Brightly Burning (48 page)

THE storm ended some time in the night, and finally the sun was not hidden behind a shroud of clouds when it rose. Pol roused them early and got them on the road with only a pause to wash up in the basin and eat a bit of bread and butter. Elenor moved stiffly down the ladder from the loft, washed her hands and face, and remained standing while she ate.

“Are you saddle-sore?” Lan asked, feeling sorry for her, in spite of the fact that he wished she hadn't come along.

She made a face. “Very,” she said, looking and acting more like her old self. “My legs hurt so much I don't even want to think about riding. But—if you can do it, so can I.” She looked so stubborn that he decided not to remind her that she could turn around and go back whenever she chose. She would be welcome in any village if she chose to give up, and the next Herald or Bard coming through could bring her back home when she was ready.

Apparently she was not going to give up yet.

“Finish your breakfasts,” Pol said shortly. “We have a lot of distance to make up today.” The door closed on his last word; he was impatient, the first time that Lan had ever seen him like that.

“I ast him if he 'ouldn't wait on gettin' some hot parriche for ye, but he 'ouldn't hev it,” the plump innkeeper said worridly, looking like a fretful sparrow. She was making up packets of bread and cheese, using the paper saved from yesterday to wrap them. “Reckon he's saddlin' now.”

With that to warn him, Lan hastily finished his breakfast and put on his cloak, while Tuck helped the innkeeper get the featherbed back up into the loft. He went out into the brilliantly white world, squinting against the glare, and pushed his way through the snow, following Pol's track to the shed.

“You're done, good,” Pol said without looking around. “We've got to get going. It'll be slow, pushing through until we get to where the storm ended or where the road crews have gotten.”

“Right,” was all Lan said; he picked up Kalira's saddle blanket, beat the snow out of it, and threw it over her back. Kalira was nose-deep in her grain bucket, as were the other two, stuffing themselves with food that was much more concentrated nourishment than hay. It was a race to see whether the Heralds would finish saddling before the Companions finished eating, and in the end, the Companions whuffled up the last grains just as Pol pulled Satiran's girth tight.

Tuck brought out the food packets and gave one each to Pol and Lan as they came around to the front with the Companions. The innkeeper came with him, again a shapeless bundle in her frayed-edged, brown wool cloak. They all mounted, and with a wince, Elenor took her father's hand and mounted up behind him.

“Lady, thank you,” Pol said, bending down and handing four road-chits, the tokens used by traveling Heralds, into her hand. A road-chit entitled the innkeeper who got it to a remission of tax, a benefit more valuable than actual payment. “I know that you were not at all prepared for overnight guests, and your hospitality and readiness to deal with us was truly, deeply appreciated.”

The innkeeper, who probably had not seen one road-chit in her life, much less four, blushed modestly. “Eh, now, was I s'pposed to turn ye inter the road again? 'Twas good of ye t' put up wit' sleepin' on me floor an' all.”

Pol just smiled, reached down again, and squeezed her hand. Then he and Satiran turned and began pushing through the snow, back on the road, with Tuck and Lan following.

By midafternoon, they came to the point where the new snow tapered off, and there was nothing much to contend with but a dusting that covered the older, granulated stuff. Then they were able to pick up their pace again, pushing harder than they had the first day. But Pol stopped more often, too; once in midmorning to let them eat their packets of food, once at noon, for luncheon, and once again for another snack when they broke out of the snowfield. Each time, Elenor shifted positions on the pillion, and that seemed to help her.

The next three days were identical, and as Elenor grew more accustomed to day-long riding and the uncertain conditions of inns on the road, Lan gave up the idea that she was going to quit. At least for now, anyway. Maybe when she got to the fighting, and saw what it was like, she might change her mind.

The fourth day was special, and the reason why Pol was in such a hurry to make up the time lost. Healer Ilea, Elenor's mother and Pol's' wife, was waiting for them at the inn where they would make their nightly stop.

Pol's back was a study in tension; Satiran stretched his legs just a trifle more in each step, and his urgency communicated itself to the other two Companions. Even Elenor forgot her aches in anticipation of seeing her mother. For once, the reason for going south in the first place got pushed to the back of everyone's thoughts.

The inn that they arrived at—well after darkness fell—could not have been more unlike their first stop. This was a huge place, three two-storied wings joined in the shape of a horseshoe, with its own courtyard in the center. The stables formed the back side, and travelers entered the center court through a passage made in the center of the front wing. There were torches on either side of the passage, and lanterns in the courtyard; even at this late hour, people were coming and going. From the faint sound of music, and the babble of voices, the inn was popular with the locals as well as travelers.

Stable hands came to take the Companions, asking their names and treating them just as they would be at the Collegium—which was to say, like people, and not like horses. Pol just gave Satiran a congratulatory pat and sent him on his way, following his stable hand without the latter even attempting to lead him with the reins.

:Satiran's told me about this place. We're going to be spoiled outrageously,:
Kalira told Lan, with just a touch of greed. He laughed, relieved, and dismounted. She followed her sire, her attendant following
her,
with her ears up and a very light step on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

With a thatched roof, stone walls, and shuttered windows, this inn looked as comfortable as a farmhouse, but built on a massive scale. A myriad of chimney pots poking up through the thatch promised warm and comfortable rooms. They were definitely expected. A servant met them before they even reached the door.

“Herald Pol,” the young man said, a statement rather than a question. “If you will all come with me, please?”

