Arrow's Fall (9 page)

“I don’t think so, not when it was obvious that there’d never be agreement.” Talia thought for a moment. “I think ... if one of you hadn’t done so first... I would have suggested an adjournment until we could dig up an expert on the people of the area, preferably a Herald who has done several circuits there.”

“Fine—that’s what I was about to do when you spoke up; we are beginning to think as a team. Now I have a working lunch with Kyril and the Seneschal. I don’t need you for it, so you can go find something to gulp down at the Collegium. At one I have formal audiences, and you have to be there. Those will last about three hours; you’re free then until seven and Court dinner. After dinner, unless something comes up, you’re free again.”

“But Alberich is expecting you at four—” Elcarth grinned at Talia’s groan. “—and Devan at five. Welcome home, Talia!”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “It’s better than shoveling snow, I guess! But I never thought I’d begin missing field work so soon!”

“Missing field work already?”

Talia turned to find Kris standing behind her, an insolent grin on his face. “I thought you told me you’d never miss field work!”

She grinned back. “I lied.”

“No!” He feigned shock. “Well, what of the Council meeting?”

She wanted to tell him everything—then suddenly, remembered who he was—who his uncle was. Anything she told him would quite likely get back to Orthallen, and Kris would be telling Orthallen in all innocence, never dreaming he was handing the man weapons to use against her by doing so.

“Oh—nothing much,” she said reluctantly. “The betrothal’s being held off until Elspeth’s finished training. Look, Kris, I’m sorry, but I’m rather short on time right now. I’ll tell you later, all right?”

And she fled before he could ask anything more.

Lunch was a few bites snatched on the run between the Palace and her room; audiences required a slightly more formal uniform than the one she’d worn to the Council session. Talia managed to wash, change, and get back in time to discuss the scheduled audiences with the Seneschal. Talia’s role here was as much bodyguard as anything else, although her duties included assessing the emotional state of those coming before the Queen and giving her any information that seemed appropriate.

The audience chamber was long and narrow; the same gray granite and dark wood as the rest of the old Palace. Selenay’s throne was on a raised platform at the far end. Behind the throne the wall had been carved into the Royal arms; there were no curtains for assassins to hide behind. The Queen’s Own spent the entire time positioned behind the throne to the Queen’s right, from which position the Queen could hear her least whisper. Petitioners had to travel the length of the chamber, giving Talia ample time to “read” their emotional state if she thought it necessary to do so.

The audiences were quite unexciting; petitioners ranged from a smallholder seeking permission to establish a Dyer’s Guildhouse on his property to two noblemen who had called challenge on each other and were now trying desperately to find a way out of the situation without either of them losing face. Not once did she deem the situation grave enough to warrant “reading” any of them.

When the audience session concluded, Talia sprinted back to her room to change into something old and worn for her weapons drill with Alberich.

Walking into the salle was like walking into the past; nothing had changed, not the worn, backless benches against the wall, not the clutter of equipment and towels on and beneath the benches, not the light coming from the windows. Not even Alberich had changed so much as a hair; he still wore the same old leathers, or clothing like enough to have been the same. His scar-seamed face still looked as incapable of humor as the walls of the Palace; his long black hair held neither more nor less gray than it had the last time Talia had seen him.

Elspeth was already there, going full out against Jeri under Alberich’s critical eye. Talia held her breath in surprise; Elspeth was, (to her judgment, at least) Jeri’s equal. The young weapons instructor was not holding anything back, and more than once only saved herself from a “kill” by frantically wrenching her body out of the way of the wooden blade. Both of them were sodden with sweat when Alberich finally called a halt.

“You do well, children; both of you,” Alberich nodded as he spoke. Both Elspeth and Jeri began walking slowly in little circles to keep their muscles from stiffening, while drying their faces with old towels. “Jeri, it is more work you need on your defense; working with the students has made you sloppy. Elspeth, if it was that you were not far busier than any student should be, I would make you Jeri’s assistant.”

Elspeth raised her head, and Talia could see she was flushed with the praise, her eyes glowing.

“However, you are very far from perfect. Your left side is too weak and you are vulnerable there. From now on you are to work left-handed, using your right only when I tell you, to keep from losing your edge. Enough for today, off to the bath with you—it is like your Companions you smell!”

He turned to Talia, who bit her lip, then said, “I have the feeling I’m in trouble.”

“In trouble? It
is
possible—” Alberich scowled; then unexpectedly smiled. “No fear, little Talia; it is that I am well aware how few were the chances for you to keep in practice. Today we will start slowly, and I will determine just how much you have lost.
Tomorrow
you will be in trouble.”

