No True Way (5 page)

“She thought about climbing back through her window and listening through the door, or about sneaking into the kitchen and trying to avoid her father, but the fierce rain and worry for the locked-up Companion kept her glued down in the hay, listening.

“When something finally happened, it came between gusts of wind and surprised her.

“The barn door flew open.

“The Companion screamed and kicked at the stall doors.

“Ella's mother yelled from inside the inn, anger and fear in her voice.

“
:Let me out!:
a voice spoke in her head.

“The Companion! Ella had never heard one in her head before, but she knew who it was like she knew her own name. She swung her legs over the edge and started down the ladder.

“The nondescript man stood in the doorway, his face shadowed and his feet spread wide and planted. He held a bow, pulled tight with an arrow aimed at the front of the Companion's stall. The Companion screamed in her head again, this time saying,
:Get out of the way!:

“She clung to the ladder, watching in amazement as the Companion reared up and battered the door repeatedly with his front hooves.

“The arrow grazed the Companion's face, just below his ear. Blood stained the paint on his coat, and he screamed in pain and anger.

“Ella swarmed back up the ladder and found a bucket. She threw it at the nondescript man. He dodged it, then glanced up and met her eyes long enough for her to feel cold and vulnerable. He reached for another arrow, and she shrank back, but his focus returned entirely to the Companion.

“Another man—one she hadn't seen at all, even in the inn—rushed in through the barn door. He spoke to the nondescript man, crouching low toward the Companion's stall, holding a knife. He was big, and looked mean and cold and angry.

“Ella looked around the hayloft. There was no second handy bucket, no pitchfork. Everything useful was on the floor of the barn. The loft held nothing except a few ragged blankets, bales of hay, and cats.

“She reached for a cat and missed, getting a quick scratch on her thumb. The others scattered.

“The Companion's hooves pounded again and again on the stall door. Wood splintered. Hinges creaked. The door held. As far as she could tell, the Companion didn't see the second man but was still focused on the archer and on getting free.

“She rolled a hay bale, finding it easier than she expected, as if her fear and pounding heart were making her stronger.

“She gave the bale a kick and it rolled a second time, now close to the edge. Stray bits of hay filled the air, and she almost lost her footing.

“A gust of wind blew the big barn door into the wall with a
bang!

“An arrow hit wood somewhere below her, a
thunk
almost lost in the wind's howl.

“Another thin scream came from the inn, and the door blew shut again, cutting off the sound.

“The man with the knife crouched beside the stall door, just waiting for the Companion to win his freedom. He was just below her, and between the pounding hooves and slamming door and yowling cats, not the mention the storm, he didn't notice she was there.

“Ella was scared, but she was more angry than scared. Nobody should try to hurt a Companion!

“She drew in a deep breath, braced her feet carefully, and rolled the bale the last of the way free of the loft and
it fell directly onto him, knocking him down. His knife skittered across the barn floor and came to rest under an old table.

“The Companion broke the door in two. He bounded through the splintered halves and glanced at the man Ella had knocked down. Apparently satisfied that he was no danger, the Companion raced directly into the man with the bow and half-nocked arrow, throwing him to the ground with weight and speed alone. He didn't stop, but leaped past the fallen man and through the door, heading for the inn.”

Helen found she'd been clenching her fingers tight around the blanket. She looked at the frail body of her grandmother and asked, “So, she did hear the Mindspeech?”

“Never again. Only that one night.”

“Who were the bad men?”

“They were the leaders of the worst bandit ring in this area. The roads were safer for two years after that.

“The Herald had a knife wound in his arm. He had so many bruises that Ella's grandmother fed him soup for two days. Ella washed the Companion clean and brushed out his mane and tail. Her grandfather kept the bandits trussed up in the town jail.

“In two days, a Healer and two Heralds came. They took the bandits and left, although the Healer fixed up a few people in town who needed help as well.

“Before he left, the Herald told Ella that she'd saved them both.”

