Arrows of the Queen (13 page)

“Nessa, the child doesn't need a lecture at this time of night!” the first woman called from the doorway. “Honestly, they should make you a teacher when you go into Whites, I've never heard anyone make so many speeches! Come
on
, or you'll be here all night!”

“All right, all right!” Nerrissa replied, laughing a little. “Pleasant dreams, little one.”

Talia finished her bath and found her room, feeling drained to the point of numbness. It seemed very odd to be climbing into a bed that had no one in it but herself. Her mind whirled in circles—this entire adventure hardly seemed real. In less than two weeks she'd gone from being the scorned scapegrace of Sensholding to a Herald-in-training; it seemed impossible. She kept returning to the astonishing moment when she'd realized what all that had occurred to her truly meant, holding the memory as wonderingly and gently as a new kitten, until sleep began to overpower her.

But her very last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were of Nerrissa's words, and the sudden decision that she
did
like it here.

Now if only all this was half as wonderful as it appeared on the surface—and if only they would let her fit in.

She woke to Sherrill's light tap on the wall and pulled on her unfamiliar uniform before opening her door.

“It's about time, sleepy!” Sherrill said genially, looking altogether
too
awake for sunrise. “The waking-bell rang ages ago, didn't you hear it? If we don't hurry, there won't be anything left but cold porridge.” Without looking to see if Talia was following, she turned and headed for the door of the common-room.

Sherrill had exaggerated the “danger,” as Talia found when they entered the double-doors. There was still plenty left to eat—an almost bewildering variety for Talia, who expected little besides the aforementioned porridge, bread and milk, and perhaps a little fruit. And there were plenty of other students who trailed in after them, rubbing sleepy eyes or complaining cheerfully to one another.

After breakfast, a somewhat more subdued meal than supper had been, and punctuated more by yawns than conversation, Sherrill led her to the first floor and out the door at the far end of the corridor. Talia recalled that the Dean had told her this door led to a court and the stables beyond it. They crossed a wide, paved courtyard that lay between the two buildings, with the sun casting long shadows on the bedewed paving-stones before them, and Talia lingered a little, hoping wistfully to see Rolan.

“Talia, come catch up!” Sherrill called back over her shoulder, squinting against the sunlight. “Or don't you want to see your Companion this morning?”

Startled, she ran to overtake Sherrill. “Aren't the Companions in the stables?” she asked breathlessly.

“In the stables? With the regular horses? Bright Havens, they'd disown us! The Companions have their own place—we call it Companion's Field—and an open building so they can come and go as they like. On a beautiful morning like this, they're all probably out in their Field.”

They'd come to a tall wooden fence surrounding a park-like area full of trees, and Talia thought that this must have been the green place she'd seen within the walls when she'd first caught sight of the capital. Sherrill climbed up on the fence, as agile as any of Talia's brothers, put her fingers in her mouth, and whistled shrilly like a boy. When Talia joined her, she could see tiny white shapes moving off in the distance, under the trees. Two of these detached themselves from the rest and began trotting toward them.

“I don't mindcall at all well—not unless I'm scared stiff,” Sherrill said, a little shamefacedly, “Ylsa says I'm blocked—so I have to whistle for Silkswift. She doesn't seem to mind any.”

Talia had no difficulty in recognizing which of the two Companions approaching was Rolan, and her joy at seeing him again was such that she didn't once wonder what Sherrill had meant by “mindcalling” and “being blocked.” With a cry of happiness she jumped off the fence to land beside Rolan and spent several jubilant minutes caressing him and whispering joyous nonsense into his ear. He was even more of a magical creature than she remembered him being. Someone had tended him well last night, for he had been groomed until he nearly glowed. His coat and mane were softer than the finest fabric she'd ever touched, and he was as beautiful as one of the Moon-steeds that drew the Lady's chariot. He nuzzled her with something she no longer doubted was love, whuffing softly at her, and the feeling of total well-being and confidence she'd had when with him on the road returned. While she was with him, she feared nothing, doubted nothing....

