The Ghost-Herald of Beansworth
Trouble had always made Gerald itch, be it the subtle itch between the shoulderblades when traveling down a dark alley, or the crawling sensation around his belt pouch when nimble fingers were in play. This itch was worse than anything so far, even greater than the fire that seemed to consume him nearly two years ago. That had been a sudden pain which had driven him to frantic action, while this was an enduring torture as lines of burning fire seemed to crawl across his toes and down the arch of his foot. It could only mean serious trouble.
Gerald leaned back in the saddle and regarded the rocky valley in which he had spent most of the last several days and tried not to scratch. It would not have done any good anyway, so he settled for shifting positions and trying to open his mind to whatever had sent Companion Evalien into such a frenzy during her fruitless Search. It also would probably not do any good, but at least it was more productive than scratching a phantom itch.
“Anything?” he murmured to his Companion, who likewise was looking out across the rocky valley and feeling just as itchy, if the way she had been stamping her hooves was any indication.
:Still nothing. If it were not for Evalien’s instinct, I would chalk this one up to a very weak mage or a flighty Companion, along with a bad case of hoof fungus.:
“All three, perhaps.” He returned to his long inspection of the valley below, with the long lines of thorny hedges that wrapped around green fields of beans and whatever other growing thing able to sprout in the surprisingly rich soil. The ground here was much like the people, complex and mixed in all directions, but bent to the will of those with more power. Karse had some influence over the area, but never had totally twisted it to their control, most likely because any of the Sunpriests with a shred of common sense looked away from the dense patchwork of rocky hills and valleys, instead focusing their attention on larger sections of open ground that did not seem to grow more rocks than beans, and contained worshipers who were not nearly as hard-headed.
In theory, there was a dividing line in the valley somewhere between Karse and the small mountainous country of Menmellith, but the farmers Gerald had been staying with for the last few days laughingly referred to it as ‘written on the wind’ with the number of times it had been reinterpreted. Both countries sent their military on occasion to collect ‘taxes’ from the village, the Karsite version of which was treated by the valley inhabitants as more of a military raid. The incoming soldiers would be spotted several miles away, but by the time they arrived at the village, only a few elderly inhabitants and the mayor would remain. That and a ‘village granary’ which contained enough dry beans to make the soldiers decide between just taking what was easy to load into the wagons or try their luck picking through the narrow hedge-lined cart paths which wound their way up and down the sides of the river valley. Far too narrow for military wagons and filled with hundreds of places to set ambushes, as well as loose rocks underhoof and the occasional branch just at head-height for a mounted rider, the appeals of exploring the countryside of Beansworth seemed to evade any of the unwelcome visitors, and mostly they departed within a day or two.
Over the past few days, Gerald had come to the conclusion that any of the three other powers in the area, Karse, Valdemar, or Rethwellan, could probably send a sufficient armed force into the valley to take it over, but the casualties would be numerous, and the payoff, slim. Despite the negative effect they would have on the defenses of the area, even an old ocean rat like himself could see improvements that cried out to be made in the area, from widening the roads to bridging some of the rocky crevices which were impassable during even minor rains, but…
:I despise these paths.:
Trenia had a snide bite to her mind-speech that was trivially easy to pick up. The rocks of the valley seemed to have a particular vendetta against her ankles, and had been giving her stiff hind leg a real workout every time they went out to support Evalien on her search. What was worse, the Herald-less Companion Evalien they had accompanied had been galloping pell-mell through the narrow paths and trails of the valley since the first time they had arrived without a single trip or fall. He sighed and patted her on the shoulder while pitching his voice to as close to the Valdemarin noble tones as he could make it.
“Don’t despair, Your Royal Highness. I shall send the finest grooms in all of the kingdom to bathe and brush you this evening. Perhaps they can even braid your mane.”
That elicited a brief snort, and Trenia gave him a level look over her shoulder.
:They had better. You owe me so much for this wild goose chase. :
“Yes, I do. But that will wait. I think I hear our wild goose now.”
The clatter of shod hooves on stones traveled a long distance, echoing from the surrounding hills as Evalien made her sure-footed way along the trail to where Herald and Companion were waiting. Gerald remained quiet while the two Companions ‘talked’ among themselves, wishing that his erratic gift of Foresight had extended farther. He had barely enough Mind-Speech to just understand Trenia, but apparently enough to pass along his own mental uncertainty as the Companion seemed to be unconsciously scratching the bottom of her forehoof against a convenient rock.
