Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

He supposed he'd been half expecting it. When Jors came out of the Waystation early the next morning there sat Brock-which was the half he supposed he'd been expecting-on Calida-which was a total surprise. It wasn't often a Companion would choose to bear anyone but her Chosen-and those exceptions were almost always Heralds.

'Good morning, Brother Herald!'

Actual Heralds. 'Brock, what are you doing here?' The young man's crestfallen expression insisted on better manners. Jors rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 'Good morning, Brock.'

The smile returned. 'It's early!'

'Yes, it is. What are you doing here so early?'

'I go with you. To tanners.'

'No, you don't.'

'Yes, I go with you.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

Jors hated to do it, but... 'What about the mean lady?' The smile faltered as Brock sucked in his lower lip. 'You don't want to see the mean lady.'

'Don't want you to see mean lady alone.' He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. 'I go with you.'

'That's very brave of you.' And he meant that. Courage was only courage in the face of fear. 'But even though I know you mean well, you can't just take a Companion.'

Brock's eyes widened indignantly. 'Didn't take!'

:Calida says if she hadn't wanted him to ride her, he wouldn't be here.: Gervis scratched his cheek on a post and added thoughtfully. :He's very bad at it.:

:At what?:

:Riding.:

:No doubt. What does Isabel say about this?:

:Herald Isabel trusts her Companion.:

:That's not very helpful.:

:It should be.:

One more try. 'Brock, by taking her Companion, you've left Herald Isabel alone.'

'No.' He leaned carefully forward in the saddle and stroked Calida's neck. 'Left Rock.'

Jors reached for Calida's bridle, but the Companion tossed her head, moving it away from his hand. 'Calida, you have to take him back.'

The mare gave him a flat, uncompromising stare.

:She says, 'make me.': Gervis translated helpfully.

:Yeah. I got that. What do you think I should do?:

:Help him down.:

:You think this is funny, don't you?: Jors demanded doing as the Companion suggested.

:I think this is inevitable, Chosen. You might as well make the best of it.: Even with Jors' help, Brock stumbled as he hit the ground, fell, rolled, and bounced up, declaring, 'I'm okay!'

:Now, get ready. : Gervis shoved at Jors' bare shoulder. :We'll be moving slowly and Calida says it's going to rain.:

:And won't that make this a perfect day?:

:No. She says it's going to rain hard and I don't like to get wet. I want to be there before it rains.:

That began to look more and more unlikely as the morning passed and the clouds grew darker. Brock managed to stay in the saddle at a fast walk and Calida refused to go faster. Once or twice, Jors was positive he was going to fall off, but at the last instant he'd shift weight and somehow stay mounted.

:His balance is bad. But Calida's helping.:

:Why is Calida doing this?:

One ear flicked back. :So he won't fall off:

:No, I mean why is Calida allowing any of this? Why is she allowing Brock to ride her? Why is she allowing-insisting-he come along today?:

:She has her reasons.:

Jors sighed. He knew that tone. :And you're not going to tell me what those reasons are, are you?:

:He's very happy.:

:I can see that.:

Happy was an understatement. For all he held the pommel in a death grip, Brock looked ecstatic. This is really not helping his delusion that he's a Herald, Jors realized.

Something would have to be done about that and since the two of them were spending what was likely to be a full day traveling together, now would be the time to do it. Maybe that was why Calida had brought him.

There'd be no point in bluntly saying, 'Brock, you're not a Herald.' The townspeople said that all the time, shaded in every possible emotion from amusement to rage, and it had no effect.

'Brock, do you know what makes a person a Herald?'

'Heralds help people. Heralds can cry. Heralds tell when bad things happen.' He beamed proudly. 'I remember the new things.'

'Yes, all those things make a Herald, but...'

'I'm a good Herald.'

'...but there's other things.'

Brock twisted in the saddle to look at him and Calida adjusted her gait to prevent a fall.

'Heralds wear shiny white.'

'Yes...'

He looked down at his gray sweater, then looked back at Jors smiling broadly.

'Clothes are on the outside.'

:And a Herald is on the inside.:

:I get it.:

A sapphire eye rolled back at him, distinctly amused. :Just trying to help.:

'Brock, all those things are part of being a Herald, but the most important part is being Chosen by a Companion. You don't have to be a Herald to be a really good person but you do have to be Chosen. Do you understand?'

Brock nodded. 'Companions have Heralds.'

'You don't have a Companion.'

'Yes!' He bounced indignantly, lost a stirrup, and nearly went off. 'Have Calida,' he continued when he was secure in the saddle again.

'But she's Herald Isabel's Companion. Herald Isabel is letting you ride her.'

'No. Calida is letting.'

:He's got you there.:

Jors sighed. 'Riding a Companion isn't the point, Brock. You're not Calida's Herald.'

'Not her Herald,' Brock agreed, his smile lighting up his whole face. 'A Herald.'

Between the less than successful conversation and the glowering sky, Jors had picked up a pounding headache. They rode without speaking for a while, Brock humming tunelessly to himself. Finally, more to put an end to the humming than for any real desire to know, Jors turned in the saddle and said, 'So, you were going to tell me how you saved Rock.'

'Kids were hurting him.' Brock's placid expression turned fierce at the memory. 'I made them stop.' Although he wouldn't defend himself, he seemed quite capable of defending the helpless. 'He was hungry. I counted his