Seneschal Greeley ran his hands one more time through his tousled hair, sighed, and shrugged, seeing the justice in the King's statement.
"Now, lastly, the point is that Kalira Chose this boy. Of all things, we must believe that where Companion's Choice is concerned, Companions are the final authority." He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts—or perhaps, consulting with his own Companion. "Given that, what are we to do with this boy, if not to accept that, and accept him into the Collegium for proper training? Kalira has no intentions of repudiating him. Are we to try and forcibly separate them? I submit that this would be the worst idea yet. Are we to banish them to some remote place? That accomplishes nothing, and leaves the boy untutored, uncounseled, undisciplined. That is an idea as poor as the first. So we accept him. We teach him, we make a Herald of him, we learn what he can do and we make proper use of it." King Theran stood up and swept them all with a challenge in his eyes. "That, as ever, has been and will be your duty, and it is a familiar one to all of you. And I will leave you to it."
He nodded to them all, and left the room as he had entered it, calm, strong, and utterly in control, leaving behind silence.
Finally one voice broke the silence; Herald Jedin.
"That, my friends," he said in a voice full of admiration, "is a King."
*
LAN slept through the night with a gentle murmur of reassurance accompanying his dreams. When he woke, it was to a cheerful whicker outside his window and a :Come on, lazy one, you can't lie abed forever!: in his mind. He never had a moment to doubt that this was all real; Kalira saw to that. She was a presence in his mind all night long.
When he woke, with the first morning sun streaming down outside the window, he saw her watching him from the other side of the glass. He didn't exactly leap out of bed—it was more of a crawl—but in spite of what had happened last night, he was still stronger than yesterday. The first thing he did as soon as he got to the other side of the room was to open the window so that Kalira could put her head inside. Throwing his arms around her neck, he put his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, reveling in the mere fact of her presence for a long, blissful moment.
:Do you know how wonderful you are?: he asked her silently, already at ease with this strange form of communication, perhaps because it was with her. Already it was easier than talking aloud; instinctive and comfortable.
:Silly boy,: she replied affectionately. :I'm neither more nor less wonderful than any other Herald or Companion.:
He didn't argue with her; he didn't exactly have a basis for comparison. :All I know is that you are the most marvelous person I've ever known.:
She whickered a chuckle and rubbed her muzzle against his cheek. :And I feel the same about you.: She cocked her head to the side, and her eyes twinkled merrily. :Convenient, isn't it?:
He had to laugh at that, and she shook her head, tossing her mane. :Well, what are they going to do to me today?: he asked her, certain that she would know.
:Pol and Satiran will be coming for you in a little. You should be ready for them,: she suggested. Loath though he was to take his arms from around her neck, he acknowledged the wisdom of her suggestion, and pulled reluctantly away.
This time he dressed himself, though his hands shook and his knees trembled with weakness. When one of the young Healer-Trainees, a pretty little chestnut-haired girl with a lithe graceful figure, entered with his breakfast, she looked blankly at first at the empty bed, then when he moved a little, her heart-shaped face betrayed her surprise to see him sitting at the open window.
"You don't need any help, then?" she said, her surprise turning into a smile. "Good for you!" She brought the tray to him and set the tray down on the window seat beside him, and he saw that she had eyes of mingled green and brown. "You'll be seeing my father in a bit, after he talks with your Healer. You're going to be a bit more complicated to settle in than most Trainees."
"Your father?" Lan asked, and then managed to put two and two together. "You mean that Herald that was here last night is your father?"
She dimpled charmingly. "Oh, I'm afraid so; Herald Pol is my father. It does get rather trying, sometimes, having a father who can keep track of you no matter where you go. I'm Healer-Trainee Elenor, temporarily at your service." She bobbed an impudent curtsy. "My mother is Healer Ilea, but she's in service on the Southeast Border right now. At least I don't have both parents hovering over me all the time!"
Lan smiled tentatively at her; he wasn't exactly used to having pretty girls dimple at him, but it was a pleasant experience. She looked to be just about his age, which probably meant she was a great deal farther along in her studies than he. "When did you start here? How long are you going to be a Trainee?" he asked.
"Oh, I've been a Trainee for more than five years, but I won't be one for much longer. Maybe a year," she told him with great confidence, looking around, then seating herself on the edge of the bed. "I don't know how long you'll be one; I suppose it will depend how much you already know. A lot of the Heraldic Trainees arrive here barely able to read and write, so the classes are all planned around that eventuality. Most of them aren't Chosen until they're twelve or thirteen, and they generally get their Whites by eighteen no matter how little they knew before they got here."
"Well, I do know a little more than that," he said, warming to her cheerful manner. "Am I really going to be a Heraldic Trainee?" It was hard to believe; he could picture himself in the Guard, he could easily picture himself as a Caravan Master, but a Herald? He'd never seriously entertained the idea of himself in Whites.
