Brightly Burning v(-10

by Mercedes Lackey

  He laughed and went back for another stack of plates.

  When the dishes were cleared away, he nipped back to his room for his cloak. It was far too cold to venture out without it today. This was going to be his final day of freedom from classes, and he intended to make the most of it.

  Out the door he went, wrapping his cloak closely around himself, heading across the gardens to the fence that separated Companion's Field from the rest of the Palace grounds.

  Kalira waited there, the river between her and the largest portion of the Field. :It's about time,: she teased. :You're spending too much time with other women. I'm going to get jealous!:

  :lf you think you'd be of any use cleaning up after a meal, you're welcome to join me,: he retorted :The only thing I can think of is to use your tail to dry dishes.:

  :Ugh! What a vile idea! I'll meet you in the stables instead.: She trotted into the long building that housed the Companions in bad weather and cold nights; he sped up to enter the door on his own side.

  She had already found a stable hand, or he had found her; the two were standing side by side waiting for him next to a stall with her name over it and her tack hung and draped on its sides.

  "Training ride, or pleasure?" the stableboy asked, reaching for one of the bitless bridles that Companions used.

  "Pleasure ride," Lan replied, wondering why he had asked. "Ah, actually, it's my first ride with her."

  The stableboy turned back to look questioningly at him. "You didn't arrive here with her, then? Done any riding at all before this?"

  "A lot, actually." Lan wondered why all the questions. "I used to have my own hunter."

  "Ah, then! That'll be good." The stableboy grinned, and took down, not a saddle, but a light pad with a bellyband; hardly more than a couple of layers of cloth cut in the shape of a small saddle. He threw this up over Kalira's back and pulled the girth tight. "D'ye need a leg up, or can you hop up yourself?"

  :Is that a bareback pad?: he asked Kalira, not wanting to ask the stableboy.

  :It is, and you'll like this,: she replied.

  He'd heard of bareback pads, but he'd never seen one; used either by the most excellent of riders or with the most exquisitely trained horses or both, the pads were a more secure form of bareback riding than doing so with only a blanket as the wild Shin'a'in were said to do. There was just enough material between the rider and the horse to avoid chafing the skin of either.

  "I think—" He wanted to say that he could mount without help, but a sardonic glance from Kalira made him change his mind. "I think I'd better get a leg up," he admitted sheepishly.

  The stableboy cupped his hands and braced himself to take Lan's weight without comment. Lan put his left foot in the hand and tried to put as little of his weight on it for the shortest time he could manage, quickly swinging his right leg over Kalira's back and settling onto the pad.

  "Them reins is mostly to give you something to grab to and balance with," the boy reminded him with a wave. "Have a good ride."

  Kalira walked out of the stable sedately enough, but once out in the open she broke into a brisk canter. Lan found himself moving with her rhythm within a few paces, and was swept up in the most incredible surge of joy he had ever experienced in his life.

  She trumpeted a neigh and moved into a full gallop. The wind caught Lan's cloak and blew it out behind him, but he was too exhilarated to be cold. They pounded across one of the bridges, Kalira's hooves making a sound like bells on the hard surface, then out into the wooded expanse of Companion's Field itself.

  She took him on a whirlwind ride around the perimeter; up the river to the wall surrounding the entire complex, then along the wall marking the perimeter. Lan had never gone so fast in his entire life, and Kalira's pace was so smooth he would never have believed she was galloping.

  The wall curved in and out, not following any sort of straight line; trees interrupted by meadows flew by. They rode up and down gentle hills, and twice leaped a meandering stream. Lan had always understood that Companion's Field was big, but it was enormous!

  Without warning, they were at the river again, downstream from where they had left it. Now Kalira slowed down to a trot; even her trot was smooth and easy to sit. They trotted along the river for a bit, then Kalira cut away from the stream and walked into the thick trees.

  :How long can you run like that?: he asked her, amazed that she was not even sweating.

  :Candlemarks,: she told him matter-of-factly. :A day and a night, more if I have to, but I need a good feed and a long rest after.:

  He blinked. He had never owned or ridden a horse that could keep up a gallop for one candlemark, let alone for a day and a night!

  :But we aren't horses,: she reminded him gently. :We only look like horses.:

  :I think I'm beginning to understand that.:

  They moved deeper into the trees; a thick blanket of leaves rustled and crackled under her hooves. He thought he caught a glimpse of something ahead. Was it a building?

  :It used to be,: she answered his unvoiced thoughts. :I'm taking you to see the bell tower and the chapel ruins in the Grove.:

  The Grove! He shivered, both in anticipation and with the kind of thrill he got when he was in a place where ghosts were said to walk. Surely if there was any place in the grounds that was haunted, it would be here!

  :Heralds and Companions have better things to do than to sit around spooking youngsters when we don't need our bodies anymore,: Kalira laughed at him. :Why drift about like a bit of mist when you have a much nicer place to go?:

  "Well, what about people who aren't Heralds or Companions?" he asked. "Haven't there been enough people who've died here to make the place haunted?"

