"Sattar," he whispered, weeping into her shoulder. "She's gone," Lisabet replied. "Want Sattar," he said, echoing Nastasea's words.
"Sattar's gone now. It's time to let go, Rivin."
The boy neither agreed nor rejected her words. Instead, he turned and mounted his Companion, his face a cast-granite mask of sorrow. Lisabet checked the shields around him, looking for leaks and holes. No use letting that powerful a new-born Mage-Gift get out of hand.
Satisfied, she called Raal over, and pulled herself into her own saddle. With one trembling hand on her Companion's neck, she led the way down the road toward Haven.
Gods—mage-power coming to life like that scares me. The boy didn't even know what he was doing—didn't even realize it was magic—until it was too late. It was only luck that this was my circuit and that I was close by when he first Reached. I don't think that I would have wanted a stranger taking care of him. She shivered. There was so much anger in him. . . .
:Thus, the nature of madness,: Raal said, his voice heavy and dusky in her mind.
:I'll never figure it out.:
•.Some things we were never meant to figure out.:
-.Like Companions?: Lisabet asked slyly.
She heard a dry chuckle. -.Like Companions.:
A wind chuckled by, catching her hair. She saw Rivin's head jerk up, as if he had heard something, and then he shook himself, falling back into his mournful brooding.
It was then—when he lifted his head—that she noticed the worryline now chiseled between his brow. She noticed his taut neck muscles, the lines around his eyes. But most of all, she noticed the way he held his arm and rubbed his shoulder as if it ached with the pain of a hard grip that had, for a long while, forgotten how to let go.
. . . . Another Successful Experiment
by Lawrence Schimel
Lawrence Schimel is the co-editor of Tarot Fantastic and Fortune Tellers, among other projects. His stories appear in Dragon Fantastic, Cat Fantastic III, Weird Tales from Shakespeare, Phantoms of the Night, Return to Avalon, the Sword and Sorceress series, and many other anthologies. Twenty-four years old, he lives in New York City, where he writes and edits full-time.
They resembled nothing so much as ill-proportioned hammers, but Chavi was pleased with them. No, he decided as he held one aloft and the weight of the tiny head on the end of the broomstick-length handle caused it to quiver slightly, he was more than just content.
"They're perfect!"
Gathering the other five from his bed, he tucked them all under one arm and went in search of his year-mates.
Chavi had spent the last week hidden in his room constructing these strange items. An air of mystery had naturally developed around them as Grays and sometimes even full Heralds stood outside his door listening to the curious sounds of their creation. Locking himself into his room was always the first clue that mischief was afoot, and that another of Chavi's (in)famous experiments would soon be unveiled. Therefore, as Efrem wandered down the hallway and noticed the door ajar, he could not resist the temptation to peek inside, hoping for a glimpse of the latest invention. Finding it empty, not only of marvels, but of the mischief maker himself, he went in search of him, knowing it would be worth his while, in laughter if nothing else.
Whether it was simply a lucky guess, or the fervent hope that Chavi was not foolish enough to premiere one of his experiments indoors again, his search led him— after a brief stop in the kitchens—to Companion's Field, where Chavi and his Companion Tecla waited for his year-mates to arrive.
The first person to show up was not, however, one of Chavi's year-mates. A tall, lanky man in the red-brown of a Bardic trainee came by and leaned against a tree, facing Chavi and Tecla. Chavi was of a mind to ask him to "Move along," then decided it might be good to have a Bard on hand to immortalize his success. He was sure it would be a success, too, and did not even consider that the experiment might fail.
The second arrival, however, gave Chavi pause. Efrem was a fellow Gray, who had been chosen two years before him. While Chavi did not at all dislike the Herald (he doubted it was even possible for a Herald to actively dislike another Herald), his presence made Chavi nervous. Had he been wandering by and noticed them, Chavi wondered, or had he known to come to Companion's Field now? If one of his year-mates had let slip that they would unveil his latest experiment. . . .
