to know when they were to be evaluated until the evaluation had already been made and they had passed.

Keren and Sherrill had claimed the right to give her the good news.

They didn’t even give her a chance to think, either— just appeared at her door, swept her up one on either side, and herded her down the long, dark wood-paneled hall of the Collegium dormitory, down the stairs to the first floor, and out the double doors at the end.

From there they had taken her off to the Seneschal’s office to claim her new quarters. Now she stood in the bedroom of the suite she’d chosen, marveling at her reflection.

“I look like a real grownup for a change!”

“That is the general idea, Sherrill laughed richly.

She cocked her head to one side, regarding the tiny, slender figure in the mirror. Her unruly red-brown curls were as tousled as ever, but somehow gave an impression now of being tumbled the way they were on purpose. The huge, deep-brown eyes that had been utterly guileless seemed somehow wiser; the heart-shaped face no longer so childlike. And all that change wrought by the magic of a new uniform!

“Talia, your head is going to swell like a spongetoad in rainy season if you’re not careful.” Keren interrupted her train of thought a second time. By craning her neck to peer around the doorframe Talia could see the riding instructor grinning sardonically from where she was sprawled on the wooden-backed, red-cushioned couch in the other room.

“Don’t you know what the Book of the One says?” Sherrill added piously over her mate’s shoulder. “ ‘Great pride shall earn equal humiliation.’ “

Talia left her bedroom to join them. They were lounging comfortably in her sparsely-furnished outer room, sharing the lone couch.

“I suppose you’re both going to claim that you never spent so much as a minute in front of the mirror when you first got our Whites,” Talia taunted, strolling toward them with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Who? Me?” Sherrill replied in artificial innocence, lifting an airy hand and batting thick black lashes over wide hazel eyes. “And feed my vanity? W-e-l-l, maybe a little”

“I happen to know for a fact that you spent half the day there. I’m told you were trying every hairstyle you could twist that black mane of yours into, seeing which one went best with the new outfits,” Keren countered dryly, running her fingers through her own close-cropped, graying brown hair.

Sherrill just grinned and crossed her legs elegantly, leaning back into the cushions. “Since I can’t claim equal knowledge of what you did on that august occasion, that’s hardly a fair blow.”

“Oh, I did my share of mirror-gazing,” Keren admitted with mock reluctance. “When you’re as scrawny as a sapling and flat as a boy, it’s rather astonishing to see yourself in something that actually flatters you. I swear I don’t know how they do it— .it’s the same pattern for everybody, and not that dissimilar from the Student Grays—”

“But Lord, the difference!” Sheri concluded for her. “I don’t know of anybody who doesn’t look fantastic in their Whites. Even Dirk manages to look presentable. Rumpled, but presentable.”

“Well, what do you think of me?” Talia asked, turning on her toes in front of them, and grinning impishly into Keren’s eyes.

“What do I think? That you look fabulous, you young demon. Keep fishing for compliments, though, and I’ll likely dump you in the horse trough. Have they told you anything about your internship?”

Talia shook her head, and clasped her hands behind her again. “No. All they said was that the Herald they want to pair me with is in the field, and they won’t tell me who it is.”

“That’s pretty much to be expected. They don’t want you to have time to think of things to impress him with,” Sherrill replied. Suddenly her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, but I can think of one prospect that would give Nerrissa a litter of kittens!”

“Who?” Talia asked, head to one side.

“Kris and Dirk are due back in the next few weeks, and Dirk got the last greenie—as you should know, since it was Skif—so it’s Kris’ turn next! Nessa would die!”

“Sheri, it’s only my internship assignment.”

“A year and a half Sector-riding, most of it spent alone together, and you say it’s only an assignment? Talia, you must have ice water for blood! Do you have any notion of the number of hours Nessa—and half the females of the Circle, for that matter—spend on their knees praying for an assignment like that? Are you sure you don’t have leanings our way?”

Talia chuckled, and wrinkled her nose at them. “Quite sure, darlings. Just what is Kris’ attraction for Nessa, anyway? She’s got most of the males of the Circle panting at her heels as it is,”

“The lure of the unattainable, or so I would surmise,” Keren supplied, lids half-closed lazily with only a glint of brown iris showing. “He hasn’t taken a vow of chastity, but he’s so circumspect about his dalliances you’d never know it. It drives Nessa wild, and the harder she chases, the faster he runs. She’s as caught up now by the chase as by the face.”

“Well, she can chase him all she wants. I am not at all impressed by Kris’ handsome face,” Talia replied firmly.

“Or the gorgeous body—?” interjected Sherrill.

“Or the gorgeous body. Nessa can have all the gorgeous bodies in the Circle, for all I care. Holderkin men are handsome specimens, and I can do without diem—my father could have given Kris stiff competition in his younger days, and I’ve told you what kind of a petty tyrant he was. And my late-but-not-??unented brother Justus was actually handsomer, if you favor blonds, and he was the foulest person I’ve ever known. I’d rather have a good heart and plain packaging.”

“Yes, but Kris is a Herald—” Sherrill pointed out, tapping one long finger on her knee for emphasis. “That guarantees the good heart without having to settle for a homely exterior. No handsome, smiling bastards in our ranks—”

“Sheri, this is all sheer speculation. Until I find out who I’m interning with, I refuse to worry about the subject,” Talia replied firmly.

“You are no fun at all.”

“I never said I was.”

“Hmm. Dirk’s interning that scalawag Skif—” Keren said thoughtfully. “You and Skif were very thick there for a while. In fact, as I recall, you and he had a rumor or two floating about your heads. Is that why you aren’t interested in Dirk’s partner?”

“Maybe,” Talia smiled enigmatically. The fact that their “romance” had been entirely without any result was Skif’s secret—and hers. The streak of ill-luck and accident that had plagued their meetings had not had any effect on tneir friendship: except that they had never managed to be more than just that— friends. Oddly enough, though, except for a brief period of anxiety when word had come that Skif had been hurt during his first three months in the field, Talia had thought less of Skif, and more of his counselor. To her own amazement—and for no reason, logical or fanciful that she could think of—when her thoughts strayed in the direction of the former thief and his internship assignment, it was in Dirk’s direction that they tended to wander. This was annoying; she’d met the man all of three times in her life, and had never been in his company for more than an hour or two at most. Yet, that homely face and those wonderful blue eyes kept lingering stubbornly in her thoughts. It did not make sense.

She shook her head to free it of those fanciful images. She had little enough time, and had none to spare in daydreams.

“Well, this little wardrobe change of yours ought to surprise little Elspeth,” Sherrill said, changing the subject.

“Oh, Lady Bright—” Talia sat down with a thump on one of her cushions, joy extinguished. It almost seemed to her at that moment that the bright sun-rays pouring through her windows had dimmed.

“Poor Elspeth—”

“Something up?” Keren asked, one eyebrow rising.

“Just the usual.”

“What’s usual? You know I don’t get around the Court.”

“Intrigue rising beyond gossip. She’s almost fourteen and still not Chosen; there’s muttering in the Court that she’s still the Brat under the skin and she’ll never be Chosen. In Council meetings one or more of the Councilors is usually trying to pressure Selenay into naming an Heir—’pro tern,’ as they put it—”

“Who?” Sherrill asked in alarm, sitting straight up.

“Who’s stirring up the water?”

“You know I can’t tell you that! Anyway it isn’t just those particular Councilors; it’s more than half of the Court. Elspeth doesn’t say much, but it’s got her very depressed, poor baby. Their timing couldn’t be worse. She’s already moody enough with the normal adolescent woes, and this has got her in near-tears on a regular basis. When I’m not getting my shoulder soggy, I keep finding her at Companion’s Field whenever she’s free, sort of lurking—”

“Hoping any minute to be Chosen. Gods, no wonder she’s wearing a long face whenever I see her. What’s Rolan got to say about this?”

“Be damned if I know!” Talia gifted Keren with a look of exasperation. ‘You know he doesn’t Mindspeak me in words.”

“Sorry,” Keren winced, “I keep forgetting.”

“He’s worried, but it could be as much over the machinations and power-maneuverings at Court as anything else. The current candidates are Jeri, Kerroc , and your oh-so-lovely Kris.”

“Wonderful people in and of themselves,” Keren observed, “But with some not-so-wonderful relatives lurking in the family trees. One would think Kris’ uncle Lord Orthallen would have his hands full enough as chief Councilor without wanting to be the Heir’s uncle—”

“That man will never have enough power to satisfy him,” Talia snapped bitterly.

Keren raised an eyebrow at the outburst, and continued. “Kerroc ‘s horde of lazy cousins would swarm ihe Court, looking for sinecures—and Kerroc ‘s such a soft touch he’d try to manage it. And Jeri—Lady Bright! Her mother!”

“We’d have a battle royal every day between Jeri and Lady Indra over how Jeri’s Council votes should go. I wish her husband would lock her away. Or buy a gag for her.”

“Amen. Pity none of them come without baggage. Not my idea of a fun situation. And poor catling caught in the middle.”

Talia sighed in agreement. “Speaking of no fun, I’d better scramble. Alberich informed me in no uncertain terms that my new status does not exempt me from his special lessons. I have the sinking feeling that he intends to slap my inflated pride down to pre-student levels, and probably with the flat of his blade.”

“Can I watch?” Keren asked wickedly.

