was anything that no one else had the time or inclination to do, Egil did it. He never complained, and he always got it done.
That, like dancing with his Companion, was a talent he had, but neither he nor anyone else thought overly much of it. “Not everyone can be a hero,” he liked to say. “Someone has to keep everything in order while the heroes are off saving the world.”
When the Mage Storms began, this was truer than usual. While the world tried to shake itself to pieces, Egil and Cynara helped to hold the Collegium together. It was thanks in part to them that after the Storms ended, there was still a Collegium in Valdemar and a place for Heralds and Companions to enjoy a well-deserved rest.
Now the world was safe, more or less, and for a while, Egil was content to disappear into his office and classroom. Most mornings as soon as it was light he went with Cynara to one of the riding arenas and danced. Sometimes people came to watch, but mostly the two of them had the oval of raked sand to themselves. It was their private time, a sort of meditation for them both.
One morning after an especially satisfying dance, Egil came back to his office to find a summons from the Queen.
He had met her, of course. All the Heralds had. She was one of them, after all.
He doubted she remembered him, and he had no particular desire to be remembered. The summons made no sense to him, unless he had done something wrong without knowing it; more likely this was a mistake and she had meant to summon someone else. The Herald Elgin, maybe. Or the Trainee who shared Egil’s own name.
Yes, that was probably it. He dressed carefully in any case, though he decided against formal Whites; if this had been a ceremonial occasion, the summons would have said so. It was more an invitation, really, bidding Herald Egil attend the Queen in her office. He had sent more than a few of those himself to students in need of discipline or extra tutoring.
Neat, clean, and as ready as he could be, he presented himself at the door to the Queen’s office.
Queen Selenay felt like a Companion. At a distance, she was naturally more Herald than courtier, but face to face across a desk piled high with books and papers, she was not so much a Herald as something ... stronger.
The realization put Egil more at ease than he had been since he received the invitation. Companions invited awe, but in a way that Egil understood.
Whatever important matters of state the Queen had been contending with before he came, she fixed her full attention on him while he was there. She studied him for some time in silence that he made no attempt to break.
Eventually she folded her hands and leaned forward. Egil managed not quite to feel as if he had been called into the schoolmaster’s office for a rebuke. She seemed interested, even intrigued, but neither angry nor disappointed.
“Your family breeds horses, I’m told,” she said.
That was not what Egil had expected. He could only think to bob his head like an idiot and answer, “Yes. Yes, madam.”
She smiled. It did not comfort Egil at all. “All’s well there, I understand, and your sisters report that this year’s foal crop is the best they’ve seen in years.”
Egil gave up trying to hide his confusion. “What is it, madam? Has Zara had her baby? Was one of the others Chosen? Though I would know about that. Wouldn’t I?”
“You would,” the Queen said. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to torment you. I need a Herald with knowledge of both horses and riding.”
“All Heralds can ride,” Egil said. “Some are extraordinarily good at it.”
“I am told,” said the Queen, “that none is as good as you.”
Egil flushed. “I would hardly say that. I have some talent and a fair amount of training, but there are others who—”
“Not your particular kind of training,” the Queen said.
“I don’t understand,” Egil said.
“It’s little more than a rumor,” she said, “some odd stories and the occasional magical anomaly off the South Trade Road toward the Goldgrass Valley. What’s strange is that they seem to revolve around a riding academy.”
Egil’s brows rose. “A school of riding? In the middle of nowhere?”
“Not exactly nowhere,” the Queen said with the hint of a smile. “It’s horse country all around there, and certain elements of the court have taken a fancy to it: they’ve been buying land and building summer houses and stocking them with the finest in fashionable horseflesh.”
“And of course,” said Egil, “they’ll need trainers for the horses and instructors for their offspring, and if those should gather in one convenient place, so much the better.”
“Exactly,” said the Queen. “Your family has done much the same, I’m told, and done extremely well, training horse trainers and sending them where they’re needed.”
“You don’t think they’re involved with—”
“Probably not,” she said, “but now I’m sure you understand why I would like you to ride along the South Trade Road and see what there is to see.”
Egil did understand, but as sharp as his curiosity had grown, his love of the quiet life was stronger. There was also one inescapable fact. “Madam, I haven’t been in the field since I was an intern. Whatever skills I had in that direction are long since rusted shut.”
The Queen smiled in a way that told him she had heard every word, but not one had changed her mind. “It’s an easy distance, with inns at every reasonable stop, and the weather at this time of year is usually lovely. If it does happen that you have to camp for a night, you’ll have company who can do whatever is needed to make you comfortable. I’m sending an intern with you. She has some knowledge of horses as well and some interest in the art of riding. It should be a pleasant journey.”
There was not much Egil could say to that. The Queen had thought of everything, as she should. She was the Queen.
Egil had successfully avoided official notice for much longer than he had any right to. He was a Herald, and Heralds, as everyone knew, were the Arrows of the Queen. They flew wherever she sent them.
Egil heaved a deep sigh. “As you wish,” he said.
When Egil came out into the yard at first light, packed and ready to ride, and saw the intern he would be expected to advise and serve as an example for, his sigh was even deeper. Herald Bronwen had been Chosen at ten years old—younger than anyone in memory—but that had come as no surprise: she was Ashkevron, as Vanyel had been, and her family had been producing Heralds in remarkable numbers since the first Companion came into the world. Now at sixteen she had received her Whites and her first assignment, and it was clear she was as dismayed to see Egil as he was to see her.
Egil had no objection to Trainees who wanted to make something of themselves. He had helped more than a few to excel in the classes he taught. Some were arrogant; some had too much faith in their own talents and not enough consideration for anyone else’s. But he had always seen through the facade to the nervous child beneath.
Bronwen seemed to have no facade. The arrogance, as far as he had ever been able to see, went straight through to the core. She was born to greatness, she was destined for it, and she would achieve it. She had no doubts of that whatsoever. Any instructor in the Collegium who did not give her the highest marks for as little effort as she could be bothered to spare was clearly both benighted and deluded.
Egil had ranked her as she deserved. She had not thought so. Clearly, from her expression, she never had changed her mind.
He thought she might turn on her heel and stalk back into the Collegium. If she had, he would have done nothing to stop her. That made him a coward and a disgrace to his Whites, but if he acknowledged the truth, he was both already.
The one thing a Herald could not do was hide what he was. That was the reason for the Whites. No one and nothing could miss a Herald in the performance of his duty.
Egil had done his best to try. Now he had no choice but to ride out, for the first time in fourteen years. And he had to do it with the one student in fourteen years for whom he felt something close to animosity.
