Arrow's Fall

by Mercedes Lackey

  "But—"

  "No, hear me out. Under that assumption, in what way— other than someone deliberately going into his room and planting them there— could those documents have gotten where they were found? Dirk, were they there after dinner?"

  "Before I started drinking, you mean?" Dirk replied bitterly. "No. My desk was perfectly clean, for a change. When I woke up this morning, there were about a dozen scrolls there, and this was one of them."

  "Fine. I know if someone had gone into your room that normally didn't belong there, you'd have woken up, no matter what. I can tell you that I sent Robin to you last night with those poems I borrowed. There were 95

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  exactly fourteen scrolls, and that wasn't one of them. Now unless Lord Orthallen would like to accuse me of purloining those documents—"

  "I still had them after you left, Talia," the Queen said, a distinct edge to her voice.

  "I also know that none of the Heralds would wake up for a page entering their room unless the page deliberately woke them. The little devils are too ubiquitous; practically invisible, and we all know they're harmless. So, it is possible that some time between when Robin left me and when he got to your room, Dirk, an extra scroll got added to his pile."

  "Guard," Selenay addressed the fourth person in the room, and the Guardsman turned to the Queen with gratitude suffusing his face, "Fetch Robin, please, would you? He'll be having breakfast in the page's room about now. Just ask for him."

  The Guard left, plainly happy to be out of the situation.

  When he returned with Robin, Talia took the child to one side, away from the others, and closer to the Queen than to Orthallen. She spoke quietly and encouragingly, taking the initiative before Orthallen had a chance to try and bully him.

  "Robin, I gave you some papers to take to Herald Dirk last night. How many were there?"

  "I—" He looked troubled. "I thought there were fourteen, but—"

  "But?"

  "I fell down, and when I picked them up, there were fifteen. I know, because Dean Elcarth told me to remember things that were funny, and that was funny."

  "When did you fall down?"

  "Near the staircase, by the lion tapestry."

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  "Was anyone else nearby? Did you run into anyone?"

  "I wasn't running," he said indignantly. "There was a m'lord, but— m'lady, Mama always told me not to stare at m'lords, so— I didn't see who it was."

  "Bright Stars!" Orthallen suddenly looked shamefaced— almost horror-stricken— though somehow Talia had the feeling that he was putting on an act. Certainly there was nothing she could sense empathically behind his expression. "That was me— and I had the scroll at the time. Stars, I must have dropped it, and the child picked it up!" He turned to Dirk, a faint flush creeping over his face, and spread his hands with an apologetic grimace. "Herald Dirk, my most profound apologies. Majesty, I hardly know what to say."

  "I think we've all said quite enough for one morning," Selenay replied tiredly. "Dirk, Kris, I am terribly sorry. I hope you'll all put this down to an excess of zeal. Talia—"

  Talia just shook her head a little, and said, "We can all talk about it when we've cooled down. Right now is not the time."

  Selenay gave her a smile of gratitude as Orthallen used this as a cue to excuse himself.

  Talia was not sorry to see him leave.

  Selenay detailed the Guard to escort Robin back, and asked Talia, "Have you had anything to eat yet? I thought not. Then go do so, and I'll see you in Council."

  The three Heralds left together, the Guardsman right behind them, escorting a mystified Robin back to the page's quarters. Talia could feel Dirk seething, and braced herself for the explosion.

  As soon as they were a sufficient distance from the Queen's chambers that they were likely to have no audience, it came.

  "Thanks a lot, friend! " Dirk all but hissed. "Thanks ever so much, brother!

  How I ever managed without your help, I'll never know!"

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  "Look, Dirk— I'm sorry—"

  "Sorry! Dammit, you didn't even believe me! My best friend, and you didn't believe a single word I said!"

  "Dirk!"

  "Then telling everyone I'm some kind of drunken fool—"

  "I didn't say that!" Kris was beginning to get just as angry as Dirk was.

  "You didn't have to! You implied it very nicely! And gave your precious uncle more ammunition to use on me!"

  "Dirk, Kris has every right to worry about you if you've been acting oddly.

  And Kris, Dirk's right. Even I could tell you didn't believe him without having to read you." Talia knew she should have kept her mouth shut, but couldn't help herself. "And he's right about Orthallen."

  They both turned on her as one, and spoke in nearly the same breath.

  "And I don't need any more help from you, 'Queen's Own'—"

  "Talia, I'm getting very tired of listening to your childish suspicions about my uncle—"

  She went white-lipped with anger and hurt. " Fine, then—" she snarled, clenching her fists and telling herself that she would not deliver a pair of hearty blows to those stubborn chins. "I wash my hands of both of you!

  You can both go to Hell in a gilded carriage for all of me! With purple cushions!"

  Unable to get another coherent word out, she spun on her toe and ran to the closest exit, and didn't stop running until she reached the Field and the sympathetic shoulder of Rolan.

  * * *

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  " Now look what you've done!" Dirk sneered in triumph.

  "What I've done?" Kris lost what little remained of his temper and groped visibly for words adequate to express his anger. "Gods, I hope you're satisfied— now that you've managed to get her mad at both of us!"

