"I—can't."
She lowered her shields; he was spiky inside with phobic fears; of storms, of entrapment; and most of all, of falling. In the state he was in now, she doubted he'd be able to look out a second-story window without exerting iron control—and this from the young man who'd led her on a scramble across the face of the second story of the Palace itself, one dark night!
"Remember me? What I am? Just start at the beginning; take it slowly. I'll help you face it down."
He swallowed. "It—it started with a storm; we were caught out on the trail in the hills. Hills, ha! More like mountains! Gods, it was dark; rain was pouring down so hard I couldn't even see Cymry's ears. Dirk had point, the mules were next, I was tail—it was supposed to be the safest place. We were more or less feeling our way along; sheer rock on one side of us, ravine on the other."
Talia had herself in half-trance, carefully extending herself into his mind. He was fighting down his fear as he spoke and beginning to lose to it.
"The trail just—crumbled, right under Cymry's hooves. We fell; there wasn't even time to yell for help."
Gently, Talia touched the fear, took it into herself, and began working away at it. It was like knife-edged flint, all points and slicing surfaces. As softly as flowing water, and as inexorably, she began wearing away at it, dulling it, muting it.
"We ended up wedged halfway down. Cymry was stunned; I'd broken my arm and most of my ribs, I think; I don't remember much. It hurt too much to think, and where I was stuck, there was a flood of water pouring down the wall like a young waterfall. You know I don't Mindspeak too well, and Dirk's Gift isn't Mindspeech anyway; I couldn't get hold of myself enough to call for help that way, and it was impossible to be heard over the storm."
He was shaking like a reed in a windstorm; she put her arm around his shoulders; supplying a physical comfort as well as the mental. "But Dirk found you," she pointed out.
"The Gods alone know how; he had no reason to think we were still alive." The tension was rapidly draining out of him as Talia shielded him from the phobic memories; not enough to make him forget, but enough to make them less real, less obsessive. "He got ropes around both of us and anchored us where we were; used something to divert the water away from me, and stayed with us, hanging on with his teeth and toenails, until the storm was over. Then he got blankets over us and sent Ahrodie off for help while he got me back up to the trail. I don't remember that part at all; I must have blacked out from the pain." His voice sounded less strained.
The fear was nearly conquered now; time to diffuse the rest of it. "You must have looked like a drowned rat," she replied with a hint of chuckle. "I know you have a fetish for cleanliness, but don't you think that was overdoing it a bit?"
He stared at her in surprise, then began to laugh, shakily. The laughter was half tears as the last of the tension was released. Hysterics—yes, but long needed.
She held him quietly until the worst passed, and he could see past the tears to her face, childlike in the half-dark.
The paralysis of fear that Skif had lived with on a daily basis for the past several months had all but choked the voice out of him as he tried to tell Talia what had happened that awful night. He'd suffered nightmare replays of the incident at least one night a week ever since. It had taken all of his control to repeat it to her—at least at first. But then, gradually, the words had begun to flow more freely; the fear had slowly loosed its grip on him. As he neared the end of his narrative, he began to realize what Talia had done.
It was gratitude as much as release that shook the tears from him then.
"You—you did it to me, didn't you—fixed me like you did with Vostel and the rest of them—?"
"Mm-hm," she nodded, touching his hair in the dark. "I didn't think you'd mind."
"No more nightmares?"
"No more nightmares, big brother. You won't find yourself wanting to hide in a closet during storms anymore, and you'll be able to look down over cliffs again. In fact, you'll even be able to tell the story in a week or two without shaking like a day-old chick, and it should make a good tale to earn the sympathy of a pretty lady with!"
"You—you're unbelievable," he said at last, holding her tightly.
"So are you, to have been coping with all that fear all this time, and not letting it get the best of you."
They sat that way for some time, before the murmur of voices below them recalled them to their surroundings.
"Hellfire! This is supposed to be a party, and you're supposed to be enjoying it," Skif said at last.
