Closer to the Chest (27 page)

At least this time it's not the dead of winter. . . .

They shot out the postern-gate and pounded for the river. Mags hardly noticed the Healer's desperate grasp on his waist as he strained his ears for the sound of running water, and his eyes for a flash of white ahead.

There! There was the river!

They surged forward, and now Mags had that peculiar . . . mental snap that he had learned from his contact with the Sleepgivers and his cousin's mind.
Everything
except the task at hand receded into the depths of his thoughts; emotion was gone, replace by a cool calculation that took in every bit of information and made constantly changing plans based on what he saw. Thank the gods, there was a path along the riverbank that allowed Dallen to stretch himself out and run as fast as ever he had in all his life. And there—ahead in the water, there was that flash of white!

The water was not as fast as Dallen; they caught up to the Companion Seraf, then passed her. Getting ahead of the pair until Mags thought they'd come to the right spot to intercept, they stopped just long enough to drop the Healer on the bank
before Dallen turned on his heels and plunged them both into the churning, cold water.

:Hurry . . . :
That was all Seraf could manage; Mags felt her fading strength and desperation in her Mindvoice.

But he and Dallen were fresh . . . and they'd done this before.

:There they are!:
They crossed in front of Seraf; as the mare's chest and shoulder ran into them, Mags scooped the unconscious girl up by the waist and pulled her up in front of him, draping her over his shoulder. Dallen turned in front of the mare.
:Grab my tail!:
he ordered, and Seraf reached out, exhausted, closing her teeth on the hair, just missing the bone.

Now it was all on Dallen; Mags hung on to the saddle and the girl, grimly, while Dallen worked with the current to get to the bank, the Healer keeping pace with them on foot. And by this time, they were down in Haven proper, and people had begun to notice the Healer running along the bank, and then the unusual objects in the water. Soon there was an entire crowd running along with the Healer, cheering them on.

Then one of them had the wit to run downstream and throw in a rope.

Dallen's teeth closed on it as they passed, Mags let go of the saddle long enough to get the end and get three turns of it around the pommel, and with a team of townsfolk hauling, they got the last few armlengths to the bank.

Then stumbling up the bank, Seraf clinging on to Dallen's tail for dear life. Flashes of torch and lantern light. Hands everywhere, grabbing the saddle, the girth, even his legs, pulling. Hands reaching for Seraf, hands tangled in her mane, hauling her up by anything they could get hold of.

Then they were up the bank, and there were more hands guiding both Companions to get to the safety of the road. Light, lots of it, and people bringing blankets and torches and brandy. The Healer and two helpers took Katlie from Mags; he slid off of Dallen's saddle, as the Healer took her aside and got
to work on her. People closed around, holding lanterns so the Healer could see, but blocking Mags' view.

And a moment later, he heard the sound he had feared he wouldn't—Katlie coughing and gasping, and then throwing up all the river water she'd swallowed.

And
now
it hit him, the insanity of what he'd done, the chill from the river. He started shivering, then shaking uncontrollably, as much in reaction and exhaustion as from cold. The hot night air, that had been so oppressive, felt like a welcome embrace.

Now it was the turn of Mags and Dallen and Seraf to be surrounded, swathed in blankets, and pelted with questions. He managed to gather his wits. He had to be careful what he said. Truth, but not too much; truth was easier to keep straight than a lie.

“Student at the Collegium,” he said, in answer to the question of who she was. “Poor girl hasn't been sleeping well, and we think she went for a walk along the river alone, hoping to cool off.”

“Half the town's been a-doin' that,” someone observed with sympathy. “Wha' happen?”

“I don't know for certain,” he said truthfully, then accepted a brandy and downed it. “But I imagine she forgot how swift the current is up there, and perhaps went to bathe her head or her feet. All it takes is one little slip—” He shook his head. “You know, you tell younglings that it's dangerous, and they nod their heads and—”

“And ye might as well be talkin' t' th' air,” replied a knowing voice out of the crowd. “I tell me damn boy all th' time, an' 'e lissens t'me about as much as if I was speakin' Karsite.”