Just then, Gildi arrived with her companion, Fedele. With them came an older woman in Healer's green, her hair just turning to frost.
"I knew it," Chavi admonished, even as he hugged his year-mate in greeting. "I told you not to tell anyone." He glanced meaningfully from the Healer to Efrem and the Bard.
"I've been part of your experiments before, Chavi, and felt having a Healer on hand was a precaution worth taking. But / didn't tell anyone."
"Someone must have" he said, glaring at the pair of bystanders.
"Oh, don't sulk, Chavi. What harm is there in having spectators to revel in your latest crowning glory?"
He grinned at her. "Well, when you put it that way. . . ."
Tecla warned him that he was in for a surprise when he turned around. Nervously, Chavi looked behind him. His year-mates Some and Grav had arrived with their Companions.
:That's not it,: Tecla told him.
Chavi looked again, and this time saw what Tecla had meant: a group of three full Heralds coming toward them. "Aaaarrgggh! Why me? Why? All I ask for is a little peace and quiet in my life!"
Gildi could not stop laughing at that last comment until the three Heralds had reached them. Their Companions had come in from the Field to greet them. That must be how Tecla had known they were coming, Chavi realized.
"So who told you?" Chavi asked with a small grin, by way of greeting to the three Heralds.
All three of them laughed. "I'm afraid you can't keep a secret that involves six Companions," one said.
Chavi looked sternly at Tecla, about to ask her if she had told, but then decided he really didn't want to know. He was sure she had read his thoughts and knew what he had meant to ask, but she kept silent, aside from her usual comforting presence at the back of his mind.
Chavi sighed. While he was interrogating, he might as well do them all. "And how did you find out?" he asked the Bardic trainee.
"One of the servants told me."
One of the servants, Chavi thought. And how did they know? Did he have no privacy whatsoever around here, or what?
Chavi turned to Efrem. "You?" He was getting very tired of this question very quickly.
"No one."
"No one?"
"We all knew you were making something in your room, since you could hear the noise even from the cellar, practically. When I noticed your door was open again at last, but the room empty, I knew there was a sight to be seen somewhere, if only I could find it. One worth risking Mero's wrath by skipping out on preparation." Efrem smiled. "But I found a way around that."
"Oh?" Chavi asked, very curious as to any new techniques he might learn, for getting out of chores. "Pray tell, how was that?"
Before Efrem had a chance to explain, the answer walked into sight. Mero carried a basket stuffed with food in each hand, the three Grays in tow carried chairs and a table. They would work outside, and therefore all get the chance to watch the spectacle.
"This is ridiculous!" Chavi exclaimed as they began setting up the table and chairs. "You'd think I had invented entertainment for the first time."
Kem and Fiz chose that moment to show up with their Companions. "Are we charging admission or something?" Fiz asked.
"Then neither of you told?"
"Chavi. Really." Kem struck a melodramatic pose. "That you could even doubt us."
Chavi turned to Gildi. "Now you see why I didn't want spectators? Put him in front of a crowd and he's incorrigible."
"You're just jealous of my charm and good looks," Kem replied.
In answer, Chavi picked up one of his inventions and held it aloft. Advancing on Kem he said,
"I can take care of those looks."
But once his actions had gotten enough laughter, Chavi lowered the creation again and turned serious. He turned to face the crowd. "I'll bet you're wondering why I've brought you all here," he began, earning boos and catcalls from his year-mates. Chavi looked down his nose at them, even though he was shorter than all save Grav. "Now where was I. .. ? Oh, yes, today's demonstration. You are very privileged to witness here today the birth of a new sport. A game of skill that will enchant spectators, and also," Chavi turned toward the three Heralds, "help train the participants in equitation and combat."
"You don't intend to spar with those things while riding Companions?" one of the Heralds asked.
"Hear me out." Chavi turned to his year-mates and began passing out his creations, one to each. "The rules are simple. Mount your Companions and I shall explain."
