Brightly Burning (23 page)

“I don't know what kind of mind-magic you worked on me out there, Pol,” Captain Telamaine began heatedly. “But as soon as I got back to my office, I came to my senses about that—that—
menace
in the guise of a boy! I've put guards on him, and I went straight to the Lord Marshal—”

“Which I had every intention of doing myself, although I don't think I would have dared interrupt him if he had already retired for the night,” Pol replied, keeping his own voice calm and reasoned. “As for using mind-magic on you—
first
of all, I am appalled that you even considered that I would consider doing so, and second, the only ‘magic' taking place during our interview with Lavan was the exercise of your own good sense, which you seem to have lost between Healer's and here.”

“Well said,” Jedin muttered, low enough that only Pol heard him.

“As for the guards,” Pol continued, raising an eyebrow with studied surprise. “What, precisely, did you intend for them to do? The boy is hardly going to evoke his Firestarting Gift on purpose—you saw for yourself that he is terrified of what he can do—and even if he did it by accident, how do you propose to
stop
him with a guard? Have them shoot him dead? Assuming they can, of course. It is possible that the fires would protect their progenitor.” The carefully nuanced eyebrow rose again. “And wouldn't killing a Trainee create a fine and confident climate among the rest of our Trainees? A good half of them are afraid of their own Gifts; how are they to take it if members of the Guard start executing people for using Gifts?”

Telamaine flushed, then blanched, then flushed again. “I—” he began, and couldn't get any farther.

The Lord Marshal took pity on him. “You responded as a Captain of the Guard to a situation outside your training, Telamaine,” the old man said gruffly, actually reaching out to pat the Captain's shoulder. He rubbed his bushy gray eyebrows with his hand, and then ran the same hand over thick, gray hair. “Putting guards on the boy until you had further orders was in accordance with not knowing what to do about it.”

“And now we will make a reasoned and reasoning response to the situation and correct things before they become a problem,” Pol pointed out smoothly. “We need thought, cool heads and tempers, and one thing made perfectly clear. The boy
has been Chosen.
The mare Kalira is no youngster. Furthermore, she made it known in no uncertain terms to my Companion Satiran—who happens to be her sire—
and
to me personally, that she can and will control his Gift.”

“Gift?” the Seneschal yelped, both eyebrows leaping up like a pair of startled caterpillars. “You call that a
Gift?
”

“Cool and reasoned,” murmured Trevor, placing a cautioning hand on the Seneschal's arm. Pol couldn't blame the poor man; he was much younger than any of the others, having come to this position from his previous post as the Seneschal of Theran's country estate. When he wasn't confronted by impossible situations, he was quite a handsome young fellow, and very much the target of the mothers of unwedded maidens.

Seneschal Greeley ran a nervous hand through a thick thatch of brown hair that was growing grayer by the month. Trevor murmured something Pol couldn't hear, and he rolled his eyes, but didn't add any more little comments.

“Nevertheless,” Captain Telamaine persisted. “That so-called boy caused the deaths of four of his own schoolmates. Just what are we supposed to say to
their
parents?”

“A
damned
good question!” Greeley seconded, nodding vigorously.

All four Heralds exchanged a glance. King's Own Jedin took over from Pol. He had more authority than any of the others, and Pol was perfectly glad to let him handle the discussion from this moment on.

“Tell them that there was a terrible accident that occurred while their offspring were bullying this boy,” Jedin said flatly. “That we think there was—lamp oil stored there, one of them threw the boy Lavan into the stack of containers, they broke open and spilled into the fireplace. That was how and why the fire happened so quickly.”

For one long moment of absolute silence, the non-Heralds stared at Jedin in disbelief. Finally Captain Telamaine broke the silence with a gasp of protest.

“But that's not true!” he sputtered. “Nothing like that happened!”

Herald Jedin gazed at him from beneath his heavy, black eyebrows. He was a great granite cliff of a man, with a craggy face, precisely barbered black hair, and a naturally forbidding expression that he used to great effect. “I am well aware of that.”

“But—” Telamaine protested.

Jedin held up his hand, cutting off the protests before they began. “But would any good be served by telling them the truth? Telling them the entire truth? Including the fact that their sons were essentially torturing other children on a regular basis, ordering them to commit theft and falsehood? Telling them that their sons died because one of their victims was so abused and terrified that he lost control of a powerful Heraldic Gift? And
then
telling them that the boy who killed their children is being made into a Herald himself?”

“Which would, of course,” King Theran boomed from the door, “Substantially erode public trust in the Heraldic Circle, upon which we all depend.”

They all shoved their chairs back hastily and began to rise, only to have Theran wave them back down into their seats. Pol alone rose and vacated the head of the table; Theran assumed his proper place smoothly, and Pol took another seat farther down along the side, relieved that the pressure was now entirely off him.

Theran
looked
like a King; Pol had often heard children presented at Court exclaim in satisfaction that “he looked just like I thought he would!” Tall, muscular, with even, regular features, a fine head of blond-streaked brown hair that hung down past his shoulders, and a thick, neatly trimmed beard and mustache that matched perfectly, he was one of the most physically commanding men Pol had ever seen.