Mags took a long, deep breath, and looked around at the faces surrounding him, letting his shields down a little. It appeared this was going well, friendly, concerned faces, friendly, concerned thoughts. The Poison Pen wasn't among them. He didn't know whether to be glad of that or annoyed. “Anyway,
it was near Companion's Field, and Seraf here saw her go in. If it hadn't been for
her,
we'd be pulling a body out of the river, and that's a fact.” On the one hand . . . if the Poison Pen had been lurking, watching, he'd have been able to identify the bastard. By mental “picture,” at least. On the other hand . . . what if Jorthun was right, and the bastard was Gifted?
I don't have the strength to get into a mental wrestling match right now.

His little speech was enough to distract the crowd, who surrounded Seraf, offering her bread, pears, brandy, anything they could think of. The quicker-witted, at least those who knew something of horses, began giving her a brisk rub-down with some of those blankets. Seraf wearily accepted a pear, then another, and began to revive. Dallen roused himself to beg and was fed as well.

The sounds from where the Healer was working on Katlie were encouraging enough that Mags sagged against Dallen's side, all the energy that fear and nerves had given him running out of him. Dallen let his head droop with weariness . . . but he was not too weary to refuse those juicy pears people kept giving him and Seraf.

The crowd's curiosity had been momentarily assuaged, and they stopped pelting him with questions and started passing what he had told them to the newcomers who were arriving, and gaining a little in importance as they did so. Mags let them do his work for him, as the uniform dried on his back and he started to feel all the aches and strains of the rescue.

His mind just went blank for a little while, as all the things that
might
have gone wrong washed over him, and he dealt with the aftermath. And then, after what seemed like a very, very long time, the rescue party from the Collegia arrived.

The crowd parted to let them in, and Mags could finally see how the girl was doing. Katlie was lying on a blanket, head propped up on another, folded blanket, looking a little like a half-drowned mouse. The Healer had outdone himself. Katlie
was conscious and dazed, and Mags suspected he was making sure she
stayed
dazed so she didn't say anything. The rescue party had brought a small cart with them; while the onlookers carefully lit them up with their lanterns, the rescuers loaded the girl and her Healer up, and off they clattered, back up the Hill, with some of the party lighting the way ahead.

Mags looked over at Seraf.
:Got enough strength back to make it, or d'ye want us t'stay with ye until ye do?:

Seraf raised her head, her mane and forelock still wet and dripping a little.
:I think I can, if you'll come with me.:

Mags got the feeling she didn't mean
him.

His guess was confirmed when she continued,
:I hope I didn't damage your tail, Dallen.:

:It's only hair,:
Dallen said gallantly.
:It will grow back. I'd have sacrificed my whole tail to help you.:

“Welp,” Mags said aloud. “I think I'm gonna catch that cart, if you two'll be all right.”

:We'll be fine,:
Dallen replied. But he was looking at Seraf as he said it.

Mags chuckled wearily, and trudged after the cart.

•   •   •

“What a night,” Amily said, wearily, helping Mags out of his uniform. “I think we can save our uniforms, but those boots are a lost cause. And I can't believe it's not even midnight yet.”

They had gone straight to their room, with Mags politely brushing off any congratulations. Morning was going to come too soon, and they were both exhausted, him physically, her emotionally.

“It's not?” he replied in surprise. He stripped out of his breeches and tossed them on the pile of clothing that was
definitely
going to need some attention. “I'd'a thought it was near dawn. Gimme them breeches, eh?”

She handed him the soft breeches he slept in, and stripped down herself, pulling on her sleep shift. She ached as if she had been beaten, and knew he must be feeling even worse. The two of them dropped into the bed and she exerted herself just enough to blow out the candle before rolling over to kiss him.