:Nothing. She says she caught a flicker of something around noon, but when she tried to get closer, it just vanished, like smoke.:
Step to the next plant
Straight strokes with the hoe, one, two, three, four
Watch the weeds turn over and come to pieces just like all the rest of the bean plants—
Stop
He bent down to pick up the lizard, which was easier since one of its leg had been crippled by the hoe and it could not crawl very fast. It looked up at him with unexpressive eyes while wriggling in his hands. The scratches of tiny talons on his palms were easy to bear. Even injured, it just wanted to be free. It must be nice to be a lizard, laying around in the sun while waiting for the next insect to crawl past. Far easier than to be a person, having to drink and sweat in the sun. It had been long enough since his last drink to unsling the damp water bottle and take a long swig, with a little spilled on the damp burlap to keep it cool and a little for the injured lizard, who licked his nose and just stared instead of drinking. He took the lizard with him as he sat in the shadow of a tree and quietly ate his lunch. It was the time of no-shadows, where the sun was the hottest even through his wide straw hat. He could remember the sun, protector of all and domain of Vkandis. It was important to be protected against his powerful gaze, which is why he wore the hat and the long-sleeved shirt to prevent being burned. Burning was bad, and only bad people burned. Good people were careful and did not burn. He was careful, so he was a good person. Good people worked for their food, which was why he worked hard.
He took another drink of water and stood up to return to the fields, but the frantic scratching of the lizard in his hand brought him out of his thoughts briefly. Bending down to put the lizard in the shade of the scrubby tree, he closed his eyes and thought good thoughts. There was a warmth sweeping across his body, a sharpness that was both good and bad before he released the lizard and saw it scuttle away into the shadows of the weeds, hiding from the sun and from bad people. Something else was out there, two somethings, one of which was very dark and bad.
He picked up his hoe and returned to his work under the hot sun as a good person should.
Step to the next plant.
Straight strokes with the hoe, one, two, three, four.
Watch the weeds turn over and come to pieces just like all the rest of the bean plants.
Step to the next plant as the sound of frantic galloping faded away into the distance.
Straight strokes with the hoe…
The white shapes of stones protruded like the bones of giants across the whole valley, bleached by the sun and scoured by weather until they shone brightly as the coats of the two Companions who had come with him. The farmer’s house was in the middle of a jumble of the same stones on a hillside, and at first glance appeared to be just that, but a closer examination revealed much more. Goats grazed in the shadows of the setting sun, keeping a wary eye on the three newcomers to the area and bleating their displeasure, while children of all ages filled the farmyard. Many children, nearly universally dirty with dirty faces under wide straw hats and carrying dirty farming tools as they trudged back to the house, but Gerald did not get the sensation of dreary malaise that fell across far too many of the places he had visited as a Herald. They seemed happy with their chores, and from the sound of splashing water and the occasional delighted shriek coming from behind one of the lumpy stone and wood structures, the dirt was only a temporary thing.
As they emerged from behind the wooden privacy fence all clean and damp, the children scurried over to investigate the strangers entering the farmyard. Most of them crowded at a still respectful distance around the two Companions, but some held back or hid, peering out from behind buildings as if they were afraid of being murdered. He could see at least two adults also lurking around the outskirts of the farmyard with a spear or sword close at hand, but they did not seem hostile, just wary.
:Three. There’s one in an upper window with a crossbow just watching right now.:
The children who remained close lit up with obvious glee as the two Companions blessed them with the occasional horsey sniff or damp nose-rub, using their own wiles to entice the young ones into getting close enough to rub their hands along their snow-white sides and gasp at how soft the strange ‘horses’ were. One of the little girls even had the courage to trace the thin line of knotted coat that stretched across Trenia’s side, over Gerald’s right leg, and across her flank towards her somewhat shortened tail.
“Children!” commanded a gruff voice belonging to an old man, working his way over to Gerald by way of a crutch and considerable wincing. “Back away and give the man some room.” The old codger had to have been well over the half-century mark, even with as many years that were added to his frame by the farming life, with one twisted leg being supported by his crutch and what little hair he had left being white as the sun-bleached rocks of his house. Still, there had been an impressive man under that skin in his youth, and echoes of the heavy muscles and military discipline that he had grown up with still remained. He gave a series of one-word commands to the children who had gathered around the odd rider and his two odd horses, only turning his dark and suspiciously sparkling eyes towards Gerald once all of the unoccupied children in the vicinity had been assigned tasks.
“My name is Barnes, and the mayor says we need to put you up for the night,” said the old man rather bluntly. “I never woulda’ agreed to letting you stay here with the children if’n I hadn’t owed him a favor.” He looked Gerald over, from his dusty Herald whites to his dusty boots while a frown grew on his face.
“So,” started the old man. “You’re a Herald.”