"I am, now that you're all right." She rose to her feet, and gave him a hand up. "Well, I'm going back to the singing, and it seems to me that your year-mate Mavry is looking a bit lonely."
"Hm. So she is," he replied, peering down into the lighted area. "Think I'll go keep her company. And—heart-sister—"
"No thanks needed, love."
He kissed her forehead by way of reply, then skipped lightly down the stairs of the loft and took himself off to the other side of the room, where Mavry willingly made a space for him beside her.
Talia rejoined the musicians just in time for Dirk to claim her for another duet. She had to plead a dry throat before they'd let someone else take the floor.
She didn't notice the passing of time until she caught herself yawning hard enough to split her head in half. When she tried to reckon up how much time had passed, she was shocked.
Thinking she surely must be mistaken, she slipped over to the door to look out to the east. Sure enough, there on the horizon was the first hint of false dawn. True dawn was less than an hour away.
She collected her things, feeling suddenly ready to collapse. Dirk, half-propped on a backrest of saddle and several old saddleblankets, seemed to be asleep as she slipped past him, but he cracked an eyelid open as she tried to ease herself out.
"Giving up?" he asked softly.
She nodded, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand.
"Enjoy yourself?" At her enthusiastic nod, he smiled, another of those wonderful warm smiles that seemed to embrace her and close everything and everyone else outside of it. "I'll be heading back to my own bed before long. About this time things start to break up on their own. And don't worry about being expected on duty today. No one will be up to notice before noon at the earliest—look over there." He cocked an eyebrow to his left. Talia was astonished to see the Queen, dressed in old, worn leathers, sharing a cloak and resting her head in easy intimacy on the shoulder of the middle-aged storyteller. And not far from her sat Alberich, finishing the last of a wineskin with Keren, Sherrill, and Jeri.
"How did Selenay and Alberich get in without my noticing?" Talia asked him.
"Easy. You were singing at the time. See, though? You won't be missed. Have a good long sleep—and pleasant dreams, Talia."
"And to you, Dirk," she said.
"They will be," he chuckled, and closed his eyes again. "They most assuredly will be."
Three
Talia didn't usually sleep long or heaviiy. Perhaps the cause was that she'd drunk more wine than usual, or perhaps it was just the incredibly late hour at which she'd sought her bed. At any rate, it took having the sun shine directly into her eyes to wake her the next morning.
Since the window of her bedroom faced the east, she'd positioned her bed with the headboard right under the windowsill. That way she always had the fresh air, and her face should remain out of the sunlight until well after the time she normally rose. No matter how cold the winter, she'd never been able to bear the slight claustrophobia that closed shutters induced in her, so the glazed windows themselves and the thin fabric curtaining them were all that stood between her eyes and the sun's rays, and the windows themselves were open, with the curtains moving slightly in the breeze.
As she squinted groggily through the glare, she realized that it must be nearly noon, and as if to confirm this, the noon warning bell at the Collegium sounded clearly through her open window.
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Well, the wine she'd indulged in last night had given her a slight headache. She muttered something to herself about fools and lack of judgment and pulled her pillow over her head, tempted to go right back to sleep again. But a nagging sense of duty, (and, more urgently, a need to use the privy) denied her further sloth.
She'd been so tired last night—this morning?—that all she'd been able to do was peel off her clothing, leave it in a heap on the floor, and fall into bed. Now that she felt a little more awake, her skin crawled with the need for a bath. Her hair itched. Her mouth didn't bear thinking about. She groaned. It was definitely time to get up.
She sighed, levered herself out of bed, and set about getting herself back into working condition.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she rubbed her eyes until they cooperated by focusing properly, then reached for the robe hanging on one of the posts at the foot of her bed. She wrapped it about herself, then collected the clothing on the floor. The soiled clothing went into a hamper; the servant who tended to the Heralds in this section of the wing collected it and sent it to the laundry as part of her duties—and that was a luxury that was going to take some getting used to! She'd been lowborn and at the bottom of her Holderkin family's pecking order as a child, and once at the Collegium had fallen naturally in with the tradition that trainees tended to their own needs and shared the common chores. She had become habituated to doing the serving, and not to being waited on herself!
