Arrow's Flight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Under the primitive conditions of the Station, cleaning white clothing was not an easy chore. Again, however, it was easier than the digging and hauling they'd been doing, and a great deal warmer as well. Eventually every clean surface sported a drying garment.

  "I never thought I'd want to see another set of student Grays again," Talia said, sitting back on her heels and surveying her handiwork.

  "I know what you mean," Kris grinned, looking up from his last pair of boots. "At least the damn things didn't show dirt quite so badly. How are you doing?"

  "I'm done, since I did my leathers while you were washing."

  "This finishes it for me."

  "Well, I still have hot water left— enough for two really good baths. It's too bad we can't fit ourselves into the barrels and soak, but at least we can get really clean."

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  "Good thinking, little bird. Although after all the soap and water I've been immersed in today, there isn't much that needs to soak!"

  Things began to take on a more cheerful appearance once they were clean, especially since they weren't aching from the punishing cold and muscle strain of the past few days.

  Talia combed her wet hair out in front of the fire, more than half mesmerized by the flickering flames and the movement of the comb through her hair. The Station had lost the slightly stale odor it had acquired during the blizzard, and now smelled of soap and leather— very pleasant. Bits of old tales began to flicker through her mind—unconnected images dealing with tales of battle, of all things. Battles, and how the Companions themselves used to fight alongside their Heralds. Or were those images unconnected?

  "Kris," she said slowly, an idea beginning to form, "the main problem is the hard snow and the ice crust. Our shovels aren't strong enough to break it into pieces. But if we wrapped their legs to keep them from being cut, Rolan and Tantris could— like they were fighting."

  "By the Stars of the Lady, you're right!" he exclaimed with excitement.

  "Not only that, remember how you wondered what good those huge claws did the chirras? They dig themselves hollows to lie in, in dirt or in snow.

  If we could make them understand what we wanted, we could have them dig out chunks of a size we could manage!"

  "Havens, Rolan and Tantris can do that!"

  Tantris snorted, and Rolan sent Talia a little mental caress.

  Kris laughed. "All right, granther—" he said to his Companion, looking happier than he had all day. He turned back to Talia. "The Source of all Wisdom over there seems to think we'll be able to work faster than we did before. He wanted to know why we hadn't thought of this until now."

  "Well you two wouldn't have done us much good with the wet snow, now, would you?" Talia asked the two sets of backward-pointing ears. Rolan tossed his head.

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  "And the chirras would have made more of a mess than they'd have cleared. The snowdrifts weren't stable enough until they froze," Kris added, a little smugly. "So there."

  "Did he say anything else?" Talia asked, a little envious of Kris' ability to Mindspeak with his Companion.

  "He just told me he's been worried about how hard we've been working—but then he actually ordered me to rest tomorrow. You'd think we were trainees."

  Talia shook her head ruefully, for there was no doubt that Rolan considered this to be an excellent idea. There was a distinct undertone to his mental sending of worry that both of them had been overworking.

  "Rolan says the same. I don't think I want to argue. Oh, Bright Havens, I hurt!" Talia stretched aching arms and shoulders. "This has hardly been the rest stop we were ordered to take."

  Kris groaned good-naturedly, stretching his own weary muscles. "If anything, I'm more exhausted than I was when we stopped, if that's possible. I'm certainly a lot sorer."

  "Then I'll make you an offer; want a backrub?"

  "Do you?"

  "Oh, Lord, yes," she sighed.

  "I'll work on you, then you work on me. Strip, wench— I can't work through four shirts and a tunic!"

  "It's only two," she protested with a laugh, "And they're summer-weight at that. While I was cleaning, I wanted to clean everything!" Nevertheless, she complied, stretching out on a pallet of blankets on the hearth. Kris seemed to find every last ache, and drove each one out with deft fingers.

  Soothed by the gentle hands, she drifted into a half-sleep.

  He woke her by tickling the back of her neck. "My turn," he said, as she lazily turned her head.

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  She sighed with content and rose to her knees, and slipped on a shift (blessedly clean, and warm from the fire) while he took her place on the hearth. She tried to copy what he'd done to her, and hunted for the muscles that were the most tense, and so hurt the most. Before very long she had him as soothed and relaxed as she was, and they basked in the heat of the fire like a couple of contented cats.

  "I'll do anything you ask," he murmured happily, "Anything, so long as you don't ask me to move. And as long as you don't stop."

  She giggled at the tone of his voice as she gently rubbed his shoulders.

  "All right, then— tell me about Dirk."

  "Promise not to stop what you're doing?"

  "Surely."

  "Good," he said with satisfaction. "Because it's a very long story. For one thing, I have to start with his grandfather."

  "Oh, come now—" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Is this really necessary, or are you just trying to prolong the backrub?"

  "I promise you, it's absolutely necessary. Now, 'once upon a time' when Dirk's grandfather settled his Steading, he lived on the very Border itself.

