Arrow's Fall (13 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m drinking this bottle too fast—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, I’m disgusting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what would he do if they were in love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could have gotten muddled, of course.

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

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

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

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

Very well then. Robin would remember this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dirk went almost purple, then deathly white.

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

Now it was Kris’ turn to pale.

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

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

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

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

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

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