Brightly Burning (46 page)

He was afraid that she was under as much stress as he was; after all, her mother was already in the fighting, her father was going there, and so were her friends. Though her odd behavior had predated the announcement of war—

He certainly hoped so; selfishly, he didn't want to have to deal with anyone else's troubles, and he
certainly
didn't want to find himself burdened with a weepy girl on a long trip.

:Not that long,:
Kalira corrected.
:Six to ten days, at the most. We'll all share carrying Elenor as the double rider, and you have no idea how fast and far we can go in a day.:

Six to ten days! Lan would never have believed anyone but Kalira—why, it took the average caravan a full
month
to go from Haven to the Southern Border, and that was on the main road, pushing hard, with fit horses in the traces, not oxen, which would be a lot slower!

He supposed he could put up with Elenor for ten days, anyway, and once they were at their assignment, she'd have too much to do to have time for bouts of self-pity, or whatever it was.

“I know what you're going to be doing, but I wonder what they'll want with me,” Tuck said, looking worried and self-conscious as the thought occurred to him. “I mean, all I've got is Mindspeaking—”

“You'll be with me, because it takes everything Kalira has to keep me from—losing control,” Lan told him. “
She
won't have anything to spare to Mindspeak anyone but me. You'll be my contact with whoever is giving orders, through the Herald that's with him. We'll be behind the main front lines, somewhere high, I expect, where I can see what I need to hit or herd.”

“But anybody would do for that,” Tuck began anxiously.

“Oh no. I don't want some stranger!” Lan replied sharply. “I don't want somebody who might grab my elbow, or shout in my ear when I don't respond, or anything else!
You
know what not to do around me!”

“I guess,” Tuck responded, with relief and the respect only someone who had seen Lan's latest practice sessions would possess. Lan was just grateful that his year-mates gave him respect and not the poorly-disguised fear that his own parents showed. Of his family, once the secret that
he
was responsible for the Merchants' School fire was out—and the fact that the King himself was Lan's personal protector—only Macy wanted anything to do with him. He'd even gotten a note of groveling apology from that loud-mouthed uncle who had so disparaged Heralds at the Midwinter Feast. If it hadn't given him such a sour taste in his mouth, it would have been funny. It was very clear from the note that the stupid lout didn't mean a word of his apology, he just didn't want his nephew to casually incinerate him in a fit of pique.

Macy, thank the gods, was still just as comfortable with him as ever, and he wished, in a way, that he could take her along as well. But if war was no place for Elenor, it was doubly no place for Macy.

“I wish Macy could come,” Tuck said, in a wistful echo of his own thoughts. Tuck rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “But she'd be lost out there, and probably scared, too.”

“I think she'd be more annoyed than scared, and frustrated that there wasn't anything she could do,” Lan responded, out of his new respect for his little sister. Macy had not only done what he'd suggested and found new teachers at the Guildhouse, she'd informed their mother in no uncertain terms that embroidery for fancy garments was a waste of time and resources under the present circumstances, and that for the duration
she
was going to be making banners and badges for Guard units. And what was more,
she
was spending her free time making lint bandages for the Healers and knitting socks and fingerless gloves for the archers, and her mother could just hold parties without her help.

The end result was that their mother had been shamed into organizing the entire Guild to do the same. The numbers of fingerless gloves streaming southward would probably ensure that every archer in the Army had warm hands before too long.

“Macy would just drive us all crazy because she couldn't really do anything,” Lan repeated confidently. “But if this goes on for very long, I wouldn't bet on not seeing her. She's just as likely to get trained as a Healer's assistant so she
can
follow us.”

Tuck brightened so much at that idea that Lan had to smother a smile.
:I hope your mother hasn't got some fat merchant picked out for Macy, because there's going to be a war of an entirely different kind in Haven if she tries to bully your sister into a wedding,:
Kalira observed, for once, without a trace of merriment at Tuck's expense.
:I was in doubt at first, but I think those two are remarkably well suited, and that's not the usual thing for a Herald. If they ever wed, it's usually another Herald, a Bard, or a Healer.:

:Oh? Why?: Lan asked, curiously.

:Usually someone from one of the Circles is the only person likely to understand how duty comes first—and understand how important our bond is.:
Now Kalira sounded oddly sad, and he wondered why.

Perhaps she had just seen too many blighted romances. It wasn't at all unusual for brief courtships or even full-blown affairs to spring up between Heralds or Trainees and members of the highborn families. Heralds, after all, could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, which was more than could be said for the members of the highborn class. But in the overwhelming majority of the cases, those romantic interludes were doomed to end. Perhaps Kalira had just told him why.

“Macy likes you, too,” he blurted, and was rewarded by Tuck's crimson blush that spread over his ears and down the back of his neck.

“I think she's the best girl I've ever met,” Tuck declared stoutly. “She's not anywhere near as silly as my sisters. She's got a head on her shoulders, and she knows what she wants to do. And—”

“Whoa, she's my sister, I'm perfectly aware of her virtues,” Lan laughed, glad to have something to laugh about at last. “I think she's pretty fine, myself. And I'll tell you something else, if you were worrying about it. Before she'd let Mother nag her into marrying some old Guild goat, she'd run off barefoot in the snow. And within a day she'd probably have wangled herself not only boots, but a cloak and a traveling pack, and she'd be on the way to somewhere she thought she'd be properly appreciated. Like here, for instance.”