“Herald Gerald, at your service, Farmer Barnes,” said Gerald, sweeping his hat off with one hand and bending into as much of a bow as you could do on Companionback. “And yes, I am a Herald of Valdemar, although in my impressionable youth I’ve been a sailor and a soldier, and for just a few terrible moments last year—” Gerald lowered his voice, glancing from side to side “—a politician.”
The practiced bit of humor struck home with a brief laugh from the farmer, much as Gerald suspected it would. “Well, if your Witch-Queen has many more of you silver-tongued devils in her service, she’s going to be in control of the whole country before long. What?” Barnes cocked a snow-white eyebrow at both of the Companions, who had snorted at the derogatory reference to Queen Selenay. “Aye, I’ve heard her called that and far worse. There’s a reason most of us are up in these hills, an’ she’s just as much a part of it as Karse and Rethwellan. You may be able to come prancin’ into most places a jingling bells and whipping your tail, but these children come out on the backside of all the fightin’ and dyin’ that wars bring. There’s only one reason your and your ghost herald are here, and that’s to drag one of our valley’s own off to your high and mighty city and turn ‘em into one of you white-clad spies for Valdemar.”
For one moment, Gerald was tempted to pretend affront at being called what he was, but a second look at the relaxed casualness that the old man held his thick crutch gave him second thoughts about the prudence of such a false front. Instead, he decided on approaching the topic from a different direction.
“Ghost Herald?”
The old man pointed at the empty saddle on Evalien. “For the last four days, that thing has been galloping up and down every path in our valley. Some have taken to calling her Effigiem, which means some sort of spirit-sucking monster.” Barnes spat to one side. “Me, I’ve been around enough to know better. She’s missing something or someone, an’ from that look, she’s worried half to death about it.” The old man stopped to chase several of the nearby children away with distasteful chores, turning back to Gerald once they had a little privacy again. “Care to enlighten me, ‘cause she can’t talk an’ I don’t got none of your fancy Gifts to weasel it out of ya.”
:Can’t talk?: Trenia sounded somewhere between insulted and sullen. :Just because I can’t talk to him.:
Gerald shrugged with false modesty. “I don’t have much of a Gift myself, just enough to talk with Trenia and see things about to happen that I can’t stop. Evalien is searching for a talented young person who really needs to become a Herald and that’s all I can tell you.”
The old man nodded and dug into the pockets on his weathered coat, fumbling for a moment until bringing out a dark lump of something, which he held out in one gnarled hand towards Evalien. The Companion looked up at Gerald, then over at the old man, before leaning forward and sniffing the offered substance.
“Go on, girl,” Barnes grumbled. “It’s beet sugar. With all the runnin’ around you’ve done over the last few days, you need a little somethin’ warm in your belly. I’ll have the children make you some space over in the bigger goat pen so you’re not tempted to sneak into the house like I hear your kind does sometimes. You like oats, don’t ya? Maybe a little warm mash with some beet sugar for the both of you, if’n the children can spare you some?”
Trenia nodded enthusiastically, as did Evalien, while Gerald could not resist rolling his eyes.
:Hush, you. I’m accepting his apology.:
The old man barked out a series of orders and children seemed to pop up from behind every rock, helping lift his saddlebags off Trenia and one of them sneaking what looked like an apple to Evalien. A stocky lad with sparkling brown eyes reached up and offered a hand to Gerald, asking, “Do you need any help getting down from there?”
“No, I’m not that old yet. Careful with the saddlebags there, miss.” He waved at a comely young lady who had just hefted the saddlebags over her shoulder and nearly collapsed with a huff of air. The motion distracted him during his dismount, and nearly dropped him onto his face on the dusty ground if not for the young lad whose help he had rejected in the first place.
All of the busy activity in the area halted by stages, with what seemed like dozens of children of all ages staring at the Herald on the ground with one boot still stuck in the stirrup of his Companion. Finally, one of the smaller children pointed and said with perfect clarity, “His leg is still on the horse.”
“Just part of it,” said Gerald, struggling to a seated position on the ground. “Can somebody please— Thank you,” he added as the detached wooden leg made its way over to him by several helpful young children, all of whom seemed unable to avoid peeking inside. “Straps came loose,” he explained as he took the detached boot and began the difficult process of sticking his stump back into the cloth-lined socket.
“There has to be a story behind this,” prompted the boy, seemingly caught between offering his help and determining if he would be going too far by doing so.
“An’ it’ll wait until after dinner, Sanalson,” snapped the old man, who had stopped his hobbling path back to the front door of the house. “You be gettin’ those pretty white ‘horses’ of his over into the barn and gettin’ them rubbed down, with a good scoop of hot mash each, you hear? Move it, move it!”