Elenor gestured at Kalira, who was watching both of them with sparkling blue eyes the color of deep water. "You've been Chosen, that makes you a Heraldic Trainee. I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice!" She laughed. "It's not a job you can volunteer for or decline, it seems!"
For a brief moment, he felt uncertainty; did he really want the rest of his life decided for him? Hadn't he been trying to escape his own parents' plans for his life? But then he looked into Kalira's eyes and knew that she was worth any sacrifice.
"At least you know what Heralds do," Elenor continued. "Some Trainees don't even know that. Poor things. They are terribly confused; they've got no idea why they're here or what they're supposed to do, and when their Gifts start emerging—"
She stopped abruptly, and blushed, as if aware that his Gift was the source of a great deal of trouble, anguish—and tragedy.
"Gifts," he said bitterly. "That's what they're called, isn't it? But it's hardly a Gift if you don't want it and can't control it. It's not a Gift if all it does is bring harm."
She gazed at him solemnly for a little, as if she was thinking. "I suppose it seems that way, but I can think of a lot of ways that your Gift could be used for good. If there was a war—" She shook her head. "I'd rather not think about a war, but if there was a forest fire, a bad one, you could use it to start backfires in places it would be too dangerous to send firefighters to."
He had to nod reluctant agreement to that. He had lived in the country, and he knew how devastating a forest or grass fire could be. Sometimes the only way to stop a fire was to set another fire in its path, but that was a very dangerous thing to do, for there was always the chance that the ones setting the fire would find themselves trapped between two fire lines. People had died that way.
"You could herd wild beasts away with a line of fire, too. I'm sure there are other things your Gift would be useful for." She continued hopefully, "We'd just have to work at thinking of them. I mean, the only reason nobody has thought of useful things for Firestarting before is because it's so rare."
Kalira nuzzled him, silently reminding him of her presence and help. :Pol and Satiran are coming,: she told him. :We will have a great deal to discuss.:
"Kalira says that your father and his Companion are coming," he told the young Healer. She nodded, and gave him a hand to steady himself with as he got to his feet.
"You'll want to talk
with them outside," she said immediately. "Like you did last night. That way, Satiran and Kalira can be right there with you."
Yes, and if I lose control again, I won't burn down the building, he added sadly to himself.
:You won't lose control. I am with you, and I will not let that happen.: Kalira answered his unspoken doubt with such passion that he blinked in surprise.
"You know," Elenor continued, as she hovered at his elbow, ready to steady him if he wobbled, "I think Father was hoping that I'd be Chosen by your Kalira instead of becoming a Healer. Then he'd have a double-family team to help train."
"What?" Lan responded, not very cleverly, but that didn't seem to bother Elenor.
"We'd have been entirely family—Kalira is Satiran's daughter, and Pol is my father, you see. The daughters partnered and the fathers partnered. It would have had a nice symmetry."
By this time they were in the garden and saw that the Herald and his Companion were waiting at the bench, so Lan was saved from having to answer, which was just as well. So his Companion was daughter to Herald Pol's Companion? He only hoped that there was not as much friction between stallion and filly as there was between himself and his parents.
:There isn't—other than Satiran wanting to protect me too much,: Kalira responded, highly amused.
:If my parents had been half as willing to protect me—: he told her ruefully, not needing to finish the thought. She knew; already she knew him, inside and out, good and bad, and she loved him anyway.
"Good morning, Lan," Pol hailed him with a half wave. "How are you feeling?" This morning all of the sternness seemed to have melted away from Pol's expression; his manner was easy and casual.
"Kind of shaken, sir," Lan replied, then spotted the Guardsman stationed discreetly out of earshot. The man was trying to look as if he was there for some other purpose, but his eyes kept straying back to Lan.
:Is he there because they don't trust me?: he asked Kalira, not at all surprised. :I can't really blame them for that, I suppose....:
:It's the Guard's doing, not the Heralds'. When nothing happens for a while, they'll take the watchdog off of you,: she told him, indirectly confirming his guess. :But there is this—he's there as much to keep people from upsetting you as anything else. If anyone starts to make you unhappy, he's to take them away.:
Lan wished devoutly that he had gotten the benefit of such a watchdog a long time ago.
"Elenor, is Lan ready to move to Heralds' Collegium?" Pol asked, transferring his attention to his daughter.
"Not yet; a few more days," she told him, with all of the authority of a Healer twice her age. "We want him to have his meeting with his family here, before he gets surrounded by strangers."
"Meeting?" he squeaked, taken entirely by surprise. "What meeting?"
"Lan, your parents have to talk with you at some point," Pol chuckled. "You can't escape having a family by being Chosen, you know."