“I have heard about everything so far,” Theran said, without specifying that it was his own Companion that had told him what had gone on. He didn't need to; Theran had a singularly close bond with his Companion, which meant that he knew everything that any Companion in Haven knew. He met the eyes of each of them in turn. “I can appreciate the concerns that the Guard has with this boy,” he said, resting his eyes on Captain Telamaine and the Lord Marshal. “Please believe me, I do. I do
not
make my decisions lightly here, but if this Kingdom is to survive and prosper, there are some fundamental principles that we must believe in without question, and one of the most crucial is that our Companions do not make mistakes when they Choose new Heralds, and that when they tell us something is true, we can believe it without question.”

The Heralds around the table nodded, relieved that Theran had put this into such plain language. The others looked crestfallen and uncomfortable, but in tentative agreement.

“Now, this child's Companion has told us that she can control his rogue abilities, although he cannot as yet. We must believe this, and Captain Telamaine, this should alleviate any security issues you have.”

Telamaine got a stubborn set to his chin, but Theran wasn't done. Whatever the Captain wanted to say would have to remain unsaid. The King held the floor, and was not about to relinquish it. Theran was a powerful man, overmatching even his very powerful King's Own Herald. Jedin could defeat anyone in Court and Collegium at wrestling and practice combat, even the Weaponsmaster and professional fighters—except the King. Theran rarely used his physical presence to dominate. He didn't have to. And that alone said much about him.

“It seems that his—outbreaks—occur when he undergoes great emotional stress. Therefore I suggest to you that you leave the guards on him, but instruct them to quickly remove anyone who seems to be
causing
this boy such stresses before they trigger another incident.” Theran and his Herald exchanged a brief look (barely more than a flicker of amusement) as Captain Telamaine sighed with relief. This
was
something that the Guard could accomplish, and having a task defined evidently made him feel that he had some control over the situation. And without a doubt, Theran had been well aware of this before he even began issuing his edicts and orders.

Theran continued gravely, now giving his attention to his Seneschal. “His Companion also tells us, after minute examination of his memories, that the boy had no intention of killing or even seriously injuring his persecutors. We must also believe this, and thus, in a very real sense, what happened after that was an accident in truth.” Theran waited, and this time it was the Seneschal who objected with a raised finger.

“You only said
seriously
injure—” he protested, his hair standing on end from his ceaseless toying with it, giving him the look of a frazzled heron. “So the boy was willing to hurt them!”

Theran snorted; his long friendship with his Seneschal allowed him to handle the man differently than the Guard Captain. “Oh, come now, Greeley! The boy had been beaten to a pulp, slammed into walls, and they'd started flogging him! What do you expect? It would take a saint or a martyr to be forgiving under that sort of circumstance, and although I do require many things of my Heralds, I do
not
require them to be more than human!
Of course
he wanted to hurt them! So would you, so would I, and so would any other man. If these juvenile tyrants weren't already out of my jurisdiction,
I
would be doing significantly more than merely hurting them, and with a certain grim pleasure, might I add! I am sorely tempted to administer a little royal justice to the ones that didn't die!”

Seneschal Greeley ran his hands one more time through his tousled hair, sighed, and shrugged, seeing the justice in the King's statement.

“Now, lastly, the point is that Kalira Chose this boy. Of all things, we must believe that where Companion's Choice is concerned, Companions
are
the final authority.” He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts—or perhaps, consulting with his own Companion. “Given that, what are we to do with this boy, if not to accept that, and accept him into the Collegium for proper training? Kalira has no intentions of repudiating him. Are we to try and forcibly separate them? I submit that this would be the worst idea yet. Are we to banish them to some remote place? That accomplishes nothing, and leaves the boy untutored, uncounseled, undisciplined. That is an idea as poor as the first. So we accept him. We teach him, we make a Herald of him, we learn what he can do and we make proper use of it.” King Theran stood up and swept them all with a challenge in his eyes. “That, as ever, has been and will be
your
duty, and it is a familiar one to all of you. And I will leave you to it.”

He nodded to them all, and left the room as he had entered it, calm, strong, and utterly in control, leaving behind silence.

Finally one voice broke the silence; Herald Jedin.

“That, my friends,” he said in a voice full of admiration, “is a King.”

LAN slept through the night with a gentle murmur of reassurance accompanying his dreams. When he woke, it was to a cheerful whicker outside his window and a
:Come on, lazy one, you can't lie abed forever!:
in his mind. He never had a moment to doubt that this was all real; Kalira saw to that. She was a presence in his mind all night long.

When he woke, with the first morning sun streaming down outside the window, he saw her watching him from the other side of the glass. He didn't exactly leap out of bed—it was more of a crawl—but in spite of what had happened last night, he was still stronger than yesterday. The first thing he did as soon as he got to the other side of the room was to open the window so that Kalira could put her head inside. Throwing his arms around her neck, he put his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, reveling in the mere fact of her presence for a long, blissful moment.

:Do you know how wonderful you are?:
he asked her silently, already at ease with this strange form of communication, perhaps because it was with
her.
Already it was easier than talking aloud; instinctive and comfortable.

:Silly boy,:
she replied affectionately.
:I'm neither more nor less wonderful than any other Herald or Companion.:

He didn't argue with her; he didn't exactly have a basis for comparison.
:All I know is that you are the most marvelous person I've ever known.:

She whickered a chuckle and rubbed her muzzle against his cheek.
:And I feel the same about you.:
She cocked her head to the side, and her eyes twinkled merrily.
:Convenient, isn't it?: