Lan knew that they wouldn't eat it all, but at least what wasn't eaten would be carried with great ceremony to the nearest Temple of Kernos to be distributed to the hungry before it even had a chance to cool. Grandmother would lead the procession, pushed in her canopied, wheeled chair, just as she had back in Alderscroft, with Nelda on her right and Macy on her left. Those female relatives who cared to would accompany them. The priest would pronounce a solemn blessing on the creators of the dishes who were so generous as to share them, paying special attention to the matriarch of the clan. Grandmother loved every moment of it; it was her opportunity to be the queen of the family.
At least everyone got a Midwinter Feast that way, for the poor were waiting right there in the temple to be fed.
"So, Lavan," one of the unsuitable cousins piped up from farther down the table, fluttering her eyes at him. "Are there many pretty girls being trained as Heralds?"
Lan was torn between saying the expected, "None as pretty as you," and the indifferent, "I hadn't noticed."
He compromised on, "Most of the time we're all being worked so hard that we're too tired to tell the girls from the boys, and the rest of the time we're trying to catch up on sleep."
"Oh, come now," a particularly obnoxious uncle said, in a patronizing tone of voice. "There can't be that much to learn! What does a Herald do, anyway, but ride about and look important, maybe settle an occasional feud between farmers?"
Lan took a very deep breath before answering to remind himself to keep his temper, ignoring the frantic look on his mother's face. "Well, as it happens, I get up about a candle-mark before dawn, unless I happen to be one of the people who has morning chores to do and in that case, I get up two candlemarks before dawn. There's breakfast, then I put my room ready for inspection. Then I have classes in History, Geography, and Field Investigation, then hard riding exercises, then maybe afternoon chores, then lunch, then more afternoon chores or study, then Weaponswork, then Mathematics and Accounting, then a class in court etiquette and how to handle situations involving the nobles, then a special class—right now I'm doing a short class on how to take care of injuries or illness in an emergency until a Healer can get there. Then perhaps evening chores. After that is dinner, then archery practice or a free candlemark, then study until bed." He got some satisfaction in seeing his uncle's eyes bulge a little more with every class he added. "Later I'll be getting lessons in how to use my Gift, how to invoke Truth Spell, another short class about Bards. I'll learn how to survive in the wilderness with no supplies and no tools, I'll learn how to rescue people from drowning, handle a rowboat and a sailboat, how to organize fighting a forest fire or a house fire, how to organize local people into a militia and train them to defend themselves, and how to be a judge. That's just what I know about; I'm sure there are a lot more classes I don't know about yet."
"Oh," his uncle said weakly. Well, what else could he say? Lan took great satisfaction in having managed to put the man in the wrong without ever being in the least impolite. It was the first time in his memory that anyone had ever been able to shut the man up.
No one else seemed to be able to think of anything to say to him, which was just as well. There were a few awkward moments of silence, then another cousin asked the discomfited uncle about a matter of trade in a slightly shrill and nervous voice. The uncle loudly proclaimed his opinion, and conversation resumed, flowing around Lan without touching him.
He ate his meal in silence, wishing that he'd stayed with the Chesters instead. Maybe there wouldn't have been any quail-stuffed-inside-pheasant-stuffed-et cetera, but he would have been a lot more comfortable.
Finally, the interminable meal came to an end with the requisite toasts. When it was Lan's turn, he decided to actually make one instead of passing, as he usually did on the rare occasions when the opportunity arose.
After all, I'm in the place of honor. Why shouldn't I?
His father was just beginning to stand, when Lan pushed his chair decisively back and rose to his feet, glass held high. His father sat back down hurriedly, and a silence descended on the table with a thud.
Lan stared at the wine the color of old embers glowing in the heart of his glass. "I would like to toast my family," he said, taking an absolutely malicious pleasure in choosing words heavily weighted with irony and loaded with a definite double meaning. "For without your actions, I would not be where I am and what I am at this moment."
Macy looked puzzled. Sam went pale, as did his father. His mother flushed. But what could they do or say? For all they knew, he was being entirely sincere, although surely they knew he meant what he had said in every possible interpretation. The rest of his relatives looked askance at each other for a moment, as if wondering just how they should react to this.
It was his grandmother who broke the impasse; he'd spoken loudly enough for her to make out what he'd said. "Properly done, boy!" she declared, "here, here!" and drank her own glass down. That broke the spell holding the rest, and they followed the old woman's example. With a faint smile, Lan took a sip from his glass and sat down, feeling that he'd gotten ample revenge for the uncomfortable meal he'd just endured.
The Feast ended just after that, and the women descended on the kitchen to each take possession of a dish for the procession to the Temple. The children enveloped Lan and rushed him back to the sitting room, and the men retired to the parlor for wine and discussions of their own. Lan had no doubt that he would be the main topic of conversation, though more likely for his borderline insolence to his uncle than for the toast, which his father and brother were likely to avoid discussing.
