"If? Bright Havens, I haven't got any choice! I've been flat ordered to find him when I'm done with briefing you, on pain of unspecified torture. You'd have thought from the way he was acting that neither of you had the mother-wit to save yourselves from a wetting, much less a blizzard."
Kris gave Talia another odd, sidelong glance.
"You'd best bring your Companion and whatever you've brought for us on up to the Waystation," she said. "It's going to take you a while to pass everything to us, and to make sure we've got it right."
"A while, O modest Talia? With you, I've got no fear that it'll take long," Skif grinned. "I know quite well that you can memorize faster than I can, and Kris was my Farseeing teacher, so I know he's just as quick. I'll turn Cymry loose and let her kick her heels up a little; I can lead the pack mule afoot."
"We'll take her tack for you," Kris offered. "No use in you carrying it when we're unburdened."
Skif accepted the offer gladly, and they strolled up the path toward the Station together; Kris with the saddle and blanket balanced over one shoulder, Talia with the rest of the tack, Skif with the saddlebags.
"I've brought you two quite a load," he told them as they approached the station, "Both material and news. Hope you're ready."
"More than ready," Talia told him. "I'm getting pretty tired of telling the same old tales."
"Don't I just know! Well, I've got plenty of news, personal and public, and more than you may guess. Do you want your news first, or your packs?"
"Both," Kris said with the charming smile of a child. "You can tell us the personal news while we gloat over our goodies."
"Why not?" Skif chuckled. "I'll start with the Collegium and work my way outward."
The first bit of news was that Gaytha and Mero had surprised nearly everyone by suddenly deciding to wed. They had had themselves handfasted just before Skif had left, and were to be wedded in the fall. Kris' jaw sagged over that piece of news, but Talia, recalling things she'd seen over holidays while still a student, nodded without much surprise.
Keren had broken her hip during the past winter. She'd slipped and taken a bad fall trying to rescue a Companion foal from beneath a downed tree (the foal was frightened silly, but otherwise emerged from the ordeal unscathed. The same—obviously— could not be said for poor Keren). Sherrill had taken on Keren's duties as riding instructor as well as her own scheduled classes. When Keren's bones were healed, she decided that it was getting to be time to think about training a successor anyway, so they were currently sharing the classes.
Alberich had at last retired from teaching all but the most advanced students; to no one's surprise, he had appointed Jeri to take his place.
Companions had Chosen twenty youngsters this spring, the largest number yet. For the first time in years the Collegium was completely full. No one knew whether there should be rejoicing or apprehension over this sudden influx of Chosen; the last time that the Collegium had been full had been in Selenay's father's time; there had been the Tedrel Wars with Karse on the Eastern Border shortly thereafter and every one of the students had been needed to replace those Heralds that had sought the Havens when it was over.
Elspeth was doing unexpectedly well, and Talia rejoiced to hear it. Elcarth had taken her heavy schedule and lightened it by a considerable amount, and she had responded by working like a fiend incarnate on those classes that were left. She seemed determined to prove that she was not ungrateful for the respite, and that she did not intend to shirk her remaining responsibilities.
There was little news of the Court, but none of that was good. The rumor-mills had been churning away; mostly working on the grist of Elspeth and the absent Talia. About half of it was elaboration on the rumors they already knew, the rest concerned Elspeth's supposed unfitness for the Crown—that she was too pliant, too much of a hoyden, not bright enough— and too dependent on the Heralds in general and Talia in particular to make all her decisions for her.
Kris noted without comment the brief shadow of pain that veiled her face.
"But I've told anybody who's bothered to bring up the subject that whoever started these tales had holes in his skull. Elspeth's nothing but a normal tomboy— like Jeri, and they were perfectly willing to consider Jer as Heir! And I told 'em nobody who knows you would even consider the idea that you might be misusing your Gift! So that's that. All right, it's your turn," Skif ordered. "You two have to tell me the whole tale of your blizzard. I've been strictly charged by half the Circle to bring back every detail. If you leave one thing out, I'm not entirely certain of my safety when I get back!"
