remaining will. Staggering mindlessly deeper into the cave, she dropped her sword and crumpled to the ground. Stone bruised her knees and scraped her palms, but these superficial pains went unacknowledged. She curled into a hopeless ball, weeping so violently she could scarcely breathe. All her shortcomings paraded through her mind: her magical weakness, her gross incompetence at mental communication, her total lack of any Gift. Sharylle and Anthea had clearly picked her as their travel companion from pity alone. And choosing her for his rider would soon prove Raynor’s fatal mistake as well.
Two Heralds and three Companions. Elvida had always known her inability would get herself killed. She had never imagined she would cause the deaths of so many truly special, epically important others with her incompetence. I deserve to die. She did not seem worthy even of the same fate that would surely befall Raynor and Anthea. I deserve to die horribly.
:Stop it!: The words entered Elvida’s head like a whip crack. Shocked senseless, she sat bolt upright, the tears dribbling from her sodden, hazel eyes.
“Who—who said that?”
:I did. Raynor. You quit wallowing in self-pity or, so help me, I’ll struggle over there and stomp you to death.:
Dumbfounded, Elvida could only attempt the Mind-speech that had previously eluded her throughout her years of training. :Can you hear me, too?:
Raynor snorted loudly. :What am I, mind-deaf? Of course I can hear you.:
Elvida gathered her legs beneath her, the flow of tears ending and her vision returning in a blur. :But this is the first time . . . I mean I never . . . how come I . . . ?: She found herself incapable of completing a thought. Clearly, her newfound ability had something to do with the intensity of her current emotions. She had always believed she tried her hardest to communicate. Now, she knew, she had allowed self-doubt to hold her from truly giving it the effort it deserved. :I can Mindspeak?:
No answer followed, only her own bitter disappointment. Apparently, the ability had left as swiftly as it had appeared. Elvida wondered if she had to hit the depths of despair in order to awaken it again.
:Oh, I’m sorry. Was that an actual question?:
Relief flooded Elvida, and she managed a choking laugh. :A damn silly one, obviously. I’m sorry, Raynor.: The apology went far deeper than the ludicrousness of turning the self-evident into a serious inquiry. :I’m sorry I’m worthless. I’m sorry I’m going to get the three of us killed. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . for being the world’s most useless Herald-in-training.:
:I told you to stop it!: Anger accompanied the sending, louder than the words themselves. :Wallowing in self-pity isn’t going to save anyone’s life. And I resent the suggestion that I’m inept:
The very idea sent Elvida reeling in horror. :But I never said—:
:You did! You said I couldn’t pick a capable Chosen.:
:But I didn’t mean . . .: Elvida paused, finally turning toward her Companion, who clearly had a point. Only then she realized she had been deliberately avoiding looking at him. His pain had faded to dim background in her mind, but it haunted every thought, every action, and every decision. He lay on his side where she had dragged him, his fur clotted with dirt and speckled burgundy with the blood of foe and friend alike. His breaths came in pants, and his left hind leg lay at an awkward, swollen angle. Clearly, it was broken.
Elvida cried out, despising herself for not tending to him and Anthea immediately. Trapped in a web of her own grief and loathing, she had worried more for increasing her own burdens than for helping her friends. The realization only intensified her self-hatred; but, this time, she cast aside the morass of deprecation that held her inert at a time of necessary action.
Clearly riding with her on this journey of internal discovery, Raynor sent a quieter message. :Little Sister, there’s nothing you can do for me. A horse without a leg can accomplish nothing. Anthea is gravely injured.:
:I wish I were a Healer. I wish my Gift—: Realizing she was still stalling, Elvida rose and walked to Anthea. The Herald sprawled in the dirt, her Whites smeared with grime. Dark blood matted her hair, but nothing bright red to indicate a current site of bleeding. Her breaths stirred slowly, oddly peaceful, as she lay in a state beyond sleep. A more thorough examination revealed no other injuries. All the damage remained inside Anthea’s head, where no one other than a Healer could reach them. Injuries to the brain, Elvida knew, were always serious; and every moment that passed significantly decreased the Herald’s chance for survival. Leahleh must still live . . . barely.
:Your Gift is not Healing, Elvida. Do not mourn what was never meant to be.:
Gingerly, Elvida stroked Anthea’s hair. She doubted the Herald could survive the night. She asked hopefully, :But I do have a Gift?:
:You do,: Raynor confirmed, as so many of her teachers had before him. Yet, like them, he refused to elaborate.
Elvida repeated the familiar line, :I have to find it myself.:
:Yes.:
It seemed unfair in so many ways. Others were told as they trained and most had more than one. Now, it seemed, Elvida would die without ever knowing because her Companion was a stickler for rules at a time when such things no longer mattered.
Apparently reading her emotions, Raynor relented. :I will tell you this much. It has something to do with communication.:
Under less extreme circumstances, only that very morning, Elvida would have found the suggestion laughable. She who could not even Mindspeak had little education or talent for communication, magical or otherwise. Yet, now that the suggestion had come from the very one she had waited so long to talk to, it did not seem so absurd. :This is no time for riddles, Beloved. Our lives may depend upon this nameless Gift.:
:I gave you a hint. I won’t say anymore.:
:Why not?:
Raynor turned his head with a snort and a toss of his filthy mane.
Elvida sat back from Anthea, heaving a deep sigh. She knew better than to fight a futile battle long. Repeatedly punching a stone wall accomplished nothing more than broken fists.
:Look.: Raynor spoke with clear caution. :As I’ve mentioned, it’s customary to put a horse without a leg out of its misery, and Anthea can’t make another day without a Healer. Chosen, leave us. Do what you can to save yours—:
Elvida refused to allow the stallion to finish. :People kill horses because the animals don’t understand the necessary treatment and usually wind up hurting themselves worse. You’re not a horse. You’re a sentient being, capable of deep thought and understanding.: She dropped the senseless argument, dismissing Raynor’s words as an attempt at heroism. Though only trying to save her, the Companion’s words were nonsense. Elvida could never leave him to suffer alone; and, if he died, she surely would also. Besides, his value to the Queen far exceeded hers—and he knew it. :I’m going to look for another way out of here. You let me know if anyone—:
:Don’t waste your time.:
Elvida rose, scarcely daring to believe she had heard correctly. :What?:
:It’s the job of Heralds to detail every part of the world. I know of this cave—a Waystation once. It has a stream and a back exit . . .:
Elvida’s hopes soared, only to be dashed by the rest of Raynor’s description.
:Both cut off to anything larger than a mouse by a massive cave-in. Ahead lies our only escape and, unfortunately, our only water.:
Elvida’s lips went suddenly dry, and she licked them thoughtfully. Her crazed bout of crying would only see to it that dehydration overcame her sooner. She swallowed hard, steeling herself against the same fog of hopelessness that had earlier consumed her. Even if she never earned her Whites, she would at least learn to die bravely. She strode away from Anthea to look out over the camp of the waiting army. :So why haven’t our enemies come after us? What are they waiting for?:
Elvida did not expect a reply to her mostly rhetorical question, so Raynor’s surprised her.