Talia was thanking the gods an hour later that Kris had insisted they both keep in fighting trim as much as possible, Alberich was reasonably pleased that she had lost so little
 
edge, and kept his cutting remarks to a minimum. Nor was she the recipient of more than one or two bruising
thwacks
from his practice blade when she’d done something exceptionally stupid. On the whole, she felt as if she’d gotten off very lightly.

Another run, this time to wash and change yet again, and she was back at Healer’s Collegium, going over the past eighteen months with Devan and Rynee. Both were blessedly succinct; there had not been any truly major mental traumas for Rynee to deal with among the Heraldic Circle. As a result, Talia was able to flee to Companion’s Field just as the warning bell for supper sounded at the Herald’s Collegium.

Rolan was waiting at the fence, and she pulled herself onto his back without bothering with going for a saddle,

“I think,” she told him, as he walked off into a quiet copse, “that I may die of exhaustion. This is worse than when I was a student.”

He lipped her booted foot affectionately; Talia picked up a projection of reassurance and something to do with time.

“You think I’ll get used to it in a few days? Lord, I hope so! Still—” She thought hard, trying to remember just what the Queen’s schedule was like. “Hm. Council sessions aren’t more than three times a week. Audiences, though, they’re every day. Alberich will torture me every day, too. But I
could
reschedule, say, Devan before breakfast and just after lunch—save weapons drill for just before dinner, so I’m only changing twice a day. You, my darling, whenever I can squeeze a free moment.”

Rolan made a sound very like laughing.

“True, with the tight bond
we
have, I don’t have to be with you physically, do I? What did you think of the audiences?”

To Talia’s delight, he hung his head and did a credible imitation of a human snore.

“You, too? Lord and Lady, they’re as bad as State banquets! Why did I ever think being a Herald would be exciting?”

Rolan snorted, and projected the memory of their flight across country to get help for the plague-stricken village of Waymeet, following that with the fight with the raiders that had attacked and fired Hevenbeck.

“You’re right; I think I can live with boredom. What do you think of how Elspeth’s coming along?”

To her surprise, Rolan was faintly worried, but could give her no clear idea why he felt that way.

“Is it important enough to trance down to where you can give me a clearer idea?”

He shook his head, mane brushing her face a little.

“Well, in that case, we’ll let it go. It’s probably just the usual rebelliousness—and I can’t say as I blame her. Her schedule is as bad as mine.
I
don’t like it, and I can’t fault her if she doesn’t either.”

Talia dismounted beside a tiny, spring-fed poof, and sat in the grass, watching the sun set, and emptying her mind. Rolan stood beside her, both of them content with a quiet moment in which to simply be together.

“Well, I’m into it at last,” she said, half to herself. “I thought I’d never make it, sometimes. . . .”

This had been the first day she had truly
been
Queen’s Own—with all the duties and all the rights; from the right to overrule the Council to the right to overrule Selenay (though that was one she hadn’t exercised, and still wasn’t sure she had the nerve for!); from her duty to ease the fears of her fellows in the Circle to the duty to see to the Heir’s well-being.

It was a frightening moment in a way, and a sobering one. On reflection, it almost seemed as if the Queen’s Own best served the interests of Queen and country by
not
being too forward; by saving her votes for the truly critical issues and keeping her influence mostly to the quiet word in the Queen’s ear. That suited Talia; she hadn’t much enjoyed having all eyes on her this afternoon—especially not Orthallen’s. But Selenay had been more at ease just because Talia was
there;
there had been no mistaking that. In the long run, that was what the job was all about—giving the Monarch one completely honest and completely trustworthy friend. . . .

The dying sun splashed scarlet and gold on the bottoms of the few clouds that hung in the west, while the sky above them deepened from blue to purple, and the Hounds, the two stars that chased the sun, shone in unwinking splendor. The tops of the clouds took on the purple of the sky as the sun dropped below the horizon, and the purple tinge soaked through them like water being taken into a sponge. The light faded, and everything began to lose color, fading into cool blues. Little frogs began to sing in the pool at Talia’s feet; night-blooming jacinth flowers opened somewhere near her, and the cooling breeze picked up the perfume and carried it to her.

And just when she was feeling totally disinclined to move, a mosquito bit her.

“Ouch! Damn!” She slapped at the offending insect, then laughed. “The gods remind me of my duty. Back to work for me, love. Enjoy your evening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well—”

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