Rinton sat upright, and Linx gathered his legs beneath him and stood, tossing his head and stamping his silvery hooves, tail twitching as accumulated water droplets flew around them. Mirideh giggled at the sight of a usually dignified Companion behaving like a soaked dog, then leaned over to help Rinton to his own feet. The Herald placed one hand on Linx’s withers for balance and support while Mirideh hoisted the saddle back into place and fastened the girth.
“Skinny you may be, but I still couldn’t lift you . . .” she began, but Linx forestalled her words by bending his forelegs to go down to his knees, so she only needed to help balance the Herald as he swung one leg over the Companion’s back. Once he was in the saddle, Linx carefully rose, and Rinton worked his feet into the stirrups. Mirideh stared in amazement.
“It’s something all Heralds and Companions practice,” Rinton said when he noticed her reaction. “Far easier with a Companion than a horse. If I can get into the saddle, I can practically sleep here, and Linx can keep me upright.” He settled his oiled cloak over his shoulders while Miri eyed the sorrel mare. There was no chance of getting her horse to cooperate in a trick like that.
“She’s sweet and biddable enough, but it’s a good thing I’m in better shape than you right now.” Grasping reins and pommel in one hand, she hooked one foot into the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. Securing her own cloak, she gave one last glance around to make sure they had left few traces of their presence under the sheltering tree.
Linx tossed his white head, and the four of them moved back out into the rain, Kiyan flapping along overhead.
As they traveled, Miri hid a smile. Even though Linx had seemed restored, several times she found herself reining in her mare to a slower pace to keep from crowding up behind the Companion. Rinton occasionally swayed in the saddle, but even to her concerned eye seemed in no danger of falling off of Linx’s back.
Twilight had settled in by the time they arrived at the Waystation, and Miri leaped from her horse to help Rinton dismount. He stood, leaning most of his weight against his Companion, while she fumigated the tiny shelter with the aromatics all traveling Heralds carried with them. There was only one bedbox, so she put Rinton’s bedroll there and guided him to sit while she tended to Linx and the mare. Only when their mounts were settled did she set about lighting a fire, sweeping out the building and gathering what they would need for the night.
Rinton sat staring at the fire, head resting on one hand, slowly sipping another cup of restorative herbs while she moved around him. Unbidden, memories arose of her first night in a Waystation, the second night she had spent on Valdemaran soil. Then, she had sat in anxious confusion, watching while a Herald, whom she had always been told to fear, had tended to all of her needs. This time, it was she who had taken charge of him.
“If some of the folks back in Karse could see me now, taking care of one of the Demon-Riders . . .” She let the words trail off. Some of the villagers she had encountered when visiting her grandmother had been less than enthusiastic about the alliance with Valdemar, and viewed her return with some suspicion. “They wouldn’t know what to make of me.”
:You are not as you were, and nor is he.:
Mirideh snorted lightly, and Rinton looked up at her in question. “Your Companion is eavesdropping from outside and has chosen to share his opinions with me.”
As if I needed proof that I am not who I was. Not only have I spent years among the Demon-Riders, learning to use proscribed Gifts, one of the White Demons has even talked in my head. Thank Vkandis that Grandmother Fidesa never taught her people to hate, like so many of His priests did. I don’t think I could have overcome that.
Rinton glanced at the still-open door, out into the deepening darkness where Linx and the mare munched on the grain Miri had given them. His face took on the “listening” expression common among Heralds.
“Linx says that there has been some magical . . . something . . . that has happened in Haven, which involved a great deal of magical power. It doesn’t make any sense to me. But all the Companions and Heralds were affected, especially those closer to Haven, and those who have Mage Gifts.” He glanced downward, seeming embarrassed. “He says I’m one of the ones with Mage Gifts. I don’t even know what that really means, other than Linx says I have a lot to learn.”
“That makes a bit of sense to me,” Miri said. “Your mind felt as though it had been singed, as if a lightning bolt had gone through it. It was far more severe than the usual effects of overuse of Gifts. If there was some sort of strong . . . overflow? . . . in your mind, if you were sensitive to it because of that unknown Gift, everything would be left raw.”
Rinton nodded. “Raw is a good word for it.” He yawned widely, then glanced around. “Waystations are not known for comfort . . .”
“I’ve been in them before, remember? This time I’ll be the one to sleep on the floor. It’s no worse than taking foal watch or staying up all night with a patient in the House of Healing. Better, in fact, because I can really sleep, and Linx can wake me if he senses anything wrong with you.” She took the empty cup from him. “Now, sleep. The morning is time enough to think on this more.”
The Herald was asleep before she had finished rinsing his cup. Mirideh moved to the doorway, standing and looking out into the darkness. A lighter shape loomed at her side, the firelight from the Waystation drawn to highlight Linx’s form.
:Well done, Healer Mirideh.:
Miri gaped at the title.
“How could a Companion determine that? I’ve barely finished my classes at Healers’ Collegium, and there are still more tests, I’m sure.” Some days, it seemed that all her time in the Houses of Healing was an examination of some sort or another.