Tuck had no reply for that, other than an even deeper blush, but he looked relieved and grateful. “Have you got kitchen duty?” he asked instead.

Lan shook his head. “Pol told me that they were relieving anyone in line to be graduated early from all chores, so we can actually get some rest once in a while, in between practice and study.”

“Hooo—well, that's one
good
thing this war's done for us!” Tuck exclaimed with pleasurable surprise. “I guess it's true that inside every rotten thing there's a touch of sweet!”

Lan decided not to spoil things by replying that he would much rather have a countyful of dirty dishes to wash and not have a war. “I guess that's true,” he agreed instead. “So why not take advantage of our exalted status, hog a couple of hot baths, then drift in to early dinner like members of the gentry?”

“Sounds good to me,” Tuck responded, and stretched luxuriously. “Take advantage of the bathing room while we still get to use it, eh?”

“Good plan,” Lan said.
And hope that the bathing room is all that we miss. . . .

T
HEY left at dawn, while the sun barely peeked above the horizon, trying without success to burn through the same slate-gray clouds that had hidden the sky for the past week. Elenor rode pillion behind her father, her belongings shared out among the three of them. Lan, Tuck, and Pol carried very little. They needed no supplies for the road, for they would spend their nights at inns, each journey carefully calculated to bring them to their day's destination three to four candlemarks after sunset. They each carried only enough in the way of clothing to get them to the army. After that, they would be supplied as regularly as if they were at the Collegium. Elenor and her things were no burden to the three Companions.

Halfway between Haven and the Border, they would meet up with Pol's wife, Healer Ilea, at one of their nightly stops. She and Pol would decide then if she would return with them to the army, or go back to Haven. Lan privately hoped that her mother would persuade Elenor to turn back and go with her to Healers' Collegium.

It was cold, mortally cold, this morning. The snow had thawed and frozen so many times that now it was granular and crunchy; no one could have made snow figures or snowballs out of it even if they'd had the heart to. It wasn't only the Collegium that had lost young people to this war—it was the Palace as well. The Court had been decimated by the rush to volunteer, until it was said in the halls of the Collegium that the only courtiers left were those who could not be spared, the lame, and the old.

Lan put all that behind him as they rode out of the South Gate—one he had not yet used—and trotted through the silent city. A few early risers looked out of their windows when they heard the chiming hoofbeats of the Companions. Those who spotted them—or encountered them—waved solemnly or gave little nods. Lan noted that Pol always returned these little gestures of respect, and did likewise.

He felt very strange in his new Whites, and he couldn't forget for a moment that he was wearing his new uniform. The Whites were made of entirely different materials than the Grays, and were tailored to him. Trainee uniforms were comfortable enough, but full Whites were little more than a second skin. Where the Gray tunics were heavy canvas or wool, the Field Whites were butter-soft doeskin. The winter shirts that went beneath the tunics were chirra wool or ramie and linen; the Trainees made do with wool or plain linen. Trews were doeskin again—Trainees got canvas. Hose beneath the trews were finely knitted linen or chirra wool, where Trainees got stockings of heavier wool or baggy woven linen. Only in the matter of boots did Trainees and Heralds fare alike.

After due consideration and consultation with Master Odo, neither Lan nor Tuck wore swords, though both had daggers and bows. The Weaponsmaster deemed neither of them able enough with the longer blade to be effective with it, and Lan was just as glad. He felt awkward enough with the heavy dagger at his belt and the quiver on his back, and he was used to using both.

It hadn't snowed for two weeks, and the old snow piled along the sides of the street had gotten to a fairly grimy stage. Everything conspired to produce an aura of depression, from the thin, gray light to the dirty, weatherbeaten snow to the cracked paint and chipped trim on houses and shops that wouldn't be repaired until spring. He was glad when they left the city at last and into the countryside, where at least things didn't look quite as tired and tatty.

Once out of the city, the Companions took up a very peculiar pace—not a trot, not a fast walk, certainly not a canter. It was very like the lope of a wolf, the ground-eating stride that members of the canine family could keep up for candlemarks at a time—or perhaps the long-legged stride that elk used to migrate. It was a comfortable pace for a rider; a smooth, rocking motion. There was an arrangement of straps on Kalira's saddle, now rolled up and tucked out of the way, that would allow Lan to strap himself in so that he could even sleep while she moved onward. He reckoned that he would have to be very tired before he tried
that
little trick, but Heralds had certainly used it before.

Pol rode slightly ahead of Lan and Tuck; from time to time Elenor would look back at them and smile, but for the most part, she seemed engrossed in the scenery, what there was of it. The early part of the morning took them through a patchwork of fields inhabited by sheep or cattle, pawing through the snow to get to the grass beneath, or cultivated fields that waited for the plow beneath a thick blanket of white. Not an unblemished blanket, though; tracks of animals, the occasional human, and birds marked the surface. Once Lan spotted the place where a fox had taken a rabbit or something about that size by the tracks and the churned-up spot; another time the predator had clearly been a hawk, since the only footprints were those of the hare, and they ended in a splash of dark, old blood.

By midmorning they had passed their first village; every person that was about gathered along the side of the road to wave them onward, faces solemn. All three of them returned the salutes this time; only Elenor didn't wave, and that was largely because she was too busy holding to her father's waist with both mittened hands.