As they climbed into their saddles, Chavi whispered to his year-mates, "Now I have no idea if this is going to work." Gildi and Kem exchanged knowing glances, for Chavi never made disclaimers like that unless he was sure of success. "But let's at least put on a good show, eh?"
Switching back into a performer's voice, Chavi continued explaining the rules. "I'm sure you are all familiar with the games of stickball and football played by children? What we are about to play is a mix of both." From one of Tecla's saddlebags he brought forth a small wooden ball wrapped in leather and tossed it to the ground. "That is the object of our pursuit. To manipulate it, we use these." Chavi held aloft his creation in demonstration and, swinging down, gave the ball a solid crack which sent it rolling off through the grass. There was a burst of applause from the audience, in response to which Chavi stood in his stirrups and bowed to them, before continuing.
"The game is played by two teams of three players each. Why this number? Because more Companions and Heralds than that on the field of play at once would be disaster." He smiled. "There are also that number among my year-mates and myself, and since I am inventing this game, that is what I decided. Besides, it takes forever to make the mallets.
"Some, Kem, and Gildi are one team; your goal is those two trees over there marked with yellow ribbons. Grav, Fiz, and myself guard the goal on the other side of the field marked by blue ribbons. Points are scored by knocking the ball through the opposing team's goal." Chavi paused to let all this information sink in and smiled out at the assembled crowd. They were listening raptly for his every word, and Chavi exulted in the sensation while his year-mates made practice swings with their mallets, testing the distance between themselves and the ground.
"Are there no precautionary rules?" the Healer nervously asked at last, breaking the silence.
Chavi smiled kindly at her, wondering what Gildi had told her of his earlier experiments. "Indeed there are. While our Companions are quite capable at taking care of themselves, and us, we shall not put them at unnecessary risk. No hitting Companions or riders with your mallets or fists, although I would hazard to say that leaning heavily against someone as you rode them off would be fair, so long as your hands stayed over your own saddle. No sticking your mallet under or between the legs of a Companion, even for the sake of hitting the ball. Furthermore, no lifting the mallet head higher than your shoulder, so you don't endanger those of us topside. And finally, the rider who has control of the ball (with his mallet—touching the ball at any time with your hands will result in a penalty) the rider who has the ball, also has the right of way to follow after it for a second swing. This means you cannot ride in front of him, in a perpendicular path, and stop there. The object of the game is not to get injured, nor to wind up with all our Companions smacked into each other.
"Now, is everyone set on these rules?" His year-mates nodded, and the Healer looked content. "Then let's play ball."
Chaos quickly descended upon the field, and had it not been for the precautionary rules (which the Companions remembered, reminding their riders whenever they forgot) all six players would have wound up in the House of Healing after the first five minutes of practice, never having the chance to move into full fledged play. Grav's first swing at the ball was so wild he fell from the saddle. He turned as scarlet as a Bard's garb, but climbed back on and tried again.
"If you stand up in the stirrups like this," Chavi advised, "and lean from the waist, you should find it easier to keep your seat." Chavi had, of course, taken all his tumbles days ago when no one was around to see them.
Grav followed Chavi's instructions and gave the ball a nice, solid whack, knocking it over the bystanders' heads.
"Careful there!" the Bardic trainee shouted as he ducked the projectile.
Grav apologized, but he was feeling smug as he turned to Fiz and said, "Your turn."
Fiz fared slightly better than Grav, in that he did not fall off his horse on his first swing. However, he did not hit the ball. After his seventh missed swing, the crowd was wild with laughter that far exceeded what Grav's fall had earned. The expression of frustration on Fiz's face each time he swung was enough to redouble their mirth. As he was winding up for an eighth swing, Fedele brought Gildi alongside of him and she blocked his mallet's arc with her own.
"I would have hit it that time!" Fiz screamed, sending the crowd of onlookers into hysterics.
Gildi merely gave him a sarcastic look and tapped the ball out of Fiz's reach. However, when Fedele walked up to it and she took a second swing, she missed too. Grav lost no time in riding behind her, standing up in his stirrups as Chavi had told him, and giving the ball another good, solid crack. It sailed into the audience once more.