:This Companion believes that the name is right, and earned. I do not think you will be in Trainee Greens after our return.:
She blinked, considering, her thoughts drifting over the day, her decisions and actions related to Rinton’s care. In a way, the whole day had been a test of a different type, one that Linx clearly believed she had passed. She slowly nodded, and a subtle warmth and pride spread in her heart.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the luminous figure beside her, then closed the Waystation door.
Banking the fire, she curled up on her bedroll, facing the low bedbox where Rinton gently snored. Tomorrow, they would return home, to Haven, and to whatever faced them there.
Expected Consequences
Elizabeth Vaughan
To Lady Cera of Sandbriar, in the Kingdom of Valdemar,
Greetings,
Please accept the thanks of the Healers’ Collegium and The Crown for the supply of wild kandace. It arrived safely and is deeply appreciated. Once again, Master Jebren has demonstrated his gifts to us.
The Crown has given leave that the funds we would normally remit to you be instead applied as a credit to Sandbriar’s future taxes. Please also be assured that the Collegium is more than willing to enter into this arrangement for the next two years. The Wars sadly depleted our supplies, and our harvest will be some time in recovering.
On a personal note, I was wondering how Master Xenos is getting along. I understand that the Healing of the injured Herald is proceeding well, but, to be honest, milady, it’s just that I’ve had a request . . . more like a demand . . . to recall him to the Collegium.
In any event, please accept our grateful thanks for all of your assistance.
Naritha,
Assistant Dean, Healers’ Collegium, Haven, in the Kingdom of Valdemar.
“Mold.” Lady Cera of Sandbriar stared at the contents of the pan with dismay. The cold fat with flower blooms pressed into it was dotted with specks of black.
“Mold,” confirmed Bella, who’d worked with her on this project.
“Moisture,” Master Jebren said firmly.
“Any idiot knows that.” Xenos sniffed.
“Xenos,” Jebren said even more firmly. “Perhaps you can aid someone else, somewhere else?”
Xenos huffed and exited dramatically.
Cera and Bella exchanged glances of relief.
“The problem is moisture,” Jebren continued. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave them an apologetic smile. Master Apothecary Jebren had come to Sandbriar with Healer Xenos and was everything the Healer was not: warm, friendly and willing to share his knowledge.
“But the flowers need to be fresh,” Cera protested.
“Fresh, yes, but as dry as they can be,” Jebren said. “You need to cloth-dry them and then hang them from the rafters for a day before you press them into the fat. Also, you need a thinner layer of fat in the pan. This is just a bit too thick.”
Cera puffed out her exasperation.
Jebren shook his head at her. “None of that now, you have done well, considering you were relying on your memories of your mother’s methods.” He placed the pan back on the table near her. Cera caught a whiff of spice and flowers, another memory of her mother’s stillroom. Jebren continued. “We’ll clean this up and start again.”
Cera and Bella started to scrape the pans clean. “Once we get the technique down, we can train some others to do this, Bella,” Cera said. “I don’t want to take you from the kitchens.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “I might just stay down here all day if that man keeps getting underfoot. I shoo him away, but how is a body to get any work done when he follows me around like a half-starved cat?”
Jebren choked, coughing. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong.”
Cera looked at Bella seriously. “Has he been rude to you?”
“No, milady, not to me, but that tongue of his stings something fierce.” Bella frowned. “All in everyone’s business and never a kind word.”
“He did save Herald Helgara,” Cera pointed out.
“Aye, and didn’t that poor Herald get her brains all shook.” Bella nodded. “Very well. I’ll put up with him.”
“No,” Cera said firmly. “If he is going to hang about the kitchens, put him to work.”
Bella and Jebren both stared at her. Cera calmly continued to scrape out a pan. “What about those puffs you make with all the butter and sweets. The ones that take the better part of a day. Weren’t you going to make those as a treat?”
“Well, yes, b-but-” Bella sputtered.
“Put him to work with the kneading and folding the dough.” Cera looked up with a smile.
“But, milady, he’s a Healer and noble born.” Bella protested, even as a smile broke out on her face.
“Idle hands make only mischief,” Cera shrugged. “If he protests, tell him I said either work or leave the kitchen.”
Bella set her shoulders and laughed. “Well, just see if I don’t. I’ll go get some more of the pure fat for the pans.” They could hear her chortle as she climbed the stairs.
Jebren raised an eyebrow at Cera. “I doubt anyone has ever made Xenos work, other than to hone his Gift.”
“Maybe they should,” Cera said. “If he doesn’t like kitchens, maybe I can put him to work in the barns.”
“Shearing sheep?” Jebren asked.
“Mucking stalls,” Cera said.
Jebren laughed.
Cera smiled at the man. Master Apothecary Jebren was a delight to work with. He’d been hard at work the last few weeks since the Festival, seeing to the shipment of wild kandace for the Healer’s Collegium. Between his skill and her people’s work, they’d turned a profit for Sandbriar, and perhaps they had turned a corner on funds for the future.
“I just wanted to thank you—” Cera blurted out at the same time Jebren spoke.
“I can’t thank you enough—” he said
They each stuttered to a halt, laughing.
“You first,” he said.
“Thank you for teaching this to me.” Cera gestured to the pans. “For teaching all of us.”