“Why not? Elspeth’s always there, and there’s nothing like being worse at something than a thirteen-year-old girl to really deflate your opinions of yourself. Well, that ought to reinflate her self-esteem a bit. Ah, me, it’s a pity to have to get these lovely new clothes all over dirt and sweat—”

As they descended the cool darkness of the spiraling staircase, Keren and Sherrill in the lead with their arms casually linked, Talia reflected that bringing them together was probably the best thing she’d ever done. The bond between them was easily as strong as the one Keren had shared with Ylsa—and had Ylsa lived, they might very well have formed one of the relatively rare, permanent threesomes. There was no doubt that they were very good for each other. Poor Ylsa ...

Talia’s chosen living quarters were at the very top of her tower at the end of the Herald’s wing. The suites in the four towers were seldom used—probably because they were more than a bit inconvenient. The walk up and down the darkened stone staircase was a long one, but she felt that the view (and the privacy) were worth it.

But the trudge was likely to bring complaints from Talia’s friends—and Keren voiced the first of many.

“I’ll tell you one thing, my fine young Herald,” Keren grumbled a little when they finally reached the ground floor. “Visiting with you on a regular basis is going to keep your friends in shape. Why you chose to roost with the birds is beyond me.”

“Do you truly want to know why I chose that particular suite?” Talia asked with a grin.

“Say on.”

“Pray remember, if you will, what my Gift is—I’m an empath, not a mindspeaker. Either of you remember who my neighbor was?”

“Mm. Destria, wasn’t it?” Sherrill replied after thought. “Turned out to be a good Field Herald, despite her—ah—”

“Randiness,” Keren supplied with a hint of grin. “That girl! Anything in Grays or Whites, so long as it was male! Havens, when did she ever have time to study?”

“Then you both know about her habit of ‘entertaining’ with great frequency and—um—enthusiasm. What I couldn’t shield I could most certainly hear! Between her nocturnal activities and Rolan’s, I got a quite thorough education, let me assure you! That’s when I swore my privacy was worth any inconvenience. I don’t want to eavesdrop on anyone else’s fun ever again, and I certainly don’t want anyone eavesdropping on mine!”

“Talia, I don’t believe a word of it,” Sherrill giggled. “What could you possibly have to fear from eavesdroppers? You’re practically a temple virgin compared with the rest of us!”

“You ought to believe it, since it’s all true. Well, here’s where we part company. Wish me luck—I’m going to need it!”

Pity that they hadn’t wished her luck—she might have gotten a few less bruises. Talia fanned herself with a towel while she paced back and forth to keep from stiffening up, and watched Elspeth with unforced enjoyment. The girl was a pleasure to observe, moving through the sparring bout with the grace and agility of a dancer, and making it all seem effortless and easy. She was much better even than Jeri had been at her age, but then she had had the benefits of four years of Alberich’s remorseless training; Jeri had only had the finest arms-tutors money could obtain. No amount of money could buy Alberich’s expertise.

She ran through the assigned exercises with careless grace. Then, at the end of a bout, she unexpectedly executed one of the spin-and-tumbling-rolls that Alberich had been trying to train into Talia—a move that was not one Alberich had been teaching her. And she scored a kill on him.

He stared at her in startled amazement for a long moment, as both Talia and Elspeth waited breathlessly for the roar of disapproval they were certain would come.

“Good!” he said at last, as Elspeth’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Very good!” Then, lest she dare to grow careless because of the compliment, “But next time must be better.”

Despite this unexpected kudo, Talia found when she brought Elspeth a damp towel at the conclusion of the lesson that the girl was subdued and depressed.

“What’s wrong, catling?” she asked, seeing how like her mother Elspeth was, despite the brown hair and eyes rather than Selenay’s blond and blue. At this moment the shadow on her face matched the one the Queen wore when troubled. She knew the answer already, but it would do the girl good to talk it out one more time.

“I can’t do anything right,” Elspeth replied unhappily, “I’ll never be as good as you, no matter how hard I try.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“No, really, look at you! You spent half your life on a backwoods dirt-farm; now you can’t be told from Heralds that were highborn. You got good marks in your classes; I’m abysmal in all of mine. And I can’t even manage to be Chosen....”

“I suspect it’s the last that’s eating at you the most.”

Elspeth nodded, the corners of her mouth drooping.

“Catling, we’re two different people with wildly different abilities and interests. In the five years I’ve been here I’ve never once managed to earn a ‘good’ from Alberich, much less a ‘very good’! I’m still so stiff when I dance that they say it’s like dancing with a broom.”

“Oh, huzzah, I’m a marvel of coordination. I can kill anything on two legs. That’s a terrific qualification for being Heir.”

“Catling, you’ve got the qualifications. Look, if I live to be two hundred, I will never understand politics. Think back a minute. At the last Council meeting, I could sense that Lord Cariodoc was irritated, but you were the one who not only knew why and by whom, but managed to placate the old buzzard before he could start an incident. And your teachers assure me that though you may not be the best in your classes, you aren’t the worst by any stretch of the imagination. As for being Chosen, catling, thirteen is only the average age for that. Think of Jadus—he was sixteen and had been at Bardic for three years! Or Teren, for Lady’s sake—a man grown and with two children! Look, it’s probably only that your Companion just hasn’t been old enough, and you know very well they don’t Choose until they’re ten or better.”

Elspeth’s mood seemed to be lightening a bit.

“Come on, love, cheer up, and we’ll go see Rolan. If riding him will bring some sun to your day, I’m sure he’ll let you.”

Elspeth’s long face brightened considerably. She loved riding as much as dancing and swordwork. It wasn’t often that a Companion would consent to bear anyone but his Chosen; Rolan had done so for Elspeth in the past, and she obviously counted those moments among the finest in her life. It wasn’t the same as having her own Companion, but it was at least a little like it. Together they left the training salle, and headed for the wooded enclosure that was home to the Companions at the Collegium (partnered, unpartnered, and foals) and that also held the Grove, that place where the Companions had first appeared hundreds of years ago.

And although she took pains not to show it, Talia was profoundly worried. This situation with Elspeth’s status hanging fire could not be maintained for much longer. The strain was telling on the Queen, the girl, and the Heraldic Circle.

But Talia had no more notion of how to solve the problem than anyone else.

Talia woke with a start, momentarily confused by the strange feel and sounds of the room in which she found herself. She couldn’t see a blessed thing, and over her head was a rattling—

Then she remembered where she was; and that the rattling was the shutter of the window just over the head of her bed. She’d latched it open, and it was rattling in the high wind that must have begun some time during the night.

She turned over and levered herself into a kneeling position on her pillow, peering out into the darkness. She still couldn’t see much; dark humps of foliage against barely-lighter grass. The moon was less than half full, all the buildings were dark, and clouds racing along in the wind obscured the stars and the moonlight. The wind’s me lied of dawn though, and sunrise couldn’t be far off.

Talia shivered in the chill, as wind whipped at her; she was about to crawl back under her warm blankets when she saw something below her.

A person—a small person—hardly more than a dim figure moving beyond the fence of Companion’s Field, visible only because it was wearing something light-colored.

And she knew with sudden surety that the one below was Elspeth.

She slid out of bed, wincing at the cold wood under her feet, and grabbed clothing by feel, not waiting to stop to light a candle. Confused thoughts tumbled, one over the other. Was the girl sleepwalking? Was she ill? But when she reached unthinkingly and tentatively with her Gift, she encountered neither the feel of a sleeping mind, nor a disturbed one; only a deep and urgent sense of purpose.

She should, she realized in some dim, far-off corner of her mind, be alarmed. But as soon as she had touched Elspeth with her Empathic Gift, that sense of calm purpose had infected her as well, and she could no more have disobeyed its promptings than have launched into flight from her tower window.

In a dreamlike state she half-stumbled out into the middle room, fumbled her way to the door, and cautiously felt her way down the spiraling staircase with one hand on the cold smoothness of the metal railing and the other on the rough stone of the wall beside her. She was shivering so hard her teeth rattled, and the thick darkness in the stairwell was slightly unnerving.

There was light at the foot of it, though, from a lamp set up on the wall. The dim yellow light filled the entranceway. And the wood-paneled corridor beyond was lighted well enough by farther wall-hung lamps that Talia felt safe in running down the stone-floored passageways to the first door to the outside she could find.

The wind hit her with a shock; it was a physical blow so hard that she gasped. It nearly wrenched the door out of her hands and she had to struggle for a moment she had not wanted to spare to get it closed behind her. She realized that she had gotten only a hint of its force from her window; her room was shetered from the worst of it by the bulk of the Palace itself.

She found herself at the exterior bend of the L-shaped Herald’s wing; just beyond her bulked the Companion’s stables. Elspeth was nowhere in sight.

More certain of her ground now than she had been in the unfamiliar wing of the Palace, Talia would have run if she could, but the wind made that impossible. It plastered her clothing to her body, and drove unidentifiable debris at her with the velocity of crossbow bolts. She couldn’t hear anything now with it howling in her ears; she knew no one would hear her calling. Now she became vaguely alarmed; with the wind this strong and in the dark, it would be so easy for Elspeth to misstep and find herself in the river—

She mindcalled Rolan for help—and could not reach him—

Or rather, she could reach him, but he was paying no attention to her whatsoever; his whole being was focused on—what it was, she could not say, but it demanded all his concentration; for he was absorbed in it with such intensity that he was shutting everything and everyone else out.

It was up to her, then. She fought her way around the stables toward the bridge that led across the river to the main portion of Companion’s Field. It was with incredible relief that she spotted the vague blur of Elspeth ahead of her, already across the river, and headed with utter single-minded concentration in the direction of—

There was only one place she could be heading for— the Grove.

Talia forced her pace to the fastest she could manage, leaning at an acute angle into the wind, but the girl had a considerable head start on her, and had already entered the Grove by the time she had crossed the bridge.

