Brightly Burning v(-10

by Mercedes Lackey

  "They'll be as safe, or safer, than if they were here, Pol," Theran added, with a hint of sympathy. "Lavan Firestarter may be the one person who can turn this war for us. When his Sun-Priests start incinerating, the Son of the Sun may think better of prosecuting this idiocy and pull back behind the Border again."

  "Lan is all right burning inanimate objects, but he has serious mental difficulties—" Pol began.

  Jedin interrupted him. "I have good reason to think he'll lose those reservations when he actually sees fighting," the King's Own said grimly.

  What kind of good reason? Is it that bad out there? Pol wondered. He'd heard vague rumors of things the Karsite Sun-Priests were doing. Were those rumors based in fact?

  He didn't get any time to contemplate that; Theran was already going on. "Given that your daughter will be with you, do you still want to have your wife return to Healer's Collegium when you leave?" he asked. "Or would you rather have the three of you together?"

  "Let me think about it," he temporized, "and let me see if I can get a message to her. I don't think that I want to make a decision about this without asking her opinion first."

  :That may be the wisest thing you've ever said,: Satiran observed.

  :Hush.:

  "That's a reasonable request," the King agreed. "Jedin, put it on your agenda. We can schedule your departure as soon as we know what your lady thinks."

  :Rolan is going to think he's nothing but a messenger service.: This time Satiran was actually snickering. Pol let him; there was little enough these days to be amused about.

  The discussion turned to other Trainees, older than Lan, who might be candidates for assignment to the Border, but none of them were as ready as the ones who had already left, or as necessary as Lavan. Pol listened, but didn't often need to give his opinion, and he was relieved when no one, not even the King, thought that there were any more Trainees who should be hurried into Whites. Ten—twelve, if you counted Lan and Tuck—were enough.

  :Good gods—twelve—and twelve Companions went out. All we're doing is replacing Trainees.: Somehow that made him feel much better.

  In Healers' Collegium, and to a lesser extent, Bardic, this same discussion was taking place. If Pol closed his eyes, he could sense the flood of resources, the redirection of attention, to the south. This war did not yet command the entirety of Valdemar, but it soon would, and it would continue to devour lives and resources until it ended.

  However it ended.

  Valdemar would be perfectly willing to end the war with the withdrawal of Karsite troops back across their own border. Karse, however, would not stop short of destroying Valdemar, unless the war became so expensive that their religious and secular leader, the self-styled Son of the Sun, called a retreat. This particular Son of the Sun was so firmly on the Sun Throne that it would take a great deal before his rule was shaken. And not until then would he give way. This was a holy crusade in their eyes, and they had been planning it for most of Pol's life.

  "I believe that will be all for now," the King decreed, and Pol pulled himself out of his own thoughts to rise and bow himself out with the rest.

  Had spring already begun down there? He longed for spring with all of his being, and yet dreaded it. Spring would allow the freer movement of troops; with spring, the slaughter would begin in earnest.

  :This has been hanging over our heads all our lives,: Satiran observed sadly, as Pol reached his own quarters and went inside. :And now that it's here—even for me, it doesn't seem quite real.:

  :Ah, old friend, it will be real enough, all too soon,: he replied. :Be grateful for the respite.:

  He knew that he was. He would have to tell the youngsters that they were going soon, and then he would savor every single moment of every day until word came from Ilea. And that, he feared, would be very, very soon.

  *

  "SO we're both going!" Tuck said happily, sprawled over Lan's bed, while Lan occupied a pile of cushions in front of the fire, soaking up heat like a cat. "I was afraid they'd leave me behind!"

  "I almost wish they would," Lan replied. At Tuck's stricken look, he added hastily, "Not because I don't want you along! But, Tuck, this isn't a lark, or a training exercise—"

  "I know that!" Tuck said scornfully, interrupting him. "But you're my best friend, and I don't want you to go off anywhere without me along! Besides, Ma would skin me if I wasn't there; she'd want to know we were together so we could watch each other's backs." He lolled his head over the side of the bed and gave Lan what he probably thought was a reproving glare.

  Privately Lan still thought that Tuck had no idea of what they were getting into, but he didn't say anything more. He was touched and comforted, knowing that Tuck would be there for no other reason but that they were friends. Bless him!

  Tuck would be facing their enemy, not with a formidable Gift at his disposal, but with nothing more than a bow and arrows and Mindspeech. Surely Tuck had more to fear from this conflict than Lan did.

  "I don't know why Elenor is coming along, though," Tuck continued, frowning at his fingernails. "She can't even fight, and she's not a regular Healer." He shrugged. "Maybe it's to take care of people who've seen too much fighting."

  "I don't know why she's coming either," Lan admitted. A draft touched his neck and he put another log on the fire. "And I hate to sound like I don't like her, but I don't think this is the right thing for her to be doing, and I wish they'd let her stay here."

  Tuck made a face. "War is no place for girls," he intoned, self-importantly. "She's going to take one look and beg to go home."

