equality’s sake. Half of all the stories ever sold used it as a theme. This is being sold as fiction, you know.:
Dave refused to be knocked off stride and plowed ahead.
“So, then, every scullery maid, every farmer’s daughter, every (he flipped the book a few more pages) Holderkin girl of a certain age has to be dreaming that a white horse is going to sweep in and take her away from her Cinderella-ashes and to a life of Cinderella-princess. How do they fit in?” Dave trailed off. The Companion actually managed to look a little embarrassed.
:Umm, well, there is also a practical side. The orphaned, the poor kids aren’t conflicted, you see. They are typically so happy to be there . . . and just so darned lucky . . . that they don’t count the cost and are just happy to be in Haven. The rich kids know they are important. Sometimes the nobles are divided, loyal to both House and Sovereign. In the moment of truth, sometimes Heralds have to lay it all on the line . . . easier in that moment for it to be someone whose only care is to Sovereign and Crown.:
Dave blinked. “So, the lower classes are cannon fodder?”
The Companion shook his head, silvery mane flying.
:Not at all. Companions are too great an investment to spend willy-nilly, but the hardest missions often go to those with the least to lose. It’s never phrased that way, but the sovereign has to balance considerations. Losing a key connection that diminishes a major House may hurt the realm. It good to have some people around where you don’t have to balance those considerations. One is whether a moment’s hesitation, a moment’s pause, means failure and death. It’s better to send someone who’s already chosen. Pun intended.:
“That’s a harsh pun.”
:It’s a harsh business. To be fair and answer your question . . . it’s mostly the commoners who excel at the spying. Our noble Heralds do better at the raids and up-close combat, or riding circuit and meting judgment. Most are superb circuit riders. They understand and care about law and work with their Companions to mete justice. Many have too strong a sense of themselves to make good sneaks, however. It just isn’t in them.
:The confidence, the sureness . . . soldiers turn to it in battle. HUP HUP! Head to the Front! Follow the shiny white coat! But for a spy, you need a street rat.
:The poorer kids have had their lives torn up and have had to adapt themselves, make themselves over to survive, become someone, something else to survive. They get hazed once they hit the Academy. It’s a harsh change for them, harsher than it seems, but it is necessary. Once they are broken down, a mentor comes and lifts them up. That mentor is close to the state, linked to the sovereign. The mentor will take the newer Herald, and will become teacher, confessor, and sometimes, yes, even lover. But the purpose is to attach the loyalty of that Herald to that group who is bound only to the sovereign, no conflict with lineage, or House Honor.:
Dave blinked, taking it in. “I remember a war correspondent telling me a similar thing about how commandos are trained. Just how many Heralds make it to retirement?”
The Companion shuffle-stepped.
:Most times, most. Now, with the Wars, maybe a third get sent out to pasture. The ranks got thinned during the Tedrel Wars, a few for Hardorn, but now that it’s gotten worse, there is some serious attrition. Training standards have slipped, as bodies are needed in the field, so losses go up. For those loyal only to crown, it’s higher. The queen has to measure carefully how many of the noble Heralds she spends.:
“Still in the white coats?”
:Mostly, yes. The heraldry is a symbol, and the symbol is White. A few get into mufti, but for most, the heraldry is what we are. Skulking about is all very good for Alberich, and it works for those who came from outside the system, but surrendering the Whites is surrendering who we are. Going to grays is a surrender of sorts, that we have to hide who we are, what we represent. We’ll do it, of course, but its really hard. Even for the street kids. Sometimes they out White the nobles.:
“Out White?”
:Play the orthodox Herald more vigorously than the nobles. Then their Companion has to find a creek somewhere and drop them in it, to shrink their heads.:
“Why? So far you’ve described it as a prop for an oligarchy with some pretty hard- nosed ideas about who gets killed in the line of duty.”
:Baron Valdemar’s Bargain was to create someplace special, a rallying point, a beacon in the night. He was an idealist, of course, but a realist as well. He realized that you can create something special, but sustaining it would need help, so he committed himself, his children, and his children’s children to standing against the forces that threaten all free peoples everywhere always. The agreement was simple: to provide a Haven against the dark, to stand as a beacon, to succor all in need, and to rise in defense when no one else would. The Companions are the visible, tangible sign that the Bargain is being honored. Valdemar delivers up idealists, some noble, some common . . . none of whom ride cheerfully into the cannon’s mouth, but who will ride nonetheless if there is no other choice.:
Dave dropped the book back in the cardboard box. He closed the trunk hard, using the heel of his hand to get it going. The latch stuck, of course, bouncing the lid back an inch or two. He leaned his hand down on the trunk, trying to hold it closed while he fumbled for the piece of wire that was his backup for when the trunk latch failed, which was most of the time. It took two tries to get it threaded through the trunk latch. He released it and watched the trunk open again and stop about an inch free. He pulled his notepad out of his pocket.
“Now we get to it. So, then, what exactly are the Companions then? Angels sent by God?”
:Hrmmm . . . human concepts are so limited. Let’s try this. In my universe there is a Manifestation, a great Creator, a Great Maker, if you will. Humanity can only touch a portion of that concept, and then only imperfectly . . . so that flawed understanding is what gets interpreted locally, in different ways, shaped by different cultures and different experiences. In Karse, Vkandis is a very real god, very male, oft given to showmanship, and with a blisteringly large ego. He is definitely his own man . . . err, god. But he is also, at the same time, a part of the Manifestation.:
:We are also part of that Manifestation, not unlike the fire-cats, who are of Vkandis’ shaping. But as part of the Bargain we represent all the gods and so are truer to being the agents, the avatars of the Manifestation itself.:
“So, kind of like an angel then?” asked Dave.
The Companion tossed his head, impatient now.
:There is no way I’m going to take a stab at that. Your world is caught in enough killing over whose version of “peace and love” is the right one. I’m not going to toss any more theological fuel on the fire.
:What we are works for Valdemar. Translating it into your world isn’t going to help you understand. Let’s just stick with avatars—damned stylish avatars, if you will. Let’s move on, shall we? Got enough background?:
“Okay. I think so. I still don’t see a story.”
:Then ask the right question.:
“All right, then. Why are you here? I get that you like the grass, but I’m not buying the vacation bit.”
If a horse could smile, the Companion conveyed the sense.
:It’s not an accident that many heroes, even in your world, have ridden on white steeds. Your George Washington, of course, a paragon among men, who willingly handed over the reins of power lest he be thought a king. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How astonishingly, vanishingly rare that is? How often does anyone today in your world willingly, voluntarily relinquish power . . . much less when there was no precedent for it?:
“You’re saying he had a Companion?”
:He had a conscience to help him be who he already was. A voice to steady him in the darkest watches of the night, when he was afraid or most in doubt. A friend when he was most alone.:
“There were others?”
:A few. A man in Spain who set the conditions for the world to change, to break through and become when it was, ready to be born in modernity. Much tragedy and millions of lives would be lost in the
