Talia shook her head wonderingly, "It's hard to believe. How can a curse know someone's intent?"
"I can't explain it, and neither can any of the old chronicles. It's true nevertheless. You, or I, or any of the people of the Sector can walk that forest totally without fear. A baby could walk through there totally unharmed, because even the forest predators leave humans alone in Sorrows—well, that's the only anomalous thing about the area. The religion is fairly ordinary, the people follow the Lady as Astera of the Stars, and the God as Kernos of the Northern Lights; there's no anti-woman prejudice. In fact, because of Sorrows, we often have females riding circuit there alone. The Herald you're replacing is a woman, in point of fact. You may know her, she was two year-groups ahead of you—Destria."
"Destria? Havens—she isn't badly hurt, is she? What happened?"
"The injury is fairly serious, but not life-threatening. She was trying to rescue half a dozen children during a flood—it's a hard land, Talia, that's the main problem with it—and broke both legs."
"Thank the Goddess for Companions."
"Amen to that; without hers she'd have lain in sleet-born water for hours, probably died of exposure. No, Destria's Sofi managed to get not only her Herald but all the children to safety. All's well there except for the injury. So, that's the gist of the situation, and as I said, I apologize for the short notice. I hope you don't mind too much."
"Not at all sir," Talia replied, "After all, I had even less notice when I was Chosen, didn't I?"
"Good for you!" Kyril chuckled. "Well, now we come to the reason why I asked you to come here, instead of meeting you for lunch or asking you to meet with both Kris and myself to be told about this. I'm sure you realized a long time ago that there were things we wouldn't teach you until you got your Whites. What I'm about to show you is the best-kept secret of the Heraldic Circle. Haven't you ever wondered why all Heralds are required to become archers?"
"I never thought about it," she confessed, looking puzzled. "It does seem a little odd, now that you mention it. We don't fight with the royal Archers in battle; when we do fight, it's mostly sword or hand-to-hand. We usually don't have to hunt to feed ourselves riding circuit; we carry supplies or depend on the shelters. So why do we have to learn bow?"
"So that you have an excuse to carry arrows wherever you go," Kyril replied. "Not everyone has the kind of mind-reach I have; Lady knows things would be much simpler if they did, because there are plenty of times when the ordinary means of passing information wouldn't do at all. We have to have a foolproof, unambiguous method of passing simple messages, but it has to be impervious to tampering. That's why the Arrow-Code was developed, and thus far no one has broken it. And it all starts with this— "
With skillful and practiced fingers, he carefully broke barbs from the Retchings of a plain white arrow he pulled from the quiver. Talia could see that he was being very precise about which barbs he broke from which fletchings, yet when he was through, it looked as if the arrow had simply been handled too roughly.
"So that's why all our arrows are fletched with mud-gannet feathers!" Talia said, enlightened.
"Right. They're nowhere near as suitable as goose, but the barbs are so thick, heavy, and regular it's possible to have the fletching on every arrow we carry absolutely identical—and it's possible to literally count barbs for the code. Now this is my pattern. It's registered here, among the secret Records, and even there it's in an encrypted form for added security. Outside of those Records, only four people know it—the Queen, the Seneschal, Elcarth, and Teren, who used to be my partner. Only the Queen, the Seneschal, and Elcarth know how to translate the ciphers we've written the patterns in besides myself. When your internship is over, you'll be given the encryption key as part of what you need to know as Queen's Own. Only two people know every pattern by heart; myself and Elcarth. Now you know why one of the primary prerequisites of both our jobs is a perfect memory!"
Talia smiled, and bit her lip to keep from chuckling.
"This pattern identifies the message carried by the color of the banding on the arrow as coming from me and no one else. Now—" He took a second arrow from the quiver, and broke the barbs in a second pattern. "—this is your pattern. When I'm satisfied that you can reproduce it in the dark and behind your back, I'll give you a general idea of the rest of the code."
