Arrows of the Queen (19 page)

First there was a feast, prepared at the same time as that being served in the Great Hall; everyone able took his or her turn at waiting on the others. Following the food came the entertainment. As Medren had said, it was not “masterly,” but the enjoyment was perhaps more genuine. While several amateur musicians played simple country-dances, the rest sent their feet through their paces. Tiny Talia often ended up being swept completely off the floor by some of her more energetic partners. There were some attempts at juggling and sleight-of-hand, all the more hilarious because the outcomes were so uncertain.

When at last everyone's energy was drained to the point where they were willing to turn their attention to something quieter, Talia and Jadus took their turn.

Jadus first played alone; his skillful fingers wove a spell of silence over the assemblage. There wasn't a sound to be heard as he played but the crackling of the fire on the hearth. The silence that endured for several long moments when he'd finished was a poignant tribute to his abilities.

Before the silence ended, Jadus nudged his young protégé, and Talia joined him on her pipe, playing the melodies she'd learned taking her turn on watch during the long, cold nights of lambing season. The tunes themselves were simple enough, but with Jadus' harp behind them, they took on new complexity and an entirely new voice. There was another eloquent silence when they'd done, followed by wildly enthusiastic applause. Talia's heart was filled with joy at the sight of the new life and light in Jadus' face. She was fiercely glad then that they'd come.

Then Jadus played while Talia sang something he'd picked out of an old book—a comic ballad he remembered from many years agone called “It Was A Dark and Stormy Night.” The spontaneous laughter that followed the last line about the lute was so hearty that Talia was soon blushing with pleasure. Now she, too, knew how heady a drink acclaim could be.

The two of them then performed as many requests as they knew, until it grew so late that Talia found herself beginning to nod, and Jadus confessed that his fingers were growing tired. Talia helped him back to his room; she scarcely knew how she found her own bed. She thought before sleep claimed her that without a doubt it was the finest Midwinter Festival she'd ever had.

After Midwinter's Evening there could have been no firmer friends in all the Collegium and Circle than Talia and the old Herald Jadus. Even after classes began again, she always found the time for music lessons and practice sessions with him every evening. He seemed to take as much joy in her company as she did in his—and not even the fact that her unknown tormentors resumed their games soon after the end of the holidays served to take that happiness out of her heart. It sometimes occurred to her that if it hadn't been for Jadus and Rolan, she'd have thought more than once about giving it all up and running away—though where she'd go, she had no idea. Without those two stalwarts to turn to, her misery would have been deeper than it had been at the Holding at the worst of times.

The signal that “they” were still at her came in the form of another of the anonymous notes. It appeared among her books just before one of her music lessons, and she was hard put to make herself seemly after the spate of tears it caused.

It would have been impossible to hide the fact that she was troubled and upset from Jadus; her red-rimmed eyes gave her away immediately. He insisted, gently but firmly, that she tell him something of what was wrong.

“You know I would never say or do anything against your will, little one—” His voice was soft but held a note of command. The hesitant, wary child that had replaced the cheerful Talia that he had come to know and love was not at all to his liking, “But you aren't happy, and if you're not happy, than neither am I. I wish you would tell me why—and who or what is the cause. You know by now you can trust me, surely?”

She nodded slowly, hands clenched in her lap.

“Then tell me what your problem is. It may even be I can help.”

She was reluctant to confide in him, but found herself unable to resist the kindness of his eyes. “Y-y-you have to promise something, please? That you won't tell anyone else?”

He promised that he would not, rather than lose the trust she had given to no one else. The promise was given with great reluctance. “If that is the only way you'll tell me—yes. I promise.”

“I-it's like this—” she began, telling him eventually only of the shovings, the destructive tricks, and not of the notes. She feared
those
were too wildly unlikely even for Jadus to believe.

He sensed that there was more to these pranks than she was telling him, and it worried him.