The word of the old man around the farm seemed to be taken as inviolate law. Despite being surrounded by what he could not help but think of as children, the evening meal was relatively untroubled by curious questions. Farmer Barnes limited his conversation to introducing the children of all ages in the house, from several little ones who could barely walk up to a number of married couples possibly being as old as Gerald who still deferred to the old man.
“Picked ‘em up during the little wars and battles that your kind always seem to start around here,” Farmer Barnes grumbled. “Some stay, some get adopted by other family ‘round these parts, some drift back to their former homes after a few years. The wife an’ me never had no kids of our own, ‘cept one, and he went off to play soldier when she died.”
At some unseen signal, all of the children at the table and scattered through the house chorused, “We love you, Papa.”
“See what I have to put up with,” grumbled the old farmer, although with the hint of a smile around the corners of his lips. “By the stars above, I feed ‘em, I house ‘em, and they won’t leave. It’s like having a house full of cats. You,” he stated, pointing with a thick, callused finger. “Dishes, dishes, sweeping, pick up, pick up, and…” The old man hesitated as he looked around the room. “Where’s Tel?”
“He finished dinner and went out to pump water into the tank, Papa,” said one of the younger children who was helping clean the table. The wooden plates and tankards on the table had begun to vanish almost the instant Farmer Barnes had pointed his finger, which made Gerald make a quick grab for the last of his bread and his tankard, still half-filled with the weak tea served ‘for digestion’ at the meal.
“Ah, yes,” rumbled the old farmer. “One of my children brought me the blessed thing. Modern miracle of technology indeed, ha! Still, it lets the little ones get cleaned up and not track as much mud into the house. Can’t argue with that.”
“No indeed,” agreed Gerald and somewhat appreciative of getting a word in edgewise. “If I may borrow your baths this evening, sir, I would be deeply appreciative.”
“Baths?” Farmer Barnes seemed offended. “It’s just a clay pipe sticking out of the hill from the cistern, not some fancy city tub like you’re used to.”
Gerald smiled now that the conversation had moved more to his advantage. “For the first few years onboard the ship I had foolishly hired onto as a cabin boy, the only bath I got was when it rained, or on special occasions I would pull a soapy bucket full of seawater and the most corrosive soap known to mankind up on deck and try to scrub away most of the dirt without taking my skin off.”
“You were a sailor?” asked an astonished little girl with her arms full of dishes.
:Oh, no. Not this again.:
“Not just a sailor, lassie,” he added with a wink. “The ship I signed up on turned out to be a corsair’s ship, which sailed the ocean like a storm. Five years we crossed the sea, traveling from port to port with whatever cargo we could run.”
:Tell them what happened to the last ship you were on right after you left.:
He ignored Trenia’s mind-speech and continued, aware of the growing circle of fascinated children crowding into the outskirts of the kitchen. “Our captain, he was a fearsome man, and crafty as a clam trying to keep its pearls. Why, one day while out at sea, we…
The stars were out in full force by the time Gerald limped out to the baths, or as Farmer Barnes had accurately put it, a clay pipe sticking out of the hillside with a long cord that could be pulled to allow water to pour out from the uphill cistern and into a trough or along a set of wet boards depending on where the spout was directed.
“Beats the devils out of trying to find a stream,” he muttered while dumping his shoulderbag onto a nearby rock and began to peel out of his dirty Herald whites. Most of the children who had been working out in the fields had washed their work clothes much the same with their drying clothes leaving the area a hazardous obstacle course in the moonlight. The solid thump, thump, thump of the pump in the background made a nice counterpoint to the evening breeze as he pulled the cord to put some water in the wooden washing trough. After a little of his carefully hoarded soap was rubbed into the shirt so it could soak, he sat down on a nearby rock bench to add his trousers to the wash.
“How are things going for you girls?” he murmured under his breath as he wrestled with the straps around his stump.
:Evalien is charming the little ones even now and there’s a line outside of our room with each one of them carrying a piece of dried apple. I swear, she could get Alberich to give up his last piece of fruit by just fluttering her eyelashes and sticking her bottom lip out.:
He had to chuckle at the mental image, but there were more important things at hand. “I meant, does she recognize any of her admirers as the touch she felt at noon? Well, I suppose not, or you would have told me already.” He flexed his knee and rubbed the bottom of his stump against the stone bench, trying not to wince at the shooting pain.
:Stop that. You’re just making it worse.:
“I can’t help it. I know Evalien’s Herald is somewhere around here. We’ve got to find him before whatever else is out there does. I hope it’s not a blood-mage.” He scratched a little more on his stump, but as gently as possible. “I feel like I’m being watched.”