The pale blob was lost to sight as the foliage closed around it, and Talia stumbled over the uneven ground, falling more than once and bruising hands and knees on the stones hidden in the grass. The long grass itself whipped at her booted legs, tangling iher feet with each step. She was halfway to the Grove when she looked up from yet another fall to see that it was—gods!—glowing faintly from within.

She shook her head, blinking, certain that her eyes were playing tricks on her. The glow remained, scarcely brighter than foxfire, but unmistakably there.

She started to rise, when the entire world seemed to give a gut-wrenching lurch, disorienting her completely. She clutched at the grass beneath her hands, as the only reality in a suddenly unreal world, the pain of her bruised palms hardly registering. Everything seemed to be spinning, the way it had the one time she’d fainted, and she was lost in the darkness with the wind wailing in a whirlwind around her and the Grove. There was a sickening moment—or eternity—when nothing was real.

Then the world settled, and normality returned with an almost audible snap; the wind died away to nothing, sound returned, the disorientation vanished, ail in the space of a single heartbeat.

Talia opened her eyes, unaware until that moment that she’d been clenching both eyes and jaw so tightly her face ached. Less than five feet away stood Elspeth, between the supporting shoulders of two Companions. The one on her left was Rolan, and he was back id Talia’s awareness again—tired, though; very tired, but strangely contented.

Talia staggered to her feet; the gray light of the setting moon was lightening the sky, and by it, she Could make out the girl’s features. Elspeth seemed dazed, and if the contrast between the dark mass of her hair and the paleness of her skin meant any-thing, she was drained as white as paper.

Talia stumbled the few steps between them, grabbed her shoulders and shook her; until that moment the girl didn’t seem to realize she was there.

“Elspeth—” was all she managed to choke out around her own nerveless shivering.

“Talia?” The girl blinked once, then dumbfounded her mentor by seeming to snap into total wakefulness, smiling and throwing her arms around Talia’s shoulders. “Talia—I—” she laughed, almost hysterical with joy, and for one brief moment Talia feared she’d lost her mind.

Then she let go of the Herald and threw both of her arms around the neck of the Companion to her right. “Talia, Talia, it happened! Gwena Chose me! She called me when I was asleep, and I came, and she Chose me!”

Gwena?

Talia knew every Companion in residence, having spent nearly as much time with them as Keren, and having helped to midwife many of the foals. That name didn’t belong to any of them.

And that could only mean one thing; Gwena, like Rolan—and unlike any other Companion currently alive—was Grove-born. But why? For centuries only Monarch’s Own Companions had appeared in the Grove like Companions of old.

Talia started to say something—and abruptly felt Rolan’s presence overwhelming her mind, tinged with a feeling of gentle regret.

Talia shook her head, bewildered by the sensation that she’d forgotten something, then dismissed the feeling. Elspeth had been Chosen; that was what mattered. She remembered the mare vaguely now. Gwena had always been one of the shyer Companions, staying well away from visitors. All her shyness seemed gone, as she nuzzled Elspeth’s hair with possessive pride. Rolan, who had been supporting Elspeth on the left, now paced forward in time to give Talia a shoulder to lean on, for her own knees were going weak with reaction, and she felt as drained as if she’d had a three-candlemark workout with Alberich. Birds were breaking into morning-song all around them, and jhe first light of true dawn streaked the sky to the east with festive ribbons of brightness among the clouds.

“Oh, catling!” Talia released her hold on Rolan’s mane and flung both her arms around Elspeth, nearly Hi tears with joy.

It did not occur to either of them to wonder why no one else had been mustered out of bed by that imperative calling both of them had answered—and why no one else had noticed anything at all out of the ordinary even yet.

Talia managed to convince Elspeth—not to go back to her bed, because that was an impossibility—but to settle with Gwena in a sheltered little hollow, with a blanket purloined from the stable around her shoulders. Talia hoped that when her excitement faded the child would doze off again; the gods knew she’d be safe enough in the Field with her own Companion standing protective guard over her. She wished devoutly that she could have done the same, but there were far too many things she had to attend to.

The first—and most important—was to inform the Queen. Even at this early hour Selenay would be awake and working, and likely with one or more Councilors. That meant a formal announcement, and not what Talia really wanted to do, which was to burst into Selenay’s chamber caroling for joy.

However pleased Selenay would be, that sort of action would only give the Councilors a very poor impression of the Queen’s Own’s maturity.

So Talia stumbled back to her room again, through the sweet breeze of a perfect dawn, through bird choruses that were only a faint, far echo of the joy in her heart, to get redressed. And this time, as neatly and precisely as she could manage, cringing inwardly at the grass stains left on the knees of the pair of breeches she’d just peeled off. Then she walked—walked—decorously and soberly down through the silence of the Herald’s wing to the “New Palace” wing that held the suites of Queen and Court.

As usual, there were two blue-clad Guardsmen stationed outside the doors to the Royal chambers. She nodded to them, dark Jon to the right, wizened Fess to the left; she knew both of them well, and longed to be able to whisper her news, but that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t be dignified, and it would absolutely shatter protocol. As Queen’s Own, she had the right of entry to the Queen’s chambers at any time of night or day, and was quickly admitted beyond those heavy goldenoak doors.

As she had expected, Selenay was already hard at work in her dark-paneled outer chamber; dressed for the day in formal Whites, massive desk covered with papers, and both Lord Orthallen and the Seneschal at her shoulders. She looked up at Talia’s entrance, startled, blue eyes seeming weary even this early in the day. Whatever brought those two Councilors to her side, it did not look to be pleasant...

Perhaps Talia’s news would change all that.

She clued Selenay to the gravity of her news by making the formal half-bow before entering, and that it was good news by a cheerful wink so timed that only Selenay noted it. Protocol demanded exactly five steps across that dark-blue carpet, which took her to exactly within comfortable conversational distance of the desk. Then she went to one knee, trying not to flinch as her bruises encountered the floor. Selenay, tucking a strand of gold hair behind one ear and straightening in expectation, nodded to indicate she could speak.

“Majesty—I have come to petition the right of a trainee to enter the Collegium,” Talia said gravely, with both hands clasped upon the upright knee, while her eyes danced at the nonsense of all this formality.

That got the attention not only of Selenay, but of both Councilors. Only highborn trainees needed to have petitions laid before the Crown, for becoming a Herald often meant renouncing titles and lands, either actual or presumptive.

Talia could see the puzzlement in the Councilors’ eyes—and the rising hope in Selenay’s. “What Companion has Chosen—and what is the candidate’s name and rank?” Selenay replied just as formally, one hand clutching the goblet before her so tightly her knuckles went white.

“The Companion Gwena has Chosen,” Talia barely managed to keep from singing the words, “And her Choice is the Heir-presumptive, now Heir-In-Right, the Lady Elspeth. May I have the Queen’s leave to enter the trainee in the Collegium rolls?”

Within the hour Court and Collegium were buzzing, and Talia was up to her eyebrows in all the tasks needed to transfer Elspeth from her mother’s custody to that of the Collegium. Elspeth spent the day in blissful ignorance of all the fuss—which was only fair. The first few hours were critical in the formation of the Herald-Companion bond, and should be spent in as undisturbed a manner as possible. So it was Talia’s task to see to it that when Elspeth finally drifted dreamily back through the gates of Companion’s Field, everything, from room assignment to having her belongings transferred, had been taken care of for her.

And toward day’s end it occurred to Talia that it behooved her to take dinner with the Court rather than the Collegium. The Queen might make dinner the occasion for the formal announcement of choice of Heir.

She finished setting up Elspeth’s class schedule with Dean Elcarth, and sprinted to her quarters and up the stairs as fast as her sore knees would permit. After a quick wash, she rummaged in the wooden wardrobe, cursing as she bumped her head against one of the doors. After making what she hoped was an appropriate selection, she dressed hastily in one of the velvet outfits. With one hand brushing her hair, half-skipping as she wedged her feet into the soft slippers that went with it, she used the other hand to snatch the appropriate book of protocol from among the others on her still-dusty desk. While wriggling to settle the clothing properly and using both hands to smooth her hair, she reviewed the brief ceremony attendant on the coronation of the Heir. She shot a quick look at herself in the mirror, then took herself off to the Great Hall.

She slipped into her seldom-used seat between Elspeth and the Queen and whispered “Well?”

“She’s going to do it as soon as everyone arrives,” Elspeth breathed back. “I think I’m going to die....”

“No you won’t,” Talia answered in a conspiratorial manner, “You’ve been doing things like this for ages. Now I may die!” Elspeth was relaxing visibly now that Talia was there to share her ordeal.

Talia had only taken meals with the Court a handful of times since she’d arrived at the Collegium, and the Great Hall never ceased to impress her. It was the largest single room in the Palace, its high, vaulted ceiling supported by slender-seeming pillars of ironoak that gleamed golden in the light from the windows and the lamp- and candle-light. There were battle-banners and heraldic pennons that went clear back to the Founding hanging from the rafters. Talia’s seat was at the table placed on the dais, which stood at right angle to the rest of the tables in the Hall. Late sunlight streamed in through the tall, narrow windows that filled the west wall, but the windows to the east were already beginning to darken with the onset of nightfall. The courtiers seated along the tables below her were as colorful as a bed of wild-flowers, and formed a pleasing grouping against the panels and tables of golden ironoak.

When the Great Hall was filled, the Queen arose as the stewards called for silence. It would have been possible to hear a feather fall as she began. Every eye in the Hall was riveted on her proud, White-clad figure, with the thin circlet of Royal red gold (it was all she would wear as token of her rank) encircling her raival-leaf golden hair.