Bound by his promise, though, there was little he could do for her but offer an emotional shelter and proffer some advice. He hoped that that would be enough.

“Don't go anywhere alone—well, you know that already. But try to stay only with people you know; Sherrill, or Skif, or Jeri. None of those three would ever hurt you. And—here's a thought—try to always be within sight of one of your teachers. I doubt that even the cleverest would dare try anything under the eyes of a Herald. And little one—” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand, eliciting a wan smile. “—
I
am always here for you. No one would dare try anything against you here, and any time you want someone to cry with—well, I have a plenitude of handkerchiefs!”

That actually earned him a tiny chuckle, and Jadus felt amply rewarded as they began the lesson.

“Make friends, child,” he urged her before she left him. “The other Herald-students won't bite you. They won't try to hurt you, either, and the more friends you have, the better protected you'll be. Now think—have you ever seen or heard
any
of them do or say anything intended to be cruel?”

“No,” she had to admit.

“I know your life wasn't easy at the Hold; I know people often hurt you deliberately. Things are different in the Collegium. You trust me—now I tell you to trust them as well. If nothing else, once you are part of a group, you'll be less of an available target for tricks.”

Jadus was proved right—she
was
a less conspicuous target. The pranks began to decrease in frequency immediately.

There was more—though he was bound by his promise to say nothing, Jadus was aided by the fact that some of the teachers and older students, Keren, Teren, and Sherrill among them, had decided that there was something odd and unpleasant afoot and had begun making a habit of keeping an ostentatious eye on her. Keren especially had long since made that decision, and when Talia had begun to show signs of unhappiness again had taken to lurking in the child's vicinity, looking as conspicuous as possible. The perpetrators of her misery soon found it nearly impossible even to slip those mysterious notes among her things without being seen—and being seen was no part of their scheme. Before a month was out they seemed to have given up; Talia's cheerfulness was restored, and Jadus heaved a profound mental sigh of relief.

None of them guessed that there was more afoot than petty harassment.

Collegium and Circle alike had incorrectly assumed that the suspicions surrounding the death of Talamir had frightened the anti-Herald faction off of any serious attempt to rid the Kingdom of the new Queen's Own. The case was otherwise. The harassment had been at the instigation of the parents of some of the nobly-born “unaffiliated” students; courtiers who had everything to lose should Elspeth be salvaged and made Heir in fact as well as presumptive.

These older conspirators had long ago made their decision regarding Talia. If it did not prove possible to induce her to leave the Collegium, she was to be gotten rid of—by any means that came to hand.

Since she had now proven impossible to drive away, the next step was to turn to more permanent measures.

They were only waiting for Talia to make the mistake of being alone to put their new plan into motion—and their chance came on the coldest day of the year.

The sky was overcast; a dull, leaden gray. The snow was creaky underfoot, and the cold ate its way up from the ground to Talia's feet even through sheepskin boots and three pairs of woolen stockings. The wind was strong and bitter, and Talia had decided to take the longer way from classroom to training salle, past the stables, where there was some relief from the wind's bite.

As she rounded a corner with her thoughts miles away, she suddenly found herself surrounded by Blues. Their faces were far from friendly.

Before she could think to flee, they grabbed for her, trying to pinion her arms and legs.

She was befuddled for only a scant second; she fought back with all the skill she had so far managed to acquire at Alberich's hands. He had taught her a “no holds barred” discipline; she kicked, pulled hair, and bit without compunction—and muffled cries of pain attested to the fact that she was scoring on them, even though they were fairly well protected by bulky winter garments. Oddly enough, it seemed almost as if they had no real intentions of hurting her; as if their intentions were rather to immobilize her for some unknown reason.

She took advantage of this apparent reticence on their part to bolt through a gap between two of them, leaving her cloak behind in the hands of a third.

She almost managed a clean escape—then a flying tackle from behind sent her headfirst into the stable muckpit. The contents were fresh, well-watered, and soft. She was covered from head to toe with the stinking mess, and flailed about, helpless with retching.