Kris told most of it, from the plague at Waymeet to the arrival of Tedric—leaving out the disintegration of Talia's control.
"Sounds grim," Skif said when they'd finished. "I'm surprised you didn't tear each other's throats out—from boredom if nothing else. Of course, you were too busy digging out to have time to be bored."
Kris inhaled his wine, and nearly choked to death trying to keep from laughing.
Talia covered her blushes by pounding his back— then took over the conversation with a stern glance in his direction that almost sent him into another fit.
"It was a good thing we had the harp with us," she said, firmly restraining the urge to set both her hands around his throat and strangle him. "Music did a lot to keep us going. And we discovered something really strange, Skif. Did you know that those stories the Northerners kept telling us about how chiiras sing are true?"
"You've been on circuit too long," he replied with a disbelieving grin.
"She's telling the truth, Skif," Kris asserted. "Chirras do sing—well, hum is more like it. They do it intentionally, though, and I've heard worse harmonics coming from human throats."
"Can you prove this? Otherwise I'm going to have a hard time convincing anyone else, much less myself."
"Are you planning on spending the night with us?"
"So long as I'm not in the way."
"You can stay if you clean up dinner," Talia teased. "We'll cook for you, but you'd better do your share of the work."
"Anything is better than having to eat my own cooking!" Skiff replied with a hearty sigh. "When I was interning, Dirk absolutely refused to let me cook anything after the first two meals I ruined. I don't blame him. I'm the only person I know that can boil an egg for an hour, and have it turn out half scorched and half raw."
"Then you'll get your demonstration after dinner."
When they had finished their evening meal, Talia called the chirras up from the lake to the Waystation and gave the demonstration Skif had demanded. As the first notes rose from the packbeasts' long throats, Skif’s eyes widened in disbelief. A quick look around, however, soon proved to him that there was no trickery involved. After the first two songs he relaxed and admitted that he found the wierd harmonics quite pleasant, if at first starding.
When they tired of singing, they began trading road-tales. Skif had by far the largest stock of funny stories, since his assignment as courier put him in contact with a wide variety of situations (in one case, he'd had to rescue his contactee at the meeting point from an amorous and overly enthusiastic cow). But in the midst of what Skiff had thought was one of his more amusing anecdotes, Talia suddenly excused herself and walked out into the night with some haste.
"Did I say something wrong?" Skif said, bewildered, since she had been giving every evidence of enjoying the story until then. "What's the matter with her?"
"I have no more idea than you—" Kris started to say. Then he thought of something.
"Just wait a moment." He closed his eyes and Mindcalled to Tantris. The answer he got made him half-smile, although he spared a flash of pity for Talia.
"She'll be back in a little while," he told the puzzled Skif. "When she's less—shall we say—uncomfortable."
Skif was annoyed. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Skif, your Cymry's a mare."
"That was fairly obvious."
"Rolan's a stall
ion, a stallion that hasn't been near a Companion mare for several months. Talia's Gift, in case you've forgotten, is Empathy; and unlike most of us, she tells me that Rolan is always with her—'in the back of her head,' she calls it."
"What?" Skif was bewildered; then realization dawned. "Oh-ho. I forgot a little experiment we did. You can't shield out your Companion with a bond that tight, can you?"
"That's it—not on that level, you can't. And with her Gift thrown in, it's even more . . . overpowering. As I recall, you can barely Mindspeak, right? So you're protected from Cymry's sporting. Needless to say, the same is not true for Talia."
Skif’s chuckle was just a touch heartless. "Too bad your Tantris isn't a mare."
"I've had that thought a time or two myself," Kris admitted, joining the chuckle.
Skif sobered abruptly. "Look—Kris, I know it's none of my business, but are you and Talia—you know—?"
"Damned right it's none of your business," Kris said calmly. He'd been expecting the question, assuming that Skif was only waiting to get him alone. "So why are you asking?"