“I’m sorry.”
The voice was a near-whisper, and came from an older boy nearly Gerald’s own height, although much broader across the shoulders and with a frizzy mop of unruly reddish hair cut close to his scalp. The thumping of the pump was absent, leading the Herald to take a leap of faith and ask, “You would be Tel, I presume?”
“Yes.” The young man did not look up, but kept his eyes fixed on the damp boards of the washing area and offered no further words.
“Thank you for pumping the water, by the way.” Gerald struggled to one foot, using the scabbarded sword as a crutch. “Most of the time I’m toe-deep in creek mud trying to wash up before sleeping, or I have to try bathing in a bucket.”
Because children were naturally curious, there normally would be some sort of response, but as Gerald got his body situated under the wooden spout, all he could hear was quiet footsteps leading away and the resumption of the night noises. There were few things more awkward than a naked, one-legged man trying to stand under a stream of water, but by lowering himself to his knees and bending back the little stub of leg he still had left, he managed to get everything properly soaped and rinsed while he thought.
Perhaps the Herald who Evalien was Searching for was older, an experienced mage who was hiding in the valley from some sort of trouble. If they already knew how to Shield, they would be a valuable addition to the Mages Collegium. There were several older people living with Farmer Barnes, but none of them had the haunted look of someone being pursued. This farm was about as far up into the valley as he had ever expected to go, with the higher grounds leveling out into sheep and goat pastures which had nothing but scrubby grass and wandering herders tending to their flocks.
:No, there are no goat Companions.: stated Trenia in the back of his mind. :If there were, they would have come along on this trip, and saved my ankles.:
“The answer’s obvious,” he murmured in return, feeling very damp and chilled as he attempted to dry off. “We’re just not seeing it. Have you two been able to pick up any hint of a Gift from anybody at this farm?”
:A few very minor ones. Two of the girls have a touch of Healing, and one of the men in the farmhouse has just enough Mind-Speech that he might be Chosen, but that’s it.:
“What about the boy who was just here?” he asked, almost out of reflex.
:What boy? There are a pair of young girls hiding in a bush a short ways away, trying to get a peek at you before they get chased off to bed, but there are no boys around you at all.:
One of the benefits and downsides of being out in the country instead of the Collegium was the night sky. When candles or lanterns were precious and mage-lights a complete impossibility, people tended to go to bed very shortly after sunset, leaving Gerald free to wander around in the moonlit night by himself. Trenia had verified that all of the farm’s inhabitants had gone to sleep, even the two older boys who had taken it upon themselves to sleep out in the small barn with the Companions and discourage any of their younger peers from bothering the four-legged guests from their own rest.
However, said Companions were not resting. Instead, they were holding their position just inside the open doorway of their fairly small for two Companions but awfully large for the goats it was meant to hold barn. According to the both of them, everybody in the entire farm was sleeping, down to the geese in their pens by the only small and twisted road headed into the farmstead and the chickens dozing in their coops. Gerald suspected differently. He had decided against his white riding leathers during the evening prowl for fear of looking like some sort of ghost to his easily-frightened subject. A dark blue open shirt with his regular pants had to suffice, although out of caution, he still wore his sword and rubbed his boot-clad wooden leg against a few rocks along his path. It was a wandering procession through the dark farmstead, with the occasional stumble or stubbed toe against unseen rocks, but he left his Gift guide his steps as he walked.
Eventually he wound up slightly uphill from the farmhouse, along a narrow path he suspected was about one goat wide. It twisted and curved around brush and rocks until with one last turn, opened up onto a rock ledge looking out across the entire valley below. The view was beautiful in the most breathtaking way imaginable, with the stars above shining down and the rocky reflections of the valley stones looking almost like stars themselves in the weak moonlight. He stood there and watched for a time, almost forgetting his original reason for climbing the steep slope, until he could hear the faintest whisper of a voice, counting.
“One hundred and seventy thousand, six hundred and twelve. One hundred and seventy thousand, six hundred and thirteen…”
“Hello.” It was as far ahead as Gerald had planned, and so far his plan was working perfectly. The voice cut off abruptly, as did the somewhat abstract floating sensation he had not really noticed until now, revealing the young man from before. He was sitting on the bare rock which was still warm from the evening sun, but he slowly turned around and looked up at Gerald without saying a word.
“Nice view.” He bent down to look a little less intimidating, which worked far too well. The wooden leg was less stable than expected, and he wound up pitching forward and would have taken a nosedive off the ledge, if not for the boy’s rapid reactions. Tel was strong, grabbing onto his shirt with one hand and hauling Gerald back as if he were throwing a bag of beans.