  Of that, Lan was far from as sure as Tuck. "I think you're wrong there," he countered. "I think she's more likely to try and do too much, and hurt herself trying. She hasn't got all the practice that the older Healers have, so she'd know how to pace herself." He sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway. They said she should go, and she's going to."

  The real reason that he wished Elenor wasn't coming along was very personal; he didn't understand her, or the way she was acting around him. Kalira only said she'll outgrow it, when he asked his Companion's opinion, but wouldn't tell him what Elenor was supposed to outgrow.

  For a while, Elenor would be fine, just like always, a regular friend. A little bossy, maybe, but sometimes girls were like that. Then for no reason at all, she'd go melancholy and calf-eyed, and if he pressed her to say something or explain what was wrong, she'd just go sullen. Or worst of all, a couple of times she'd gone bursting into tears and running away. And when he saw her again, she'd pretend it hadn't happened.

  He was afraid that she was under as much stress as he was; after all, her mother was already in the fighting, her father was going there, and so were her friends. Though her odd behavior had predated the announcement of war—

  But she probably heard things from Herald Pol that no one else did. She probably knew there was going to be war way before the rest of us.

  He certainly hoped so; selfishly, he didn't want to have to deal with anyone else's troubles, and he certainly didn't want to find himself burdened with a weepy girl on a long trip.

  :Not that long,: Kalira corrected. :Six to ten days, at the most. We'll all share carrying Elenor as the double rider, and you have no idea how fast and far we can go in a day.:

  Six to ten days! Lan would never have believed anyone but Kalira—why, it took the average caravan a full month to go from Haven to the Southern Border, and that was on the main road, pushing hard, with fit horses in the traces, not oxen, which would be a lot slower!

  He supposed he could put up with Elenor for ten days, anyway, and once they were at their assignment, she'd have too much to do to have time for bouts of self-pity, or whatever it was.

  "I know what you're going to be doing, but I wonder what they'll want with me," Tuck said, looking worried and self-conscious as the thought occurred to him. "I mean, all I've got is Mindspeaking—"

  "You'll be with me, because it takes everything Kalira has to keep me from—losing control
," Lan told him. "She won't have anything to spare to Mindspeak anyone but me. You'll be my contact with whoever is giving orders, through the Herald that's with him. We'll be behind the main front lines, somewhere high, I expect, where I can see what I need to hit or herd."

  "But anybody would do for that," Tuck began anxiously.

  "Oh no. I don't want some stranger!" Lan replied sharply. "I don't want somebody who might grab my elbow, or shout in my ear when I don't respond, or anything else! You know what not to do around me!"

  "I guess," Tuck responded, with relief and the respect only someone who had seen Lan's latest practice sessions would possess. Lan was just grateful that his year-mates gave him respect and not the poorly-disguised fear that his own parents showed. Of his family, once the secret that he was responsible for the Merchants' School fire was out—and the fact that the King himself was Lan's personal protector—only Macy wanted anything to do with him. He'd even gotten a note of groveling apology from that loud-mouthed uncle who had so disparaged Heralds at the Midwinter Feast. If it hadn't given him such a sour taste in his mouth, it would have been funny. It was very clear from the note that the stupid lout didn't mean a word of his apology, he just didn't want his nephew to casually incinerate him in a fit of pique.

  Macy, thank the gods, was still just as comfortable with him as ever, and he wished, in a way, that he could take her along as well. But if war was no place for Elenor, it was doubly no place for Macy.

  "I wish Macy could come," Tuck said, in a wistful echo of his own thoughts. Tuck rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. "But she'd be lost out there, and probably scared, too."

  "I think she'd be more annoyed than scared, and frustrated that there wasn't anything she could do," Lan responded, out of his new respect for his little sister. Macy had not only done what he'd suggested and found new teachers at the Guildhouse, she'd informed their mother in no uncertain terms that embroidery for fancy garments was a waste of time and resources under the present circumstances, and that for the duration she was going to be making banners and badges for Guard units. And what was more, she was spending her free time making lint bandages for the Healers and knitting socks and fingerless gloves for the archers, and her mother could just hold parties without her help.

  The end result was that their mother had been shamed into organizing the entire Guild to do the same. The numbers of fingerless gloves streaming southward would probably ensure that every archer in the Army had warm hands before too long.

  "Macy would just drive us all crazy because she couldn't really do anything," Lan repeated confidently. "But if this goes on for very long, I wouldn't bet on not seeing her. She's just as likely to get trained as a Healer's assistant so she can follow us."

  Tuck brightened so much at that idea that Lan had to smother a smile. :I hope your mother hasn't got some fat merchant picked out for Macy, because there's going to be a war of an entirely different kind in Haven if she tries to bully your sister into a wedding,: Kalira observed, for once, without a trace of merriment at Tuck's expense. :I was in doubt at first, but I think those two are remarkably well suited, and that's not the usual thing for a Herald. If they ever wed, it's usually another Herald, a Bard, or a Healer.:

  :Oh? Why?: Lan asked, curiously.

  :Usually someone from one of the Circles is the only person likely to understand how duty comes first—and understand how important our bond is.: Now Kalira sounded oddly sad, and he wondered why.