“Of course. If one dies, the other dies.”

“Almost always,” her Grandfather said. “It's not true for some of the Companions, such as the ones who bond with the King's Own.”

“Will you tell me that story?”

“Another day.”

“Did grandmother wish she were Chosen?”

“She never told me if she did. But I think so. I think almost all younglings in Valdemar have that hope in their hearts. But most of us grow up and have to be content with the gifts we do get in life. Sometimes it's the barest and smallest gifts that matter, like knowing when a Herald is on the way, or even like knowing when a storm is coming, the way your mom does.”

Helen reached out to give her grandmother's hand a squeeze and found it was cold and still. She looked up her grandfather in alarm.

He put a hand on hers, a single tear tracking down his cheek. “I thought she would go tonight and that this would be a good story to be telling when she did. It's okay, sweetheart. She was ready, and she had a great life.”

Even though he was saying those words, Helen could tell his heart hurt. His eyes were bright with tears. She walked around her grandmother's still body, touching the cold, stiff toes as she went by. She gave her grandfather a hug and he returned it, his arms shaky.

“She's the woman in the song, isn't she?” Helen asked.

“The Master Bard who wrote it changed the name of the inn and Ella's name so we wouldn't be bothered. The Bards all know, and that's why they stop here so often on their travels, especially the ones in training.”

After a while, the other members of the family came up to help out, and Helen went to sleep.

She woke just before dawn, tiptoeing through the quiet and slightly sad inn to the kitchen and stoked the fire.

She made herself tea and stood by the window. As early sunlight spilled onto the road, a Herald and Companion
rode up the lane toward the inn. She helped stable the Companion and took the Herald into the kitchen, where her mom and sister were preparing breakfast. Before breakfast was over, a trio of Bards came up on stocky brown ponies, with gitterns strapped to their backs and saddlebags bursting with clothes and food and musical instruments. They all headed for the front door as Dravon took the ponies to the stable.

Helen went to the kitchen and took a hot biscuit directly from the oven. She told them to make at least twice what they were making and to plan on a big lunch. The words came out without her thinking about them. She smiled and went back out to find a spot of shade to watch for more guests. By dinner, there were eight more people from Haven: two Heralds with their Companions, two Bards, and a Healer and her apprentice.

The funeral was held the next day in late afternoon, after the most important parts of the farming were done. The air smelled of warming stew and bread and fresh fruit and mead that people from all over town had brought to the inn, so there could be a feast after the ceremony.

Almost everyone who lived in Goldleaf came, making a small, respectful mob in the cemetery, which was just on the edge of town. The visitors from Haven stood behind the townspeople. None of them spoke a word, although they watched quietly. Even though she'd seen two of the Bards and one of the Heralds and her Companion before, Helen thought it felt like living in a legend for them all to be there at once. She tried to watch them all so hard her neck started to hurt from twisting and turning so many ways at once.

Then the priest started speaking, and everyone quieted into respectful silence. Even though he never
mentioned her grandmother's gift, as the priest spoke about how well Ella ran the inn and how she helped so many people, Helen felt closer to her, and she knew how much she'd miss her. She hoped to keep sensing people coming from Haven because every time she would remember her grandfather's story.

After the priest was done with his talk, and after her grandfather said a few simple sentences, the bards started to play “The Innkeep's Daughter.”

As she recognized the song, Helen felt her eyes sting with tears. She stepped back a little out of the circle, closer to the Heralds and Companions. She didn't want anyone to notice that the song was making her cry.

One of the Companions came up and put its head on her shoulder lightly, the touch so soft and comforting that Helen felt warmed by it.

Elizabeth A. Vaughan

Dearest Father,

This missive is written in haste, and for that I beg your pardon. You may have already received the news, but if it has not reached you yet, I regret that I must inform you that my husband, Lord Sinmonkelrath, was killed in the same hunting accident that claimed the life of Prince Karathanelan. Official word will have been sent through the Court of Valdemar to the Court of Rethwellan. I will write separately to Sinmonkelrath's eldest brother as well, so that he may pass the word within his family, although I fear there was little love lost between his brother and him.