  He was quite ambitious, so he added a little more to his lands every year, and only stopped when he had as much as one man could reasonably expect to keep under cultivation with the aid of a moderate number of hands. By then the Border had been pushed back by him and others like him. So now that it was a safer place to live, he married."

  "Logical, seeing as he had to have produced at least one offspring to be Dirk's father."

  "Quiet, wench. As it happened, their only child was female, but it didn't perturb him that he would be leaving the Steading to her; he fully expected that she would marry in due course, and the place would still be in the bloodline. However, the gods had other ideas in mind."

  "Don't they always?"

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  "First of all, it turned out that his daughter had a really powerful Gift of Healing. Now this was as welcome as it was unexpected, since it's hard to get Healers to station themselves near the Border. There's always more work there than they can handle successfully unless they're stationed with a Temple, and you know how Healers are— they'd rather die than leave something half-done. At any rate, Borderbred Healers always seem to feel they have a duty to serve where they were born, so there was little chance she'd end up anywhere else. Her proud and happy father sent her off to Healer's Collegium, and in due course she returned in her Greens. So far everything had gone according to expectation. However, being the Healer put a crimp in her father's original plans for her. It seemed that the young men of the area were somewhat reluctant to court a person whose attentions could, because of her Gift, never be entirely devoted to any one person. And this despite the tale I told you about them. Healers are, after all, Healers first and anything else second."

  "Like Heralds, or priests. Look at us."

  "Point taken. At any rate, not even the rather substantial inducement of her inheritance could lure any of the neighboring farmers or their sons to the nuptial table. The oid man began to despair of having his hard-won acreage remain in the family. Then there came the second twist to the plot.

  Late one autumn night there was a terrible storm."

  "I've had my fill of storms."

  "Hush, this is a required storm. In fact, it was the worst autumnal storm that part of the Kingdom h
ad ever seen. It began after sunset and lighting downed so many trees that it was completely unnecessary to cut any for firewood that fall. Freezing rain fell from the heavens in sheets rather than drops. There was so much thunder that it was impossible to hold a conversation and impossible to sleep. And in the midst of all this chaos and confusion, there came a knocking on the farmstead door." Kris was very obvously enjoying himself to the hilt.

  "A tall, dark, mysterious stranger, no doubt."

  "Who's telling this story, you or me? As a matter of actual fact, it was a stranger; half-drowned, half-frozen, half-dead and very much bedraggled, 188

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  but blond, and hardly mysterious. It was a young Bard, only recently graduated from his Collegium and starting his journeyman period. He'd lost his way in the storm, fallen into a river, and had all manner of uncomfortable things happen to him. When he pounded on their door, he was already fevered, delirious, and well on his way to a full-blown case of pneumonia."

  "I smell a romance."

  "You have an accurate nose. Naturally, the young Healer took him in and nursed him back to health. Just as naturally, they fell head over heels in love. Being a man of honor, as well as having his head stuffed full of all those romantic ballads, the Bard begged the old man's permission to wed his daughter in true heroic style. He needn't have worried, because by now the old fellow was beginning to think that any son-in-law was better than none. However, he made it a condition of his agreement that they remain on the Steading."

  "It rather surprised the old farmer when the— he thought— feckless, footloose Bard agreed with all his heart— subject to the agreement of his Circle of course. How could the old man have known that our Bard was born a farmer, and that entwined with his love of music and his love of the daughter was his love and deep understanding of the land? Well, the Circle agreed— provided he compose a Master's ballad about the storm, courtship, and all; and he settled down happily with all three of his loves— land, lady, and music. Then before the year was out, he had a fourth." "Dirk. So that's where he got that wonderful voice!"

  "And where he learned to play so well. Actually, though, you're a bit ahead of the tale. The first child wasn't Dirk. He has three older sisters, two younger, and a baby brother. When they can be sorted into some semblance of order and organization, they have family concerts. You should hear them all singing together, it's wonderful; I swear even the babies cry in the right keys! Well, grandfather passed to his reward content in the knowledge that the land would remain in the bloodline, since by the time he departed, two of the girls had begun enthusiastically producing enormous broods of their own."

  "I was asking about Dirk."

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  "Talia, my little bird, you can't separate Dirk from his family. They're all alike; see one, you know what the rest are like. How things ever get done in that household I have no idea, since it seems to be formed entirely of chaotic elements."

  "Just like a Bard."

  "Actually, he's the most organized of the lot. If it weren't for him and the husbands of the sisters, they'd spend all their time flying in circles. There's an incredible amount of love there, though; and it overflows generously on anyone who happens to find himself dragged unwittingly into their midst."

  "Like you."

  "Like me. Dirk insisted on hauling me home with him the first holiday after we'd met when he found out there wasn't going to be anyone home with me but the servitors. They treated me exactly like one of the family, from bathing babies to teary farewell kisses. I was rather overwhelmed. I certainly hadn't expected anything like them!"

  Talia chuckled, picturing to herself the reserved, slightly shy young boy that Kris must have been, finding himself in the hands of what must have seemed like a family of madmen.