She was slightly nonplussed to discover that Kyril meant that literally. It took several hours before she could perform that simple task without seeing the arrow she was working on, and without truly thinking about it, with a speed and accuracy that contented him. Meanwhile, the sun crept across Kyril's desk, and her stomach began reminding her that it had been a long time since her last real meal.
Finally Kyril pronounced her competent, and allowed her to give her tired fingers a rest while he explained the remainder of the code to her.
"The rest of it," he told her, "is a bit more complicated, although we've done our best to make the colors mnemonic to the message. Kris will drill you on the full code on your way to your sector, but in general, this is what the simple banding of one color means. White means there's nothing wrong—'all is well, come ahead.' It's usually used just to identify that there's another Herald about, and who it is. Green calls for a Healer to be sent, purple for a priest, gray for another Herald. Brown tells the receiver to watch for a message; there's trouble, not serious, but something that requires elaboration, and something that may delay the Herald sending it in keeping his schedule. Blue means 'treachery’. Yellow calls for military aid, the number of yellow bands on the arrows tells how many units—if you send every yellow-ringed arrow you've got, and we know exactly how many you have, we know to send the entire Army! Red means 'great danger—come with all speed.' Then there's black."
He paused, his eyes holding Talia's. "I pray to Heaven that you never have to send a black arrow, Talia. Sending any black-ringed arrow means there's been or will be death or catastrophe. And there's a variant on the code for black you should also know now rather than later. The black arrow intact except for the fletching pattern means 'total disaster, help or rescue needed.' Break the arrow, send the pieces, and it reads 'disaster, all hope gone. Do not attempt rescue.’ Remove the head, and it means that the one whose pattern is in the fletching is dead. The broken arrow, the headless arrow—those can actually be of any color so long as the fletching pattern's there. Those are the two we'll always understand—and the ones we never want to see."
Talia felt a peculiar chill thread her backbone, and suddenly the hot, sunny day seemed unaccountably gray and chill. She shook off the feeling, and repeated Kyril's words back to him, verbatim.
"That's all there is," he said, satisfied. "You're as well prepared as any of us is for his first assignment— and you're one of the best Heralds the Collegium has ever turned out. You ought to do just fine, even though this is going to be a tough assignment. Good luck to you, Talia; I look forward to seeing you in another year and a half."
She took her leave of him and despite her hunger, decided it would be a good idea to hunt up Kris. The first place she looked for him, given the situation, was the tackshed. After all, he was only just in from fieldwork; his first move should be to see that needed repairs had already been made to his Companion's gear. That was exactly where he was, in company with Dirk, checking over his harness and tack.
As alert as a wild thing to any hint of movement, Dirk was the first to notice her. "It's our songbird!" he said genially, favoring her with one of those smiles that was almost an embrace. "I expect you have the word? And Kyril's given you the code?"
She nodded, feeling oddly shy, then searched for Rolan's never-used traveling equipment. It was similar to the tack he'd worn when he'd found her, except that the bridle bells were removable, and the saddle was a bit more complicated. Besides the usual girth, it had breast and rump bands like those on warriors' saddles, a far larger number of the snaffles by which objects could be fastened to the skirting, and an arrangement o
f rings and straps that made it possible for a rider—ill, injured, or unconscious, perhaps—to be belted securely into his seat.
Talia rarely ever bothered with saddle or bridle around the Collegium, but she knew from experience, both her own and Rolan's, that it would mean a great deal in the way of comfort on a ride of more than an hour (for both of them) for her to use the saddle. And as her near-fatal escapade in the river had shown, the otherwise useless reins on the bridle had other functions than guiding her Companion. Had Rolan been wearing his bridle, she could have twined her arms in the reins and let him tow her to shore, for instance.
"Everything in good order?" Kris asked. She nodded an affirmative, feeling awkward and tongue-tied now that she was less than twenty-four hours away from a long journey spent mostly in his company.