It has been decided that during my period of mourning I should take up residence in the lands deeded to my late lord. Queen Selenay agrees with my decision to depart Haven and has accepted my oath of fealty before sending me on with her best wishes. The carriage awaits, Father. I will send further word when I am able. Please keep me in your prayers.

Your loving daughter,

Ceraratha

*   *   *

The carriage jolted yet again, and Ceraratha braced herself against the wall, the wood rough under her fingers. Alena, her maidservant, lost her balance and jolted against her arm with a murmured apology. Cera was certain they'd be a mass of bruises by the time they reached their destination.

Across from them sat Herald Premlor, looking as jostled and jolted as they were, and almost as frustrated. “The roads,” he said with a grimace. “I fear they've not been seen to in the two years since the Tedrel Wars.”

Cera nodded, catching her breath, the fear rising in her breast. It was all happening so fast. They'd been days on the road from Haven, and from her impression, they still had a good distance to cover to reach the land of Sandbriar—
her
lands—lands that she'd never even seen.

“You'd be more comfortable on your Companion,” she offered tentatively. She might be of Rethwellan, but she knew that Heralds and Companions were . . . special. She'd seen the looks Premlor had cast through the window at the white horse pacing beside them.

His smile was a wry one. “You've much to learn, Lady. And I deem it even more difficult talking through the window of a moving carriage. Let's continue, shall we?” Premlor said. “About the religious laws . . .”

Cera nodded as he started in again. Some of Valdemar's laws she knew as the daughter of a Rethwellan merchant with far trading ties. Others she had yet to fully understand. She settled back, determined to learn even as the carriage jostled on. For she could not, would not fail her oath to Queen Selenay, the woman who'd offered honor instead of disgrace, redemption instead of shame.

The woman who had set her free.

*   *   *

The days of travel blurred together, until one morning the carriage halted at the side of the road. Cera climbed down after Premlor, glad to stand on solid ground.

“Your boundary stone.” He nodded at a nearby stone pillar a few feet off the lane. “We are to meet the Circuit Herald here, and she will accompany you the rest of the way.” He lifted his head, looking south. “This would be her,” he said, bowing to Cera. “If you would give us but a moment, Lady.” He mounted his Companion and headed down the road to greet the approaching figure in full Whites.

“Such a height,” Alena marveled as she stared up at the stone, her hand raised to break the glare of the sun.

“Has to be, to be seen,” the driver said jovially, seeing to his team of horses. “Big enough you can't miss it, true enough.”

“So we are close to Sandbriar then,” Cera said, not unhappy that they might be quit of the carriage soon.

“Another three days at the most,” the driver agreed with a smile. “Two if we push for it.”

Cera stiffened, and her eyes met Alena's, filled with a similar shock. Three days? Just how large was this Sandbriar?

The two white figures down the road had stopped, clearly talking outside the range of listening ears. That was fine with Cera, who was happy to walk about a bit, stretching her legs. But it wasn't long before the Heralds returned, riding toward her on their fine white Companions.

“Lady Ceraratha, may I introduce Herald Helgara, Chosen of Stonas, currently riding the Circuit that includes Sandbriar.”

Cera looked up to face a middle-aged woman with a
no-nonsense face and a slight wrinkle between her brows. The Companion shone white in the sun, looking as fleet and fierce as her rider.

“Herald Helgara, Companion Stonas. Well met on this sunny day,” Cera said, giving both a nod.

“A sunny day that will soon turn to heavy rain.” Helgara's voice was deep and filled with gravel. “Stonas' weather sense is sure. We'd best be on our way.”

“Rain will make for rougher going,” the driver said.

“Soonest started, soonest there,” Helgara replied crisply as Premlor prepared to depart. “Let's be about it.”