He sat there for a moment on the ledge, panting for breath and trying not to think about how far down it was. The boy simply looked back up into the sky and resumed counting, rocking back and forth slightly as his lips moved. Gerald seated himself too, taking a few deep breaths to regain his composure as he looked up at the sparkling stars with Tel. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” The response was almost automatic, but it indicated Tel was not quite as simple on the surface as he appeared. Even up here, the boy had kept his hoe right by his side, a thick rod of hickory with a well-worn blade. There was a hint of Karsite in his accent, somewhat of an upper-class lilt which he had never learned at the farm, but the heavy musculature he had felt when the boy hauled him back from the edge of the drop was not the result of such a privileged upbringing.
“So what do you see up there?” Gerald stole a sideways glance at the boy, whose lips still moved with his unstopping count. “Constellations? Ancestors? The future?”
“Stars don’t tell the future. They just are.” The boy hesitated, casting a glance back at Gerald and his wooden leg, which was sticking out at an odd angle due to a slipped strap. Gerald let the silence build until the inevitable question leaked out. “What happened to your leg?”
“I saw the future. Not in the stars,” added Gerald. “Up here. In my head.” He tapped his forehead with one finger and grimaced. “War is a nasty business, but you already knew that. I’ve got a touch of Foresight, just enough to be useful sometimes and too much to be safe. We were in this hideous mess in the middle of some town, me and a few dozen others. Wear the white outfit, get considered to be some sort of military genius, and all the blood that goes with it.”
He took a deep breath and shifted positions. “I saw this Sunpriest trying to save a group of children from this changed abomination under the control of a mage. Well, I saw it, all the way across town. Trenia ran as fast as she could, but it was almost too slow. The thing’s sword caught me right there—” he pointed to a line right above his boot and drew his finger back “—down Trenia’s side and across her rump. Chopped the end of her tail right off. I think she misses that the most.”
The boy gave little sign of hearing Gerald’s explanation, as if he had heard it the hundreds of times it had already been given, but he did run one hand down to rub at his own shin. Finally he asked, “Did it hurt?”
“Not at first.” Gerald brought the sword over in his lap and unsheathed the blade, turning it to show the dark stain covering the top third. “I was concentrating so hard on getting there before the monster could harm the children that I blocked out everything else. Just like training, I put the point right into his neck as we galloped by. Of course, everything went to mud afterwards. She fell, I fell, blood all over the place. The Sunpriest turned out to be a healer, thankfully. Saved my life, and saved ‘the spirit-horse’ too.”
:His stitching left something to be desired.:
The boy twitched, looking down into the moonlit farmstead as he grabbed his hoe. Long moments passed before he switched his gaze back over to Gerald, giving him a wary look.
“It’s a Gift called Mind-Speech,” explained Gerald. “Without it, our Companions would be unable to communicate. You have a different gift, what we call a mage.”
The tension across Tel’s shoulders grew into a near-tremble. “Mages are bad,” he whispered.
“Some are,” he admitted. “The ones in Valdemar are not. They protect others, like the Heralds. Some of them are even Heralds.”
They sat there for a time, looking up at the stars until the boy spoke again.
“I’m afraid.”
Gerald nodded. “You’d be a fool not to be. Every time I’ve had to face danger as a Herald, I’ve been afraid right down to my socks. Well, sock. Sometimes, you can pick your battles. Most of the times, the battle picks you, and all you have to depend on is your training and your companions.”
:Ahem.:
“Beg pardon,” said Gerald. “Companions, both those with four and two legs.”
He sat with the boy for a long time, looking out at the stars and talking. Gerald was going hoarse by the time he convinced the boy to walk down the steep slope and over to the two Companions waiting patiently in the moonlight. After a while, he determined the only thing more awkward than a one-legged man trying to wash under a waterspout was watching two Companions and a reluctant Herald-Trainee argue inside their heads.
“So.” The old man glared at Gerald in the harsh light of the sunrise. The entire farm had come to life with the first pinking of the sun on the horizon, and the children had already taken off to all points of the compass with their tasks, except one. “You’re takin’ Tel, no matter what I say about it, I presume?”
Gerald paused in his adjustment of Trenia’s saddle straps and shrugged. “It really isn’t my decision. It’s his.”
“I’m sorry, Papa. I have to go,” said Tel. Apparently it was a rarity for the older boy to talk more than one or two words to the old man too, based on the way he started. Gerald stepped in before Tel had to exert himself any more and added his own apologies.
