Arrow's Fall (22 page)

“Fair wind at yer back!” he called after them, his admiring gaze following them until they were out of sight.

The hostel was indeed like an inn, complete with innkeeper. They had been told that the accommodations were as plain as the food, but adequate.

They showed their credentials to the businesslike Hostelmaster when they dismounted at the door. He examined them quite carefully, paying close attention to the seals of Valdemar and Hardorn. When he was satisfied that they were genuine, he summoned a stabieboy with a single word. The lad came at a run to take the Companions, and the Hostelmaster waved them inside.

The common room was hot, smoky, and crowded, and it took them a little tune to find themselves places at smooth, worn wooden trestle-tables. Finally Talia squeezed in beside a pair of travelers in priestly garb—apparently from the rival sects of Kindas Sun-Kindler and Tembor Earth-Shaker. They were having a spirited discussion of the deficiencies of their various congregations and simply nodded to her as she took her place on the very end of the bench. Kris sat opposite her, with his neighbor a thin, clerkly-looking sort with ink-stained fingers, whose sole interest was the contents of the stoneware platter in front of him.

A harried serving girl placed similar platters before the two Heralds; meat, bread, and stewed vegetables. A boy followed her with a tray of wooden mugs of thin ale, and the keys to their rooms.

They ate quickly; the food wasn’t anything to linger over, and Talia’s bench, at least, was so crowded she had barely enough room to perch. And there were more people coming in, waiting with expressions of impatience for seats. With their hunger appeased, they took their keys and their mugs to the other side of the lantern-lit room, where there was a fire and a number of benches and settles scattered about.

Talia felt curious eyes on them—not hostile, just curious. She decided that they were the only foreigners among the guests, for she couldn’t detect any accents among those speaking. She picked a seat, and took it quickly, feeling very conspicous in her white uniform that stood out so sharply in the otherwise dark room.

“Heralds out of Valdemar, be you?” asked a portly fellow in brown velvet as Kris took a comer of a bench.

“You have us rightly, good sir,” Talia answered him.

“Don’t see Heralds often,” His inquisitive glance left no doubt but that he was curious about what brought them.

“You should be seeing more before summer’s over,” Talia replied with what she hoped was just enough friendliness. “Queen Selenay will be making a visit to your King. We’re here to help get things ready for her.”

“Ah?” he replied, his interest piqued. “That so? Well-maybe things be taking a turn for the better, after all.”

“Have things been bad lately?” she asked as casually as possible. “Valdemar’s had its share of troubles, what with floods and all.”

“Oh, aye—floods and all,” he replied, a bit too hastily, and turned to the men on the other side of him, joining the conversation in progress.

“‘Scuse me, milady, but could you tell me what the grain prices look to be on your side of the Border?” A tall, thin merchant interposed himself between Talia and the man she had first spoken to, and it would have been plain rudeness to ignore him. He kept her engaged with so many questions that she had no chance to ask any of her own. Finally she’d had enough of being monopolized, and signaled Kris that she was ready to leave.

When Kris yawned, pled fatigue, and rose to head for his room and bed, Talia followed. The guest rooms were monklike cells arranged along the walls; they had no fireplaces or windows, but slits in the walls near the ceiling gave adequate ventilation. Kris raised one eyebrow interrogatively at her as he unlocked his door; she gave him the little nod that meant she’d learned something interesting, and the hand motion that meant they’d talk about it later.

Even without a window, Talia knew when it was sunrise. She wasn’t much surprised to discover that Kris had beaten her to breakfast by a few minutes. No one else was even stirring. She didn’t pay much attention to what she was eating; some kind of grain porridge with nuts and mushrooms, she thought. It was as bland as the dinner had been.

“The boy is harnessing for us,” Kris said around a mouthful. “We can be on the road as soon as you’re ready.”

She washed down the last bite of the gluey stuff with a quick gulp of unsweetened tea. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get going.”

They cantered out the village until they reached the outskirts before settling back to a slower pace.

“Well?” Kris asked, when they were well out earshot of the village.

“There’s something not quite right around here,” Talia replied, “but I can’t put my finger on anything. All I’ve got is a feeling—and that no one wants to talk about ‘bad times’ around here. It may just be an isolated case of discontent--”

She shook her head, suddenly feeling dizzy.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t—know. I feel a little funny all of a sudden.”

“You want to stop a minute?” Kris asked, sounding concerned.

She was about to say “no” when another wave of disorientation hit. “I think I’d better—”

Their Companions moved over to the grassy verge of the road on their own. Rolan braced all four legs and stood rock-still, while waves of dizziness washed over her. She didn’t dismount—she didn’t dare; she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get back up again. She just clung lo the saddle, and hoped she wouldn’t fall off. “Want to go back?” Kris asked anxiously. “Think you need a Healer?”

“N-no. I don’t think so. I don’t know—” The disorientation didn’t seem quite so bad, after a bit. “I think it’s going away by itself.”

Then, as the dizziness faded, so did the empathic awareness of those around her; an awareness she always had, no matter how tightly shielded.

“Goddess!” Her eyes snapped open and she looked frantically around her, as Kris grabbed her elbow, anxiously. “It’s—” She unshielded. It was the same. She could sense nothing, not even Kris, beside her. “It’s gone! My Gift—”

Then it was back—redoubled. And she, unshielded and wide open, bent over in physical pain at the mental clamor of what seemed to be thousands of people. Hastily she shielded back down— Only to have the clamor vanish again, She remained bent over, head in hands. “Kris—Kris, what’s happening to me? What’s wrong?”

He was steadying her as best he could from his saddle. “I don’t know,” he said tightly, “I—wait—wasn’t there some kind of mushroom in that glop they fed us?”

She tried to think. “Yes. Maybe.”