The warmth of the smooth wood beneath her feet was very comforting, and she decided then that she would not have any floor coverings in her new quarters. She liked the way the sunwarmed boards felt to bare feet, and she liked the way the wood glowed when the sun touched it.
She rummaged in her wardrobe, and draped a new, clean uniform over one arm, then bundled her bathing things into the other arm and headed for the door.
The bathing-room shared by the other tower occupants was on the bottom floor; that was another disadvantage of having selected a tower room. It was a long walk, and seemed longer for the thinking about it. Talia was the only current occupant though. The other rooms were either unclaimed or their owners were out on circuit. So at least there wasn't going to be any competition for the facilities.
Talia saw a note waiting for her on her door as soon as she opened it. Rubbing her temple in response to the ache behind her eyes, she wondered who could be the early riser after the revelry of the previous night. She took it down and began to skim through it as she headed down the stairs. What she read caused her to stop dead and reread it thoroughly.
It was from Kyril.
I realize this is notice so short as to be nonexistent, he wrote, but we've had an emergency since last night. The Herald currently riding one of the Northern Border Sectors has had an accident, and we have no one free who knows anything about the area to cover it. Dirk can't—he's already assigned to another Border Sector that needs a Border-bred Herald too badly to reassign him elsewhere. The closest we can come is this—since Dirk is a native of that area, Kris has visited up there fairly often; and you're of Borderer upbringing. Since you haven't been assigned a circuit yet, it seemed to me that assigning it to you as your internship with Kris would solve our problems very neatly. However, this means that you two will have to start as soon as we can get you on the road north; tomorrow, I hope. Please report to me right after the noon meal—or as soon as you read this note!—-for a briefing and some final information.
Her first thought was an irreverent and irrelevant one. She knew Kyril hadn't left the revel before her— how could he have been awake and ready to handle crises so blasted early in the morning after? Her next was more to the point. Tomorrow! She hadn't expected assignment with so little warning. There wasn't any time to waste; she ran downstairs to the bathing-room. The last thing she wanted to do was give Kyril an impression of carelessness or incompetence.
A good hot bath did a great deal to revitalize her; a dose of willowbark tea took care of the ache in her head. She couldn't do much for the half-cloudy feeling of her mind, but she hoped that being aware that she wasn't quite at her best would compensate for that. Rather than take the time for a full meal she begged cheese, bread, and fruit from Mero. She was far too keyed up to eat much, anyway. This would be the first time that she would meet with Kyril as an equal; up until now, even though she had her Whites, it had still been very much a teacher-student relationship.
She took a few moments of precious time to consult with Rolan before seeking Kyril. It was frustrating not to be able to speak with him in words—but simply Mindtouching with him gave her an added measure of calmness. He reassured her that Kyril would never have expected her to report any earlier than this, and prevented her from changing at the last minute into one of her formal uniforms. And beneath it all was the solidity of knowing that he stood ready to help her if she truly found herself out of her depth on this assignment. Feeling a good bit more confident, she skipped down the tower steps and entered the Palace proper.
A few moments later she had made her way to the administrative area. She paused outside the door of the Records Room—which served as Kyril's office— for a moment to order her mind and calm herself. She pulled the doeskin tunic straight, smoothed her hair; took a deep breath, knocked once and entered.
The Records Room was as neat as Dean Elcarth's office was cluttered. Sun streamed in through the two windows that looked out into the gardens on the west side of the building. Both of them were wide open, and flower-scent wafted in through them. The room was crammed as full of bookshelves as it was possible to be. Kyril's desk stood just under one of the two windows, to take full advantage of the light. Kyril himself was leaning in the window frame, absently watching courtiers stroll in the gardens, and obviously waiting for her. She noticed something anomalous on his desk as he turned from the window to greet her; a quiverful of white arrows.
"Sir?" she said softly; and he turned to smile greeting at her.
