Arrows of the Queen (30 page)

“Lord of the Mountain—what have I been telling you?” he said, seeing for the first time that his companion was only an adolescent girl. “Look I'm sorry. What is your name?”

“Talia,” she replied and smiled as his eyes widened a little in recognition. “There's nothing to apologize for, you know. All I've been doing is listening—but now you're remembering your friend as he lived instead of as he died. Isn't that a better memorial?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes.” The strain was gone from his face, and she could no longer sense the kind of tearing, destructive unhappiness that had led her here. There was sorrow, yes—but not the kind that would obsess and possess him.

“I've got to go now, and you should get some sleep before you're ill.” She swung up on Rolan's back as he raised eyes that mirrored his gratitude to meet hers.

‟Thank you, Queen's Own,” was all he said—but the tone of his voice said much more.

The second Herald to die that year fell victim to an avalanche, but the lover he'd left behind had to be convinced that he hadn't been taking foolish risks because they'd quarreled previously. That was an all-night session, and Talia appeared at her first class looking so dragged out that the now-Herald Nerrissa, who was teaching it, ordered her back to bed and canceled all her morning work.

The third meant another soul-searching session with Selenay, guilt-wracked over having sent, this time, a young and inexperienced Herald into something she would never have been able to cope with—an explosive feud between two families of the lesser nobility of the East. It had devolved into open warfare between them, and while trying to reconcile the two parties, the Herald had gotten in the way of a stray arrow. Had she had more experience, she would not have so exposed herself.

Of course, Selenay had had no way of knowing that the feud had gotten that heated at the time she sent Beryl—but with the clear vision imparted by hindsight, she felt that she should have guessed.

But for the fourth, just after Midwinter holiday, it was Talia herself that was in dire need of comfort—for the Herald who died was Jadus.

 

She'd awakened one morning before dawn knowing immediately that something was wrong—that it involved Jadus, and had only taken enough time to pull her cloak on over her bedgown before running to his room. She all but ran into a Healer leaving it, and his eyes told her the truth.

Jadus' passing had been quite peaceful, he told her; Jadus had had no inkling of it, simply hadn't awakened. His Companion was also gone—probably simultaneously.

None of this was any comfort at all.

She retreated to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the chair he'd spent so many nights occupying, guarding her in her illness. She thought of all the things that she wished now she'd told him—how much he had meant to her, how much she'd learned from him. It was too late for any of that now—and too late to thank him.

‟Lovey—I heard—” Keren stood beside her; Talia hadn't even noticed the door opening. As they stared at one another, the Bell began to toll.

As if the bell-tone had released something, Talia began to cry soundlessly. Keren held her on the edge of the bed, and they wept together for their old friend and for all that he'd meant to both of them.

Keren was not the only one to think of Talia when the news spread, for when they looked up at a small sound, Dean Elcarth had taken the chair across from Talia's bed.

“I have to tell you two things, my dear,” he said with a little difficulty. “Jadus was a long-time friend of mine; he was my counselor on my internship in fact. He left all of his affairs in my hands. He knew he hadn't much longer to live, and he told me when—he wanted you to have—” Mutely he held out the harp case that held My Lady.

Talia took it in trembling hands and stared at it, unable to speak around the lump of tears in her throat.

“The other thing is this; he was happier these past two years than at any time since he lost his leg. When it came to strict academic subjects, he wasn't a very good teacher; his heart just wasn't in it. The classes we had him teach were just to keep him busy, and he knew it. Until you came, he'd been retreating more and more into the past, living in a time when he'd been useful. You made him feel useful again. And when you were sick—I don't think you realize how much your needing him, both to guard your safety and to chase the nightmares away with his music, made him
alive
again. And being able to counsel and guide you—it meant the world to him.”

‟He—knew? He knew how much I needed him?”

“Of course he knew; he had the thought-sensing Gift. No matter how well you think you shield, youngling, when you care for someone the way you two cared for each other, things are bound to get through—will you, nill you. And when you started coming to him for advice or for help, and when
he
was the one you came to over the Hulda affair—I don't think he was ever prouder of anything he'd done. He often told me he no longer missed not having a family because now he had a family in you and in the friends you'd brought to him. He was a very lonely man until you came to his door, little one. He died a happy and contented man.”

Elcarth dropped his head and rubbed briefly at his eyes, unable to say more.

“I have to go,” he said finally, and stood up. Talia caught his hand.

‟Thank you—” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand in acknowledgment and left.

It was several months before she could bring herself to touch My Lady—but once she had (though she missed Jadus dreadfully every time she played), she never once neglected to practice.

And when she did, she tried to remember him as he'd been that night, alert and alive, in the chair next to her bed with his harp on his lap, and a loaded crossbow hidden on the floor beside him, with his old cane exchanged for one that held concealed the blade of a sword.

And the incredulous smile of joy that had appeared when she had begged him to play for her.

Or the way he'd looked when he told her and Skif that they could leave the problem of Hulda in his hands—strong again; confident again—
needed.

And the laughter and joy they'd shared that Midwinter day when Keren had taught her to skate.

Sometimes, it even helped a little. But only sometimes.

“Tripe! I'm late!” Talia swore to herself, finally noticing the time by the sundial in the garden beneath her window. She gathered up the scattered notes around her desk, coerced them into a more-or-less neat pile, and flew out the door of her room.

She'd managed to learn a few shortcuts in the three years she'd been at the Collegium; that and longer legs managed to get her to her classroom scant seconds ahead of Herald Ylsa and the Dean. She ran her fingers through her unruly curls, hoping to smooth them down enough that her race through the halls wouldn't be blazoned in her appearance.