*   *   *

Cera invited Helgara to ride in the carriage with them, not as generous a gesture as it might seem, given the state of the road. Still, it would be easier to talk there than leaning out a window.

Helgara hesitated, then accepted, climbing in after her. The driver urged the horses on with all due speed. Companion Stonas maintained an easy pace beside them.

“Well, Lady.” Helgara studied both Alena and her with a skeptical eye. “I've only just been informed of the hunting ‘accident.' My condolences.”

Cera caught her hesitation and knew she'd a decision to make: go forward with the proper fiction or extend her trust to this woman. It took a heartbeat to decide. She lifted her chin. “My husband was a fool and a traitor to this Kingdom and our Queen.” Cera kept her voice calm and level. “Your condolences are appreciated but unnecessary.”

“Ah.” Helgara settled back on her bench seat. “Perhaps you'd fill in the details for me.”

So Cera talked of what she knew, with Alena filling in such servant's gossip as she'd heard. Helgara was a good
listener, asking minimal questions, taking it all in with a fierce concentration.

The rain started soon after. The driver carried on, and they shared their noontime meal from the basket that had been placed within. Cera found herself giving more information than she'd been asked for, down to the details of her marriage and her late husband's . . . flaws. She hesitated to speak of the blows and harsh words, lest this strong woman see her as less than capable.

Helgara's eyes were sharp, though.

The driver had been hustling his team, and they arrived at an inn for the night as the rain intensified. Helgara saw to the rooms and took Cera and Alena up to theirs promptly. A fire burned in the hearth, and the beds looked warm and comforting.

“I've not said who you are yet. Best leave that until you are established at the manor house. Time enough to meet your people later.” Helgara looked about the room. “This should suit.”

“Better than the carriage,” Cera assured her. Alena was starting to unpack their bedclothes.

“You were generous with your confidences today,” Helgara said softly.

“You are a Herald,” Cera said. “And worthy of trust.”

“And you trust your servant?” Helgara asked.

“I do,” Cera said. “She has been with me since I was a lass.”

“We will talk more tomorrow,” Helgara said. “Or perhaps I should say that I will talk more. Good night, Lady Ceraratha.”

“Cera,” Cera replied. “Please.”

Helgara paused in the doorway. “In private, perhaps.
But you are the Lady of Sandbriar now, and must accept that role and the title.”

“Lady Cera, then,” Cera said.

“As you choose, Lady.” Helgara replied. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Cera said to the firmly shutting door.

*   *   *

“There's a decision to be made, Herald,” their driver said as they gathered at the inn's doorway in the morning. The rain was still falling, steady and hard. “Either we push on harder, or we maintain the pace. Roads might mire up tomorrow if this keeps up, but if we push, we could be there late tonight.”

Helgara got a far-off look in her eyes.

“What of your horses?” Cera asked in the odd silence.

“Good of you to think on them,” the driver said. “They'll be ready for a good feed and a rubdown, but a day's rest and they will be well. Worried more about the muck they'll wade through if this rain keeps up. Hard on them, that is.”

“Stonas says the rain will continue,” Helgara said. “If you're worried more about the mud than the pace, then lets push on for tonight.”

“Won't be comfortable,” the driver warned. “But it'll get it done.”

“We'll be fine,” Cera said as she stepped up into the carriage.

She and Alena arranged their cloaks about them as the carriage left the inn yard. Helgara sat opposite, but her posture was more relaxed than the day before.

They hadn't gone a half-mile when she started to speak. “Cera, you are the daughter of a merchant, with a practical bent like my own. I would speak some home
truths to you about Sandbriar. But I am a blunt woman, not well suited to the likes of Haven.”

“Tell me,” Cera said firmly.

Helgara looked down at her clasped hands. “I am not sure that those in Haven have done you any favors by sending you here. The land here about is exhausted. So are the people, who are barely able to scratch by.”

“Was there fighting here?” Cera asked.

