Arrow's Fall (16 page)

“My ladies, my lords—” he coughed,”—I did not dare trust this to anyone but myself. Messengers can be waylaid, documents purloined —”

“My lord Herald,” Gartheser said smoothly, “I think you may be overreacting. Your injuries ...”

“Did
not
cause me to hallucinate what I heard,” Nathan snapped, his anger giving him a burst of strength. “We captured a prisoner, Councillors; I interrogated him myself under Truth Spell
before
I was hurt. The brigands are serving those slavers we thought banished!”

“
What?
” Lady Cathan choked out, as she half-stood, then collapsed back into her seat.

“There is worse. The slave-traders are not working unaided. I have it by my prisoner’s confession
and
by written proofs that they have been aided and abetted by Lord Geoffery of Helmscarp, Lord Nestor of Laverin, Lord Tavis of Brengard, and TradeGuildsmen Osten Deveral, Jerard Stonesmith, Petar Ringwright, and Igan Horstfel.”

He sank back into his own chair, eyes still burning with controlled rage, as the Council erupted into accusation and counter-accusation.

“How could this have occurred without your knowledge, Cathan?” Gartheser demanded. “By the gods, I begin to wonder just how assiduous you were in rooting out the
last
lot—”

“You were right up there in the front ranks to accuse me the last time, Gartheser,” Cathan sneered “but I seem to remember you were also the one who insisted I do all the dirty work. I am only one woman; I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“But Cathan, I
cannot
see how this could have escaped your knowledge,” Hyron protested. “Those four named are of first-rank.”

“And the other three are Kester’s liegemen,” added Wyrist, suspiciously, “I’d like to know how
they
managed to operate a slaving ring under Kester’s nose.”

“And so would I,” Lady Kester snapped. “More than you, I reckon.”

And so it went, as Selenay mediated the strife among her Councillors. Talia had her hands full seeing that she remained sane during all of it.

All this, of course, meant that she had no time to pay heed to her own problems—most particularly that of the rift between Dirk and Kris, Kris and herself, and Dirk and herself.

It was bad enough that the quarrel existed—but to add yet another pine-bough to the conflagrations, Rolan was causing her considerable discomfort.

He was the premier stallion of the Companion herd and while Talia had been on internship, had only had another stallion—Kris’ Tantris—for company. Now he was making up for his enforced celibacy with a vengeance—and the partner he dallied with most often was Dirk’s Ahrodie.

And Talia shared it—couldn’t block it if she tried. Not that she blamed Rolan; Ahrodie was sweet, attractive, and a most cooperative partner. She ought to know; she was on the empathic receiving end of all of it. But to have this going on, two and three times a week, while she positively ached for Ahrodie’s Chosen—well, it was unpleasantly like torture. Rolan evidently had no notion of what he was doing to his Chosen, and Talia refused to spoil his pleasure by letting him know.

So she lost further sleep at night; either in suffering through what Rolan was unknowingly inflicting on her or in dreams in which she worked desperately to knit up some undefined but important object that kept unraveling.

* * * *

She didn’t see Elspeth except at training sessions with Alberich, occasional meals, or now and again with Gwena out in the Field. She seemed a little distracted, and maybe a touch shy, but that was normal for a girl just into puberty, and besides, Talia had her hands full to overflowing. So Talia never once worried about her— until one day she realized with a chill of foreboding that she hadn’t seen the girl in several days, not even at arms practice.

Well, that could have been simple circumstance, but it was a situation that needed rectifying. So Talia went looking for her.

She found the Heir in the garden, which was not a place where Elspeth usually spent any time. But she was reading, so she could have decided simply that she needed some fresh air.

“Hello, catling,” Talia called cheerfully, seeing Elspeth’s head snap up at the sound of her voice. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“No—no, just got tired of the Library—” Had she hesitated a fraction of a second before denying that? “Say, you’ve been so busy, I’ll bet you haven’t heard the latest scrape Tuli’s gotten himself into, and I’ll
bet
you could use a good laugh—”

With that, Elspeth kept the conversation on Collegium gossip, and then pled tasks elsewhere before Talia could gain control of the situation.

The incident left Talia very disconcerted, and when she began seeking the girl out on a regular basis, she only got repetitions of the same. Then Talia began to take note of the specific changes in the girl’s behavior. She was secretive—which was unlike her. There was just the vaguest hint of guilt in the way she evaded Talia’s questions.

Talia took an indirect approach then, and began checking on her through her year-mates and teachers. What she found made her truly alarmed.

“Havens,” Tuli said, scratching his curly head in puzzlement. “
I
don’t know where she is. She just sort of vanishes about this time of day.”

“Uh-huh,” Gerond agreed, nodding so hard Talia thought his head was going to come off. “Just lately. She’s swapped me chores a couple times so she had the hour free—an’ she
hates
floorwashing! Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, I’ve just been having trouble finding her today,” Talia replied, taking care to seem nonchalant.

But she was unnerved. These two were Elspeth’s closest friends among her year-mates, and they only confirmed what Talia had begun to fear. There were gaps of an hour or so in Elspeth’s day during which she was vanishing, and no one seemed to have any idea of where she was.

It was time she checked her other sources—the Palace servants.

Talia perched herself on a settle, next to the cold fireplace in the Servant’s Hall. She had come to her friends—for many of the servants
were
her friends, and had been since she was a student—rather than raise anyone’s attention by having them come to her. Seated about her were a half-dozen servitors she had found to be the most observant and most trustworthy. Two of them, a chambermaid called Elise and a groom named Ralf, had pinpointed the guilty parties when a group of the “Blues” (or unaffiliated students) had tried to murder her as a student by attacking her and throwing her into the ice-covered river. Elise had seen several of Talia’s attackers coming in mucky, and thought it more than odd; Ralf had spotted the entire group hanging about the stable earlier. Both had reported their observations to Elcarth when word spread of the attempt on Talia’s life.