Kyril was pleased to see that Talia was looking alert and ready for practically anything. In the past few weeks of working with her, he had come to truly believe all that her Collegium teachers had claimed for her. The Queen's Own was always an outstanding person among Heralds, but Talia bid fair to be outstanding among the ranks of her own kind. He could not for a moment fathom why her reputation, even among her fellow Heralds, was one of being a sweet, but somewhat simple creature. He wasn't altogether certain that he would have been able to manage the feat of memorizing all the Kingdom's familial devices and tides in the three weeks she'd taken. Perhaps it was because she was so shy, even yet, and seldom spoke without first being spoken to. Perhaps it was because of her ability with children in general, and the Heir in particular—a strong maternal instinct was not necessarily coupled in anyone's mind with a high intellectual level.
Then again, there weren't too many even among the Heralds who had been her teachers who had seen the real Talia. She had not allowed very many of them to come within arm's length, as it were. Kyril was just sorry he had had so little time for her; and he sometimes worried a little about that strange Gift of hers. Empathy that strong—and having seen her exert herself, he knew it was very strong—was far more the Gift of Healers. He had been relieved when she'd begun spending so much time with the Healers; they would know how to train her properly, if anybody would. If he had only had the time—if Ylsa hadn't been killed—
But Talia seemed to have everything perfectly under control, and if even her own peers tended to underestimate her, that surely wasn't going to harm her any.
Perhaps, though, that tendency to dismiss her lightly was not altogether a bad thing. Kyril had been dealing with Court and Council on a daily basis for something like twenty years, and being underestimated could be a potent and very useful weapon. People might not see past the guileless eyes, and tend to let their tongues run on longer leads in her presence. No, that reputation of hers might well be a very good thing for all of them. Certainly the disturbing rumors he'd hea
rd lately about her would not survive much longer if people began comparing the tales of machinations with her reputation as a sweet and uncomplicated innocent.
"Sit, sit," he waved at a chair, taking one himself. "You look none the worse for your late night. I remember my first Herald's revel; I thought my hangover was going to last for the next week! I trust you enjoyed yourself." He smiled again as she nodded shyly. "It's the first chance I had to hear you sing. Jadus used to make us all curious, boasting about your abilities. He was certainly right about you! Last night—to tell the truth, I've heard Bards that didn't give performances that moving. You're as good as Jadus claimed, maybe better." She blushed, and he chuckled. "Well, that's neither here nor there. I am very sorry about all the hurry, but we don't like to leave Border Sectors without a Herald for very long; in this case, it's not that there's potential for trouble, but that the people of the Sector feel isolated enough as it is, particularly in winter. They need to know that they're as important to the life of this Kingdom as the capital Sector itself." He regarded her steadily; her answer to his speech would tell him a great deal.
The eyes that met his squarely held faint surprise.
"I—I thought there was always potential for trouble in a Border Sector, sir," Talia ventured. "There're raiders, bandits—lots of problems even if the people themselves never cause them."
"In the general run of things that's true, but the Border in this Sector runs through the Forest of Sorrows, and that's no small protection."
"Then the tale of Vanyel's Curse is true?" Talia was amazed. "Sorrows does protect the Kingdom? But . .. how?"
"I wish I knew," Kyril replied, musing half to himself, "They knew things, those old ones, that we've forgotten or lost. They had magic then—real magic, and not our mind-magic; the Truth Spell is just about all we have left of that. Vanyel's Curse is as strong in Sorrows as the day he cast it with his dying breath. Nothing that intends ill to this Kingdom or the people in it lives more than five minutes there; I've seen some of the results with my own eyes. I used to ride Northern myself, back in the days when I was still riding circuits, and not Seneschal's Herald. I've seen bandits impaled on branches as if on thrown spears. I've seen outlaws who starved to death, buried to their waist in rock-hard earth, as if it opened beneath their feet, then closed on them like a trap. What's more—and this is what was more frightening than the other things—I've seen barbarian raiders dead without a mark on them, but their faces twisted into an expression of complete and utter terror. I don't know what it was that happened to them, but my guess is that they were truly frightened to death."
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