Arrows of the Queen (21 page)

Keren nearly choked. “Nets of the Lady, Ylsa was right! I'd best watch what I think around you, youngling. We might share more than either of us want to! To change the subject—yes, since you know already, it was a damned close thing. Good thing for both of us that it was Sherrill that was behind me. Once I'd hooked you, she was able to pull both of us out from under, the more 'specially as I'd had the wit to grab one of Ylsa's spare lead-ropes from her saddle and clip it to my belt on the way to the river. When Sherrill saw
that
trailing out behind me, she grabbed it. Good thing she's been on ice-rescues herself.”

“She's all right, too?”

“Oh, she's not as tough an old snake as I am; she caught a cold. Don't feel sorry for her—since we'd put you out of reach, the rest of the trainees made a great fuss over her. She's their heroine; they packed her into bed and waited on her hand and foot till she hadn't so much as a sniffle.”

“What do you mean, put me out of reach? Why? And why have you got your sword out? What aren't you telling me?”

Keren shook her head ruefully. “You look so naive—innocent, helpless—but even half-dead with concussion and pneumonia you don't miss much, do you? Ah, little one, there's no use trying to keep it from you. We're guarding you. The ones that threw you in the river were caught; you've got friends in Servant's Hall who spotted them coming in mucky. They swore it was just a ‘joke'—some joke!—and all the Queen could legally do was banish them from Court and Collegium. On the surface of it, since there weren't any witnesses to contradict them, she had no choice. Well, I would have had their heads—” Talia could feel the anger that Keren's bland expression concealed “—or rather, their hides; but I'm not the Queen, and there's only so much she could do by the law. Since you managed to survive their little ‘joke' she couldn't even call Truth Spell on them.”

“One of them told me to give their greetings to Talamir—that was before Rolan came,” Talia said quietly.

Keren whistled, and Talia could feel her anger mount. “Damn! I wish we'd been able to tell the Council
that
when that lot came up on charges! Well, nobody really believed them, so Ylsa, Jadus, and I have been taking it in turn to guard you; Mero's been making all your meals himself and Teren brings 'em straight from his hands.”

“Jadus?” Talia looked at Keren's sword doubtfully.

“Don't make the mistake of thinking he's helpless because he's short a leg, lovey. There's been a loaded crossbow within reach the whole time he's been up here, and that cane of his has a swordblade in it. Anybody trying to take him would have had one hell of a surprise.”

“Is all this really necessary?” Talia asked, beginning to feel more than a bit frightened.

“The danger's real enough to warrant a few simple precautions. We lose enough of the Circle as it is—we're not about to lose you through carelessness,” Keren paused, and then added, (half in anger, half in hurt), “—and next time, youngling,
tell
somebody when there's something wrong! We could have avoided all this—maybe caught whoever was chewing your tail! Heralds
always
stick together, dammit! Did you think we wouldn't believe you?”

“I—yes—” Talia said, and was horrified that her mouth had once again betrayed her. To her further horror, slow tears began to fall, and she was helpless to stop them.

Keren was out of her chair and at her side in a moment, holding her against a firm shoulder, anger turned immediately to concern and a touch of guilt. “Lovey, lovey, I didn't mean to upset you. We want you, we need you—it'd half kill us to lose you. You've got to learn to trust us. We're your family. No, we're more than that. And we'll never, ever desert you. No matter what happens.”

“I'm—sorry—” Talia sobbed, trying to bring herself back under control and pulling away from Keren.

“No, you don't. It's time you let some of that out,” Keren ordered. “Cry all you want. If my twin's right—and he usually is—you've got a lot of crying to catch up on.”

Her care—her sincerity was too much to stand against. Talia yielded with speechless gratitude, as the barriers within her that had been weakened by her friendship with Jadus came crumbling down. Keren held her as if she were her own child, letting her sob herself into dry-eyed exhaustion.

“Feel better?” Keren asked, when the last of the tears were gone.