This time, the youngsters Lan's age and older joined the children, although they would not normally have done so. In past years, the older ones, if they did not escape to some other venue such as moonlight skating, sledding, or sleigh riding, generally would gather in two groups, the boys to discuss girls, and the girls to discuss boys. Once again, he was going to provide the entertainment for the entire lot of them; he didn't much mind, since Kalira would arrive for him in a candlemark or two. There wasn't that much more of this for him to endure.
It turned out not to be an ordeal after all; the relatives of his own age were just as curious and full of admiration as the little ones. It was an entirely new experience for Lan to be admired by anyone in his family; he relaxed and answered questions cheerfully and frankly. The world of the Heraldic Trainee was entirely new to everyone here—well, it had been unknown to him as well, until he was Chosen—and for the most part, the members of the Chitward family had never had anything to do with Heralds. Why should they? Any disputes were settled within the Guild Courts, no one broke any laws, so they never had occasion to more than note a Herald passing at a distance, read about them in a tale, or hear about them in a ballad. If any of them had ever daydreamed about being Chosen, they had probably dismissed the idea with the typical practicality of a merchant family.
I wonder if any of them will start to dream about it now, he thought as he answered another question and watched how the eyes of even the oldest children were shining.
The ladies returned from the Temple, with Grandmother loudly proclaiming her pleasure in the ceremony. That signaled a round of activity, putting the youngest children to bed, collecting all the scattered members of the families of those who lived nearby, farewells and polite thanks from the ones who were going home tonight.
As Lan stood back out of the way, he heard Kalira with relief. :I'm nearly there. Ready to go?:
:Your timing is perfection,: he told her. :Let me go say goodbye to Mother and Father, and I'll meet you outside.:
He waited while another of the Chitward cousins, burdened with a baby and a toddler, paid their respects to his parents before going out the door. He edged past them as they pushed their toddler toward the door, and approached his parents with his cloak in his arms.
"It's time for me to leave, too," he told them as they turned toward him. "It's been quite an exceptional Feast this year." Th
at, he thought, was diplomatic enough. "I suspect everyone is going to be talking about this one for a long time."
"We thought we'd save you as a sort of surprise," his mother said, in a tone that told him that she hadn't thought any such thing; she hadn't thought about him at all, as he had suspected. Or if she had, she had dismissed his presence as required, but negligible. But her expression softened a little as she looked at him; her hazel eyes took on a glint of pride—in him.
"I certainly was that." He smiled, very slightly. "From the way the youngsters acted, I was better entertainment than the puppet show Uncle Lerris had three years ago."
"Well, the puppet show was only there for a candlemark," his father pointed out, with, at last, a hint of humor, and a faint smile. "They had you captive for the entire afternoon and evening. I hope you weren't too bored with them."
He shrugged. "I didn't mind; it's a good thing for them to find out what we are, what we're like. Maybe it destroys some of the mystery, but it also removes ignorance." He didn't say anything about the obnoxious relative; he didn't have to. "But now, I really do have to go."
His parents embraced him; his father heartily, his mother awkwardly. At that moment, he made up his mind that next year he would decline the invitation, even if he had to make up a reason why he couldn't come, even if the Chesters didn't invite him back. Maybe when he was finally a Herald, he'd start coming for the family gatherings occasionally, but not right now.
He drew back from them and nodded formally. "You'd better get back to your guests," he said. "I'll show myself out."
Without waiting for their response, he turned and headed for the door. But just before he reached it, his sister Macy squeezed between two of the adults crowding a doorway and rushed up to him. "Here," she said, pressing a small, thin package into his hand. "I made this for you."
As she waited expectantly, he unwrapped it. Her gift was one of the most beautiful pieces of embroidery he had ever seen her create. It was very much a miniature tapestry; a perfect copy of the crest of Valdemar, with every star in the background picked out in silver, every link in the Windrider's broken chains delineated completely.
"Good gods—I should think you'd go blind doing work like this!" he exclaimed, much to Macy's satisfaction; she dimpled with pleasure as he kissed her cheek. "Macy, it's gorgeous. As soon as I get my hands on a needle and thread, I'll put it right on the shoulder of my cloak where everyone will see it! Thank you so much!"
"If it's all right, I'd like some hair from your Companion's mane and tail eventually," she said, "I want to make some woven jewelry."
:Have her come out and pull some right now,: Kalira interrupted. :As much as she likes, as long as she doesn't snatch me bald.:
"Kalira's outside, and she says to come and get some," he told her, and was rewarded with her wide eyes and enchanted smile. She didn't even stop to get a cloak; she followed him right outside, and gasped in delight to see Kalira standing at the door, shining in the lamplight.
"Is it really all right?" she asked the Companion, much to Lan's amusement.
Kalira snorted and bobbed her head, and Macy carefully approached her. With great delicacy and care, Macy separated out individual hairs to pull, gathering them carefully into a thin, silvery hank. Long before Lan had thought she would be satisfied, she patted Kalira's neck and said, "Thank you! Thank you so much!" and stepped back.
"I'll save the hair from her currycomb for you," Lan promised, tucking the embroidered patch into a pocket, and mounting.