"Kris and I haven't taken care of requistioning your supplies yet," Dirk said, giving her an encouraging, lopsided grin, as if he sensed how she was feeling, "We were waiting for you to catch up with us."
"We?" Kris lifted an eyebrow at his partner. "What's this 'we' all about? She happens to be my trainee, you know."
"And who's the one who can't ever remember how many furlongs it is to his Sector, and whether or not you need high-energy rations, or even where he's going, half the time?"
"Your guess is as good as mine—I don't know of anybody answering that description," Kris grinned.
Dirk heaved a heavy sigh. "No gratitude, that's what it is. All right, sieve-head, let's you and your trainee get over to the Quartermaster and show her how it's done."
They arranged themselves with Talia walking between them, and strolled out of the Collegium area of the Palace to the area reserved for the Guard. That is, they strolled—Talia had to stretch her legs no small amount to keep up with them. All the time she was constantly aware of the little, warm, sidelong glances Dirk kept throwing at her when he thought she wasn't watching. She wasn't used to being under such intense scrutiny, and it made her a little—not uneasy, precisely—unsettled was perhaps the better word.
Like the Heralds, the Guard had their own area of the Palace, although they had nothing that was quite like the Collegium. They did have a training center, and a communal barracks, as well as officer's quarters, and they maintained a number of small rooms as offices. Since the needs of the Heralds and the Guard were quite similar in some areas of supply, the Quartermaster of the Guard also dispensed initial supplies to outbound Heralds. Any other supplies were taken care of at special Resupply Stations in the field.
The Offices of the Guard were entered by a door directly under the shadow of the wall that encircled the entire PalaceICollegium complex. There were a dozen or more officers seated at desks literally crammed together in the relatively small room, all busy with piles of paperwork, but Kris and Dirk seemed to know exactly where they were going. Talia followed as they threaded their way through the maze, while the officers whose work they inadvertently disturbed gave them either glares or friendly winks. Their goal was a desk at the very rear, whose occupant, a grizzled old veteran, looked rather out of place among the younger, obviously townbred officers. He seemed to be hard at his paperwork, but looked up and grinned broadly at the sight of them.
"Wot, ye tired of our faces alriddy?" he jeered. "Or is't ye've got somebody's daddy 'twould like t' see if Heralds bleed red?"
"Neither, you old pirate," Kris replied. "We've got a gap to fill up North, and Kyril, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed that we're best suited to fill it."
The man's face grew serious. "Ah didna hear the' Bell—"
"Relax, Levris, it wasn't fatal," Dirk assured him. "A pair of broken legs, or so I'm told. Talia, this is Levris, he's the Quartermaster of the Guard, and as such, those of us on circuit see a lot of him."
The wizened man stood, took her hand like a courtier, and bowed gracefully over it. " Tis a pleasure," he said gravely, while Talia blushed. "An' a privilege. Ye be Queen's Own, I'm thinkin'—"
"Absolutely right," Kris said, corners of his mouth twitching. "She's my internee."
"Oh, so?" Levris let go of Talia's hand, rested both hands on his hips, and gave him a stern look. "Ye'll not be tryin' any of yer seducin' tricks on her, m'lad, or if Ah come t' hear of it..."
Now it was Kris' turn to blush, and Dirk's to hide a grin.
Talia decided to come to his rescue. "Herald Kyril surely wouldn't have assigned us together if he thought there was any harm in the pairing," she pointed out. "And this is duty, not a pleasure-jaunt."
"Well, an' that's true," he admitted reluctantly, seating himself again. "So—what Sector?"
"North Border, Sorrows Two," Kris told him, "And since we won't be meeting the outgoing Herald, we'll need the whole kit."
"By t'morrow, Ah s'ppose? And ye'll be wantin' the special rations. Ye might give a man some warnin', next time!" he grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Sure, Levris. We'll make certain to schedule our broken legs from now on—and make certain it's convenient for you."