Talia smiled weakly. “Sort of.”

“Except that now your head aches and your eyes are sore. Next time, don't let things build up for so long. That's one of the things friends are for—to help you with troubles. Now—about that ‘new' thought-sensing ability of yours—”

“It's real? Then I
am
feeling what you're feeling? And you and Ylsa—” she broke off in confusion. “But where did I get it from? I couldn't do that before!”

“You're still picking up from me? Oh hell!” Keren frowned a little in concentration, and abruptly Talia was no longer awash with confusing emotions. “That better? Good. Oh, this thought-sensing is real, all right, and disconcertingly accurate. Only the Circle knows about Ylsa and me; we couldn't have kept it from them with all the Gifted about, even if we'd wanted to. We're lifebonded; I don't suppose you've heard of that, have you?”

“Like Vanyel and Stefen? Or Sunsinger and Shadowdancer?” Keren's amazed glance flicked over Talia like a spray of cold water, but given Talia's penchant for tales it wasn't overly surprising that she
had
heard of lifebonding. Rare among Heralds, rarer still in the general population, a lifebond was a very special tie, going far beyond the physical.

“Not so dramatic, but yes, like Vanyel and Stefen. Well, I'd guess that either the blow to your head woke your Gift early, or overwhelming fear did. It happens sometimes. Now if you
weren't
Queen's Own, we wouldn't even think about training you to use it for another few years, but you're by definition a special case. Do
you
want it trained?”

“Please—not another set of lessons—” Talia said pathetically.

Keren chuckled. “All right then, lovey, we'll leave things as they are. Maybe when your head heals, it'll go away; I've seen that happen before. But if it starts to get bothersome, you tell one of us, all right?” She paused, and eyed Talia speculatively. “It doesn't disturb you—about Ylsa and me?”

“No,” Talia replied, a trifle surprised. “Should it? I mean—there's lots of—um—”she blushed again “—‘special friends' on the Holdings.”

“Are there?” Keren raised an eyebrow. “I never figured on that, old rocks that they are. Makes sense, I guess—all those Underwives, and damn few of 'em wed for affection,” she relaxed visibly. “I won't deny that I'm glad to hear that from you. You've got an old head in a lot of ways, lovey; I'm beginning to think of you as much as my friend as my student, and I'd hate to see anything get in the way of that friendship.”

“Me? Your friend?” Talia was visibly startled.

“Surprised? Jadus thinks of you as a friend, too, and he hasn't opened up to anyone in years. There's something about you that I can't pinpoint—you're so much older than your years, sometimes. Maybe it comes of being Queen's Own. Lady knows
I'm
not old enough to have known Talamir as a lad. You seem like someone I've known and trusted for years. Like a little sister. As close, maybe, as my twin—which is damned odd, considering that I've got a niece and nephew nearly your age. I'm not the only one to feel that way. There's Jadus, like I said—and Sherrill, and Skif, and probably more.”

Talia digested this with wonder.

Keren shook her head, “Enough of this—how's the skull feel?”

“Awful.”

She stood up and examined the lump with gentle, skillful fingers.

“Lovey, luck was all on your side in this. An inch or two lower, or on the temple instead, and you'd have been unconscious or paralyzed when you hit the water. You'd have gone under without a ripple, and we'd never have known what happened to you. Think you can stomach more of that vile green brew? It'll take the ache out, anyway.”

Talia nodded slowly, and Keren brought her a mug of the concoction, then returned to her former perch on the chair; feet propped up and sword on her lap.

“How much of my classes have I missed?”

“Not a thing that can't be made up quickly,'specially since you're excused from chores and Alberich's tender mercies till you're well again. If your eyes play tricks on you, we'll read to you, and everybody in the Collegium wants to loan you their notes. Fair enough?”

Talia was about to answer when a deep, somber-toned bell—one she'd never heard before—began tolling somewhere nearby.