  Perhaps she had just seen too many blighted romances. It wasn't at all unusual for brief courtships or even full-blown affairs to spring up between Heralds or Trainees and members of the highborn families. Heralds, after all, could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, which was more than could be said for the members of the highborn class. But in the overwhelming majority of the cases, those romantic interludes were doomed to end. Perhaps Kalira had just told him why.

  "Macy likes you, too," he blurted, and was rewarded by Tuck's crimson blush that spread over his ears and down the back of his neck.

  "I think she's the best girl I've ever met," Tuck declared stoutly. "She's not anywhere near as silly as my sisters. She's got a head on her shoulders, and she knows what she wants to do. And—"

  "Whoa, she's my sister, I'm perfectly aware of her virtues," Lan laughed, glad to have something to laugh about at last. "I think she's pretty fine, myself. And I'll tell you something else, if you were worrying about it. Before she'd let Mother nag her into marrying some old Guild goat, she'd run off barefoot in the snow. And within a day she'd probably have wangled herself not only boots, but a cloak and a traveling pack, and she'd be on the way to somewhere she thought she'd be properly appreciated. Like here, for instance."

  Tuck had no reply for that, other than an even deeper blush, but he looked relieved and grateful. "Have you got kitchen duty?" he asked instead.

  Lan shook his head. "Pol told me that they were relieving anyone in line to be graduated early from all chores, so we can actually get some rest once in a while, in between practice and study."

  "Hooo—well, that's one good thing this war's done for us!" Tuck exclaimed with pleasurable surprise. "I guess it's true that inside every rotten thing there's a touch of sweet!"

  Lan decided not to spoil things by replying that he would much rather have a countyful of dirty dishes to wash and not have a war. "I guess that's true," he agreed instead. "So why not take advantage of our exalted status, hog a couple of hot baths, then drift in to early dinner like members of the gentry?"

  "Sounds good to me," Tuck responded, and stretched luxuriously. "Take advantage of the bathing room while we still get to use it, eh?"

  "Good plan," Lan said. And hope that the bathing room is all that we miss....

  TWENTY

  THEY left at dawn, while the sun barely peeked above the horizon, trying without success to burn through the same slate-gray clouds that had hidden the sky for the past week. Elenor rode pillion behind her father, her belongings shared out among the three of them. Lan, Tuck, and Pol carried very little. They needed no supplies for the road, for they would spend their nights at inns, each journey carefully calculated to bring them to their day's destination three to four candlemarks after sunset. They each carried only enough in the way of clothing to get them to the army. After that, they would be supplied as regularly as if they were at the Collegium. Elenor and her things were no burden to the three Companions.

  Halfway between Haven and the Border, they would meet up with Pol's wife, Healer Ilea, at one of their nightly stops. She and Pol would decide then if she would return with them to the army, or go back to Haven. Lan privately hoped that her mother would persuade Elenor to turn back and go with her to Healers' Collegium.

  It was cold, mortally cold, this morning. The snow had thawed and frozen so many times that now it was granular and crunchy; no one could have made snow figures or snowballs out of it even if they'd had the heart to. It wasn't only the Collegium that had lost young people to this war—it was the Palace as well. The Court had been decimated by the rush to volunteer, until it was said in the halls of the Collegium that the only courtiers left were those who could not be spared, the lame, and the old.

  Lan put all that behind him as they rode out of the South Gate—one he had not yet used—and trotted through the silent city. A few early risers looked out of their windows when they heard the chiming hoofbeats of the Companions. Those who spotted them—or encountered them—waved solemnly or gave little nods. Lan noted that Pol always returned these little gestures of respect, and did likewise.

  He felt very strange in his new Whites, and he couldn't forget for a moment that he was wearing his new uniform. The Whites were made of entirely different materials than the Grays, and were tailored to him. Trainee uniforms were comfortable enough, but full Whites were little more than a second skin. Where the Gray tunics were heavy canvas or wool, the Field Whites were butter-soft doeskin. The winter shirts that went beneath the tunics were chir
ra wool or ramie and linen; the Trainees made do with wool or plain linen. Trews were doeskin again—Trainees got canvas. Hose beneath the trews were finely knitted linen or chirra wool, where Trainees got stockings of heavier wool or baggy woven linen. Only in the matter of boots did Trainees and Heralds fare alike.

  After due consideration and consultation with Master Odo, neither Lan nor Tuck wore swords, though both had daggers and bows. The Weaponsmaster deemed neither of them able enough with the longer blade to be effective with it, and Lan was just as glad. He felt awkward enough with the heavy dagger at his belt and the quiver on his back, and he was used to using both.

  It hadn't snowed for two weeks, and the old snow piled along the sides of the street had gotten to a fairly grimy stage. Everything conspired to produce an aura of depression, from the thin, gray light to the dirty, weatherbeaten snow to the cracked paint and chipped trim on houses and shops that wouldn't be repaired until spring. He was glad when they left the city at last and into the countryside, where at least things didn't look quite as tired and tatty.