“Oh, poor little bumpkin—it's made a mess,” cooed one of the girls in a sugary voice. “How awful for it!”

“Perhaps it thought it was home,” replied a boy, as Talia tried to scrape filth off her face and away from her eyes. “We'd better get it clean—it certainly doesn't know how to clean itself.”

They pulled her out and seized her before she could flounder free, knocked her down, and stuffed a piece of rag into her mouth before she could scream for help. They took turns rubbing handfuls of muck into her face and hair, as if in retaliation for the injuries she'd managed to inflict on
them
, then some of them pinioned her arms and others her legs. They hauled her outside where the stuff froze stiff in the icy wind and she couldn't get her eyes open to see. She was still trying to catch her breath after the blow that had knocked her down, and couldn't seem to get any air into her lungs. Right now, full lungs seemed the most important thing in the world—

She was half-carried, half-dragged, acquiring numerous scrapes and bruises from the cobblestones. She couldn't seem to think further than trying to breathe—couldn't guess what they planned next as they dragged her along. They seemed to be hauling her halfway to the Border!

Then, as she felt the road begin to climb, a vague idea of what they planned came to her, and she began to thrash in panic.

“Into your bath, goatling!” the hateful male voice sang out.

She tried to wriggle loose and kicked as hard as she could, but it was all to no avail. They were bigger and stronger than she, and far outnumbered her. She only succeeded in causing their grip to slip a little so that the back of her head cracked against the stone paving, stunning her briefly. That gave them the relief they needed; she felt herself tossed up into the air, landing in the icy waters of the river with a shock that drove what little breath she had from her lungs.

The water closed over her head; she fought for the surface, pulling the rag out of her mouth as she did so, only to have her throat fill with water as she tried to breathe inches too soon. As she reached the air and choked and gasped in the icy wind, she heard someone call out, voice receding into the distance, “Farewell, bumpkin. Give our greetings to Talamir.”

Only last week a careless would-be daredevil had died here, trying to cross on the ice instead of the bridge. Talia began to thrash hysterically, remembering that he hadn't lasted more than a few moments in the frigid river. What ice she could reach that didn't break when she grabbed it was too slippery to get a grip on—there was nothing to hold to, and no way she could haul herself up on it. Her sodden clothing, especially those heavy, water-logged sheepskin boots, was pulling her down, the current was tugging her inexorably farther from shore, and she could feel her limbs growing numb and unresponsive.

She couldn't keep her mouth above water for long; she couldn't get enough breath to cry for help. Her mind shrieked in incoherent fear.

Then, like a gift from the gods, a trumpeting neigh split the air and something huge and heavy plunged in beside her. Strong teeth seized her collar and pulled her to within reach of a broad warm, white back that rose beside her like magic.

“Rolan!” she gasped; she tried to make her fingers work enough to grab mane or tail while he maneuvered himself to support as much of her as he could.

For a moment it almost seemed as if it would work.

Then her fingers loosed themselves and she began sliding away from him, dragged by the punishing weight of her clothing and the strong pull of the current. Her mind went numb, as cold as the water. She lost her last tentative hold on his back, and darkness closed over her mind as the water closed over her head. Her lungs filled with water again, but she was beyond caring.

Something jerked at her collar; her head broke the surface and a stubborn spark of life made her cough and gag once again in the painfully icy air.

Then she was being hauled roughly across the ice, and many hands reached to pull her up on the bank where she was pounded and pummeled until she'd coughed all the water out of her lungs. A babble of angry, frightened voices filled her ears as she was wrapped in something heavy and made to drink a fiery liquid that brought tears to her eyes and made her choke. Her vision cleared of the dancing sparks that had taken the place of the darkness when they'd started pounding on her, and she saw she was surrounded by the anxious faces of her teachers and fellow students.