"See that ye do, then," he chuckled; then pulled out a half-dozen forms, and had Kris and Talia sign them all. That done, he shooed them out the way they had come.
"That's all there is to it," Kris said as they returned to the Collegium side. "He'll have everything we'll need ready for us in the morning."
"Provided Herald Sluggard can be persuaded to rise that early," Dirk grinned.
"Now that you've checked over your harness, all you need to do is pack your personal things," Kris continued, ignoring him. "Keep in mind that where we're going it gets cold sooner than here, stays that way for longer, and the cold is more intense. The leaves are already falling up there, though they've just started to turn here. We'll plan on staying mostly in Waystations near the villages; we won't want to get too far from other people if we can help it."
"Nevertheless," Dirk warned both of them, "You'd better also plan on having to spend several nights alone in the wilderness. I lived in that area; you didn't. The villages are far apart, and winter storms can spring up out of nowhere. You may get caught without a Waystation near, so pack the emergency supplies; if you don't use them, there's no harm done, but if you need them, you'll be glad you have them. Plan for the worst possible snow you've ever seen—then overplan."
"Yes, O graybeard," Kris made a face at him. "Holy Stars, Dirk, I visited with your family up there often enough! The way you're fussing, you'd think both of us were green as grass and totally untrained! Talia's no highborn fragile flower, she's a Borderer, too, even if she's from farther south than you."
"Well, better I should remind you needlessly .. ."
"Stow it and rope it down, granther! We'll be fine! Anyone would think you were my keeper, not my partner." Now Kris cast a sly, sidelong glance at Talia, who was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Or is it someone else you're worrying about?"
From the surprise on Kris' face, even he hadn't expected the blush that reddened Dirk's ears.
"Look," Dirk said hastily, "I just don't want you two to get into any trouble. You owe me for too many lost bets, and I'd rather not have to try to collect from your lord father! Is there anything else you'd like advice for, Talia?"
"N-no," she stammered. "I don't think so, anyway. I thank you both. I'd better get back to my quarters and pack."
"Don't forget—take nothing but Whites!" Dirk called after her. "You're on duty every minute in the field. And nothing fancy! It'll only get ruined."
He needn't have said that, about "nothing fancy," she thought a little resentfully. After all, I'm not some silly townbred chit. And then she wondered for a fleeting instant why his good opinion of her should seem so important.
Dismissing the thought from her mind, she ran back up the tower stairs and ransacked her wardrobe, laying everything white she could find on the bed. That way she wouldn't overlook a tunic or other article that she might find herself in need of out in the field.
She packed nothing but the doeskin, with the summer and winter c
hanges both—but she packed every stitch of those she had.
Though from the way Dirk talks, she thought wryly, you'd think it never got warm up there.
She added a repair kit for leather and one for harness, and then for good measure added a sealed pot of glue, just in case. There'd been times enough back on the Holding when she was on sheep-watch that she'd needed a pot of glue, and not had one to hand. She packed her sewing kit, and a brick of hard, concentrated soap—the special kind that you needed for use on Whites to keep them pristine— just in case it ever became necessary to do her own repairs and cleaning of her clothing. Certainly the village laundrypeople normally tended those jobs, but you never knew. She added a small metal traveling lamp, and extra wicks, because she'd never seen a lamp in the Waystations, and if they stayed more than one night, lamplight was easier on the eyes than firelight. Then her personal gear, her weapons, a precious book or two, some writing supplies. Her bedroll was next, and all the extra blankets she could find; with them, two extra towels besides the others she carried, and a pair of thick sheepskin slippers. Rolan's gear was all with his tack, but just the same she packed a vial of ferris-oil. He liked it; it was good for his hooves and coat and kept the insects away.
Even when she'd packed everything as compactly as she could, it still bulked distressingly large. She stared at the clumsy packs in near-despair, trying to think of something she dared leave behind. Kris would surely think she was an idiot for wanting to bring all this stuff!
Valdemar Books Page 481
