Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

to knock him off the fence. :You were ignoring me.:

:I wasn’t.:

:I had an itch.:

Jors rolled his eyes as he pushed a hand up under the silken mane and began to scratch. :Better?:

:Yes.:

“Tamis is a historian,” Erica told him. “He has rooms behind the library—I think they used to be storerooms until he took them over. He’s working on the history of the Heralds.”

“Why have I never met him?”

“Because you’re never here.”

Gervis snorted. :She’s right.:

:I don’t like cities. Circuits have to be ridden. I might as well ride them.:

:We.:

:We,: he repeated apologetically. And then something occurred to him. “Don’t histories usually get written after the fact?”

Erica shrugged. “It’s an ongoing history.”

“Let’s hope.”

Tamis had reached the stables and dealt with the heavy door by pounding on it with his cane until someone opened it from the inside. Obviously someone who’d opened the door for Tamis before as he danced back so the next blow missed him.

“How old is his Companion then?”

:She’s not young,: Gervis answered diplomatically.

His room still smelled slightly musty, as if no one had been in it for months. Since he hadn’t been in it for months, Jors wasn’t terribly surprised. Crossing to the window, he pried it open and brushed the two dead flies on the sill outside, allowing the living fly to leave under its own power.

On the top floor of the Herald’s Wing, his room had a wounderful view of the Companion’s Field but was so small—a little smaller, in fact, than the rooms housing the Grays—that no one had wanted it until he’d chosen it. Since he’d probably spent less than two months in it over the five years he’d had his Whites, Jors had no problem with the size. He didn’t see much point in claiming space he never used.

A trio of gleaming white figures galloped across the field, kicking up their heels and playing what looked like the Companion version of tag. Even at a distance, he could see all three of them looked distinctly coltish.

:Gervis?:

:What is it?: The young stallion sounded a bit petulant.

:I was just checking to see if you were all right.:

:I’m in the Companion’s Field, surrounded by Companions, on a beautiful day. Why wouldn’t I be all right?:

:I just ... :

:Don’t like being stuck in the city,: Gervis finished his sentence. :If it helps, don’t think of it as being stuck in the city, think of it as being stuck at the Collegium.:

:I’m not sure I see the difference.:

:Did I mention I had carrots?:

:No, you didn’t.:

:And that Raya is here?:

:And you’d like me to leave you alone?:

:Yes.:

Jors grinned. Gervis and the mare enjoyed each other’s company whenever they crossed paths. :You know where I am if you need me.:

:Companion’s Field, beautiful day, Raya ...:

:Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re not likely to need me.: Still grinning, he let their connection fade down to the gentle touch that was always with him and drew in a deep breath. Probably his imagination that he could taste the population of Haven on the breeze, and there was no way he could hear the noise those same people had to be making on the other side of the walls.

His new Whites came in time for him to attend a spring garden party at the palace.

:I can’t believe this is what I’m reduced to,: he muttered, delaying the inevitable by lingering at the Companion’s Field for as long as possible.

:Things are quiet. Quiet is good. And you will not be the only Herald there,: Gervis reminded him. :Perhaps you should try enjoying yourself.:

“Most of the stains will come out.” Lips pursed, the laundress turned his vest around in her hands.” How on earth did you manage to make such a mess?”

Jors sighed. “My Companion suggested I enjoy myself. That seemed to involve Lord Randall’s eldest daughter, a full glass of wine, two rosebushes, and a dessert tray.”

Her brows rose nearly to her hairline. “That was you?”

“You heard about it?”

“Oh, sweet boy, everyone’s heard about it.” She patted his shoulder with a plump hand. “They’ll be telling the story in the kitchens for years.”

“Herald Jors?” The boy grinned up at him, seemingly oblivious to the bruise swelling his left eye shut. “The Dean wants to see you.”

“Thank you ... ?”

“Petrin.”

“What happened to your eye, Petrin?”

“Weapons training.” He grinned. “I forgot to block.”

Impossible not to grin back. “Now you know why you’re supposed to.”

“That’s what the Weaponsmaster said. Me and Serrin, that’s my Companion, Serrin, we can’t wait to get out on the road.”

Jors rubbed at the marks of thorns on the back of his right hand. “Yeah. I know how you feel.”

“I’ve got escort duty available, heading south to Hartsvale, a small village up in the hills east of Crescent Lake. Interested?”

“Havens, yes!” Jors felt his cheeks heat up as Dean Carlech raised both brows at his vehemence. “Sorry. Things are just ... I’m just better out on the road.”

“I suspect the palace gardeners would agree with you. Herald Tamis’ great-niece is to be married, and he wants to attend. Verati, his Companion, is also elderly and we don’t want them traveling that distance on their own, so your job will be to get them there and back.” He looked down at the papers spread over his desk, one corner of his mouth twitching within the shadow of his beard in an obvious attempt not to laugh. “Enjoy yourself at the wedding. Try not to demolish any topiary.”

“It was an accident.”

“Hellfire, lad!” The laugh escaped. “No one thinks you did it on purpose.”

“So, you’re the one who’ll be escorting us south.” Eyes narrowed, arms folded, Tamis raked a scathing gaze over Jors. “I’m not thrilled with the idea of a babysitter, just so you know. Verati and I have traveled from one end of this country to the other in our time, and we don’t need a Herald barely out of his Grays assigned to keep an eye on us.”

“I’ve been riding Circuit or Courier for more than five years.”

“Of course you have. I’ve had rashes longer. Verati and I, we’d be fine on our own, I’ve told Carlech that. Not that he listens, the young pup. Well, as long as you’re here,” he said, waving a hand toward the pack on his bed, “you might as well put those young muscles to use and carry that down to the yard for me.”

“Is this it, then?” Jors asked as he lifted the pack. He appreciated the older Herald’s ability to travel light. He never carried more than the bare necessities himself.

“Don’t be absurd, no silly, no ridiculous, boy. There’s three more already down there.” Fingers white around the carved head of his cane, Tamis wobbled out into the hall. “We’re not riding Circuit, we’re going to a wedding.”

Verati was the closest Jors had ever seen to a stout Companion.