“I managed to round up everyone and convinced them that Katlie had told you and the Healer that she'd just gone out for a walk to clear her head, bent over the water to bathe her face, slipped and fell in,” she said into the darkness. “That story was genius.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled a little. “Lirelle think the same thing?”

“No, I told her the truth.” She had known she was going to need at least one ally who was also a friend of the girl, and had bet that Lirelle would rise to the occasion. She had. “As soon as Katlie is out of the Healers' hands, Lirelle is going to be right with her until we figure out what to do with her. . . .” She bit her lip. “Mags, what
are
we going to do with her?”

“Nothin' fer now,” he said, pulling her into his arms, and cradling her. “Right now, we're gonna sleep.”

A
mily fumbled for her lightweight shirt, and pulled it on over her head. It was still dark outside. She was getting a little tired of being awakened at dawn.
Was it only a few weeks ago that I actually
resented
Father taking over so much of my place as King's Own?
Now all Amily could feel was gratitude. If it had not been for her father's help this morning . . .

I don't remember things being this frantic when he was King's Own . . . at this rate I'm going to need three of me.

Mags had jolted awake the moment she moved this morning, and she had moved in response to a light tapping on the inner door to their rooms. It had been her father, with the gray light of dawn barely lightening the sky above the trees of Companion's Field. She and Mags had taken turns telling him what had happened last night, and when he was certain he had all the details—and she had given him that stack of vile letters—he had gone off to give the King and the Prince a better report than Mags had been able to do by Mindspeech last night. “I'll play King's Own this morning, Amily,” he said,
before she could even ask. “You can serve better figuring out what to do with that poor child. I haven't a clue.”

Then he'd kissed her on the cheek, and gone, leaving her awash with relief. And scrambling for her clothes.

“I've got cold fruit pocket pies, and I can make tea if you want to have breakfast here,” she said to Mags, as he rummaged for a uniform that wasn't stained green with river-weeds and river-water.

“That would be excellent,” he replied, having found trews, shirt, and tunic, and now looking for replacements for his ruined boots.

She hurried into the rest of one of her “working” uniforms, and put a kettle on over the little fire, and unlocked the sealed box where they kept food secure from insects and vermin. There were four pies there, more than enough to hold both of them over until they could get something more substantial.

The sun was just barely up when they took the seldom-used inner door of their rooms into Healer's Collegium and the House of Healing, and went in search of Katlie Gardener.

That is, Amily was
going
to search, but Mags headed straight down the hall, and Amily followed, wishing enviously that she had a
useful
form of Mindspeech. Rolan was silent this morning. Then again, Rolan might still be asleep. Mags, however, could look for Katlie's familiar mind and follow it to where she was. They ended up outside a door in a white-painted, white-tiled corridor lined with doors spaced so closely together that it was obvious the rooms were very small. Then again, how big did they have to be to house a single patient?

Mags tapped on the door, and opened it before anyone could answer. Amily followed him in.

There was a bed, little bedside table, and a single chair. The chair actually looked more comfortable than the bed, which was a good thing, since Lirelle was curled up asleep in it.

Katlie's pale, round face stared at them from the bed. It looked as if she had not gotten much sleep last night; there
were huge, dark rings under her bloodshot eyes. “I—I am sorry—” she began, in a voice hoarse from crying, coughing, or both.

“Hush,” Amily said, sitting down on the end of the bed. “The only thing we are annoyed with you about is that you didn't
say
something about those horrid letters after we told all of you that other people were getting them. If you had, we'd have made sure you didn't get any more, and we'd have made sure you knew that there is absolutely nothing in them that is even remotely true and everyone here knows that except, it seems, you. Katlie,
you
are the victim here, and the only person we are angry with is the vile beast that was persecuting you.”