  In point of fact, a nasty little part of him Dirk hadn't dreamed existed was pleased, for now, at least, they were on an equally bad footing with Talia.

  He could hardly admit it, though. "Me? All I did was defend myself—"

  "I," Kris interrupted angrily, "have had just about enough of this. I'll talk to you about this mess if and when you decide to stop behaving like a damn fool and when you quit drinking yourself into a stupor every night.

  Until then—"

  "This is just a little too public a place for you to start making threats."

  Kris bit back the angry words that he knew would put any hope of reconciliation out of reach. "Far too public," he replied stiffly, "and what we have to say to each other is far too private, and can and should wait until then."

  Dirk made an ironic little bow. "At your pleasure."

  There didn't seem to be any way to respond to that, so Kris just nodded abruptly, and stalked off down the corridor.

  Dirk found himself standing alone in the deserted corridor, temples pounding with a hangover, feeling very much abused. He wanted to feel vindicated, and all he really felt like was a fool. And very much alone.

  * * *

  By the time Talia arrived for her weaponry lesson, Alberich had heard the rumors that Kris and Dirk had had a falling-out. He was not too terribly surprised when Talia appeared for her practice session wearing an expression so coldly impassive it might have been a mask. Few even at the Collegium would have guessed how well he could read the Queen's Own, 99

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  or how well he knew her. She had quite won his heart as a student— so very alone, and so determined to do everything perfectly. She seldom tried to make excuses for herself, and never gave up, not even when she knew she had no chance of success. She had reminded him of times long past, and a young and idealistic student-cadet of Karse— and his sympathy and soul had gone out to her. Not that he would ever have let her know. He never betrayed his feelings to his students while they were still students.

  He had a shrewd idea of how matters stood with her in regard to her feelings abou
t Dirk and Kris. So he had a fairly good idea what her reaction to the quarrel might be.

  This afternoon the lesson called for Talia to work out alone against the Armsmaster. She did not hold back in the least— began attacking him, in fact, with blind fury as soon as the lesson began. Alberich let her wear herself out for a bit, scar-seamed face impassive, then caught her with a feint not even a beginner would have fallen for and disarmed her.

  "Enough— quite enough," he said, as she stood white and drained and panting with exhaustion. "Have I not told you many times, it is with your intellect you fight, not with your anger? Anger you are to leave at the door. It will kill you. Look how you have let it wear you out! Had this been a real fight, your anger would have done half your enemy's work for him."

  Talia's shoulders sagged. "Master Alberich—"

  "Enough, I have said it," he interrupted, picking up her blade from the floor. He took three soundless steps toward her, and placed one callused hand on her shoulder. "Since the anger cannot be left at the door, you will confide it?"

  Talia capitulated, letting him push her gently toward the seats at the edge of the floor. She slumped dispiritedly down onto a bench pushed up against the wall as he seated himself beside her. After a long moment of silence, she gave him a brief outline of the morning's events. She kept her eyes for the most part on a beam of the late afternoon sunlight that fell upon the smooth, sanded, gray-brown wooden floor. No sound penetrated 100

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  into the salle from the outside, and the ancient building smelled of dust and sweat. Alberich sat beside her, absolutely motionless, hands clasped around the ankle that rested on his right knee. Talia glanced at him from time to time, but his harsh, hawklike face remained unreadable.

  Finally when she had finished, he stirred just a little, raising his hand to rub the side of his nose.

  "I tell you what I have never admitted," he said after a long pause, tapping his lips with one finger, thoughtfully. "I have never trusted Lord Orthallen.

  And I have served Valdemar fully as long as he."

  Talia was taken aback. "But—"

  "Why? Any number of small things. He is too perfect the servant of the State, never does he take for himself any reward. And when a man does not claim a reward visibly, I look for a reward hidden. He does not openly oppose the Heraldic Circle, but when others do, he is always just behind them, pushing, gently pushing. He is everyone's friend— and no one's intimate companion. Also, my Companion does not like him."

  "Rolan doesn't either."

  "A good measure by which to judge the man, I think. I believe that your suspicions are correct; that he has been striving to undermine your influence with Selenay. I think that since he has failed at that, he turns to eliminating your friends, to weaken your emotional base. I think he well knows how it hurts you to see young Dirk injured."

  Talia blushed.

  "You are the best judge of the truth of what I say." He shifted on the hard, worn bench and recrossed his legs, ankle over knee. "My guess— he knows Kris is your partisan; he could not get Kris to repudiate you so he decided to set the two great friends at odds with each other in hopes you would be caught in the middle."

  "Me? But—"

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  "If he is of the mind to undermine your authority, this is one way of it,"

  Alberich added quietly, hands clasped thoughtfully over one knee. "To chip away at those supporting you until they are so entangled in their own misfortune that they can spare no time for helping you."

  "I see what you're getting at, now. He's removing my support in such a way that I'm set off-balance. Then, when I'm in a particularly delicate position, give me a little shove—" Talia flicked out a finger, "— and with no one to advise me or give me backing, I vacillate, or start making mistakes. And all the things he's been whispering about my not being quite up to the job look like something more than an old man's mistrust of the young. I thought you didn't deal with Court politics..." She smiled wanly at her instructor.

