Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

Heading out into the square, he realized Brock was trotting to keep up, and he shortened his stride. 'Does the mayor yell a lot?'

'Yes. A lot.'

'Do you know why?'

Brock sighed deeply, one hand dropping to fondle the ears of the dog walking beside him. 'Mister Mayor wears the town,' he said very seriously after a moment. 'The town swings heavy heavy.'

Okay; that made no sense. Maybe we should try something less complex. 'Is Rock your dog?'

'He's my friend. They were hurting him. I...Wait!'

Uncertain of just who had been told to wait, Jors watched Brock and the dog run across to the town well where a pair of women argued over who'd draw their water first.

Ignored in the midst of the argument, Brock began to draw water for them. He had no trouble with the winch, but while pouring from bucket to bucket, he splashed the older woman's skirt.

Suddenly united, they turned on him. By the time Jors arrived, Brock had filled another bucket in spite of the shouting-although his shoulders were hunched forward and he didn't look happy.

The older woman saw him first, shoved the other, and the shouting stopped.

'Ladies.'

'Herald,' they said in ragged unison.

'Let me give you a hand with that, Brock. You bring the water up, and I'll pour.'

'Pouring is hard,' Brock warned.

'Herald, you don't have to,' one of the women protested. 'We never asked this...'

When Jors turned a bland stare in her direction, she reconsidered her next word. '...boy to help.'

'I know.' His tone cut off any further protests and neither woman said anything until all the buckets had been filled, then they thanked him far more than the work he'd done required. He'd turned to go when at the edge of his vision he saw one woman lean forward and pinch Brock on the arm, hissing, 'Now that's a real Herald.'

'HERALD JORS!'

Across the square, the mayor stood on the steps of the town hall, chain of office glinting in the pale autumn sunlight, both hands urging him to hurry. Well, he'll just have to wait! Lips pressed into a thin line, Jors turned back toward the well, had his elbow firmly grabbed, and found himself facing the mayor again.

'Mister Mayor is yelling,' Brock explained, moving Jors across the square.

'Let him. I saw what happened back there. I saw that woman pinch you.'

'Yes.' He turned a satisfied smile toward Jors, never lessening their forward motion. 'I made them stop fighting. Heralds do that.'

'Yes, they do.' They'd almost reached the hall and Jors had a strong suspicion that digging his heels in would have had no effect on their forward motion. 'You're stronger than you look.'

'Have to be.'

I'll bet, Jors thought as he caught sight of the mayor's expression.

'Brock! Get your filthy hands off that Herald!'

'Hands are clean.'

'I don't care! He doesn't need you hanging around him!'

'I don't mind.' Jors swept through the door, Brock caught up in his wake, both moving too quickly for the mayor to do anything but fall in behind.

'Heralds work together,' Brock announced proudly. He clapped his hands as heads began to turn. 'Be in a good line now. Heralds are here.'

'Heralds?' a male voice jeered from the crowd. 'I see only one Herald, Moonling.'

'Heralds!' Brock repeated, throwing his arms around Jors' waist in another hug. 'Me and him.'

O h, Havens.

:Trouble, Heart-brother?:

:I just realized something that should have been obvious-Brock believes he's a Herald.:

:So? You'd rather he believed he was a pickpocket?:

:That's not the point.:

But he couldn't let the townspeople chase Brock from the hall as they clearly wanted to do and Brock wouldn't leave because it was time for the Heralds to hear petitions, so Jors ended up sitting him at the table and hoping for the best.

He realized his mistake early on. Brock had a loudly expressed opinion on everything, up to and including calling one of the petitioners a big fat liar-which turned out to be true; on all points. Unfortunately, short of having him physically carried out of the hall, Jors could think of no way to get him to leave.

:Have him check on Isabel.:

:How... ?'

:You're worried. You're projecting. And I'm only across the square. If he wants to be with a Herald, send him to check on Isabel. She's sick and she needs company.:

:That's a terrific idea.:

Gervis' mental voice sounded distinctly smug. :I know.: It worked. Jors only wished the Companion had thought of it sooner. A Herald's office protected him or her from the repercussions of a judgment-no matter how disgruntled the losing petitioner might be, few would risk the grave penalties attached to attacking a Herald.

Brock didn't have that protection. Good thing he's safely tucked away with Isabel.

* * *

'No, Brock's not here.' Healer Lorrin continued rolling strips of soft linen. 'He left at sunset for the tavern.'

'The tavern?'

'He's there every evening. He fills their wood box and they feed him-him and Rock.'

'He works there?'

Lorrin nodded. 'There, and the blacksmith's whenever there's a nervy horse in to be shoed-animals trust him. I tried to have him deliver teas to patients, but if he's carrying something, there's always troublemakers who try to take it from him.'

'I'm surprised.' Jors rubbed his elbow at the memory. 'He's quite strong.'

'Is he?' She set the finished roll with the others and picked up a new strip of cloth.

'He's bullied all the time, but I've never seen him defend himself. Did you know that poorer mothers have him watch their infants if they have to leave them? I'll tell you something, Herald. When I came here a year ago, I was amazed to discover this town has almost none of those horrible accidents that happen when a baby just starting to creep is left alone and burns to death or drowns-that's because of Brock.'

'Where does he sleep?' This far north, the nights were already cold.

'In various stables when the weather's good. By someone's hearth when it isn't.'

'Has he no family?'

'His parents were old when he was born, old and poor. They died about three yeas ago and left him nothing.'

'Why doesn't someone take him in?'

'He doesn't want to be taken,' the Healer snapped. 'He's not a stray cat, and for all he can be childlike, he's not a child. He's a grown man, probably not much younger than you and he has the same right as you do to choose his life.'

'But...'

She sighed and her tone softened. 'There are those who try to make sure he doesn't suffer for those choices, but that's all anyone has a right to do. Besides...' One corner of her mouth quirked up. '...he tells me that Heralds never stay in one place so no one thinks they like some people more than others.'