  :Not, I think, while we have anything to say about it. This is our place, you know.: This was a new mind-voice, a very masculine one, and Lan saw another Companion waiting to greet them beside the ruins of an old chapel.

  This was a stallion, no larger than any of the others, but somehow he gave an impression of being larger and more imposing. He was beautifully turned out, every strand of mane and tail braided, his coat brushed until it shone with the silver gleam of moonlight, hooves polished to the patina of old silver.

  :This is Rolan,: Kalira told him, with a nod of respect to the stallion. :He's the King's Own's Companion. He wanted to see you for himself.:

  :Yes, and with your permission, I should like to examine you as well, young Trainee,: Rolan told him gravely, with a slow swish of his braided tail. :I mean no disrespect to you or to Kalira, but I wish to be able to assure my Chosen, and thus every Herald in the Circle, that your power, though dangerous, is under control.:

  He sighed, a little bitterly. "Even if the control isn't mine."

  :That is hardly your fault,: the stallion replied instantly. :Your Gift was forced to ripeness, in order to defend itself and you. In a better world, you would have felt it slowly, slowly, stir; in four or five moons, as you began to feel that something odd was happening to you, Kalira would have come for you, and you would have had your Gift come upon you here, and after Pol had identified what it was.: Rolan sighed gustily, and Kalira echoed him, her flanks heaving under Lan's legs. :It is not a better world, and we must deal with things as they are. May I?:

  Belatedly, Lan realized that Rolan was waiting for his answer. He could say no, but why should he? Actually, he felt rather better about the Companion rummaging around in his head than some strange Herald. And at least Rolan had asked permission first. "Go ahead," he replied.

  He didn't know what to expect; what happened was the oddest sensation of having someone actually in his head with him, taking control of what he was thinking. He was whisked along at blinding speed through his own thoughts and memories; he didn't even have time to identify what they were before being flown through the next.

  It happened so quickly that before he had quite grasped what was happening, it was over.

  He shook his head dizzily, clutching Kalira's mane, the world trying to spi
n with him as the center.

  :My apologies,: Rolan said, as his head steadied and the Grove stopped rotating. :Some effects are unavoidable. Thank you; you have allowed me to confirm Kalira's judgment and Choice. That can only be good for all of us.:

  "I hope so," he sighed. "I really hope so."

  Unexpectedly, Rolan took a pace forward, and briefly touched Lan's leg with his nose. :It is hard, having to prove yourself over and over, I know,: the Companion said sympathetically. :Please remember, when this happens so often you are sick of it—you will never have to prove yourself to us. Come to the Grove or the stables, and you will be surrounded by no one but friends.:

  Lan looked down into Rolan's eyes, a much deeper sapphire than Kalira's sky-blue, and was moved for a moment almost to tears by the Companion's extraordinary promise. "Thank you," he said softly aloud, "I will."

  He hadn't noticed another person had entered the Grove until a severe-looking, raven-haired man actually walked up and placed his hand on Rolan's shoulder. "Let's hope Rolan never has to make good on that promise," the Herald said, his lips slowly curving into a smile. "If I have my way about it, he never will." He held out his hand to Lan, who accepted it; the Herald's grip was firm without being intimidating. "I'm Jedin, and I'm pleased to meet you in person, Lavan."

  It broke on Lan at that moment that the man who was shaking his hand was the King's Own Herald—the third most important person in the entire Kingdom! No wonder he looked as if that severe expression was habitual. "I—the—the honor is mine, sir," he stammered out.

  Jedin's smile widened. "Not that much of an honor, I assure you. Plenty of people will tell you that they'd much prefer to see rather less of me than more. Did you realize that along with one rare Gift, you have a second?"

  Lan shook his head, unable to think of anything that would pass for a Gift.

  "You have the ability to inspire Companions to not only trust you, but to leap to your defense without ever actually meeting you themselves." Jedin raised one eyebrow. "I wish I knew why, but there you have it."

  Kalira looked innocent; Rolan enigmatic. Lan could only shrug helplessly. "I don't know, sir," he said, as honestly as he could. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

  "Hmm." There was a look in Jedin's eyes that made Lan want to squirm, a look that suggested that even though Lan didn't know any reason why the Companions should offer their friendship and defense, Jedin could think of one or two.

  "Well, you'll have some learning to do before we find out, anyway," Jedin said after a pause. "And we two have some exercising to do, if we aren't to get fat and ugly." He slapped Rolan on the shoulder, and the Companion neighed laughter.

  :Too late,: Rolan taunted, as Jedin put both hands on Rolan's back and vaulted into place without having to use anything to help him. :You're already ugly.:

  Without waiting to hear Jedin's reply, the Companion cantered off under the trees.

  "Were we supposed to hear that?" Lan asked aloud, a little aghast.