Keren stiffened as her head snapped up on the first peal, “Damn,” she said softly, but with venom, “Oh,
damn
.”

“What's the matter?” Talia did not like the tense bitterness on Keren's face. “What's happened?”

“That's the Death Bell.” Keren stared sightlessly out the window, tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks. “It rings when a Herald dies. It means that the bastards got another one of us. And one of the best. Ah, gods, why did it have to be poor Beltren?”

Minutes after the bell began its somber tolling, someone tapped on Talia's door; before Keren could answer, Skif stuck his head inside.

Keren lowered the blade she had aimed reflexively at the entrance.

“Keren—” Skif said hesitantly “—your brother sent me. He thought you might want to be with the others. I can watch Talia.”

Keren pulled herself together with an obvious effort. “You sure? I know you
think
you're good, youngling—”

Talia didn't even notice Skif's hand moving, but suddenly there was a knife quivering in the wall not an inch from Keren's nose. Both of them stared at it in surprise.

“Huh!” was all the reply Keren made.

“If there had been a fly on your beak, I could have nipped it off without touching you,” Skif said soberly, with none of his usual boastfulness. “I know I've got a long way to go in everything else, but not even Alberich can best me with these.”

He held up his right hand, with a dagger that matched the first in it. “Anybody who tries forcing their way in here is going to have to get around six inches of steel in his throat.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Keren rose and sheathed her sword. “You may regret this—because I'll probably arrange for you to share Talia-watch from now on.”

“So? I volunteered, but Ylsa wouldn't take me seriously.”

“Well, I will.” She passed him, waving him into the room. “And youngling? Thanks. You've got a good heart.”

Skif just shrugged and pulled his knife out of the wall.

“What's going on?” Talia whispered hoarsely. “What's the Death Bell?”

Skif perched himself cross-legged on the top of her desk; his expression was unwontedly serious. “What do you want answered first?”

“The Bell.”

“All right—since I don't know what you know, I'll take it from the beginning. There used to be a little temple in the Grove in Companion's Field; King Valdemar had it put up. It had a bell-tower, but not until just before he died was there a bell in it. The bell was actually installed the day before he died, but the rope to ring it hadn't been hung, and it didn't have a clapper. So you can imagine that when a strange bell was heard tolling before dawn the next morning, people were pretty startled. When they went out to look, they saw what you'd see now if you were to go out to the Field—every Companion here gathered around the tower and staring at it. When they got back to the Palace they learned what the Heralds had already known—that Valdemar was dead. The temple's long gone, but the tower is still there—and every time a Herald dies, the Death Bell tolls.”

“And Keren?”

“Every Herald knows when another one dies, and whether or not it was from natural causes. You sort of start to get the sensing of it around about your third year—sooner if your Gift is strong; I haven't got it yet. It hurts, they tell me, like something of yourself has died—the ones with the strongest Gifts may know details of what happened. You always know who, if you're a full Herald, and a little of how, as soon as the Bell begins to ring. Most of 'em find it easier to be together for a while, especially if it was someone you knew really well. That's why Herald Teren sent me—Beltren was one of Keren's year-mates.”

There wasn't much Talia could say in reply. She and Skif stared gloomily out the windows for a long time, listening to the Bell; the tolling that sounded like the cold iron was sobbing.

Word on what had actually befallen Beltren did not reach the Collegium for several days. When news came, it was not good. Someone or something had ambushed him, and sent both Beltren and his Companion over the edge of a cliff. There were no clues as to who the murderer was—and if the Queen knew why it had happened, she kept her own council.

The atmosphere became more desolate and oppressive, with every passing day. Talia's newly-awakened sensitivity left her painfully aware of it, and the weakness she was prey to as she recovered did not make bearing the brunt of this easy.

Skif (who, true to Keren's threat, was now sharing guard-duty with the three adults) did his best to cheer her with Collegium gossip and more of his absurd stories, but even he could not completely counteract the effect of the mourning of all those around her.