“I’m sorry too, sir. He seemed to have a nice life here, but it’s just not safe for him. There are blood-path mages out there who would like nothing more than to rip his Gift away for their own purposes.”
“An’ they don’ care if they kill all my little ones to do it,” grumbled Barnes. “I know. I’ve seen it. Why’d you think I’m here? You can’t run far enough, I guess.” The old man looked up at Tel, who was sitting on his Companion as if he were standing precariously on the top of a mountain in a stiff breeze. “Put yer feet in the stirrups, boy, an’ keep ahold of that hoe. It’s a good, stout hickory stick, an’ you never know when you need somethin’ just like it.”
“You’ve seen a blood-path mage before?” asked Gerald.
“Once,” grunted the old man while intentionally looking away from Tal. “Went through our regiment, looking for somebody. Took him, too. Never saw him again.” The farmer took a deep breath. “Don’t let it happen, none of you.”
Gerald nodded. “Don’t worry, Mister Barnes. We won’t.”
“Weren’t talking to you, boy.” Farmer Barnes turned around and patted Evalien on the shoulder. “Keep ‘em all safe, girls.”
Picking their way down the valley in the hot sun was a long and arduous journey, filled with shifting rocks and spots where the thin trail switched back over itself and seemed to loop. Tel and Evalien trailed behind, despite the itching which had spread to both of Gerald’s feet, real and imaginary. Even the air seemed cloying and still, with the muted buzzing of insects and the subdued clatter of hooves on stones as both Companions struck a compromise between speed and quiet. Despite his earlier unsteadiness in the saddle, Tel remained nearly unmoving, with one hand clutching the saddle and one on the hoe, which was socketed against the bottom of Evalien’s military saddle like a flag.
:Something is up ahead. Something bad.:
Even Trenia’s mind-speech seemed quiet and hushed, so Gerald leaned down and whispered in return, “Is there anyway to get around whatever it is?”
:Can’t tell. I get the feeling we’re being herded. Evalien wants us to stop here.:
One of the things a Herald learns is how to trust their Companion, but Gerald considered that trust to be somewhat shaky as both Companions slowed to a stop in a particularly wide section of the cart path winding through the thorny hedges. It was a defensible location for anyone on foot as they could have probably picked their way into the hedges and shot any attackers one at a time from concealment, but for a Herald on Companionback, it was laughable. In a pinch, Gerald could have unlimbered his bow and gotten one or two shots off as whoever was coming up the path rounded the corner up ahead, but there was no guarantee of getting any kind of incapacitating hit, particularly with his accuracy and double if the mage was halfway competent. Instead, he grasped the hilt of his sword and slid it out of the scabbard a fraction of an inch to make sure it would not bind, before bracing himself for the breathtaking speed a Companion could make when lunging forward. If he could kill the mage or even delay him, Evalien would be able to sweep past with Tel, and not even the finest horse could catch a Companion in full gallop.
When the first leather-clad rider rounded the curve in the path ahead, Gerald shifted his priorities. The grim soldier was carrying a crossbow with an unbarbed bolt, much as someone who did not want to kill their quarry with a broadhead. Most likely the bolt was poisoned with something to slow reactions or paralyze. It would be slow to reload, which meant Gerald would have to somehow provoke the soldier into shooting him while somehow also incapacitating the mage he could still feel out there somewhere.
The second rider was obviously the mage, with a bald head bared to the morning sun and traceries of blue lines across every inch of his skin visible under a thick cloak and trim black outfit. Tightening his grip on the sword, Gerald laid himself across Trenia’s neck and dug in his heel slightly to trigger the Companion’s lunge.
Nothing happened.
“Go,” he whispered, still holding himself flat against her neck.
:Wait.:
Trenia’s urgent reply was nearly silent, but the mage jerked as if he had been bitten by a fly. He scowled and looked around, motioning for the following riders to halt, but even though he looked down the path where the two Companions and riders could have been seen by a blind man, he appeared not to notice anything. Neither did the lead rider, who also looked around but did not even raise his crossbow to take the obvious shot.
It seemed to take forever for the mage to motion the group of riders onward, and they proceeded at a slow walk along the path towards Gerald. Thankfully, only two more riders followed the mage, and even more thankfully, none of the four seemed to even have a clue about the two Companions and their riders ahead of them in plain sight on the path. Still, they were not totally unaware, as they all four seemed to unconsciously move a little sideways as they approached the wide section in the path where the two Companions were holding very still.