"That's twice," the Bardic trainee said as he ducked again.
Just then, Efrem lost control of the potato he had been peeling, and it slipped out of his hands. With a mixture of shame and curiosity he watched its arc as it left his hands and knocked the trainee in the back of the head, where he knelt in "safety" behind a bush.
"Herald, thy days are numbered," the Bardic trainee thundered as he turned to face his assailant-from-behind. "Thy lack of skill with a blade shall henceforth go down in the annals of history in the 'Ballad of How Efrem Lost the Battle of Potato Picnic.' Let thy infamy precede thee wherever thou go." He sat down with his back to a nearby tree and began composing verses as he watched the rest of the game.
"You know, he's right," Eladi told Efrem after they had all laughed heartily. She handed him some of her carrots to peel, hoping he would have more luck with them. "I mean, if Alberich had seen you—" She shuddered, the thought too unpleasant to contemplate.
"What do you mean if?" a voice behind them asked. Eladi turned to find the weapon's master standing behind them. Efrem did not need to look to know who it was; the overwhelming feeling of impending doom was enough.
The game was as exhilarating as Chavi imagined it would be, once everyone had mastered the rudiments of play and the actual game was underway. It moved at a remarkably fast clip, the entire thrust shifting to the other side of the field as a backhand swing sent the ball arcing toward the other goal.
Gildi served as a highly efficient captain for her team, masterminding a myriad of strategies which Chavi took careful note of. She was less concerned with scoring the most points herself than in helping her team to the most points. Her favorite tactic was to ride up alongside someone as he was about to take a shot and block his mallet with her own. Then, one of her team mates, who had been instructed to follow her, took the ball back toward the other goal. Through Mindspeech, team members were only a thought away as strategy decisions were relayed to them by their Companions.
Fiz proved to be an excellent backhand, although he still had difficulties with his forward shot. Grav was the powerhouse hitter, often sending the ball arcing out of bounds (usually toward the audience). Kem and Some were both adequate players, but they never really excelled at anything in particular. Chavi kept worrying that they weren't enjoying themselves.
:You're daydreaming again: Tecla warned him. -.Keep your eyes on the ball. We're going for the shot.:
<
br /> Chavi relinquished his musings to the game. He focused on the ball, stood up in his stirrups, and swung. He connected, and a moment later whooped with delight as the ball rolled into the unprotected yellow goal.
Chavi held one of his creations aloft and decided that, yes, he was more than just pleased with them. He was elated. The game was seen as a general success by one and all. The Bardic trainee had begun a second ballad about the day's events, featuring Chavi as its hero. Chavi was grateful that he had changed his mind before asking the man to "Move along." As the game progressed and she was not called upon in her official function, the Healer let herself relax enough to enjoy the sport. Word had spread quickly once the game was underway, and the audience had swelled to five times its original size. Even the Queen herself showed up to watch. Aside from thinking it looked like fun, Heralds were interested in the game for the combat training and equitation skills it provided.
Everyone wanted a mallet of their own. Chavi was beside himself with pleasure.
As his tired but happy year-mates dismounted and relinquished their mallets to other Heralds who wished to try them, Chavi began congratulating himself. "Yes, yet another successful experiment brought to you by the one and only Chavi the magnificent, inventor of innumerable wondrous inventions, including the—"
Gildi Mindspoke to Fedele, who passed the message on to Tecla, who dumped Chavi into the river.
"All right, all right," Chavi said, as he dragged himself, soaking wet, onto the shore, where his year-mates waited, ready to toss him back in depending on his attitude. "So I had a little help from my friends."
Choice
by Michelle West
Michelle West has written two novels for DAW, Hunter's Oath and Hunter's Death, and, with any luck, is finishing her third, The Broken Crown, by now. She likes the Heralds, but couldn't imagine being one-she's the only fantasy writer she knows who's never been up on the back of a horse for fear of breaking her arm in three places when she came off it. Not that she lets cowardice rule her life, of course. Well, not often.
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