  "Once I got used to them, I had a lot of fun. That's why, every chance I've had, I've gone home with Dirk when he went. Right now four of his sisters are married. Three of them live in extensions to the original house and their husbands share the work on the Steading, because Dirk's father has developed bad knees. The last has his own land to look after, but they're still on hand for every holiday in the calendar. It's a good thing they all get along so well."

  "We were talking about Dirk."

  "Right." Kris' eyes gleamed with mischief at the impatience in her voice.

  "He was Chosen even younger than I— only eleven; probably because at eleven he was more mature in a lot of ways than I was at thirteen. We were Chosen the same year, and almost the same month. He told me that Ahrodie Chose him in the middle of the marketplace on Fair Day, and he 190

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  kept trying to direct her attention to his sister because he thought he was too ugly to be a Herald!"

  "Poor child."

  "So we went through the Collegium as year-mates. He saw how lonely I was there, and how unused to dealing with other children, and decided that I needed a friend. And since I couldn't seem to make one by myself, he was going to do it for me! In classes, though, I had to help him along, and he was never better than average. It was pretty well accepted by all of us that after our internships he was going to work Border Sectors and I was going to teach. Then we found out how our Gifts dovetailed, and how incredibly well we work together, and everyone's plans were rather abruptly changed."

  "And you began working as a team."

  "Oh, yes. And we discovered that we have a kind of Gift for intrigue as well. The number of situations we've gotten ourselves into would astound you, yet we always seem to extricate ourselves and come home covered in glory."

  "Kris, what's he really like?"

  "Behind the jester-mask? Very sensitive— that's his heritage coming out.

  Endlessly kind to the helpless; you should see him some time with a lap full of kittens or babies. Don't think he's soft and sentimental, though. I've seen him slit people's throats in cold blood when they deserved it, and do it from behind in the dark without a pretext of fair play. He says that if they're intending to do the same to him, it doesn't make sense to give them warning. He can be totally ruthless in the cause of Queen, Kingdom, and Circle. Let's see, what else is there? You've danced with him, so you know that his bumbling farmer look is totally deceiving. He's one of the few people that Alberich will accept to act as a substitute with his advanced pupils when Alberich is sick. And for all that, he's terribly vulnerable in certain areas. I helped him get over his broken heart, and I promise you, Talia, that I will personally break the neck of anyone who hurts him like that again."

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  He was lying with his head turned to one side and pillowed on his arms; Talia could not help but see the fierce, cold hatred in his expression at that moment.

  Kris's fierce tone as he spoke the last few words was completely unfeigned. He remembered only too well what Dirk had been like then—broken, defeated— it had been horrible to compare what that bitch had made him into with what he had been before she'd worked her wiles on him. Dirk seldom shed a tear— but he had wept helplessly on Kris'

  shoulder when she'd ruined his life and his hopes for him. It was a thing he never wanted to witness again. And if he had any say about it, he never would.

  Then a painful thought occurred to him. He knew Dirk was more than interested in Talia... and she had been showing evidence of the same sort of feeling. But he and Talia had most of a year to go on her internship, and now that they were intimate, it was damned unlikely they'd go back to their earlier relationship. What the hell was he going to do if she started getting infatuated with him?

  It was more than a possibility; after all, nearly every other female he'd spent any time with had ended up in the same state.

  He didn't want to think about it...

  "I think it's time to do something about your problem," he said, thinking that trouble might be less likely if he reasserted his position as a figure of authority.

  "Like what?" She s
at up slowly, and shook her hair out of her eyes, her expression in the flickering firelight a sober one.

  "I'm going to take you absolutely back to basics. Back to the very first thing they taught me."

  "Shielding?"

  "Hell, no, girl," he replied, astounded. "More basic than that— and if shielding was what they taught you first, maybe that's one reason why 192

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  you're having this problem. I'm taking you right back to the first steps.

  Ground and center."

  She looked puzzled, and shifted a little, curling her legs under her.

  "Ground and what? "

  "Oh, Gods," he groaned. "How the hell did you get away with— of course.

  Ylsa must have thought you knew the basics. Maybe you did...

  instinctively." He bit his lip, thinking hard, staring off into the space beyond his internee. Talia just sat quietly, peering anxiously at him through the half-dark of the Station. "Trouble is, as my teacher used to say, instinct is no substitute for conscious control."

  "I— I guess I've rather well proved that, haven't I?" she replied bitterly.

  "Well, once instinct goes, there's no basis for reorganizing yourself." He took a deep breath, acutely aware of the faint smell of soap, straw, and animal that pervaded the Station.

  "Gods." She sighed, and rubbed her temple with one hand. "All right— do your worst."

  "Don't laugh," he replied grimly, "Before I'm through it may well seem like just that. All right, are you comfortable? Absolutely comfortable?"

  She frowned, shifted a little, then nodded.

  He settled himself, folding his own legs under him, shifting until the straw under his blanket moved to a more comfortable place. "Close your eyes.