Three years had made quite a difference in the way she looked. The awkward adolescent whose arms and legs had always seemed a bit too long for her body was gone. Though she'd never be tall, growth and Alberich's training had honed her into a slender, supple, and athletic young woman. The face she showed to the world was self-confident, but that outward appearance covered a certain shyness and uncertainty that still remained. The muddy color of her hair had finally turned to a rich red-brown. She wore it just touching her shoulders; much to her dismay, since she secretly yearned for straight, midnight-black hair like Sherrill's, it had remained stubbornly curly. Her eyes now matched her hair, and while she would never be called beautiful, she charmed everyone when she smiled—which she did now more often than not. There was no one in the Collegium or among the full Heralds of the Circle who were acquainted with her that did not care deeply for her. The older trainees had taken it upon themselves to make it pointedly clear to the Blues that anyone harassing her would find life very uncomfortable indeed. Her teachers tried to keep her challenged, but at the same time went out of their way to coordinate their efforts so as to make it possible for her to keep up with all her commitments. The younger students—for she always had a moment to spare to soothe an anger, encourage the discouraged, or lend an ear to the homesick—frankly adored her. Her own contemporaries had formed a kind of honor guard for her headed by Griffon, always at hand to take over a chore or duty when the inevitable conflicts arose.

She returned all these attentions with an artless gratitude and affection that made it seem a privilege to have helped her.

And yet she still felt a kind of isolation from everyone but her few close friends—Skif, Keren, Sherri, and Jeri. It was almost as if she was
of
the Collegium and Circle, yet not truly at one with them.

A great part of that feeling had to do with the fact that it seemed to her as if she were continually receiving the affection and attention she so ardently craved, and yet was doing little or nothing to earn it. Exposing Hulda had been mostly Skifs work; civilizing Elspeth had been largely a matter of forcing her to take the consequences for her actions and returning her to her previous behavior patterns. It hardly seemed to her that being Selenay's sounding board required much effort on
her
part. She felt—when she had time to think about it—as if she would never truly belong until she earned her place, entirely by her own efforts, and by doing something for the benefit of the Circle that no one else could do.

She little realized that by helping to ease the emotional turmoils of others she was already accomplishing just that. As far as she was concerned, that was the kind of thing anyone would and could do under the same circumstances. Only Elcarth, Herald Kyril (who made a study of Heraldic Gifts), and Ylsa realized how rare her abilities and her Gift were—and how badly they would miss her, were she not there.

But since she still kept most of her inmost doubts to herself, none of them realized she felt this way. They saw only the cheerful exterior that she presented to the world at large.

Only Keren and Rolan ever witnessed the bouts of self-doubt and temper; the fits of self-pity and depression. And neither of those two (like Jadus before them) was likely to betray her trust, since it was given so rarely. For if she had a fault, it was this; even after three years, it was still hard for her to truly trust in others.

Today marked a new phase of her studies, and a strange and somewhat frightening one. Now she was to learn the full use of that ability to sense the distresses of others that had appeared so abruptly under stress. Today was the beginning of her lessons in “Herald's magic.”

There were three others in the class besides herself; the twins Drake and Edric from her own year-group (Talia was still unable to tell them apart), and a silent, flame-haired lad from the year-group following Talia's. Neave's abilities had caused mild havoc among the trainees for a brief period until he had been identified as the source of disturbance. He was a ‟projector”—and he'd inadvertently projected his own nightmares into the dreams of those around him that were at all receptive and unshielded. Since his life up until he'd been Chosen had been rough enough to make even the ex-street-urchin Skif blanch, his nightmares had been grown from fertile ground and given his fellow students several sleepless and terror-filled nights.

As the Dean and Herald entered the room, Talia found she had tensed up all over. These were new and strange waters she was about to dive into; she'd more or less come to terms with the simpler manifestations of her Gift, but there remained her old Hold training to deal with. To Holderfolk, such abilities were “unnatural” at best, and demon-born at worst.

Talia was just grateful that the class was being taught by two so familiar to her. If it had been a stranger facing her, she would have been ready to have a litter of kittens with nerves! She tried to relax—this was nothing to fear;
every
Herald had to learn the working of his or her Gift—and Elcarth caught her eye, and gave her a brief, encouraging smile.

Dean Elcarth surveyed the four of them, noting their understandable nervousness. Only Drake and Edric appeared to be more excited than ill-at-ease—but then,
their
Gift had been a part of them since birth. He smiled reassuringly at Neave and Talia, lifted an eyebrow at the twins, and began his usual speech.

“We put the four of you in a class together because you all demonstrate Gifts in the same ‘family' of talents,” the Dean began, as his bright, round eyes met each of theirs' in turn. “Your Gifts of what we call ‘magic' are all in the areas of communication. I want you all to know that although we refer to these things in the world outside these walls as ‘magic,' there is nothing
whatsoever
unnatural about them. You have Talents, even as a Bard, an artist, or an artisan. You should never be afraid of what you have been gifted with—rather you should learn how to use these gifts to the benefit of yourselves and others.”

“Talia and Neave already know Herald Ylsa; she was instrumental in discovering that both of you had prematurely awakened Gifts, since she is one of the best at the using and detecting ‛communications' type abilities that we have among the Circle. For this reason, she will be in charge of this class, and I am merely here to assist her. Don't be afraid to ask her questions; despite her formidable reputation, she doesn't bite—”

“Not hard, anyway,” Ylsa interrupted with a smile.

“—and if she doesn't know the answers to your questions, she certainly knows exactly where to look and who to ask! I'll be helping her, since next to Herald Kyril, I'm probably the second choice for an expert at the Collegium. Ylsa, the floor is yours.”