“It’s the least I could do for you.” Jebren flushed. “For Sandbriar and Valdemar. And let me offer you my thanks for the use of the stillroom and the drying shed and the garden. During the Tedrel War I was kept in Haven, creating medicines. It’s good to be back in the garden, amidst growing things.”
They both looked at each other for the longest awkward moment. Jebren looked as though he wished to say more, so Cera waited, hesitating, feeling an odd flutter in her chest. She opened her mouth, trying to find words—
Bella clattered down the stairs with a bucket of clean lard. “Here we be—” She drew herself up, looking at both of them with a quizzical expression. “Have I interrupted?”
“No, no,” they both exclaimed, busying themselves with the pans.
“Well, then we’d best get this done,” Bella said. “The hot’s starting to rise outside.”
“I wanted to check on the chirras,” Cera said, starting to press the fat into the clean pans. “But I’ll be quick.”
“I was going to work in the stillroom this afternoon,” Jebren said and then defended himself from Bella’s scowl with a shoulder shrug. “It’s cool in there.”
“Northerners.” Bella shook her wooden scraper at him. “You’re not used to our heat and our ways. The hot will get worse as the weeks go on, and the afternoon rest is the best way to deal with it. But you’d not be the first out of Haven to work himself sick.”
“She’s right,” Cera said. “Our heat can catch you off guard.”
“Then I’ll take your advice,” Jebren conceded. Another nice thing about him, Cera thought.
“See that you do,” Bella said. “And I will warn Sir-High-and-Mighty. Now, is this the right thickness for the fat?”
* * *
* * *
Cera stepped out of the manor house and sucked in a breath as the heat hit her face.
The sun was almost at its zenith, and the morning cool was rapidly fading.
There was a large merchant caravan unloading at the gates, and one of her guards called her over. “Someone to speak to you, Lady.”
One of the merchants whipped off his hat. “Lady Cera, I wish you well this day. I’ve news of the road for you.”
“Merchant Hurlbert, my thanks for the well-wishes. The same to you and yours.” Cera smiled. “You need to get out of the hot soon.”
“Aye, we’ve a place down by the river that’s just right. Perfect with shade and cool water. We’ll be there as soon as we unload, Lady. But that’s not the news.” He swept his hat back up into place. “You’ve a lordling headed for you, out of Rethwellan. All starched collars and black clothing and a stick far up his . . . attitude, beggin’ your pardon.”
“Did he give you a name?” Cera asked, putting her own hat on her head.
“Nay, Lady.” Hurlbert chortled. “That kind ne’er shared his name with any. We even tried to offer cold water and to sell him lighter clothes, but he’d not deign to hear us. I suspect he stopped at the last town before this and will ignore them as well. Fair sure he’s headed your way.”
“My thanks, Hurlbert.” Cera gave him a nod and a smile. “Safe travels to you.”
Hurlbert bowed low and then called to his people to move the wagons out.
Cera started toward the chirra barns, waving greetings to the people she saw. For the next handful of weeks, the ”hot” would dictate the life of her people. Work would slow as the crops grew under the sun. The worry would be keeping the animals cool, especially her northern-born chirras. If they could learn to adapt to Sandbriar, she had high hopes for the soft wool of their undercoats.
Everyone was in the process of withdrawing into the shade. Until
now, she hadn’t appreciated the way the buildings were built to deal with the brutal heat. Windows placed to catch the breezes and channel them into the depths of the structure. Wide porches to shade the houses and thick trees to block the sun’s incessant rays from the roofs.
Who on earth would be traveling to see her in this weather? A suitor, perhaps. That was one of the other benefits of the ”hot”; it kept all but the most determined suitors away in this season. She’d made it known that she was a working landowner, with little time other than after the dinner hour to sit and be courted. Since the heat made travel difficult for man and beast, it normally would have afforded her a respite.
Until now.
Cera shrugged. The idea of a suitor arriving no longer caused her to worry. She’d make her own choices—to her benefit and to Sandbriar’s.
She passed the building where one of her previous would-be suitors, Emerson the tapestry weaver, had set up his loom, still working on finishing his grandmother’s tapestry. No sound of the shuttles being worked, so he was probably preparing to rest for the afternoon as well. Thankfully, Emerson was far more interested in her wool than in herself, and he had made that clear to all and sundry.
She saw Withrin Ashkevron peering out the barn door and hurried her steps, not wanting to keep him waiting. He smiled as she came up to the large barn doors. “Just about to hang the coolers.”
Ager, once the old Lord’s chirra herder, was there as well, and he nodded at Cera as she walked in. Some of the stable boys were tying long strips of linen to rods and filing troughs of water that sat in the doorways where the breeze came in. Men were in the lofts to haul the rods and wet linen up and hang them, letting the strips hang down, cooling the barn.
The chirras were all settled in the center of the barn, chewing their cuds, blinking their sleepy eyes at her. Every once in a while, one ear would twitch and then all the ears would twitch, like a wave. Cera smiled at the sight and then gave Ager a hopeful look.
The thin, spare man shrugged. “So far, they are doing well. They’ve spaced themselves out, see, so that the breeze gets between them.”
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