The servant led them past the common room, filled with people eating and drinking, a Bard entertaining at the far end beside a fireplace large enough to roast an entire ox. There wasn't an ox on the spit at the moment, only a boar, or rather, what was left of the boar. Most of him was either on plates or already inside patrons, and the mouth-watering aroma nearly drove Lan crazy.

They had a bit of a distance to go; down a long corridor, then up a flight of stairs, and around a corner. But the long walk was worth it; the servant ushered them into a warm and welcoming private parlor with more doors opening off of it. There was already a fire burning in the fireplace, a pitcher of drink and some food laid ready, and a woman in Healer's Greens rising from her seat by the fire so quickly she might have been stung.

She flung herself into Pol's arms, and Elenor joined the embrace. Lan and Tuck exchanged an embarrassed glance, and with one accord, turned their attention to the fruit and bread on the table, turning their backs on the reunited family to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

So far as Lan was concerned, a welcome interruption came before they finished picking over the light refreshments, in the form of the arrival of dinner. Three servants arrived with trays; the remains of the snacks were whisked away. The family embrace broke up, and the table beside the fire quickly set up for a meal. Juicy slices of pork steamed on a heated platter, garnished with roasted onions and apples. A bowl of mashed turnips topped with butter and brown sugar, a loaf of hot bread, steaming peas, and a whole apple pie completed the repast, and Lan and Tuck had no hesitation in sitting right down and helping themselves.

“So,” Ilea said, taking a seat between Pol and Elenor, and meeting the eyes of each boy with a frank gaze. “This is Lavan, and this is Tuck. I'm pleased to finally meet you boys.”

Lan put his hand to his breast and gave her a little formal bow, which seemed to amuse her. Ilea was a stunning woman, although her effect was due as much to force of personality as to her looks. Her eyes were huge, dominating her face; masses of dark brown hair surrounded it. She had thin lips, but Lan had the sense that when she wasn't worried, she smiled often and enthusiastically, as she was smiling now. A nose too long, perhaps, for beauty still suited her face and lent it strength.

“Never mind us, m'lady,” Tuck said, after swallowing a huge mouthful of food. “You just catch up with your family and pretend we aren't here. Right now I'd druther have food than talking.”

That amused her as well, but she took him up on his advice, and turned to her husband and daughter, exchanging tales of what had been going on with them while Lan and Tuck ate.

Lan couldn't help noticing that, while Pol and Elenor (though mostly Pol; Elenor did more listening that talking) were full of gossip and stories about mutual acquaintances and friends, Ilea's tales concentrated on what life was like for a Healer on the battlefield. Though she often couched her stories in such a way as to get a rueful chuckle at the end, the point of each was clear. Day-to-day life was full of hardship, Healers witnessed terrible things with virtually every passing candlemark, and the consequences of being captured were far worse than merely being hurt or killed by a stray arrow.

So her mother doesn't want Elenor to go to the front either,
Lan thought, his interest piqued.
Well, good!

He didn't much like what
he
heard, though, even given that Ilea might be exaggerating a trifle. Pol was right; the Karsites must have been planning this for the past couple of years. Valdemaran forces were only just keeping the enemy advance to a crawl, but they were already into Valdemaran territory, and showed no signs of stopping. Their fighters were well trained, not unskilled or half-trained conscripts. And their officers were fanatics.

That put a distinct chill up Lan's back. He had thought that he would be able to frighten the Karsites with a display of fire; would he really have to actually
hurt
people? Or even kill them?

No. I can't,
he told himself firmly, as a sick feeling rose in him.
I can't do that. I'll find a way around it, or Pol will, or whoever is commanding the army. I can't hurt anyone.

I
LEA closed the door to the bedchamber behind her and put her back to it, giving Pol one of those looks he had come to recognize over the years as significant and serious. Her hair had fallen charmingly over one eye, with a suggestion of flirtation, but the expression in her eyes was not in the least amatory.

“Are you aware that Elenor is in love with that boy?” she asked peremptorily.

Pol sighed. He would have so much preferred not to deal with this until after he'd had Ilea to himself for a while. He took the candles out of their sconces around the room, lit them at the fire, and replaced them to give himself time to think. “I would have said
infatuated
rather than ‘in love,' but yes,” he replied with resignation. He knew as well as Ilea that Lan was “that boy” and not Tuck, nor any other boy of their acquaintance; there was no point in prevaricating with questions of which boy she meant.

He sat on the edge of the canopied bed, the only furniture in the room, and waited for her reply. “At her age, they're the same,” Ilea responded, giving vent to her agitation in pacing back and forth in the confines of the little room, but never taking her eyes off her husband. “Well?”

“Well what?” he asked, reasonably, he thought, but she rolled her eyes upward, as if asking the heavens for help with his denseness.

“Well, what are you doing about it?”

“Nothing. She's not likely to confide in any mere male, and especially not her father,” he pointed out. “And it wasn't
my
idea to bring her along, it was the King's, and Jedin's; they only know that she's Lan's friend and they want friends around him to keep him sane. The fact that she's a Mind-Healer was just that much more reason to send her. I'm hoping now that in constant contact with Lavan, she's going to wear out her passion against his indifference. Or failing that, she'll take one look at the battlefield and beg you to take her back home.”

Ilea relaxed a little, as if he'd put at least one of her fears to rest, and stopped pacing. “You're sure he's indifferent?” she asked—begged, rather.