“Since the death of my father, we have been with-out an Heir. I can understand and sympathize with those of you who found this a disquieting and frightening situation. You may rejoice, for all uncertainty is at an end. This day was my daughter Elspeth Chosen by the Companion Gwena, making her a fully eligible candidate for the position of Heir. Rise, daughter.”

Elspeth and Talia both rose, Elspeth to stand before her mother, Talia to take the silver coronet of the Heir from the steward holding it. She presented it to the Queen, then retired to her proper position as Queen’s Own, behind and slightly to Selenay’s right. She was pleased to note that although Elspeth’s hands trembled, her voice, as she repeated her vows, Was strong and clear. Elspeth caught her eyes and held to Talia’s gaze as if to a lifeline.

Elspeth was frightened half to death, despite her lifelong preparation for this moment. She could dearly see Talia’s encouraging expression, and the presence of the Queen’s Own gave her comfort and courage For one panicked moment halfway through her vows, she forgot what her mother had said just the instant before. She felt a flood of gratitude when she noticed Talia’s lips moving, and realized that she was mouthing the words Elspeth had just forgotten. There was more to it than just having a friend at hand, too—with her mental senses sharpened and enhanced by having been Chosen, Elspeth could dimly feel Talia as a solid, comforting presence, like a deply-rooted tree in a wild windstorm. There would be shelter for her beneath those branches, and as she repeated the last words of her Oath, she suddenly realized how vital that shelter would be to one, who as ruler, must inevitably face the gales; and more often than not alone. There was also, distinctly, though distantly, the sense that Talia loved her for herself, and as a true friend. And that in itself was a comfort. As she finished the last words and her mother placed the silver circlet on her head, she tried to put all her gratitude to her friend in the smile she gave her.

As the Queen placed the coronet on her daughter’s hair, a spontaneous cheer rose that gladdened Talia’s heart. Perhaps now the Brat could be forgotten.

But as they resumed their seats and the serving began, the unaccustomed dainties of the Queen’s table suddenly lost their appeal as Talia realized that there was yet another ceremony to be endured, one about which she knew nothing. As soon as the powers of the Kingdom could be gathered there must be a great ceremony of fealty in which the Queen’s Own would play a significant role. Talia reached blindly for her goblet to moisten a mouth gone dry with panic.

Then she took herself firmly in hand; Kyril and Elcarth, as Seneschal’s Herald and Dean of the Collegium, would surely know everything about this occasion—and just as surely would be aware that Talia didn’t. There was no need to panic. Not yet, anyway.

The meal seemed to be progressing with ponderous slowness. This was Talia’s first High Feast—and it seemed incredibly dull. She sighed, and the Queen caught the sound.

“Bored?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, no!” Talia replied with a forced smile.

“Liar,” the Queen replied with a twinkle. “No one but a moron could avoid being bored by all this. You sit and sit, and smile and smile, till your face and backside are both stiff. Then you sit and smile some more.”

“How do you manage this day after day?” Talia asked, trying not to laugh.

“Father taught me a game; Elspeth and I play it now. What are we doing this time, catling?”

“We’re back to animals,” Elspeth replied, as her mother nodded to an elderly duke in response to some comment he’d mumbled. “You try and decide what animal the courtiers most remind you of. We change each time. Sometimes it’s flowers, trees, rocks, landmarks—even weather. This time it’s animals, and he’s a badger.”

“Well if he’s a badger, his lady’s a watchdog. Look how she raises her hackles whenever he smiles at that pretty serving girl,” Talia said.

“Oh, I’d never have thought of that one!” Elspeth exclaimed. “You’re going to be good at this game!”

They managed to keep straight faces, but it wasn’t easy.

Talia sought out Kyril the next day before the thrice-weekly Council meeting to learn that she had three weeks in which to prepare for Elspeth’s formal investiture. He and Elcarth pledged to drill her in all she needed to know, from protocol to politics, every day.

The Council meeting in itself was something of an ordeal. She and Elspeth had seats on the far end of the horseshoe-shaped Council table, almost opposite Selenay and the empty place beside her. That empty chair was the seat of the Queen’s Own, but Talia could not, under law, assume that place until she had passed her own internship. She and Elspeth had voice on the Council, but no vote. Elspeth’s own voting rights were in abeyance until she passed internship. The Councilors tended to ignore them because of that lack of voting rights—but not today.

No, today they interrogated both Talia and Elspeth with an ill-concealed eagerness that bordered on greed. How soon did Talia think she’d be out in the field—could the internship be cut back to a year? Or given the importance of her position, and her lack of experience, should it be extended past the normal year-and-a-half? Could Elspeth’s education be rushed? What should she be tutored in besides the normal curriculum of the Herald’s Collegium? Did she feel ready for her new position as Heir? And on and on...

From most of the Councilors Talia only received a well-intentioned (if irritating) eagerness to help “the children” (and she cursed—not for the first time— her slight stature that made her seem barely an adolescent). But from others—

Lord Orthallen, one of Selenay’s closest advisors (as he had been to her father) regarded both of them with a cool, almost cold, gaze. And Talia felt very like a prime specimen of some unusual beetle on the dissecting table. She got no emotional impressions from him at all; she never had. That was profoundly disturbing for one whose Gift was Empathy— and even more disturbing was the vague feeling that he was not pleased that Elspeth had at last been Chosen.

From Bard Hyron, speaker for the Bardic Circle, she got a distinct feeling that all this was happening far too quickly. And that not enough caution was being exercised. And that he didn’t quite trust her.

Lord Gartheser’s feelings were of general displeasure over the whole affair, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. There was also a faint overtone of disappointment; he was related to Kerroc, one of the three other contenders for the position. Could that be all, though? Or was there something deeper in his motivation?

Lady Wyrist was downright annoyed, but why, Talia couldn’t fathom. It might have been simply that she was afraid that Talia would favor her own relations, the Holderkin, who lived in the area Wyrist spoke for. She could hardly know that there was small chance of that!

Orthallen was the one who bothered her most, but as the meeting broke up, she knew she would mention this to no one. She had nothing of fact to report; and she and Orthallen had bad blood between them over his treatment (and near-expulsion) of her friend Skif from the Collegium. She knew better than to give Orthallen so powerful a weapon if he was an enemy as to seem to be holding a grudge. Instead she smiled sweetly and thanked him for his good wishes. Let him think her an innocent idiot. Meanwhile she would make sure to have one eye on him.

But soon, very soon now, she would be gone, on her year-and-a-half internship, and that would take her entirely out of the current intrigues at Court. It would also make it impossible for her to deal with any of it. If Gartheser, Orthallen, or any of the others had deeper schemes, there would be no one near Elspeth who could detect the shadow of the scheming.

She would be gone—and who would watch them then?

Two

Three weeks to the investiture. Only three weeks, but they seemed like three years, at least to Talia.

There was an elaborate ceremony of oaths and bindings to memorize, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Talia’s main function at this particular rite would be apparently to perform the original duties of Heralds, the duties they had held in the days before Valdemar founded his kingdom, to announce each dignitary by name and all ranks and titles before escorting him or her to the foot of the Throne.

This was, of course, the lesser of her twin functions. In reality the more important would be using her empathic Gift to assess—and, one hoped, neutralize—any danger to the Queen and Heir from those about to come within striking distance of them. The full High Court ceremonial costumes included a wide variety of instruments of potential mayhem and assassination.

There was one small problem with this; Talia was farmbred, not highborn. The elaborate tabards of state that a highborn child could read as easily as a book were little more than bewildering patterns of gold and embroidery to her eyes. And she would be dealing with nobles who were very touchy over their titles, and apt to take affront if even the least and littlest were eliminated.

That meant hours closeted in Herald Kyril’s office, sitting until her behind went numb on one of the hard wooden chairs he favored, memorizing plate after plate from the state book of devices until her eyes were watering. She fell asleep at night with the wildly colored and imaginative beasts, birds, and plants spinning in mad dances behind her eyes. She woke in the morning with Kyril’s voice echoing out of her dreams, inescapably drilling her.

She spent at least another hour of every day in the stuffy Council chamber, with the Councilors engaged in pointless debate about this or that item of protocol for the coming ceremony until she wanted to scream with frustration.

Elspeth, at least, was spared this nonsense; she had quite enough on her plate with her new round of Collegium classes and duties. For the next five years or so, once the ceremony was complete, she would be neither more nor less important nor cosseted than any other trainee—within certain limitations. She would still be attending Council sessions once she’d settled in, and certain High Court functions. But these were far more in the nature of duties rather than treats—and were, in fact, things Talia reckoned that Elspeth would really rather have foregone if she’d had any choice in the matter.

When Talia had taken the opportunity to check on her, the girl seemed well-content. She was surely enjoying the new-found bond with her Companion Gwena. Keren had told Talia that every free moment saw the two of them out in the Field together, which was exactly as it should be.

But there was one unsettling oddity about the Council sessions that kept them from sending Talia to sleep—an oddity that, in fact, was contributing to an uneasiness ill-suited to the general festive atmosphere that hovered over Court and Collegium.

Talia was catching Councilors and courtiers alike giving her bewildered, almost fearful glances when they thought she wasn’t watching. If it had not happened so frequently, she might have thought she was imagining it, but scarcely a day passed without someone watching her with the same attention they might have given to some outre creature that might prove to be dangerous. It troubled her—and she wished more than once for Skif and his talents at spying and subterfuge. But Skif was furlongs away at very best, so she knew she’d have to muddle along beneath the suspicious glances, and hope that whatever rumors were being passed about her (and she had no doubt that they were about her) would either be put to rest or come to light where she coufd confront them.

Another goodly portion of each day she spent helping to train a young Healer, Rynee, who was to substitute for her while she was gone on her internship circuit. Rynee, like Talia, was a mindHealer; she could never replace Talia, not without being a Herald herself, but she could (and would) try to keep her senses alert for Heralds in stress and distress, and get them somewhat sorted out.

And last, but by no means least, there were exhausting bouts with Alberich, all with the express purpose of getting both Talia and Elspeth prepared for any kind of assassination attempts that might occur.

“I really don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Elspeth said one day, about a week from the date of the ceremony. “After all, I’m the one who’s the better fighter.” She had been watching from a vantage point well out of the way, sitting cross-legged on one of the benches in the salle, against the wall. Talia was absolutely sodden with sweat, and bruised in more places than she cared to think about—and for a wonder, Alberich wasn’t in any better condition than she.

Alberich motioned to Talia that she could rest, and she sagged to the floor where she stood. “Appearances,” he said, “partially. I do not wish that any save the Heralds should know how skilled you truly are. That could be the saving of your life, one day. Also it is tradition that crowned heads do not defend themselves; that is the duty of others.”

“Unless there’s no other choice?”

Alberich nodded.

Elspeth sighed. “I’m beginning to wish I wasn’t Heir, now. It doesn’t look like I’m going to be allowed to have any fun!”

“Catling,” Talia panted, “If this is your idea of fun—you’re welcome to it!”

Elspeth and Alberich exchanged rueful glances that said as plainly as words, she’ll never understand, and made shrugs so nearly identical that Talia was hard put to keep from laughing.

Finally the day arrived for the long awaited—and dreaded—rite of Elspeth’s formal investiture as Heir. The fealty ceremony was scheduled for the evening with a revel to follow. Talia, as usual, was running late.

She dashed from her last drilling session with Kyril to the bathing-room, then up to her tower suite, taking the steps two at a time. She thanked the gods when she got there that one of the servants had had the foresight to lay out her gown and all its accoutrements, else she’d have been later still.

She donned the magnificent silk and velvet creation with trepidation. She’d never worn High Court ceremonials in her life, though she’d helped Elspeth into her own often enough.

She faced the mirror, balancing on one foot while she tied the ribbons to the matching slippers around the ankle of the other.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she sighed. She knew what a courtier ought to look like—and she didn’t. “Well, it’s going to have to do. I just wish ...”

“You wish what?”

Jeri and Keren rapped on the side of the tower door and poked their heads around the edge of it. Talia groaned; Jeri looked the way she wished she looked, gowned and coiffed exquisitely, every chestnut hair neatly twisted into a High Court confection and precisely in place.

“I wish I could look like you—stunning, instead of stunned.”

Jeri laughed; to look at her, no one would ever guess this lady was nearly the equal of Alberich in neatly dissecting an opponent with any weapon at hand. “It’s all practice, love. Want some help?” Her green eyes sparkled. “I’ve been doing this sort of nonsense since I was old enough to walk, and mama usually commandeered all the servants in the house to attend her preparations, so I had to learn how to do it myself.”

“If you can make me look less like a plowboy, I will love you forever!”

“I think,” Jeri replied merrily, “that we can manage at least that much.”

For the next half hour Talia sat on her bed in nervous anticipation as arcane things happened to her hair and face while Jeri and Keren exchanged mysterious comments. Finally Jeri handed her a mirror.

“Is that me?” Talia asked in amazement, staring at the worldly sophisticate in the mirror frame. She could scarcely find a trace of Jeri’s handiwork, yet somehow she had added experience and a certain dignity without adding years or subtracting freshness. Replacing her usual disordered tumble of curls was a fashionable creation threaded through with a silver ribbon.

“Do I dare move? Is it all going to come apart?”

“Havens, no!” Jeri laughed, “That’s what the ribbon’s for, love. It isn’t likely to happen this time, praise the Lord, but you know very well what your duty is in an emergency. The Queen’s Own is supposed to be able to defend her monarch at swordpoint, then calmly clean her blade on the loser’s tunic and go right back to whatever ceremony was taking place. That’s why your dress is ankle-length instead of floor-length, has no train, and the sleeves detach with one pull—yes, they do, trust me! I ought to know; I supervised the making of it. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a female Monarch’s Own, and nobody knew exactly how to modify High Court gear to suit. At any rate, you could work out now with Alberich without one lock coming loose or losing any part of the costume you didn’t want to lose. But don’t rub your eyes, or you’ll look like you’ve been beaten.” She gathered her things. “We’d better be moving if we don’t want to get caught in the mob.”

“And you’d better take care of the important part of your costume, childing,” Keren warned as they started down the stairs.

Talia had not needed the reminder. The rest of her accessories were already laid out and waiting. A long dagger in a sheath strapped around her waist and along her right thigh that she could reach—as she carefully determined—through a slit in her dress was the first weapon she donned. Then came paired throwing knives in quick-release sheaths for both arms—gifts from Skif, which he had shown her how to use long ago. Even Alberich admitted that Skif had no peer when it came to his chosen weapons. Lastly, were two delicate stilettos furnished with winking, jeweled ornaments that she inserted carefully into Jeri’s handiwork.

No Herald was ever without a weapon, especially not the Queen’s Own, as Keren had reminded her. The life of more than one Monarch had been saved by just such precautions.

Just as Talia was about to depart, there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Dean Elcarth standing on her threshold. Towering over him, fair and raven heads side by side, lit by the lantern that cast its light beside her door and looking like living representatives of Day and Night, were Dirk and Kris. Talia had not heard that either of them had returned from the field, and surprise stilled her voice as she stared at the unexpected visitors.

“Neither of these gallants seems to have a lady,” the Dean said with mischief in his eyes. “And since you have no escort, I thought of you immediately,”

“How thoughtful,” Talia said dryly, Finally regaining the use of her wits, and knowing there was more to it than that. “I don’t suppose you had any other motives, did you?”

“Well, since you are interning under Kris, I thought you might like to get acquainted under calmer circumstances than the last time you met.”

So Kris was to be her counselor, Sheri had been right.

“Calmer?” Talia squeaked. “You call this calmer?”

“Relatively speaking.”

“Elcarth!” Dirk exclaimed impatiently. “Herald Talia, he’s teasing you. He asked us to help you because we know most of the people here on sight, so we can prompt you if you get lost.”

“We also know who the possible troublemakers are—not that we expect any problems,” Kris continued, a smile warming his sky-blue eyes. “But there’s less likely to be any trouble with two great hulking brutes like us standing behind the Queen.”

“Oh, bless you!” Talia exclaimed with relief. “I’ve been worried half to death that I’ll say something wrong or announce the wrong person and mortally offend someone.” She carefully avoided mentioning assassination attempts, though she knew all four of them were thinking about how useful the pair would be in that event.

Kris smiled broadly, and Dirk executed a courtly bow that was saved from absurdity by the twinkle in his eyes as he glanced up at her.

“We are your servants, O fairest of Heralds,” he intoned, sounding a great deal like an over-acting player in some truly awful romantic drama.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Talia flushed, feeling oddly flattered and yet uncomfortable, “You know very well that Nessa and Sheri make me look like a squirrel, and the last time you saw me, I was passing out at your feet like a silly child and probably looked like leftover porridge. Among friends my name is Talia. Just Talia.”

The Dean pivoted and trotted down the staircases, seemingly very pleased with himself. Kris chuckled and Dirk grinned; both of them offered her their arms. She accepted both, feeling dwarfed between the two of them. There was barely enough room for all three of them on the stairs.

“Well, you devil, you’ve done it again,” Dirk said to his partner over her head, blinking as they emerged from the half-dark of the staircase into the light of the hall. “I get a scrawny ex-thief with an appetite like a horse for my internee, and look what you get! It’s just not fair.” He looked down at her from his lofty six-and-a-half feet, and said mournfully to her, “I suppose now that you’ve gotten a good look at my partner’s justifiably famous face, the rest of us don’t stand a chance with you.”

“I wouldn’t go making any bets if I were you,” she replied with a hint of an edge to her voice, “I have seen him before, you know, and you don’t see me falling at his feet worshiping now, do you? My father and brothers were just as handsome. No insult meant to you, Kris, but I’ve had ample cause to mistrust handsome men. I’d rather you were cross-eyed, or had warts, or something. I’d feel a great deal more comfortable around you if you were a little less than perfect.”

Dirk howled with laughter at the nonplussed expression on his friend’s face. “That’s a new one for you, my old and rare! Rejected by a woman! How’s it feel to be in my shoes?”

“Odd,” Kris replied with good humor, “distinctly odd. I must say though, I’m rather relieved. I was afraid Elcarth’s mind was going, assigning me a female internee. I’ve only seen you once or twice, remember, and we weren’t exchanging much personal information at the time! I thought you might be like Nessa. Around her I start to feel like a hunted stag!” He suddenly looked sheepish. “I have the feeling I may have put my foot in it; I hope you don’t mind my being frank.”

“Not at all. It’s my besetting sin, too.”

“Well, you seem unexpectedly sensible. I think we’ll do all right together.”

“Provided that I haven’t taken a dislike to you,” Talia was just a little nettled at his easy assumption that she would fall swift prey to his admittedly charming manner. “Haven’t you ever been told not to count your eggs till the hens lay them?”

From the look on Kris’ face, that possibility hadn’t occurred to him, and he was rather at a loss to deal with it. Dirk didn’t help matters by becoming hysterical.

“She’s got you there, old boy!” he choked. “Stars be praised, I’ve lived to see the day when it’s you that gets put in his place, and not me!

“On, Bright Havens, don’t worry about it,” Talia said, taking pity on him. “We’re both Heralds, for pity’s sake! We’ll manage to get along. It’s just for a year and a half. After all, it’s not as if somebody were forcing me to marry you!”

Kris’ expression was indescribable when Talia spoke of being ‘forced” to marry him as if it were something distasteful.

“I m fairly sure you didn’t insult me, but that certainly didn’t sound like a compliment!” he complained forlornly. “I’m beginning to think I prefer Nessa’s attitude after all!”

By now they’d had to stop in the middle of the hall, as Dirk was doubled over and tears were streaming down his face. Both of them had to pound on his back in order to help him catch his breath again.

“Holy—Astera—” he gasped. “This is something I never expected to see. Or hear! Whew!” He somehow managed to look both contrite and satisfied at the same time. “Forgive me, partner. It’s just that seeing you as the rejected one for a change—you should have seen your own face!—you looked like you’d swallowed a live toad!”

“Which means that nothing worse can happen to him for the rest of the week. Now look, none of this is getting us to the ceremony,” Talia pointed out, “and we’re already running late.”

“She’s right again,” Dirk said, taking her arm.

“What do you mean, ‘again?” Kris asked suspiciously, as they hurried to the Great Hall.

Fortunately, their arrival at the door of the Great Hall prevented his having to answer that question.

Dirk had been having a little trouble sorting out some very odd feelings from the moment that Talia had answered her door. The last time he’d seen the Queen’s Own, she’d fainted from total exhaustion practically at his feet, after having undergone a considerable mental and emotional ordeal. He had learned afterward that she had experienced at firsthand the murder of the Herald-Courier Visa, and saved Visa’s lifemate Keren from death-willing herself in shock. Then, without a pause for rest, she had mentally guided him and his partner to the spot where Visa had been slain. This slight, fragile-seeming woman-child had aroused all of his protective instincts as well as his admiration for her raw courage. He’d carried her up to her room himself, and made certain she was safely tucked into her bed; then left medicinal tea ready for her to brew to counteract the inevitable reaction-headache she’d have when she woke. He’d known at the time she’d exhausted all her resources—when he heard the whole story later in the day he’d been flabbergasted at her courage and endurance.

And she was so very frail-looking; it was easy to feel protective about her, even though her actions gave lie to that frail appearance. At least, he’d thought at the time that it was only his protective instincts that she aroused. But the sight of her this time had seemed to stir something a bit more complicated than that—something he wasn’t entirely sure he’d wanted to acknowledge. So he defused the situation as best he could, by clowning with Kris. But even while he was bent double with laughter, there was a vague disquiet in the back of his mind, as though his subconscious was trying to warn him that he wasn’t going to be able to delay acknowledgment for long.

Talia was refusing to allow her nerves to show, but they were certainly affecting her despite her best efforts. She was rather guiltily hoping Kris had realized that she had been taking some of that nervousness out on him.

The Great Hall, tables cleared away, and benches placed along the walls, with every candle and lantern lit, gleamed like a box made of gold. The courtiers and notables were dressed in their finest array, jewels and silver and gold ornaments catching the light and throwing it back so that the assemblage sparkled like the contents of a highborn dame’s jewelbox. Prominent among the gilded nobles were the bright scarlet of Bards, the emerald green of Healers, the bright blue of the uniforms of high-ranking officers of the Guard and Army, and the brilliant white of Heralds. Each of those to be presented wore over his or her finery the stiff tabard, heavy with embroidery, that marked a family or Guild association. The men and women of the Guards standing duty in their sober midnight-blue and silver ringed the walls, a dark frame for the rest.

The Queen’s Own and her escorts assumed their places behind the thrones, Talia in her place behind and to Selenay’s right, Kris and Dirk behind and to either side of her. Talia had a feeling that the three of them made a very impressive and reassuring sight to those who had come here fearing to see weakness.

But there was uneasiness, too—the uneasiness she had been sensing for the past three weeks, magnified. And she could not, for the life of her, fathom the reason.

The ceremony began; Talia determined to ignore what she could not change, and did her best to appear somehow both harmless and competent. She wasn’t sure just how successful she was, but some of the background of general nervousness did seem to decrease after a while.

She tried to will some confidence into the young Heir, who was beginning to wilt under the strain. She tried to catch her eyes and give her a reassuring smile, but Elspeth’s expression was tight and nervous, and her eyes were beginning to glaze.

For Elspeth was not faring as well as Talia. The ceremony demanded that she respond to each of her new liegemen with some sort of personalized speech, and about halfway through she began running out of things to say.

Kris was the first, with his musician’s ear for cadence, to notice her stumbling and hesitating over her speeches. As the next worthy was being brought before her, he whispered, “His son’s just presented him with his first grandchild.”

Elspeth cast him a look of undying gratitude as she moved to receive this oath. As the gouty lord rose with difficulty from his knees, she congratulated him on the blessed event. The gentleman’s expression as he was escorted away was compounded of equal parts of startlement and pleasure, for he’d no notion that anyone knew other than the immediate members of his family.

Elspeth decided at that moment that Kris was fully qualified for elevation to sainthood, and beamed quickly at both of the Heralds before the next notable arrived.

Dirk caught on immediately and supplied the information for the next. Kris countered with intelligence for the following two. Elspeth began to sparkle under the gratified looks of the courtiers, reviving as quickly as she’d wilted; and Kris and Dirk began to keep score in the impromptu contest. The Queen seemed to find it all she could do to keep a straight face.

Finally, the last dignitary made his oath, and all three Heralds took their places with the Circle to swear their oaths en masse. The Healer’s and Bardic Circles followed them, then the various clerics and priests made vows on behalf of their orders and devotees.

And the long ceremony was at last complete— without a mishap.

The Queen’s party retired from the dais, leaving it to instrumentalists of the Bardic Circle, who immediately struck up a dance melody.

Talia joined Elspeth in the window-alcove furnished with velvet-padded benches that was reserved for the Queen’s entourage. “What were you three up to?” she asked curiously. “I was too far away to hear any of it, but you certainly seemed to be having a good time!”

“These two Heralds that came as your escort—they were wonderful!” Elspeth bubbled. “I ran out of things to say, and they told me exactly what I needed to know. Not big things, but what was most important to them right now—the lords and so forth, I mean. Then they started making a contest out of it, and that was what was so funny, them arguing back and forth about how much something was ‘worth’ in points. Mother could hardly keep from laughing.”

“I can imagine,” Talia grinned, “Who won?”

“I did,” Kris said from behind her.

“You wouldn’t have if I’d thought of the sheep first,” Dirk retorted.

“Sheep?” Talia said inquisitively. “Sheep? Do I want to know about this?”

Dirk snickered, and Kris glared at him.

“It’s perfectly harmless,” Kris answered, with just a hint of irritation. “When Lady Fiona’s husband died, she and Guildmistress Arawell started a joint project to boost the fortunes of her family and Arawell’s branch of the Weaver’s Guild. They imported some sheep with an especially soft and fine fleece much like lambswool from outKingdom—quite far south. They’ve finally succeeded in adapting them to our harsher winters; the spring lambing more than doubled their flock, and it seems that everyone is going to want stock or fabric of the wool.”

‘That’s not what we came here for,” Dirk said firmly. “Sheep and discussions of animal husbandry— keep your filthy thoughts to yourself, partner!—”

“My filthy thoughts? Who was the one doing all the chording a few minutes ago?”

“—do not belong at a revel. I claim the first dance with you, Talia, by virtue of the fact that my partner is going to have you all to himself for a year and more.”

“And since that leaves me partnerless,” Kris added, “I would very much like to claim our newest Chosen for the same purpose.”

“Mother?” Elspeth looked pleadingly at the Queen. Kris’ stunning good looks had made more than a slight impression on her, and that he should want to dance with her was a distinct thrill.

“My dear, this is your celebration. If you want to ride your Companion around the Great Hall, you could even do that—provided you’re willing to face the Seneschal’s wrath when he sees the hoofmarks on his precious wood floor.”

Without waiting for further permission, Kris swept the girl into the dance.

Dirk lifted an inquisitive eyebrow at Talia.

“Oh, no,” Talia laughed, “You don’t know what you’re asking. I dance like a plowboy, I have no sense of rhythm, and I ruin my partner’s feet.”

“Nonsense,” Dirk replied, shaking unruly blond hair out of his eyes. “You just never had the right partner.”

“Which is you? And I thought Kris was vain!”

“My dear Talia,” he countered, swinging her onto the floor, “Truth can hardly be considered in the same light as vanity. I have it on the best authority that my dancing more than compensates for my looks.”

Shortly, Talia was forced to admit that he was absolutely correct. For the first time in her experience, she began to enjoy a dance—it was almost magical, the way they seemed to move together. Dirk didn’t seem displeased by her performance either, as he yielded her to other partners with extreme reluctance.

Kris, on the other hand, despite yearning glances from nearly every young woman present, danced only with women far older than himself, or with Elspeth or Talia.

“I hope you don’t mind being used like this,” he said contritely, after the sixth or seventh dance.

“Used?” she replied, puzzled.

“As a shield. I’m dancing with you to keep from being devoured by them,” he nodded toward a group of Court beauties languishing in his direction. “I can’t dance just with beldames, Elspeth has to take other partners, and the only Heralds I can trust not to try to carry me off are Keren, Sheri, and you. And those other two don’t dance.”

“It’s nice to know I’m wanted,” she laughed up at him,

“Did I just put my foot in it again?”

“No, not really. And I don’t mind being ‘used.’ After all, by now they all know we’re assigned together, so they’ll assume we’re getting acquainted. You can avoid people without anyone’s feelings being hurt.”