“I hate to say this, but we
do
have an appointment with Master Alberich,” Sherrill said at last, reluctantly. “Talia, it's part of your training to spend a lot of time with your Companion—you'll see him again this afternoon. You have to—from now on tending him and grooming him will be all up to you. They may be incredible darlings, but they don't have hands; they need us as much as we need them. So you'll get back to him before supper—and we really do have to be going.”

Rolan nudged her toward the fence, then shook his forelock as if in admonishment. When she continued to hesitate, he gave her a good shove with his nose and snorted at her.

“All right,” she replied, “I'll be good and go. But I'm coming back, classes or not!”

Sherrill took her to a long, low building just beyond the stables; inside it was all but bare—smooth, worn wooden floors and a few benches, with storage cabinets built into the walls. Between the cabinets were a few full-length mirrors, and the place was lit from windows that were high up on the walls, near the ceiling. There they found the man Sherrill introduced as Alberich, the Weaponsmaster. He alone of all the instructors was not wearing Whites, rather, he was dressed in old, supple leather; part armor, part clothing, and of a dark gray color like old ashes, darker than Student Grays.

“I thought all the instructors were Heralds,” Talia whispered to her guide as they approached him.

“All but one—but Alberich is a Herald; he's just a law unto himself. He never wears Whites unless he's being official.”

The Weaponsmaster frightened Talia into near speechlessness when he turned to face them. He was tall, lean, and dark; his face was seamed with scars, and he looked as though he never smiled. Thick streaks of white ran through his abundant black hair, and his eyes were an agate-gray and very penetrating. As his sober stare held her pinned in place, Talia decided that now she knew how a mouse felt in the gaze of a hawk.

“So, ” he said at last. “You are how old? Thirteen? What physical training have you, child? Know you any weaponry? Tactics? Eh?”

She hardly knew how to answer—she really couldn't make out what he was asking of her. Physical training? Did playing games count? Was the sling she'd used to keep wolves off the sheep a weapon?

At last he gave her a wooden practice knife, and stood with his arms crossed, still looking fierce and hawklike.

“Come you, then. Come at me—”

She still hadn't the faintest notion what he wanted of her, and stood stonelike, arms stiffly at her sides, feeling clumsy and ridiculous.

“What ails you? I told you to attack me! Is it that women do not fight among your people?” he asked, his speech heavily accented, his brows drawing together into an intimidating frown. “Have you no weapons skill at all?”

“I can shoot a bow, a little,” she said in a small and shamed voice. “One of my brothers showed me. He wasn't supposed to, but I begged him so hard—and I guess I'm all right with a sling.”

She thought with misery that she seemed to have gotten into the wrong again. It seemed that nothing she'd ever learned was appropriate here—except, perhaps her housekeeping skills. And she'd never once read a tale that praised a Herald's ability at peeling roots!

She waited, cringing, for him to dismiss her back to the building in disgust. He did nothing of the sort.

“At least you have sense not to pretend to what you have not,” he replied thoughtfully. “I think it is too late to teach you the sword. Fortunately, you are not likely to need to use one. Bow, of necessity, and knife, and hand-to-hand. That should suffice your needs. Return one hour after the nooning.” Then he did dismiss her, after staring at her long and broodingly.

Talia was very subdued and discouraged by this encounter; Sherrill managed to see this even though she tried to mask it. “Don't feel badly,” she said, and Talia could clearly hear the encouragement in her voice. “You actually got off pretty easily. When he first saw me, he threw his hands up in the air and growled, ‘Hopeless! Hopeless! Let her throw nets and dead fish to defend herself!' At least he thinks you're worth working with. He left me to one of his assistants for months!”

“But—why d-d-did he say that ab-b-bout the f-fish?” Oh, that hateful stutter! No matter how confident she tried to appear, it always gave her away!