The poor girl burst into tears, which woke up Lirelle, who fumbled her way to her friend and began awkwardly patting her back. She looked about as awkward as Amily felt, not knowing quite what to do, or what to say, and helplessly trying to get her to drink a glass of water.

Between the two of them, they got Katlie calmed down again, although Amily had the feeling she'd break out in weeping again at the least provocation. And she had
no
idea what she was going to do with the girl . . .

She turned toward the door, to consult with Mags, only to discover that Mags was gone.
Bother . . .
she thought with exasperation.

It appeared that while she and Lirelle were doing their best to calm and comfort Katlie, Mags had slipped out. Amily didn't blame him, but . . . it seemed unfair for him to just
leave
her here like this.

Fortunately, right after they got Katlie calmed down again, one of the Healers came in to check on her.

“Ah, Herald,” the Healer said, quite as if she expected strange people to be in one of her patients' rooms at odd hours. “If you'll move off the bed—thank you,” she appended, as Amily hastily got out of the way.

But this seemed like a good time to get Lirelle out of there.
I know she feels guilty about not stopping Katlie, but there's no point having her falling asleep on her feet.
“You go get some sleep,” Amily told Lirelle—then had an afterthought. “Wait a moment,” she added, and rummaged in her belt pouch for a pencil and a bit of paper. She scribbled a note to Lady Tyria about how Lirelle had been very helpful all night, and she very much appreciated her calm and good sense. “Here, give this to your lady-mother. I don't want you in trouble.”

“Oh, I won't be,” Lirelle replied, but took it anyway. “Mother has a rule about everyone telling people where they are going. I told her my friend was missing and I was going to be with you before I ran out to look for you. Then after we all got back, I went back to our rooms. She was still awake, so I made sure it was all right to stay with Katlie.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amily saw Katlie's face suddenly suffused with surprise and gratitude to hear herself called Lirelle's friend. But at the moment, Amily was feeling no little amount of gratitude herself. “You—” she said, pointing a finger “—are entirely too sensible for your age. You and I are going to have a very long talk when I am done with Katlie. Also . . .” she scribbled another note “. . . give this to whichever Dean is in charge of you, I'm excusing you from classes today.”

“Oh thank the gods,” Lirelle groaned, finally sounding like a normal girl. “I don't think I could add two numbers together and get the same answer twice right now.”

“Deliver your notes. Go to bed. Then to the river when it gets hot if you're too warm to sleep. Then back to bed until dinner. You and I are having dinner together; I'll come to the suite to fetch you.” Amily stated this in tones that would allow no argument, but it didn't look as if Lirelle was inclined to give her one. She pocketed the two notes and slipped out the door while the Healer was still performing a complicated series of checks on Katlie.

“You are an extremely lucky girl, young lady,” the Healer said, finally, and sighed as Katlie cringed. “I am not going to berate you. I understand exactly why you felt as you did. But I
am
going to ask you to start believing in what real people, not anonymous bullies, are saying to you and about you. You owe the Healers, Herald Mags, Companions Dallen and Seraf, and your friend Lirelle that much. Understood?”

“Yes'm,” Katlie whispered.

“All right then. I, or someone else, will be back later with your breakfast. We expect you to eat it.” The Healer got up and left, but not without a significant glance at Amily.

Amily took the chair that Lirelle had vacated, and sat down in it.
Great, I'm supposed to start . . . making her feel better. And I have no idea how to do that. I'm a Herald, not a Mind-Healer!
“Let's start with something simple,” she said, finally. “Where are you from?”

“You'd not know it,” Katlie whispered, shrinking into herself visibly.

Amily smiled, thinking of all those maps she had memorized. “Try me.”

Bit by bit, she pried Katlie's story out of her. Her father and mother were smallholders, but their farm was in an area of poor soil, where every vegetable had to be coaxed to grow. She was the eldest of five living children—with the implication that several more children had died in infancy. She had been
no
good at farming, hopeless at spinning, knitting, sewing, or weaving, could not tell one plant from another, did not have enough beauty to make a good marriage without some sort of useful village talents, and until the village schoolmistress—who was a Priestess of Rimon—had discovered a gift for mathematics and mechanics in her, her parents had despaired, for they had no idea what they were going to do with her.