The blanket of cloying air laying over their trip so far clung to Gerald’s face as the first crossbow-carrying rider passed, and crushed closer as the mage’s horse followed. The mage slowed, eventually stopping his horse and looking forward with a troubled frown while directly across from Evalien and Tel. The boy was holding perfectly still with only his lips moving in small twitches, although his dark eyes were open and both hands were firmly wrapped around the handle of the hoe.
For the longest time, nothing moved.
Then everything moved at once.
The mage pivoted to his right, his mouth opening to give commands.
The leather-clad soldier behind him jerked away, swinging his crossbow around as Gerald’s sword cut across his throat in a ragged upward slice. The second soldier survived a few moments longer by dropping his crossbow and reaching for his sword, only to meet Gerald’s stop-thrust through his chest as Trenia lunged forward. The sword effortlessly punched through hardened leather and bone with the force of both Herald and Companion behind it, and Gerald was barely able to hold onto the hilt as Trenia wheeled in place.
For some reason, the mage was not on his horse any more, but the lead rider was fighting to control his horse and turn around, which gave Gerald a higher-priority target. Trenia shot forward as Gerald slashed downwards, allowing the blade to lay a narrow cut across the soldier’s face and smash down into the crossbow before they were past and turning for another run.
A brief glance at Evalien and Tel as they were wheeling around showed the two of them remaining almost stock-still with the boy standing up in the stirrups, but then it was time to pay attention to his own bloodied opponent, and Gerald flung himself into a quick cut-and-thrust attack. It was almost unsporting to cut the soldier down with the bloody gash across his face making him nearly blind and his sword only partially out of his scabbard, but Gerald had never been in a fight for sport. A thrust to the chest and a slash across the neck left his opponent sliding to the ground, and Gerald looked frantically for the missing mage.
:Look down.:
The mage did not look nearly so imposing lying on his back on the dusty path with a hoofprint on his face. Trenia must have stepped on him while they were on their way to kill the lead rider, but that was not his primary cause of death. His forehead had been bashed in first with enough force to leave a dent from his nose up to the sputtering blue lines of tattooing across the top of his head. The hoe which had caused the damage was held firmly in Tel’s grip, who was looking down at the dead mage with an almost emotionless face, except for a faint twitch around the corner of his lips.
Ever so slowly, Tel looked up from the corpse and fixed his dark eyes on Gerald. There was very little of the frightened child in his firm gaze now. Instead, he seemed to have aged several years in the matter of moments.
“Weed,” he declared in a low voice, following his declaration up by putting the bloody hoe back into the lance socket in the saddle and turning to face their original destination while Evalien started walking.
That was as many words as Gerald could get out of the young man throughout the rest of the trip to Valdemar and the Mage’s Collegium. He would nod or shake his head in response to questions, and Trenia was particularly quiet in regards to what he was discussing with Evalien, if anything. It was not until they had nearly reached the gates and the familiar chaos of the grounds was beginning to surround them before Tel stopped and looked directly at Gerald.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” said Gerald, feeling somewhat relieved that the young man had not gone mute over killing the blood-mage.
“Do you think I’m… bad?” Tel’s mouth moved as if more words wanted to escape, but Gerald gave him time to breathe and waited until he haltingly continued. “When I was very young, the Sunpriest told us the stars were where Sun Lord Vkandis had written of the good people’s lives, from birth to death. I’ve looked and I’ve looked, but I’ve never seen myself in the stars anywhere. I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he added, looking at the people inside the Collegium.
“Good or evil is not written in the night sky,” said Gerald, although with a little hesitation he added, “but the Hawkbrothers may argue the point. Your decisions determine what kind of person you are. The stars are just stars. People are themselves. When you look at yourself, what do you see?”
“A killer,” he responded almost immediately.
“And?” prompted Gerald.
“And a farmer.” Tel hesitated while chewing on his bottom lip. “I killed weeds that threatened the plants.”
Gerald nodded encouragement and pointed to the young men and women running between the buildings of the Collegium. “What would the blood-mage have done with them?”
“Killed them. Stole their power.” Tel continued to look at the young people for a time, taking his time and seeming to examine every inch of the Mage’s Collegium he could see. “I understand. Sometimes it hurts, or can get us killed, but they need protected so they can grow.”
“You’re not alone.” Gerald patted his back. “You’re joining with every Herald and Companion in Queen Seleny’s service, a whole batch of two and four legged farmers.”
:Ahem.:
Gerald knocked his knuckles against his wooden leg. “Technically, I’m two legged. Now, are you ready, Tel?”
“Do you think they will let me work in their garden?” asked the young man rather stiffly, as if he were afraid of being locked in a room and surrounded by dry books.
“They’ll be delighted.” Both Companions broke into a trot as they headed for the administration buildings. “Let’s get you started.”