Actually, he hadn't known; somewhere in the back of his mind he must have hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with his parents until he was all trained and a Herald in full Whites, with all the authority of the office behind him. How was he going to explain what had happened to them? They'd blame him for all the horrible things that had happened—
But Pol apparently understood his reluctance to face his family. "Don't worry, I think you'll find that they are so overwhelmed by the fact that you've been Chosen that they won't have a great deal to say to you," Pol told him, an amused sparkle in his eyes. Evidently the Herald wasn't at all worried at what Lan's parents might say or think.
Lan blinked and considered that statement. He wondered, now, what they'd been told about the fire and about being Chosen. Did they even know it was his Gift that had caused the fire?
:No,: said Kalira. :Outside of a very few people, no one has been told. It is being said that the fire was a terrible accident, caused by the boys who were beating you. Which it was, never doubt it, just not in the way that outsiders are assuming.:
Lan swallowed, and bit his lip. :Why?: he asked, as Pol watched him patiently. Was the Herald able to overhear this conversation?
:Because we are protecting you; the real story won't help anyone and will hurt you.: She tossed her head. :Now, your parents will have nothing to reproach you for, will they? I think you just might actually impress them.:
Well, becoming a Herald was a great honor, and it wasn't the sort of thing that his parents would have predicted for him. For that matter, it was the sort of surprise that could set them off-balance. He felt his spirits start to rise. This might not be so bad after all.
"Do you feel up to seeing them this afternoon?" Pol continued. "After that, I can explain what you're about to go through and get you ready to move into the Collegium with the others, figure out what sort of classes you'll need to take, that sort of thing."
Classes! He didn't sigh, but the idea of facing more classes so soon was a trifle depressing. He was so tired of being stuck in the middle of a bunch of children—
"You'll probably find that you're the youngest in some of your classes, the oldest in others, and smack in the middle in the rest," Pol continued, apparently without noticing Lan's reaction. "We get Trainees from every possible nook and cranny of the Kingdom, from fisher folk from Lake Evendim who can barely read to some of the highborn who've had tutors from the time they could talk. And all of them wind up being the worst in their classes at something. You'll also be learning things like fancy riding, tracking, path finding, weapons' training—those are all classes as well."
Lan brightened considerably at that thought. "If you can get my family to interrupt their work to come here, I would like to see them as soon as it can be arranged," he said carefully.
Elenor smiled. "You're doing them a disservice, Lavan," she chided gently. "They've been here every single day. They're very concerned about you."
"They have? They are?" That thought left him as bemused as the idea of being a Heraldic Trainee.
Herald Pol nodded. "They have, every single member of the family; in fact, they were all here until they knew that you were going to be all right. Since then, each of your parents has been here at some point every day to find out how you were."
"Then I guess I'd better see them," Lan finally responded. He was still trying to wrap his mind around that, when Kalira suddenly looked up, off into the distance.
:Actually, they're here now,: she told him. :I didn't expect them so early.:
"I didn't either," Pol responded with surprise, and it was only at that moment that Lan realized that Kalira could talk to both of them, if she chose to. Well, that could turn out to be very useful.
"Are you up to seeing them right now?" Pol asked him.
He shrugged; what other possible response was there? "I suppose," he said dubiously. "Just as ready as I would be this afternoon, I guess."
Elenor jumped to her feet—did the girl ever do anything at a leisurely pace?—and ran off, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll have them sent out here!"
"She has plenty of other things to take care of at this time of the day," Pol explained, as if he needed to supply an explanation for her abrupt departure.
A few moments later, Lan's mother and father appeared in the doorway nearest them, and approached tentatively down the sanded path. Tentatively! They looked at him with expressions he had never seen directed at himself before; they had nearly reached him before he recognized it as respect. Archer looked as he always did; well-groomed and dressed in tunic and trews of fine cloth of a subtle indigo. But Nelda's auburn hair had been carefully bound in a knot on the top of her head with silk ribbons, her gown was one she usually wore only for parties, a handsome, deep-scarlet wool with panels of her own embroidery set into the bodice, the front of the skirt, and the sleeves. She had taken a great deal of care with her appearance; probably because of the setting in which her son had found himself.
He stood up to meet them; his father extended his hand stiffly, as if Lan had become
a stranger. Lan took it gingerly.
"How are you?" his father asked, anxiously. "How are you now, I mean? Are you feeling better? Do you remember anything of what happened to you?"
Lan shook his head, not trusting his voice. "Mostly the fire," he said truthfully, "and not much of that."
His parents exchanged an unreadable glance, and some of the tension ran out of them. It was his mother, though, who flushed an unbecoming plum color, and said, "I—Lan, I'm very sorry that I didn't believe you."
That was the closest she was ever going to come to an apology, and Lan knew it. He also knew how much it cost her to say that much, and he sensed a different sort of strain building up among the three of them.
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