She had thought she might—do something at the Temple of Rimon. Learn some useful skill, something practical, like building, or repairing things. To her shock, she had been sent
to Haven as a King's Scholar, the first one
anyone
had ever heard of in all of the half dozen villages she was familiar with. Her parents were proud, but desperate. It was very clear to Amily as the girl spoke that they had filled her with the fear of failure even as they praised her and sent her on her way.

“. . . and every time I gots a letter, it felt like me brain was goin' to pieces,” she said, clearly about to burst into tears again. “The letters'd say I'm goin' ravin' mad, an' I thunk it was so. An'—I cain't. I cain't fail. I druther die! I—”

Amily seized both her hands, and gave them a little shake. “You are
not
going to fail!” she replied, trying to sound firm, but not scolding. “There is nothing wrong with your brain, and your teachers have all told me what a fine scholar you are.” That was a little bit of a fib; Amily hadn't actually spoken to the girl's teachers yet, but it was pretty obvious that this was a young creature that would keep throwing herself at a fence until she got over it, so she probably
was
doing well. “There is a vicious bully out there somewhere,” she continued, waving her free hand vaguely at the door. “We don't know who he is, or where he is, but he gets great pleasure by hiding in shadows and tormenting people. He works at them until he finds their weak spot, and then he
jabs
and
jabs
and
jabs
at it until they bleed. He found yours, and that is what he did.”

She went on in that vein for quite some time, trying to convince the girl, and feeling as if she was beating her head against a wall. And then came a savior.

The door opened without anyone knocking, and there was one of the Sisters of Betane of the Ax standing there in her full armed and tabarded glory. “Forgive my interruptin', Herald,” the young woman said, looking every inch the Holy Warrior. “But that's exactly what this poisonous serpent does, all right.”

Amily glanced over at Katlie, who was staring at the Sister with nothing less than instant hero-worship in her eyes. The
Sister smiled. “I'm Acolyte Asha, and I can see you recognize my tabard, don't you?”

“You're from th' Temple of Betane!” Katlie breathed. “Yer what fought off them raiders whut tried t' overrun us twa yearn agone!”

“So we are. Or at least, another of our Temple Sisterhoods is responsible for fighting for you.” Now the Sister—or rather Acolyte—lowered herself down to sit on the foot of Katlie's bed. Gingerly, and with much creaking of leather armor. “And my Prioress sent me here to talk to you the instant she heard about what sad straits you are in.”

“Me? Why?” Katlie's eyes had gone very round indeed. And Amily was just as interested to hear the reason this warrior had turned up as Katlie was. . . .

“Several reasons. First—” Asha held up one finger. “—you've been made a victim of the same serpent that tried to desecrate our Temple here in Haven, and for that reason, the Prioress has taken an interest in you. Second, we're sibling-sects with the Temples of Rimon, and your Priestess would want us to look out for you. And third, we want to take you under our wing for a bit, where that sick . . .” Asha struggled with her words, then got her anger under control. “. . . sick, cowardly bully will not dare come at you again. And there's a fourth.” Now she eyed Katlie with a raised brow. “Young lady, you've been half-starved on little but bread and porridge most of your life, your health was poor because of it to begin with, and now you spend entirely too much time indoors bent over books.”

Katlie blinked. “But—”

“Ah-ah! But me no buts,” Asha interrupted. “You will ruin that fine mind if you don't also make your body strong. So you're coming with me as soon as the Healers give you leave. The books will still be here when you get back to them. We'll put pink in those cheeks, and lean muscles in those arms and legs, and you can come back in the fall fit to tackle your studies
instead of feeling half-sick and always tired. Because you
do,
don't you?”