“You do understand,” he said, relieved. “I hate to hurt anyone’s feelings, but they all seem to think if they just throw themselves at me hard enough, I’ll have to take one of them—short-term, long-term, it doesn’t seem to matter. Nobody ever seems to wonder what I want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Talia asked.

“The Collegium,” he replied to Talia’s amazement, “That’s where most of my time and energy go—and where I want them to go. I do a lot of studying on my own: history, administration, law. I’d like to be Elcarth’s replacement as Dean and Historian when he retires, and that takes a lot of preparation. I don’t have much free time—certainly none to spend on games of courtly love. Or shepherd-in-the-hay.”

Talia looked at him with new respect. “That’s mar-velous; Elcarth’s job is the hardest and most thankless I can think of. In some ways, it’s even worse than mine. You might just be the one to handle it. I don’t think you can serve the Collegium and still give another person a—a—”

“The amount of attention a decent pairing needs,” he finished for her, “Thank you—do you know, you’re the first person besides Dirk who didn’t think I was out of my mind?”

“But what would you do if you did find someone you wanted?”

“I don’t know—except that it isn’t likely to happen. Face it, Talia, Heralds seldom form permanent attachments to anyone or anything. We’re friends, always, and sometimes things get more intense than that, but it doesn’t last for long. Maybe it’s because our hearts are given first to our Companions, then to our duty—and I guess there aren’t too many of us with hearts big enough for a third love. Non-Heralds don’t seem to be able to grasp that. Not too many Heralds do, for that matter. But look around you— Sherrill and Keren are the only lifebonded couple I can think of, and I wouldn’t be willing to settle for less than what they’ve got. Which is why I’m hiding behind you.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I don’t have to,” he replied whimsically. “Just till the end of the revel. After that, I’ll be safely in the field, accompanied solely by the only person I’ve met who thinks I’d be better off cross-eyed and covered with warts!”

Dirk reclaimed her after that; it was during that dance that she noticed that the number of white-clad bodies was rapidly diminishing. “Where’s everyone gone?” she asked him, puzzled.

“It’s not often that we get this many of us together at one time,” he replied, “so as people get tired of dancing, we slip off to our own private party. Want to go?”

“Bright Havens, yes!” she replied with enthusiasm.

“Let me catch Kris’ eye.” He moved them closer to where Kris was dancing with a spritely grandmother, and tilted an eyebrow toward the door. When Kris nodded, Dirk arranged for them to end the dance next to the exit as the musicians played the final phrase.

Kris joined them after escorting his partner to her seat. “I like that one; she kept threatening to take me home, feed me ‘proper’—and then ‘train me right,I and I know she wasn’t talking about dancing or manners!” He laughed quiedy. “I take it Talia’s ready to go? I am.”

“Good, then we’re all agreed,” Dirk replied. “Talia, go get changed into something comfortable, find something to sit on, and an old cloak in case we end up outside. If you play any instruments, bring them, too—then meet us in the Library.”

“This is like the littles’ game of ‘Spy’!” she giggled.

“You’re not far wrong,” Kris answered, “We go to great lengths to keep these parties private. Now hurry, or we’ll leave without you!”

She gathered her skirts in both hands and ran lightly down the halls of the Palace. When she reached her tower, she again took the steps two at a time. She paused only long enough in her room to light a lamp before unlacing her dress and sliding out of it. Even though she was in a hurry she hung it up with care—there was no use in ruining it with creases. She changed into the first things that came to hand. She freed her hair from the ribbon, letting it tumble around her face while she carefully stored My Lady in her case, and stuck her shepherd’s pipe in her belt. She slung the carrying strap of the harpcase over her shoulder, an old, worn wool cloak from her trainee days over all, picked up one of her cushions, and was ready to go.

Well, almost. Remembering what Jeri had said about the cosmetics, she stopped at the bathing room at the base of the tower for a quick wash, then ran for the Library.

When she swung open the door to the Library, she discovered that the other two had beaten her there— but then, they probably didn’t have several flights of stairs to climbs.

Kris was all in black, and looking too poetic for words. Dirk was in mismatched bluish grays that looked rather as if he’d just left them in a heap when he’d picked up his clean laundry (which, in fact, was probably the case). Both of them looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Talia! Good—you don’t dawdle like my sisters do,” Dirk greeted ner. “Come over here, and we’ll let you in on the secret.”

Talia crossed the room to where they were standing; the first study cubicle.

‘The first to leave always meet here to decide where we’re going to convene,” Dirk explained, “And they leave something telling the rest of us where that is. In this case—it’s this.”

He showed her a book left on the table—on harness-making.

“Let me guess” Tatia said. “The stable?”

“Close. The tackshed in Companion’s Field; see, it’s open at the chapter on the special bridles we use,” Kris explained. “Last time they had to leave a rock on top of a copy of a religious text; we used the half-finished temple down near the river because we’d met too often around here. A bit cold for my liking, though I’m told those currently keeping company enjoyed keeping each other warm.”

Talia smothered giggles as they slipped outside.

The windows of the tackshed had been tightly shuttered so that no light leaked out to betray the revelry within. Both fireplaces had been lighted against the slight chill in the air and as the main source of illumination. The three of them slipped in as quiedy as possible to avoid disturbing the entertainment in progress—a tale being told with some skill by a middle-aged Herald whose twin streaks of gray, one at each temple, stood out stardingly in the firelight.

“It’ll be quiet tonight,” Kris whispered in Talia’s ear. “Probably because the Palace revel turned into such a romp. Our revels tend to be the opposite of the official ones.”

Heralds were sprawled over the floor of the tackshed in various comfortable poses, all giving rapt attention to the storyteller. There seemed to be close to seventy of them; the most Talia had ever seen together at one time. Apparently every Herald within riding distance had arranged to be here for the fealty ceremony. The storyteller concluded his tale to the sighs of satisfaction of those around him. Then, with the spell of the story gone, many of them leaped up to greet the newcomers, hugging the two men or grasping their hands with warm and heart-felt affection. Since they were uniformly strangers to Talia, she shrank back shyly into the shadows by the door.

“Whoa, there—slow down, friends!” Dirk chuckled, extricating himself from the press of greeters. “We’ve brought someone to meet all of you.”

He searched the shadows, found Talia, and reaching out a long arm, pulled her fully into the light. “You all know we’ve finally got a true Queen’s Own again—and here she is!”

Before anyone could move to greet her, there was a whoop of joy from the far side of the room, and a hurtling body bounced across it, vaulting over several Heralds who laughed, ducked, and protected their heads with their arms. The leaper reached Talia and picked her up bodily, lifting her high into the air, and setting her down with an enthusiastic kiss.

“Skif?” she gasped.

“Every inch of me!” Skif crowed.

“B-but—you’re so tall!” When he’d gotten his Whites, Skif hadn’t topped her by more than an inch or two. Now he could easily challenge Dirk’s height.

“I guess something in the air of the south makes things grow, ‘cause I sure did last year,” Skif chuckled. “Ask Dirk—he was my counselor.”

“Grow? Bright Stars, grow is too tame a word!” Dirk groaned. “We spent half our time keeping him fed; he ate more than our mules!”

“You’ve done pretty well yourself, I’d say,” Skif went on, pointedly ignoring Dirk. “You looked fine up there. Made us all damn proud.”

Talia blushed, glad it wouldn’t show in the dim light. “I’ve had a lot of help,” she said, almost apologetically.

“It takes more than a lot of help, and we both know it,” he retorted. “Well, hellfire, this isn’t the time or place for talk about work. You two—you know the rules. Entrance fee!”

Dirk and Kris were laughingly pushed to the center of the room, as the story teller vacated his place for them. “Anybody bring a harp?” Kris called. “Mine’s still packed; I just got in today.”

“I did,” Talia volunteered, and eager hands reached out to convey the harp, still in the case, to Kris.

“Is this—this can’t be My Lady, can it?” Kris asked as the firelight gleamed on the golden wood and the clean, delicate lines. “I wondered who Jadus had left her to.” He ran his fingers reverently across the strings, and they sighed sweetly. “She’s in perfect tune, Talia. You’ve been caring for her as she deserves.”

Without waiting for an answer, he began playing an old lullaby. Jadus had been a better player, but Kris was surprisingly good for an amateur, and much better than Talia. He made an incredibly beautiful picture, with the golden wood gleaming against his black tunic, and his raven head bent in concentration over the strings. He was almost as much a pleasure to watch as to listen to.

“Any requests?” he asked when he’d finished.

“ ‘Sun and Shadow,’“ several people called out at once.

“All right,” Dirk replied, “But I want a volunteer to sing Shadowdancer. The last time I did it, I was hoarse for a month.”

“I could,” Talia heard herself saying, to her surprise.

“You?” Dirk seemed both pleased and equally surprised. “You’re full of amazing things, aren’t you?” He made room beside himself; and Talia picked her way across the crowded floor, to sit shyly in the shadow he cast in the firelight.

“Sun and Shadow” told of the meeting of two of the earliest Heralds, Rothas Sunsinger and Lythe Shadowdancer; long before they were ever Chosen and while their lives still remained tangled by strange curses. It was a duet for male and female voice, though Dirk had often sung it all himself. It was one of those odd songs that either made you hold your breath or bored you to tears, depending on how it was sung. Dirk wondered which it would be tonight.

As Talia began her verse in answer to his, Dirk stopped wondering. There was no doubt who’d trained her—the deft phrasing that made the most of her delicate, slightly breathy voice showed Jadus’ touch as clearly as the harp he’d left her. But she sang with something more than just her mind and voice, something the finest training couldn’t impart. This was going to be one of the magic times.

