Brightly Burning

we will not burden them with the duty of taking care of you. We do not want you in our prison, providing an added burden for our Guards; prison is not the place for one such as you. Fortunately, and due entirely to the consideration of the combined Priesthoods of this land, a solution has been found.'

He gestured, and a robed figure in cream-colored wool came forward from behind the platform. Pol craned his neck along with everyone else; this was as much a surprise to him as to the rest of those here. It was a woman, but he didn't recognize the robes of her Order.

'This is Priestess Fayshan, of the Cloistered Order of Kernos-Sequestered,' Theran announced, and Pol saw his lips curve ever so slightly as Jisette's eyes widened in recognition. 'I see that you know the Order. For the benefit of others, Fayshan's sect normally accepts only the most ardent in their faith, for their way is one of the most complete seclusion. In fact, each votary is sealed into her cell for the entirety of her life, receiving her needs and nourishment through a slit in the wall, and daylight through a slit-window. They know when they are sealed into those cells that they will exit their cells only at death. However, given the circumstances, Priestess Fayshan has graciously offered the hospitality of one of her cells, so that you may have the opportunity, through diligent prayer and contemplation, to be cured of your madness, and then, through more prayer and contemplation for as long as you may live, expiate your sin. Like her willing votaries, you will leave your cell only when you are dead.'

Jisette began to flail wildly; the Guards took hold of her and restrained her as Priestess Fayshan gazed at her with sorrow thinly veiling profound disgust.

'My Guards will escort her to the Cloister, good Lady,' Theran said. 'They will see to it that she—behaves herself—until the last brick is in place.'

'That—is most appreciated, Majesty,' Fayshan replied, and bowed deeply. She beckoned to the Guards, who followed her away from the platform. The crowd divided to let them pass, with the occasional brave soul hissing or otherwise expressing his or her feelings at the unfortunate Jisette. Master Jelnack himself took the opportunity to escape, slinking off to one side and rapidly getting lost among the milling people nearest the platform.

But Theran held up his hand, taking back the attention of the crowd.

'This matter is closed,' he said forcefully. 'And let all of you know, I, Theran, King of Valdemar, will hear no more accusations against this boy. Understand that he is the single most valuable Herald in this land, not even second to Jedin, King's Own.'

Well, that raised some eyebrows, not the least of which were Pol's. And this wasn't part of the original script, either. What had happened since he'd last talked to the King?

'We need this boy's Gift as we have never needed another,' Theran continued, actually putting his arm around Lan's shoulders. Poor Lan looked as if he was about to faint. 'Fate or the gods themselves have brought him to us at a time of desperate need. People of Valdemar, we are at war.'

The word passed through the crowd like wildfire. War! Expected for months, yes, but not truly anticipated; now that it was at hand, it sent a shock through everyone assembled. 'The land of Karse is, even as I speak, attacking our Border positions. Their bonfires are built and ready for the bodies of our Priests, our Heralds, our Bards, and our citizens. Their demons range along the Border, attacking our soldiers. Only Lavan Firestarter has the power to reach across that Border to strike the Sun-priests who control those demons, and we thank all the gods that we have him now!'

He pulled Lan tight in a sudden embrace, and the crowd, shocked by his announcement, gave vent to a spontaneous cheer.

But all that Pol could feel from the Lan was pure terror.

*

LAN escaped as soon as he could; it had only been Kalira's presence down behind the platform that had kept him from loosing that terrible Gift of his right in the middle of all the cheering.

He left Theran and the rest of the Heralds as Theran continued his rousing speech about the war, and dropped down to Kalira's side. She still wasn't ready to be ridden, although the Healers had gone a long way toward getting her there. Together, with Lan walking along beside her, they slipped away from the Great Square and headed back toward the Collegium.

Despite Kalira's soothing presence, he was anything but calm.

:What am I going to do?: he wailed silently at Kalira. :The King said I'm—:

:The King said what would best work to show the people that you aren't a useless danger, Chosen,: Kalira interrupted. :He knows you aren't anywhere near ready to be in the war yet. You've got a lot more time to train before you need to think about the war. Months, probably.:

Her certainty had the effect of lessening his terror a little. A lot could happen in a couple of months—well, look what had happened already! In a couple of months, the war could be over.

But if it wasn't—:Kalira, I can't even think about killing someone,: he confessed miserably. :Not in cold blood. Not at a distance. Not like the King was saying, getting those Sun-priests. If someone was after you or me, directly, and I got mad, but not like that!:

:Then don't.: Kalira replied. :There are plenty of ways to handle those Sun-priests. I imagine setting their robes afire would distract them fairly easily without killing them! And if they're too stupid or proud to drop down and roll in the snow, that's their problem.:

The image she sent along with her words, of a fat fellow dancing wildly as frantic acolytes dealt with the flaming hem of his robe startled a weak laugh out of him.

:In fact, you could probably do as much, if not more, by setting fire to things, and not people,: she continued. :Hit the tents, the supplies, the weapon stocks. Drive their troops with the kind of fire wall you used to hold the men in the alley. All you have to do is learn how to move them.:

All! Well, perhaps it was better than setting fire to people....

He couldn't imagine himself in a war; he couldn't imagine what a war was like. When he and his friends had played at Guards and Bandits as children, the combats in their imagination had been very straightforward. It was all