“All right,” Talia began, “I have a problem. Elspeth is going off somewhere about midafternoon every day, and I can’t find out where or why. I was hoping one of you would know.”

From the looks exchanged within the group, she knew she’d found her answer.

“She’s—this goes no farther, young Talia—” this from Jan, one of the oldest there. He was a gardener, and to him, she would
always
be “young” Talia. Talia nodded and he continued. “She’s hangin’ about with young m’lord Joserlin Corby’s crew. Them as is no better’n rowdies.”

“Rowdies!” Elise snorted. “If ‘tweren’t for their highborn da’s, they’d been sent home long ago for the way they paw over every girl they can catch unawares.” “Girl” here meant “female servant”; if Elise had intended to say that the young men had been mishandling other females, she’d have said “m’ladies.” Not that this difference was very comforting; it meant that they were only confining unwanted attentions to the women who dared not protest overmuch.

“It’s said,” added another chambermaid, “that at home they gets t’ more’n pawings.”

“Such as?” Talia replied. “You know I won’t take it elsewhere.”

“Well—mind, m’lady, this is just tales, but it’s tales I hear from
their
people—this lot is plain vicious.”

Besides forcing their attentions on the servants of their estates, it seemed that “Corby’s Crew” was given to so-called pranks that were very unfunny. A cut saddle-girth before a rough hunt was no joking matter, not when it nearly caused a death. And some of these same adolescents were the younger brothers and sisters of those who had tried to murder Talia.

But thus far—that anyone knew—Elspeth had not been a participant in any of their activities. It seemed that at the moment she was simply being paid elaborate court to—something new to her that she evidently found very enjoyable. But it could well be only a matter of time before they lured her into some indiscretion—then used that indiscretion to blackmail her into deeper participation.

Elspeth’s good sense had probably protected her so far, but Talia was worried that it might not be enough protection for very much longer.

This required active measures.

She tried to set a watch on the girl, but Elspeth was very clever and kept eluding her. She tried once or twice to read her with a surface probe, but Elspeth’s shields were better than Talia’s ability to penetrate without forcing her.

Something
was going to have to be done, or among the three of them, Elspeth, Dirk, and Kris were going to drive
her
mad in white linen.

So she decided to try to do something about Dirk first, as being the easiest to get at—and since he wasn’t talking to Kris, the way to him was through her blood-brother Skif.

“I’m as baffled as you are, little sister,” Skif confessed, running a nervous hand through his dark curls, “I haven’t got the vaguest notion why Dirk’s making such an ass of himself.”

“Lord and Lady,” Talia moaned, rubbing her temple and collapsing onto an old chair in Skifs room, “I’d hoped he’d have said
something
to you—you were my last hope! If this doesn’t clear up soon, I think I’m going to go rather noisily mad!”

When she had finally given up on trying to manage the problem of Dirk by herself, and had sought out Skifs aid, he’d invited her up to his quarters. He’d been to hers a time or two, but this was the first time she’d seen his. Skif s room was much like Skif himself; neat, decked with odd weapons and thick with books. Lately Talia hadn’t had much time to devote to picking her own rooms up, and she found his quarters a haven from chaos. He had only one window, but it looked out over Companion’s Field—always a tranquilizing view.

“First things first—this bond you’ve got. Kris was right. It’s a lifebond—and he’s got it, too. I have no doubt whatsoever of that. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at me? When? I never
see
him anymore! Since the fight he spends all of his tune out in the mud.”

“Except at meals—any meal you take at the Collegium—he spends so much time watching you that he hardly eats. And I think he knows your schedule by heart. Any time you might be passing under a window, he’s got an excuse to be near that window.” Skif paced the length of the room restlessly as he spoke, his arms folded. “He’s wearing himself to a thread. That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone here.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to be able to help when the man won’t let me near him.”

“Oh, great!”

“He acts like I was a plague-carrier. I’ve
tried
to get him alone; he won’t let me. And that was before all this mess with the argument with Kris. Now it’s twice as bad.”

“Havens, what a mess.” Skif shook his head ruefully. “He hasn’t said anything to me. I can’t imagine why he’s acting this way. I’ve had it though, and I know you’re at your wits’ end. It’s about time we brought this out into the sunlight. Since he won’t talk to you, I’m going to make damned sure he talks to me. I’m going to have it out with him as soon as I can corner him, and I’ll do it if I have to trap him in the bathing-room and steal his clothes! I’m going to get things settled between him and Kris and him and you if I have to tie you all together in a bundle to do it!”

Neither of them had reckoned on the whims of Fate.

Dirk had been fighting what he thought was a slight cold—one of the many varieties that were currently decimating Court and Collegium alike—for about a week. Perversely he refused to care for it; continuing to escape Talia and Kris by retreating into the dismal weather out-of-doors. In a bizarre way, he didn’t really
mind
feeling miserable; concentrating on his symptoms kept him from thinking about Her and Him. Physical misery provided a relief from emotional misery.

So he ducked in and out of the cold and rain, day after day, getting soaked to the skin more often than not, but not doing much about it except to change his clothing. Added to that, the emotional strain was taking a greater toll on him than anyone—including himself—realized.

It was midweek, and Talia was taking dinner with the Collegium instead of the Court. She was watching Dirk out of the corner of her eye the entire time, and hoping that Skif was going to be able to fulfill his promise. She was worried—very worried. Dirk was white to the ears; he kept rubbing his head as if it ached. She could see him shiver, although the common-room was warm. He seemed to be unable to keep his mind on what anyone was saying, and he couldn’t speak more than two words in a row without going into a fit of coughing.