Dirk surrendered himself to the song, little guessing that he was surpassing his own best this night as well. Kris knew, as he accompanied them—and he wished there was a way to capture the moment for all time.

The spontaneous applause that shook the rafters starded both Dirk and Talia out of the spell the music had wrapped them in. Dirk smiled with more than usual warmth at the tiny female half-hiding in his shadow, and felt his smile returned.

“Well, we’ve paid our forfeit,” Kris said, cutting short the demands for more. “It’s somebody else’s turn now.”

“That’s not fair,” a voice from the back complained, “How could any of us possibly follow that?”

Someone did, of course, by changing the mood rather than ruining it by trying to sustain it. A tall, bony fellow borrowed Talia’s pipe to play a lively jig, while two men and a woman bounded into the center to dance to it. That seemed to decide everyone on a dancing-set; Talia reclaimed her pipe to join Kris, someone with a gittern, and Jeri on tambour in a series of very lively round dances of the village festival variety. As these were both strenuous and of an accelerated tempo, those who had felt lively enough to dance were soon exhausted and ready to become an audience again.

Those who didn’t feel up to entertaining paid their “entrance fee” in food and drink; Talia saw a good many small casks of wine, cider, and ale ranged along the walls, and with them, baskets of fruit, sausages, or bread and cheese. Stray mugs and odd cups were always accumulating in the tackshed, especially during the hot summer months when Heralds and students were likely to need a draught of cool water from the well that supplied the Companions’ needs at this end of the Field. These handy receptacles were filled and refilled and passed from hand to hand with a gay disregard for the possibility of colds or fever being passed with the drink. Like Talia, most of the Heralds had brought cushions from their quarters; these and their saddles and packs were piled into comfortable lounges that might be shared or not. A few murmurs from some of the darker corners made Talia hastily avert her eyes and close her ears, and she recalled Dirk’s earlier comments about Heralds “keeping each other warm.” From time to time some of these rose from the dark, and either left for more private surroundings or rejoined those by the two fires. And over all was an atmosphere of—belonging. There was no one here that was not cared for and welcomed by all the rest. It was Talia’s first exposure to a gathering of her fellows under pleasant circumstances, and she gradually realized that the feeling of oneness extended outside the walls as well—to the Companions in the Field, and beyond that, to those who could not be present this night. Small wonder, with such a warmth of brotherhood to bask in, that the Heralds had deserted the main revelry for this more intimate celebration of their joy at the Choosing of the Heir. It was enough to make her forget the strange uneasiness that had been shadowing her the past three weeks.

As soon as she could manage it, Talia retrieved Skif from a knot of year-mates who seemed bent on emptying a particular cask by themselves.

“Let’s go up to the loft,” she said, after scanning that perch and ascertaining that none of the amorous had chosen it themselves. “I don’t want to disturb anybody, but I don’t want to leave, either.”

The “loft” was little more than a narrow balcony that ran the length of one side and gave access to storage places in the rafters. Talia noticed immediately that Skif—very uncharacteristically—kept to the wall on the stairs, and put his back against it when they reached the loft itself.

“Lord and Lady, it’s good to see you!” he exclaimed softly, giving her a repeat of his earlier hug. “We weren’t sure we’d make it back in time. In fact, we left all the baggage and the mules back at a Resupply Station; took only what Cymry and Ahrodie could carry besides ourselves. I’ve missed you, little sister. The letters helped, but I’d rather have been able to talk with you, especially—”

Talia could sense him fighting a surge of what could only be fear.

“Especially?”

“—after—the accident.”

She moved closer to him, resting both her hands on his. She didn’t have to see him to know he was pale and white-knuckled. “Tell me.”

“I—can’t.”

She lowered her shields; he was spiky inside with phobic fears; of storms, of entrapment; and most of all, of falling. In the state he was in now, she doubted he’d be able to look out a second-story window without exerting iron control—and this from the young man who’d led her on a scramble across the face of the second story of the Palace itself, one dark night!

“Remember me? What I am? Just start at the beginning; take it slowly. I’ll help you face it down.”

He swallowed. “It—it started with a storm; we were caught out on the trail in the hills. Hills, ha! More like mountains! Gods, it was dark; rain was pouring down so hard I couldn’t even see Cymry’s ears. Dirk had point, the mules were next, I was tail—it was supposed to be the safest place. We were more or less feeling our way along; sheer rock on one side of us, ravine on the other.”

Talia had herself in half-trance, carefully extending herself into his mind. He was fighting down his fear as he spoke and beginning to lose to it.

“The trail just—crumbled, right under Cymry’s hooves. We fell; there wasn’t even time to yell for help.”

Gently, Talia touched the fear, took it into herself, and began working away at it. It was like knife-edged flint, all points and slicing surfaces. As softly as flowing water, and as inexorably, she began wearing away at it, dulling it, muting it.

“We ended up wedged halfway down. Cymry was stunned; I’d broken my arm and most of my ribs, I think; I don’t remember much. It hurt too much to think, and where I was stuck, there was a flood of water pouring down the wall like a young waterfall. You know I don’t Mindspeak too well, and Dirk’s Gift isn’t Mindspeech anyway; I couldn’t get hold of myself enough to call for help that way, and it was impossible to be heard over the storm.”

He was shaking like a reed in a windstorm; she put her arm around his shoulders; supplying a physical comfort as well as the mental. “But Dirk found you,” she pointed out.

“The Gods alone know how; he had no reason to think we were still alive.” The tension was rapidly draining out of him as Talia shielded him from the phobic memories; not enough to make him forget, but enough to make them less real, less obsessive. “He got ropes around both of us and anchored us where we were; used something to divert the water away from me, and stayed with us, hanging on with his teeth and toenails, until the storm was over. Then he got blankets over us and sent Ahrodie off for help while he got me back up to the trail. I don’t remember that part at all; I must have blacked out from the pain.” His voice sounded less strained.

The fear was nearly conquered now; time to diffuse the rest of it. “You must have looked like a drowned rat,” she replied with a hint of chuckle. “I know you have a fetish for cleanliness, but don’t you think that was overdoing it a bit?”

He stared at her in surprise, then began to laugh, shakily. The laughter was half tears as the last of the tension was released. Hysterics—yes, but long needed.

She held him quietly until the worst passed, and he could see past the tears to her face, childlike in the half-dark.

The paralysis of fear that Skif had lived with on a daily basis for the past several months had all but choked the voice out of him as he tried to tell Talia what had happened that awful night. He’d suffered nightmare replays of the incident at least one night a week ever since. It had taken all of his control to repeat it to her—at least at first. But then, gradually, the words had begun to flow more freely; the fear had slowly loosed its grip on him. As he neared the end of his narrative, he began to realize what Talia had done.

It was gratitude as much as release that shook the tears from him then.

“You—you did it to me, didn’t you—fixed me like you did with Vostel and the rest of them—?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, touching his hair in the dark. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No more nightmares?”

“No more nightmares, big brother. You won’t find yourself wanting to hide in a closet during storms anymore, and you’ll be able to look down over cliffs again. In fact, you’ll even be able to tell the story in a week or two without shaking like a day-old chick, and it should make a good tale to earn the sympathy of a pretty lady with!”

“You—you’re unbelievable,” he said at last, holding her tightly.

“So are you, to have been coping with all that fear all this time, and not letting it get the best of you.”

They sat that way for some time, before the murmur of voices below them recalled them to their surroundings.

“Hellfire! This is supposed to be a party, and you’re supposed to be enjoying it,” Skif said at last.

“I am, now that you’re all right.” She rose to her feet, and gave him a hand up. “Well, I’m going back to the singing, and it seems to me that your year-mate Mavry is looking a bit lonely.”

“Hm. So she is,” he replied, peering down into the lighted area. “Think I’ll go keep her company. And—heart-sister—”

“No thanks needed, love.”

He kissed her forehead by way of reply, then skipped lightly down the stairs of the loft and took himself off to the other side of the room, where Mavry willingly made a space for him beside her.

Talia rejoined the musicians just in time for Dirk to claim her for another duet. She had to plead a dry throat before they’d let someone else take the floor.

She didn’t notice the passing of time until she caught herself yawning hard enough to split her head in half. When she tried to reckon up how much time had passed, she was shocked.

Thinking she surely must be mistaken, she slipped over to the door to look out to the east. Sure enough, there on the horizon was the first hint of false dawn. True dawn was less than an hour away.

She collected her things, feeling suddenly ready to collapse. Dirk, half-propped on a backrest of saddle and several old saddleblankets, seemed to be asleep as she slipped past him, but he cracked an eyelid open as she tried to ease herself out.

“Giving up?” he asked softly.

She nodded, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand.

“Enjoy yourself?” At her enthusiastic nod, he smiled, another of those wonderful warm smiles that seemed to embrace her and close everything and everyone else outside of it. “I’ll be heading back to my own bed before long. About this time things start to break up on their own. And don’t worry about being expected on duty today. No one will be up to notice before noon at the earliest—look over there.” He cocked an eyebrow to his left. Talia was astonished to see the Queen, dressed in old, worn leathers, sharing a cloak and resting her head in easy intimacy on the shoulder of the middle-aged storyteller. And not far from her sat Alberich, finishing the last of a wineskin with Keren, Sherrill, and Jeri.

“How did Selenay and Alberich get in without my noticing?” Talia asked him.

“Easy. You were singing at the time. See, though? You won’t be missed. Have a good long sleep—and pleasant dreams, Talia.”

“And to you, Dirk,” she said.

“They will be,” he chuckled, and closed his eyes again. “They most assuredly will be.”

Prologue

One

Two