Brightly Burning

Tuck brightened so much at that idea that Lan had to smother a smile. :I hope your mother hasn't got some fat merchant picked out for Macy, because there's going to be a war of an entirely different kind in Haven if she tries to bully your sister into a wedding,: Kalira observed, for once, without a trace of merriment at Tuck's expense. :I was in doubt at first, but I think those two are remarkably well suited, and that's not the usual thing for a Herald. If they ever wed, it's usually another Herald, a Bard, or a Healer.:

:Oh? Why?: Lan asked, curiously.

:Usually someone from one of the Circles is the only person likely to understand how duty comes first—and understand how important our bond is.: Now Kalira sounded oddly sad, and he wondered why.

Perhaps she had just seen too many blighted romances. It wasn't at all unusual for brief courtships or even full-blown affairs to spring up between Heralds or Trainees and members of the highborn families. Heralds, after all, could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, which was more than could be said for the members of the highborn class. But in the overwhelming majority of the cases, those romantic interludes were doomed to end. Perhaps Kalira had just told him why.

'Macy likes you, too,' he blurted, and was rewarded by Tuck's crimson blush that spread over his ears and down the back of his neck.

'I think she's the best girl I've ever met,' Tuck declared stoutly. 'She's not anywhere near as silly as my sisters. She's got a head on her shoulders, and she knows what she wants to do. And—'

'Whoa, she's my sister, I'm perfectly aware of her virtues,' Lan laughed, glad to have something to laugh about at last. 'I think she's pretty fine, myself. And I'll tell you something else, if you were worrying about it. Before she'd let Mother nag her into marrying some old Guild goat, she'd run off barefoot in the snow. And within a day she'd probably have wangled herself not only boots, but a cloak and a traveling pack, and she'd be on the way to somewhere she thought she'd be properly appreciated. Like here, for instance.'

Tuck had no reply for that, other than an even deeper blush, but he looked relieved and grateful. 'Have you got kitchen duty?' he asked instead.

Lan shook his head. 'Pol told me that they were relieving anyone in line to be graduated early from all chores, so we can actually get some rest once in a while, in between practice and study.'

'Hooo—well, that's one good thing this war's done for us!' Tuck exclaimed with pleasurable surprise. 'I guess it's true that inside every rotten thing there's a touch of sweet!'

Lan decided not to spoil things by replying that he would much rather have a countyful of dirty dishes to wash and not have a war. 'I guess that's true,' he agreed instead. 'So why not take advantage of our exalted status, hog a couple of hot baths, then drift in to early dinner like members of the gentry?'

'Sounds good to me,' Tuck responded, and stretched luxuriously. 'Take advantage of the bathing room while we still get to use it, eh?'

'Good plan,' Lan said. And hope that the bathing room is all that we miss....

TWENTY

THEY left at dawn, while the sun barely peeked above the horizon, trying without success to burn through the same slate-gray clouds that had hidden the sky for the past week. Elenor rode pillion behind her father, her belongings shared out among the three of them. Lan, Tuck, and Pol carried very little. They needed no supplies for the road, for they would spend their nights at inns, each journey carefully calculated to bring them to their day's destination three to four candlemarks after sunset. They each carried only enough in the way of clothing to get them to the army. After that, they would be supplied as regularly as if they were at the Collegium. Elenor and her things were no burden to the three Companions.

Halfway between Haven and the Border, they would meet up with Pol's wife, Healer Ilea, at one of their nightly stops. She and Pol would decide then if she would return with them to the army, or go back to Haven. Lan privately hoped that her mother would persuade Elenor to turn back and go with her to Healers' Collegium.

It was cold, mortally cold, this morning. The snow had thawed and frozen so many times that now it was granular and crunchy; no one could have made snow figures or snowballs out of it even if they'd had the heart to. It wasn't only the Collegium that had lost young people to this war—it was the Palace as well. The Court had been decimated by the rush to volunteer, until it was said in the halls of the Collegium that the only courtiers left were those who could not be spared, the lame, and the old.

Lan put all that behind him as they rode out of the South Gate—one he had not yet used—and trotted through the silent city. A few early risers looked out of their windows when they heard the chiming hoofbeats of the Companions. Those who spotted them—or encountered them—waved solemnly or gave little nods. Lan noted that Pol always returned these little gestures of respect, and did likewise.

He felt very strange in his new Whites, and he couldn't forget for a moment that he was wearing his new uniform. The Whites were made of entirely different materials than the Grays, and were tailored to him. Trainee uniforms were comfortable enough, but full Whites were little more than a second skin. Where the Gray tunics were heavy canvas or wool, the Field Whites were butter-soft doeskin. The winter shirts that went beneath the tunics were chirra wool or ramie and linen; the Trainees made do with wool or plain linen. Trews were doeskin again— Trainees got canvas. Hose beneath the trews were finely knitted linen or chirra wool, where Trainees got stockings of heavier wool or baggy woven linen. Only in the matter of boots did Trainees and Heralds fare alike.

After due consideration and consultation with Master Odo, neither Lan nor Tuck wore swords, though both had daggers and bows. The Weaponsmaster deemed neither of them able enough with the longer blade to be effective with it, and Lan was just as glad. He felt awkward enough with the heavy dagger at his belt and the quiver on his back, and he was used to using both.

It hadn't snowed for two weeks, and the old snow piled along the sides of the street had gotten to a fairly