Brightly Burning

It broke on Lan at that moment that the man who was shaking his hand was the King's Own Herald—the third most important person in the entire Kingdom! No wonder he looked as if that severe expression was habitual. 'I—the—the honor is mine, sir,' he stammered out.

Jedin's smile widened. 'Not that much of an honor, I assure you. Plenty of people will tell you that they'd much prefer to see rather less of me than more. Did you realize that along with one rare Gift, you have a second?'

Lan shook his head, unable to think of anything that would pass for a Gift.

'You have the ability to inspire Companions to not only trust you, but to leap to your defense without ever actually meeting you themselves.' Jedin raised one eyebrow. 'I wish I knew why, but there you have it.'

Kalira looked innocent; Rolan enigmatic. Lan could only shrug helplessly. 'I don't know, sir,' he said, as honestly as he could. 'It doesn't make any sense to me.'

'Hmm.' There was a look in Jedin's eyes that made Lan want to squirm, a look that suggested that even though Lan didn't know any reason why the Companions should offer their friendship and defense, Jedin could think of one or two.

'Well, you'll have some learning to do before we find out, anyway,' Jedin said after a pause. 'And we two have some exercising to do, if we aren't to get fat and ugly.' He slapped Rolan on the shoulder, and the Companion neighed laughter.

:Too late,: Rolan taunted, as Jedin put both hands on Rolan's back and vaulted into place without having to use anything to help him. :You're already ugly.:

Without waiting to hear Jedin's reply, the Companion cantered off under the trees.

'Were we supposed to hear that?' Lan asked aloud, a little aghast.

:We aren't horses, but we aren't some sort of heavenly creatures either, my love,: Kalira told him, moving out of the Grove in a slightly different direction. :We're a lot like our Heralds.:

It seemed that every passing candlemark brought another surprise or revelation; a breaking of one assumption, the bending of another. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. Or would things settle down as he began to learn what life as a Herald would really be like, past the tales and the blaze of silver-and-white uniforms, the dazzle of Companions?

:You aren't the only case of bad timing right now,: Kalira went on as they came out of the trees and within sight of the stables. :Just the more serious of the two. Lada is in foal, and had to go after her Chosen with less than two moons to go. Poor things! Lada is probably going to drop tonight, and Wrenlet hasn't been here more than a fortnight! They're both going to have a bad night, I think. The stable has fireplaces, but it's drafty, and Lada's a bit on the small side. They'll be up all night at the least.:

'Is Lada's Chosen going to wait out the night with her?' he asked, all sympathy, for he had once taken foal- watch on one of his ponies.

:Oh, yes; how could she not?:

'That's a good point.' He remembered how he'd felt about it, nervous, anxious, excited, and afraid—and that had just been a pony! He couldn't imagine how wrought up he'd be if it was Kalira who was going to drop a foal! He'd be worse than any anxious father in a joke!

:Well, you won't have to worry about that with me; I never saw a stallion worth going through that for,: Kalira said lightly, easing the sudden surge of anxiety the thought provoked. :Now if you were a stallion, I might consider it, but not for anyone else in the herd.:

He blushed, pleased and embarrassed, but not sure why. 'Not even Rolan?' he ventured.

:Not even Rolan,: she replied firmly. He felt absurdly pleased by that, though he had no idea why he should be, and he held that feeling close inside to keep him warm as he walked through the chilling wind back to the Collegium.

TWELVE

LAN passed an old account book back to his teacher, who waved it at the class and addressed them all. 'Now, presented with this set of accounts and the story I've told you, what sort of judgment would you make? All of the clues you need are there.'

This was Herald Artero's class, one called 'Field Investigations.' Other than the ability to read and write, this class had no special requirements, but it was one that every Trainee had to take. Here the students were presented with stories and sometimes evidence connected with cases that other Heralds had dealt with while on their circuits, and asked for their own conclusions. As often as not, a Herald on circuit would spend a great deal of his or her time being investigator, jury, and judge; even if a local judge had already made a decision, any case could be appealed to a Herald. The easy cases were those whose intricacies could be solved by application of the famous Truth Spell to one or more of the plaintiffs or defendants. This class did not concern those.

This class was about cases where evidence had to speak for itself because either some of the witnesses were dead or fled, or it was something where there were no witnesses at all. Mostly the cases were trivial enough, a dispute over a boundary, or ownership of land or property. Sometimes, though, a life could hang in the balance. And sometimes it wasn't life, but honor—which some would hold more precious than their lives.

This time the question concerned a curious case. A merchant had died, and his grown son had accused his stepmother of appropriating money that, according to the accounts, should have been there in his cash boxes. The Truth Spell had revealed that the stepmother was not guilty of helping herself to the money stowed in the cash boxes, but where had the money gone? Suspicion was rife in the village by the time the Herald arrived. Although people had refrained from making actual accusations, all the