:And I'll remind you.:
"Will you? Thank you, Lan! Can I come visit you?" She was the only person who had shown any real interest in visiting him, and even if it was more to see Kalira than to see him, Lan was touched.
"Surely. Give me some warning, so I can make time in my classes, but absolutely." He found himself warming unexpectedly to her, and looking forward to her visit.
"I will! Thank you again! I've got to go in, I'm about to freeze—" She flashed him another smile, and darted back inside the door. A trifle bemused by this unanticipated epilogue to the Feast, he and Kalira turned away from the door and started up the street toward the park.
:I hope your Midwinter Feast was more fun than mine,: he said to her, breathing in air that wasn't overheated and too-heavily scented for the first time that evening.
:I wish yours had been as enjoyable as mine,: she replied with sympathy. :Never mind; we'll be back with Tuck tomorrow, and you'll have—:
Her head came up, startled, as people suddenly emerged from both sides of the street to block their way. Deliberately.
Kalira paused, but Lan felt her gathering herself for a leap or a run—or both.
A woman with an angry, tear-streaked face stepped forward. Her clothing was mourning of the deepest, most complete black to the least button and bit of embroidery, and very rich. She looked up at him as if at a monster. "Are you Lavan Chitward?" she asked, in a harsh voice.
He nodded. "Yes, Lady. I am."
She stepped forward again and seized Kalira's reins. "You murdered my son!" she snarled, as Kalira shied and tried to dance away from her. She held on with the strength of the demented. "Murderer!" she continued savagely. "I know not how, but you killed my boy, my Tyron! And I will have justice, no matter what the Guard may say!"
Lan sat frozen with shock; Kalira's wide eyes and twitching muscles seemed to indicate that she was, too. Torn between fear and guilt, his heart pounded—and his head began to ache—
Apparently the people with her had not anticipated this sort of confrontation—or perhaps, they had not anticipated that Lan would turn out to be a Heraldic Trainee. A tall man with Tyron's square jaw and blond hair, wearing clothing that was a match with the woman's, stepped out of the crowd and took her elbow. "Leave it, Jisette," he hissed at her. "You're overwrought. Can't you see that this is a Companion?"
"A Companion with a murderer?" she sneered. "This is just a trick! His family thinks they can fool everyone by tricking him out with a uniform and a white horse, but they can't fool me!" Her eyes showed the whites all around, and she shook Kalira's reins furiously. "I know better! Liar! Slanderer! Murderer! Murderer!"
The man looked both at her and at Lan doubtfully, not sure whether to believe her. Lan felt as if he was going to have to double over from the pain behind his eyes, and that terrible red mist began to creep over his vision. He knew, he knew what was coming, and he wouldn't be able to stop it!
But that seemed to shake Kalira out of her shocked trance. :I think not!: she said crisply, and with a toss of her head, somehow slipped out of the bridle entirely. She ducked her head and whirled, leaving the woman with the empty bridle in her hands, and before Lan had any idea of what she was doing, she was pounding back down the way they had come, leaving the Jelnack entourage uselessly blocking the street.
The surprise of her action jolted Lan out of his paralysis, and as he lurched forward, he seized her mane to steady himself. As soon as he had gotten a double handful, she changed direction, quick as a cat, dashing down an unfamiliar street.
His stomach spasmed, and his head pounded, but the mist faded as she changed direction again. This time she raced straight down a broad street meant for huge cargo wagons, which was as empty now as an avenue through a cemetery. Her hooves rang on the cobblestones, but there were no noises of anyone following, and when she came to a dead end, she slowed and finally stopped.
:Hush, and hold still,: she ordered. There was an odd sort of snap in his head, a single stab of pain from one temple to the other. Then his headache was gone completely, and with it the cramps and heaving of his gut.
:There.: She sighed gustily. :And don't you even dare think that crazed woman might be right! You are not a murderer, and if you ask me, it's pretty easy to tell where Tyron learned how to be a sadistic manipulator.:
Lan, who'd had his mouth open to say something of the sort, shut it.
:And no "buts" out of you either!: Kalira continued, shaking her head angrily
. :Miserable woman! I wish I'd had something to leave on her shoes!:
The unsubtle image that accompanied that was enough to get a feeble chuckle out of him. She snickered.
:Never mind. We'll see what that family has to say when the Guard comes tomorrow to charge her with stealing my bridle. She'll have a hard time convincing anyone that I'm not a Companion then!: She turned and proceeded at a walk back to a cross-street. :I hope they lock her up as a madwoman. It would serve her right. Now—let's go home.:
She picked up her pace to a trot and took a long and complicated route back to the Palace. It was after midnight when they entered the Palace gate, and although Lan wanted to take off her tack and groom her himself, she ordered him to bed.
:We're leaving in the morning so that you don't have to have anything to do with those wretched people,: she told him. :You'll need all your sleep.:
He wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and trudged up the pathways to the Collegium. He was quite, quite certain he wasn't going to get that sleep. By now the fire in his room would have burned out even though he had banked it, and the room would be icy—and he couldn't rid himself of the certainty that Tyron's mother was right....
Brightly Burning v(-10 Page 24