  :We aren't horses, but we aren't some sort of heavenly creatures either, my love,: Kalira told him, moving out of the Grove in a slightly different direction. :We're a lot like our Heralds.:

  It seemed that every passing candlemark brought another surprise or revelation; a breaking of one assumption, the bending of another. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. Or would things settle down as he began to learn what life as a Herald would really be like, past the tales and the blaze of silver-and-white uniforms, the dazzle of Companions?

  :You aren't the only case of bad timing right now,: Kalira went on as they came out of the trees and within sight of the stables. :Just the more serious of the two. Lada is in foal, and had to go after her Chosen with less than two moons to go. Poor things! Lada is probably going to drop tonight, and Wrenlet hasn't been here more than a fortnight! They're both going to have a bad night, I think. The stable has fireplaces, but it's drafty, and Lada's a bit on the small side. They'll be up all night at the least.:

  "Is Lada's Chosen going to wait out the night with her?" he asked, all sympathy, for he had once taken foal-watch on one of his ponies.

  :Oh, yes; how could she not?:

  "That's a good point." He remembered how he'd felt about it, nervous, anxious, excited, and afraid—and that had just been a pony! He couldn't imagine how wrought up he'd be if it was Kalira who was going to drop a foal! He'd be worse than any anxious father in a joke!

  :Well, you won't have to worry about that with me; I never saw a stallion worth going through that for,: Kalira said lightly, easing the sudden surge of anxiety the thought provoked. :Now if you were a stallion, I might consider it, but not for anyone else in the herd.:

  He blushed, pleased and embarrassed, but not sure why. "Not even Rolan?" he ventured.

  :Not even Rolan,: she replied firmly. He felt absurdly pleased by that, though he had no idea why he should be, and he held that feeling close inside to keep him warm as he walked through the chilling wind back to the Collegium.

  TWELVE

  LAN passed an old account book back to his teacher, who waved it at the class and addressed them all. "Now, presented with this set of accounts and the story I've told you, what sort of judgment would you make? All of the clues you need are there."

  This was Herald Artero's class, one called "Field Investigations." Other than the ability to read and write, this class had no special requirements, but it was one that every Trainee had to take. Here the students were presented with stories and sometimes evidence connected with cases that other Heralds had dealt with while on their circuits, and asked for their own conclusions. As often as not, a Herald on circuit would spend a great deal of his or her time being investigator, jury, and judge; even if a local judge had already made a decision, any case could be appealed to a Herald. The easy cases were those whose intricacies could be solved by application of the famous Truth Spell to one or more of the plaintiffs or defendants. This class did not concern those.

  This class was about cases where evidence had to speak for itself because either some of the witnesses were dead or fled, or it was something where there were no witnesses at all. Mostly the cases were trivial enough, a dispute over a boundary, or ownership of land or property. Sometimes, though, a life could hang in the balance. And sometimes it wasn't life, but honor—which some would hold more precious than their lives.

  This time the question concerned a curious case. A merchant had died, and his grown son had accused his stepmother of appropriating money that, according to the accounts, should have been there in his cash boxes. The Truth Spell had revealed that the stepmother was not guilty of helping herself to the money stowed in the cash boxes, but where had the money gone? Suspicion was rife in the village by the time the Herald arrived. Although people had refrained from making actual accusations, all the tension had poisoned relationships throughout the area.

  The Trainees knew all of this, and that a solution to the puzzle had been found. Their teacher had given them a great deal of background, and the last bit of physical evidence: the account books.

  The account books were passed from hand to hand, and each of the four students had a chance to examine them carefully. Lan had noted something awry, and he wondered if any of the others had.

  "I checked the addition, and he hadn't made any mistakes there," said Tuck, scratching his head. "That was the first thing that I thought of, that'd he'd just been bad at arithmetic."

  "Anyone else?" Artero was physically very like an older version of Tyron, which had rather put Lan off at first, but his personality could not possibly have been more different. Artero never sneered, never was anything other than intense and earnest. When he was excited about what he was teaching, his eyes positively glowed. "Lavan, you took a long time over those pages. Did you see anything in them to give you a clue?"

  Lan hesitated a moment, then reminded himself that the case was long over, and presumably had been solved correctly. Nothing he said would make any trouble for anyone now. "The add
ition was right—it was the numbers that were wrong," he said at last. "No one dealing in small items like spices ever makes a bargain that ends in round numbers like that. And I think that some of those debits might have been too low, but I don't know enough about foodstuffs to tell for sure." The merchant in question had trafficked in spices and dried or preserved fruits; not exactly Lan's area of expertise. But he did recall vividly going with his mother to the market as a small child, and her spirited bargaining over every clipped copper coin.

  "Were the numbers altered in any way?" ventured another Trainee, a girl named Mona. "Could someone besides the widow have taken money? Or did someone alter the books to make trouble for the widow?"

  "No, to all three questions—and I have a set of altered books to show you some of the common ways in which documents can be changed, and how you can tell, but we'll get to that in a moment." Artero smiled at Lan encouragingly. "Now I'll draw on our newest student's experiences with merchants and traders, and ask Lavan if he can think of a possible scenerio that would suit the evidence."