  "I said I do not play the game; I never said I did not know how the game was played." His mouth turned up a little at one corner. "Be advised, however, that I have never told anyone of my suspicions because I seemed to be alone in them— and I did not intend to give Lord Orthallen a reason to gaze in my direction. It is difficult enough being from Karse— without earning high-placed enemies."

  Talia nodded with sympathy. It had been hard enough on her during her first years at the Collegium. She could hardly imagine what it had been like for someone hailing from the land that was Valdemar's traditional enemy.

  "Now I do think he has miscalculated, perhaps to his eventual grief. It is that he has badly underestimated the unity of the Circle, I think, or it is that he cannot understand it. Among the courtiers, such a falling out as is between Kris and Dirk would be permanent— and woe betide she caught between them!"

  Talia sighed. "I know they'll make up eventually— Lord of Lights, though, I'm not sure I can deal with the emotional lightnings and thunders till they do! Why couldn't Ahrodie and Tantris get their hooves into this and straighten it out?"

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  "Why do you not?" Alberich retorted. "They are our Companions and friends, delinda, not our overseers. They leave our personal lives to ourselves, nor would any of us thank them for interfering. Yes, they will most probably be whispering sensible things into their Chosen's minds, but you know well they will not force either of the two into anything."

  She sighed wistfully. "If I were a little less ethical, I'd fix both of them."

  "If you were a little less ethical, you would not have been Chosen,"

  Alberich pointed out. "Now, since the anger is gone, shall we return to the exercise of the body in place of the tongue?"

  "Do I have a choice?" Talia asked, as she rose from her place on the bench.

  "No, delinda, you do not— so guard yourself!"

  * * *

  Elspeth had encountered Orthallen during one of her rare moments of leisure; she was dawdling a bit on her way back to her suite in the Palace to dress for dinner with the Court. She took dinner with the Court once a week—"to remind everyone" (in her own wry words) "that they still have an Heir." She was standing before an open second-story window; some of the gardens were directly below her. She was wearing a rather wistful expression and hadn't realized there was anyone else in the corridor with her until Orthallen touched her elbow.

  She jumped and started back (one hand brushing a hidden dagger) when she realized who it was and relaxed.

  "Havens, Lord-Un— Lord Orthallen, you startled me out of a year's life!"

  "I most sincerely hope not," he replied, "But I do wish you would continue to call me 'Lord-Uncle' as you started to. Surely now that you're nearly through your studies you aren't going to become formal with me!"

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  "All right, Lord-Uncle, since you ask it. Just remember to defend me for my impudence when Mother takes me to task for it!" Elspeth grinned, and leaned back on the window-frame a little.

  "Now what is it that you were watching with such a long face?" he asked lightly, coming close enough to look out of the window himself.

  Below the window were some of the Palace gardens; in the gardens a half-dozen couples— children of courtiers or courtiers themselves— ranging from Elspeth's age upward to twenty or so. They were involved in the usual sorts of activities that might be expected from a group of adolescents in a sunny garden in the spring. One couple was engaged in a mock-game of "tag," one girl was embroidering while her gallant read to her, two maids were giggling and gasping at the antics of two lads balancing on the basin of a fountain, one young gentleman was peacefully asleep with his head in the lap of his chosen lady, two couples were simply strolling hand in hand.

  Elspeth sighed.

  "And why aren't you down there, my lady?" Orthallen asked quietly.

  "H
avens, Lord-Uncle, where would I get the time?" Elspeth's reply was impatient and a touch self-pitying. "Between my classes and everything else— besides, I don't know any boys, at least not well. Well, there's Skif, but he's busy chasing Nerissa. Besides, he's even older than Talia."

  "You don't know any young men— when half the swains of the Court are near dying just to speak to you?" Orthallen's expression of incredulity held as much of bitter as playful mockery, though Elspeth was so used to his manners that she hardly noted it.

  "Well if they're near-dying, nobody told me about it, and nobody's bothered to introduce us."

  "If that's all that's lacking, I will be happy to make the introductions.

  Seriously, Elspeth, you are spending far too much of your time among the Heralds and Heraldic Students. Heralds make up only a very small part of 104

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  Valdemar, my dear. You need to get to know your courtiers better, particularly those of your own age. Who knows? You may one day wish to choose a consort from among them. You can hardly do that if you don't know any of them."

  "You have a point, Lord-Uncle," Elspeth mused, taking another wistful glance out the window, "But when am I going to find the time?"

  "Surely you have an hour or two in the evenings?"

  "Well, yes, usually."

  "There's your answer."

  Elspeth smiled. "Lord-Uncle, you're almost as good at solving problems as Talia!"

  Her face fell a trifle then, and Orthallen's right eyebrow rose as he took note of her expression.

  "Is there some problem with Talia?"

  "Only— only that there's only one of her. Mother needs her more than I do, I know that— but— I wish I could talk to her the way I used to when she was still a student. She doesn't have the time anymore."

  "You could talk to me," Orthallen pointed out. "Besides, Talia's first loyalty is to your mother; she might feel obliged to tell her what you confided in her."