“Because I spent half my life on a boat and the other half in very crowded conditions; the last thing you want to do on a slippery deck or a floor thick with babies is run! I had to learn how to move freely, something you've always known.”

“It d-d-didn't seem as if he th-thought I was worth anything.”

“He didn't scream at you—that's a wonder in itself. He didn't tell you to get yourself back home and raise babies, either. I think maybe you won him a little by being honest about how little you know—an awful lot of new students try to pretend they're more expert than they are, and he generally does his best to make fools of them in front of everybody by way of punishment.”

By now they'd reached the Collegium building again. Sherrill held the door open for Talia and stopped outside the first classroom door on the right. “Here's where the rest of the new ones are. I'll meet you for lunch.” With that, Sherrill vanished down the hall, leaving Talia to face the next ordeal alone.

She tugged the door open and tried to slip inside unobtrusively, but felt more like creeping inside than anything else when she felt everyone's eyes on her. There seemed to be at least a dozen people there. There were no other girls. The boys were mostly her own age, and though they made her feel rather shy, didn't arouse her unease; but the one who stood at the head of the classroom was one of those fearful creatures of ultimate authority, an adult male. As such, he made her wary immediately. She had to keep reminding herself that he was a Herald—and no Herald would ever do anything to harm anyone except an enemy of the Queen and Kingdom.

“Be welcome, youngling,” he said, perching casually on the front edge of his desk. “Boys, this is your fifth year-mate; her name is Talia. Talia, the red-haired fellow is Davan, the tall one is Griffon, the twins are Drake and Edric—and I can't tell them apart yet.” He winked at them, and the twin boys grinned back, obviously very much at ease with him. “Maybe I should ask Alberich to give one of you a black eye—then at least I'd know which of you was which until it faded.”

Talia slipped shyly into an unoccupied seat and took a closer look at her teacher. Like Alberich, he was lean, but his brownish hair was only beginning to gray, and he had none of the Weaponsmaster's hawkishness about him. He put her more in mind of a hunting hound, all eagerness, good nature, and energy. His eyes were hound-brown, and just as friendly. And there was something about him—once again she was reminded of Andrean; she wanted to trust him—something within her was prompting her to do so, and she was a little surprised at herself.

“Well, now that you're here, I think we're ready to start. First, let me explain what this class is all about. I'm here to help you understand what being a Herald really means; not the hero tales, nor the horror stories, nor the wild rumors of drunken debauchery—” he wriggled his eyebrows, and the twins giggled. “But rather what our job really involves. Davan is probably the only one of you who knows—or thinks he knows—what being a Herald is all about. That's because both of his parents are Heralds themselves. So I'll start Davan with the question I'm going to ask each of you: Davan, what exactly does a Herald do?”

Davan's brow wrinkled in thought. “They dispense the Queen's justice,” he finally replied.

“Good enough answer, as far as it goes, but
how
do they do that?”

“Uh, they ride circuit in their assigned areas, going through all the towns and villages, they deliver the new laws of the Kingdom and report on the acts of the Council and Queen. They see that the people understand the laws and act as judges, and sometimes lawgivers when something comes up that isn't covered in Kingdom law or by local custom.”

“Bright Havens! You mean those poor people have to wait a year or more to get anything settled?” Teren asked in mock dismay.

“No, no! There's regular judges, too.”

“So why not use them?”

Davan couldn't seem to think of a good answer, but one of the twins was waving his hand over his head. “Herald Teren?”

“Go ahead, whichever you are.”

“Drake. Our village was too small to have a judge.”

“That's a fair reason. But there's another; sometimes it happens that the feelings of the local people—and that includes the judge—are too worked up for a case to be adjudicated fairly. There's one reason for vou. Davan, you have another?”

“Heralds can do the Truth Spell; regular judges have no way of knowing who's lying.”

“Good! But that works
only
if someone involved in the case knows what really happened, remember that. All right, Heralds are judges and lawgivers. What else, Drake?”