"Kris, it's part of my job to notice things. And I've noticed that while you aren't cuddled up like courting doves, you're both a lot easier with each other than I've ever seen either of you around anyone else." Skif paused, then remained silent.
"You were obviously planning on saying more; go on."
"I owe Dirk. I owe him my life; by all rights he should have left us when Cymry and I fell into that ravine while I was interning. He had no way of knowing we were still alive, and the trail was washing out under him with every second he stayed. But he didn't leave; he searched all through that downpour until he found us, and if he hadn't, we wouldn't be here now. He's been acting damned peculiar whenever anybody mentions Taiia. He was starting to act that way when you two left, and it's gotten worse since then. Dear old I’m-indifferent-to-women' Dirk came close to tearing my heart out and feeding it to me when I couldn't give him any more information about you two than rumor—and I would bet my hope of the Havens that it wasn't over your welfare. So if you two are more than friends, I want to know. Maybe I can break it to him gently."
"Oh, Gods," Kris said weakly. "Oh Gods. I don't know, Skif—I mean, I know how I feel, which is that I'm quite fond of her, and that's all; but I don't know how she feels. I'm afraid to find out."
"I have the suspicion that there's a lot more going on here than you've told me," Skif replied. "You want to make a full confession?"
"Gods—I'd better go back a few years—look, the reason Dirk pretends to be indifferent to women is because he was so badly hurt by one that he came within a hair of killing himself. It was that bitch, Lady Naril; it was when we were first assigned to Court. She wanted me, I wasn't having any. So she used Dirk to get at me."
"Don't tell me—she played the sweet innocent on him. She tried working that one on me, but I'd had warning."
"I wish Dirk had. By the time I knew what was happening, it was too late. He was flopping like a stranded fish. She used him to set up a meeting between us; and at that point she handed me an ultimatum; either I became her lap-dog, or she would make Dirk's life hell for him. Unfortunately she hadn't counted on the fact that Dirk was jealous as well as devoted. He'd stayed within earshot, and he heard the whole thing."
"Good Gods!" Skif couldn't manage more than that.
"Verily." Kris closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of how Dirk had looked when he confronted them. It had been ghastly. Even his eyes had been dead. But what had followed had been worse. Kris had made a hasty exit, and when he'd gone, Naril had taken Dirk to pieces. If only he'd known, he'd never have left them alone—
"But—"
"He was shattered; absolutely shattered. I think it was only Ahrodie that kept him from throwing himself in the river that night. Now you tell me he's acting like—"
"Like a man with a lifebond, if you want to know the truth. He's close to being obsessed."
"Talia was showing signs of the same thing, but now—I just don't know, Skif. We—started sleeping together during that blizzard. There were a lot of other complications that I can't go into, and now I don't know how she feels. But I'm mortally afraid she's gotten fixated on me."
And he was Dirk's best friend. Gods, Gods, it was happening all over again—
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Skif asked.
"I'm going to break it off, that's what, before it gets too serious to be broken off. If it is a lifebond, once the infatuation is nipped in the bud, she'll swing back to Dirk like a compass needle. But for Lord's sake, don't let Dirk know about any of this." Kris rubbed his forehead, feeling almost sick with remorse.
"No fear of that—" Skif broke off what he was saying to nod significantly in the direction of the door behind Kris.
Talia entered and resumed her abandoned seat, looking much cooler and more composed.
"Better?" Kris asked in a sympathetic undertone.
"Much," she sighed, then faced Skif. "As for you, you troublemaker, I hope you're prepared to cosset a pregnant Companion in another couple of months!"
"Now Talia," he chortled heartlessly, "Cymry's been at her games with every stallion I've rendezvoused with, and nothing like that has happened yet."
"Every other stallion wasn't Rolan," she said with a wry twist to her lips. "Serves you right, too, for not warning me, you smug sadist. Or don't you remember your history, and the extraordinary fertility of Grove stallions—-particularly the Companion of the Queen's Own?"