“No,” Helgara shook her head slowly. “This was not the battlefield. But the army of Valdemar was large and required much support. Men, livestock, food, all were given freely by the previous Lord, in support of the Kingdom and King Sendar.”

“Were you at the battle?” Alena asked, her eyes wide and curious.

“Alena,” Cera hushed her.

“I was.” Helgara did not look up, her voice flat and unemotional. “Many men died that day, many more were maimed or crippled. Sandbriar paid a dear price for our freedom, including the death of the previous lord and his sons.

“With so many menfolk dead, whatever livestock that is left wanders free or has gone feral. I fear that what crops they were able to put in the ground will not suffice. Last year, the people could glean from the fields. This year . . . I fear there will be hunger. Or worse.”

“The Queen gave me funds,” Cera said, thinking of the fat purse beneath her clothing.

“Good,” Helgara said. “But gold alone will not solve these problems. The neighboring lands are drained as well. There's no trade with Karse, no activity on their side of the border at all, thank the gods. If you have ties with Rethwellan, use them.”

“My father would assist me,” Cera said. “If there are wares to be sold.”

“Then don't hesitate to contact him.” Helgara sighed. “But understand, Lady, you are looking at a lot of work with people who are tired and weary and have little hope. Haven didn't tell you that, I reckon.”

Fear rose in Cera's heart. This was more than she'd thought, more than she could handle. The fear and grief and, yes, pain reflected in the Herald's eyes mirrored the lands. How was she to cope with this? Deal with all of this?

“My mistress is not afraid of work,” Alena interrupted with a stubborn look on her face. “Neither am I.”

“No,” Helgara said. “I suspect you are not. But you needed to hear the full truth.”

Under cover of their cloaks, Cera clutched Alena's hand, more grateful for the support than she could voice. She cleared her throat. “Haven did not tell me,” she said slowly. “But then they were dealing with other issues.”

Helgara grimaced. “True enough. To be honest, they may not have known. The Heralds in the field are stretched thin as it is. We send the tax records back, but the truth is the entire country is struggling to recover. And out here, things are harder than within the cities. Sandbriar bore the brunt of it, you see. All of it. All of the Tedrel Wars.”

Cera took a breath and then another, uncertain of her strength or ability to cope with what was described. Her mouth dry, she focused on the only thing she could. “Perhaps you can give me a bit more information than Premlor provided. Could you tell me of the villages? The people? The land itself?”

Helgara nodded. “That I can do,” she said. And while
she talked, describing lands and farmsteads, villages and cots, Cera struggled to keep her fears at bay.

The hours went by slowly, and the chill and the damp grew from the steady rain. As darkness fell, Helgara insisted on riding her Companion. “There are bandits in the area, and our presence will make them avoid us entirely.”

“Bandits?” Cera swallowed hard.

“Aye,” Helgara said, her eyes fierce and unforgiving. “Not that there's many, but all it takes is a few. Otherwise, I would ride ahead and give the manor a bit of warning of your coming. You may have to sleep in cold beds this night.”

“As long as they aren't moving,” Alena muttered from under her cloak.

Cera could only agree.

*   *   *

“Open the gates!”

The cry stirred Cera from her stupor. Night had fallen, and every bone in her body ached.

“Open the gates for the Lady of Sandbriar,” Helgara called again, and Cera heard women exclaiming, and the grating of wood on wood. Cera's impression was of women, guarding the gate and walls.

The carriage rolled to a stop before a great door, and torches flared as people gathered.

“Herald Helgara?” was the inquiry, but Helgara was having no delays. She threw open the door of the carriage and extended a hand to assist Cera down.

“I bring you your Lady, come from Haven with her maidservant. She needs something hot and then a bed this night. Answers and introductions can wait until we've rested.”

“I am Marga, my Lady.” An older woman stepped forward with a curtsy, then turned to Helgara. “You'll stay the night, Herald? The Waystation is so far—”