“Goatsfoot,” he said grimly. “It has to be. That’s why you’re getting hit and I’m not.”

“Goatsfoot? That—” She sat up slowly, blinking tears away. “That’s the stuff that scrambles Gifts, isn’t it? I thought it was rare—”

“Only Thoughtsensing and Empathy and yes, it is rare in most places. It’s not
common
around here, but it’s not rare either, and it’s been a wet spring, just what goatsfoot likes. The damned fools must have gotten hold of a lot and just chucked it in the food without checking beyond seeing that it was edible.”

She was able to think a little clearer now. “This is going to make anything I read pretty well worthless for the next couple of days, isn’t it?”

He grimaced. “Don’t even try; it’ll make you sick. Those damned fools were just lucky they didn’t have a Healer overnighting there! If you can ride, I think we’d better go back—”

“I can ride, if we take it easy. Why?”

He had already turned Tantris’ head back the way they had come. “What if they have more of that stuff—and a Healer as a guest tonight?”

“Great good gods!” She let Rolan follow in Kris’ wake.

It wasn’t more than a league back; they hadn’t traveled far before the effect of the fungus hit her. She fought off successive waves of dizziness and disorientation, and was vaguely aware that they’d stopped and Kris was giving someone a sharp-tongued dressing-down. She caught frantic apology; it seemed genuine enough—what her Gift was feeding at her was anything but a reliable gauge. Waves of paralyzing fear, apprehension, guilt—followed immediately by waves of delirious joy, intense sexual arousal, and overwhelming hunger.

Finally, another “blank” moment, and she drew a shuddering breath of relief.

“Little bird?”

She opened her eyes to look down on Kris standing at her right stirrup.

“Do you want to stay here? I can go back to the signal tower and get them to send a message that you’ve been taken ill—and whose fault it is.”

“No—no, I’ll be better—better away from people. You can shield; they can’t. I won’t fall off; Rolan won’t let me.”

“If that’s the way you want it...”

“Please—” She closed her eyes. “Let’s get out of here—”

She heard him mount; felt Rolan start off after him. She didn’t open her eyes; the disorientation didn’t seem so bad when she could keep them closed. And she was right; as distance increased between herself and the village, the worst of the effects decreased. She felt a second shield snap up around her—Kris’—then a third—Rolan’s—

She opened her eyes cautiously. It was like looking op through water, but bearable. She felt Kris touch her arm, and saw that he was riding beside her.

“This couldn’t have been on purpose,” she asked, slowly, “Could it?”

He gave the idea serious thought; she could tell by the blank expression on his face. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “They couldn’t have known what hostel we’d overnight in, and they couldn’t have counted on goatsfoot being available. They swore they only had that one batch, that it was in a lot of edible fungus some boy sold them tins morning. I made them dump the rest of the porridge in the pig trough. No, I think it’s just a damned bad accident. Can you go on?”

She dosed her eyes, and took a kind of internal tally. “Yes.”

“All right, then let’s get on with it. I’d tike to get you to bed as early as we can.”

But Talia wondered—because with the relay towers, someone could have known what hostel they intended to stay in—and as a former farmchild, she knew that
some
mushrooms could be preserved indefinitely when dried.. . .

Kris pushed both of them to the limit, hoping to get Tana into the haven of a bed long before sundown. He managed; better still, that night they were the only travelers making use of the hostel. The quiet did her some good; so did the rest. Unfortunately, he knew from old lessons that there was no remedy for goatsfoot poisoning except time.

The accident was more than annoying; he really needed her abilities on this trip. Without them, they’d have to go on wit alone.

With a good night’s sleep she was back to normal— except that her Gift was completely unreliable. She was either completely blocked, or so wide open she couldn’t sort out what emotion was coming from whom.

Neither one of them wanted her to try projecting under
these
conditions. They couldn’t predict what would happen and didn’t really want to find out.

So he pushed to make the best time they could to the next hostel—and hoped they could make training, wit, and skills serve.

When Kris stopped to try to inquire about hostels at noon, people seemed overly quiet, and not inclined to talk much beyond the simple courtesy of answering their questions. And the townspeople in the hamlet they finally reached were the same; hurrying to be about their business and showing only furtive curiosity about the strangers who had ridden in.

That night the Guard at the relay station they reported to was cold and somewhat brusque, and advised them against changing their plans for stopping at Ilderhaven.

“Them at the capital need to know where ye be; they’ll be takin’ it amiss if they can’t find ye should they need ye,” he said, making it sound as if “they” would be taking it more than “amiss” if the Heralds changed their stated plans.

Kris exchanged a flickering, sober glance with his partner, but made no retort.

At the hostel, which held a scant handful of travelers, they split up, each taking a likely prospect, and began trying to eke a little more information out of them.

Talia had chosen a shy priestess of one of the Moon-oriented orders, and hoped she could get something useful out of her without her Gift. She began her conversation with ordinary enough exchanges; the difficulties women faced when making long journeys, commiseration over the fact that men in authority seemed to take them lightly—Hostelmasters serving the men in the room first, no matter what the order of their arrival was, and much more in the same vein. Carefully, over the entire evening, she began steering the talk to the topics that seemed to be the most sensitive.

“Your King—I must say, he certainly seems to be a good ruler,” Talia said casually, when the topic of Alessandar came up. “From what I can see, everyone seems to be prospering. That ought to be making for good days with your temple.”

“Oh, yes ... Alessandar is a fine ruler to us; things have never been better . . .” The priestess trailed off into hesitant uncertainty.

“And he has a fine, strong son to follow him? Or so I’m told.”

“Yes, yes, Ancar is strong enough ... has there been much flooding in Valdemar? We’ve never seen the like of it this spring.”