"Kernos' Spear! I never once thought of that!"
Both Kris and Talia laughed at the expression on Skif’s face.
"I'd be willing to bet a full wineskin that Cymry didn't think of that either," Kris added.
"You just won," Skif said, reaching behind him into his pile of belongings, and throwing a leather bottle at the other Herald. "Oh, well—no harm without a trace of good. This will keep me off the road, but it will also keep me from having to do my own cooking. I'd better start thinking of ways to make myself useful around the Court and Collegium. Hope Teren likes being courier—he's the only one free at the moment, now that the new babies are done with Orientation."
He settled into his bedroll with a much bemused expression.
The next day was involved in memorizing all Skif had to impart to them. When both of them were letter-perfect, in the early afternoon, Skif packed up the few bits he had of his own personal gear and supplies, and headed back the way he'd come.
"How much did you tell him?" Talia asked, watching him depart.
"Only that we've had some complications I can't go into; I had to tell him, he noticed you weren't looking too well. That's all." He gave her yet another of those odd, sidelong glances.
"Lord—poor Elspeth, facing those damned rumor-mongers all by herself! Gods—I need to be there— and I can't be there—"
"That's right. You can't. Going back now won't do you any good, and might do her harm."
"I know, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to—"
"Look at it this way—with all the rumors that are bound to start about me and you, maybe they'll forget about the others."
"Oh, Gods—" she blushed, "—have I no privacy?"
"Not as a Herald, you don't."
They walked back to the Station; Kris was brooding about something, Talia could see it in the closed expression he wore, and sense it in the unhappy unease that lurked below the surface of his thoughts.
It was an unease she shared. She couldn't tell exactly what was bothering him—except that it had to do with her and with Dirk. She wondered if this was a sign that her worst fear was true, that he had become far more involved with her than he'd intended.
She didn't want to hurt his feelings—but damn it all, it wasn't him she wanted! If only he'd talk to her. .. .
They read their letter-packets in silence; Talia's was mostly brief notes, and not very many of them. But the last letter had Talia very puzzled; it was enormous, from the th
ickness of the packet, and yet she couldn't recognize the handwriting on the outside. She frowned at it, recalling for a moment the evil days when virulent and anonymous letters were a daily occurrence. Then she steeled herself and broke open the seal, telling herself that there was no reason why she shouldn't pitch it into the fire if it turned out to be of that ilk.
To her shock and delight, it was from Dirk.
The actua! letter was not very long, and the phrasing was stilted and formal, yet just to know that he'd written it gave her a delightfully shivery feeling. The content was simple enough; he hoped that her close association with his partner would lead to a closer friendship among the three of them, since they all shared the common interest of music. It was in light of this common interest that he had (he said) made bold to write her. He had been assigned to the Sector that contained most of the Kingdom's papermills and printing houses and was the headquarters of the Printer's and Engraver's Guild. This meant that music and books that were difficult to obtain elsewhere were relatively common there. He had bought himself a great deal of new music, and had thought that Talia and Kris should have copies also.
It was what he hadn't said’ that both excited and worried Talia. The letter was so bland that it could have reflected either polite indifference to her, or been an attempt to conceal the same sort of obsession that she was feeling.
Still, it was definitely odd for him to have sent the music manuscripts to Talia instead of to Kris.
Kris coughed uneasily, and she looked up to meet his eyes.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Dirk's letter," he replied, "I'm usually lucky to get a page, maybe two—but this approaches perilously the size of an epic!"
"That's odd."
"That's an understatement. He rattles on about nothing like a granny-gossip at a Fair, and it's what he doesn't write about that's the most interesting. He dances verbally about doing his very best to avoid the subject of my internee. That's not easy to do in a letter this size! He doesn't mention you until the very end, and then only to say that he's sent you some music that we all might like to try together some time. It's as if he's afraid to write your name for fear he'll give something away."
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