Gonwyn considered it, and the attendant benefits of Healer, wench, bottle, and bed . . . in exactly that order. He judged the direction and likely time and frowned. The sun was well past afternoon and into evening. Adreal knew what he was about. Damned duty.
“No,” he said, reluctantly. “They’re headed toward the roadstead. They’ll be halfway to the village by now. Someone will police them up. We’ll press along the main line of resistance.”
:Thy will be done,: replied the mare.
He turned to mount and felt Rath stiffen.
:Be still, now. There’s a Herald nearby, back up that side wash. Up among the trees.:
Gonwyn turned to look. “There where the big oak is slanted and thicket is close in where the stream tumbles?”
:Yes. It is Herald Danilla. She panicked in the fight. Her Companion is very young and was . . . overcome.:
“What the hell does that mean? Overcome.”
:It means that we are not perfect, Chosen. The girl is frightened, and both are ashamed. Be gentle, Herald Gonwyn.:
“When am I not?” he replied.
Rath flickered about a hundred quick mental images between them.
“All right, but that last one wasn’t my fault. She said the pig was tame.”
He slid his sword out of its scabbard and laid it across the saddle-bow. “Better safe.”
Rath did not respond. The Companion started down the washed-out creek bank and splashed across. Her steps were dainty and careful, feeling for a caltrop even in the water before she put her hoof all the way down.
Gonwyn, in no mood for a fast arrow from a frightened girl, stopped just inside calling distance to the stand of oaks.
“Herald Danilla,” he called. “Come down. It is Herald Gonwyn.” He used a note of command, broadened with inflections of concern and wary friendship.
He could feel the edges of Rath’s Mindppeaking to Danilla’s Companion. Many Heralds could actually hear the great pool of minds that the Companions shared. The skill, not shared by Gonwyn, had been alternately described it as a great joy and great annoyance.
Some few moments passed before he saw movement, then a quick flash as a young Herald in new chainmail and White surcoat led her Companion down from the copse of trees. He waited, letting her come to him, while he scanned the surrounding trees. They had been in this draw too long and were too exposed.
He assessed her condition as she approached, her head down. Her surcoat was streaked with blood, and the left shoulder was spattered with gray lumps that his experienced eye told him were someone else’s brains. Her coat was still a damned sight cleaner than his, though. Her hauberk was tight-laced in the school style, rather than field- laced, telling him she was fresh from the Collegium. First mission, first fight, and it was this butchery?
The Companion was injured, favoring the rear left hoof. The girl looked up at him as she approached. There was a shallow wound high on the haunch, toward the back. It had been well-tended and dressed.
Tear marks traced clean streaks across the Herald’s filthy face. Her hair was matted with blood, probably a cut in her head. He didn’t see any fresh blood, and in any event, he’d lost his healing kit. It would have to keep.
“Equipment?” he asked.
“Sword. Bow,” she replied softly, her voice muffled as she studied her feet.
“Can you ride?”
A pause while she conferred with her Companion. “Yes. Can walk. Can’t run.” Almost a whisper this time.
:I don’t have time for this,: he thought to Rath.
:Make time,: the Companion replied. :They’re Herald and Companion. Leaving them is not an option.:
“Mount up. We need to move.”
She mounted lightly, moving with a grace that Gonwyn lacked, even when not wearing chainmail and two week’s worth of grime.
She settled in her saddle and looked at him, her eyes haunted. He knew what was coming and hated it, hated her for it. He didn’t like being involved, didn’t want to be involved, and she was going to involve him.
“I ran,” she confessed, bringing the monster in the room out in the open.
Now he had to deal with it.
“When they broke through, I helped in the fight . . . I did. I killed two with my sword. Then everything fell apart. There were so many. They killed Captain Elagen and Herald Valean and smashed Companion Saneel’s head wide open. The pikemen started to run. That’s when I panicked.” She began to weep, tracking more clean across a landscape of caked mud, dirt, and blood. “I’m so sorry.”
Gonwyn hated weeping. Anger he could deal with, drunken stupidity (his and others’) a specialty, and the myriad petty squabbles and cases of two decades of riding Circuit proved a cinch. Give him a few tears, and he was utterly at a loss.
:You and half the population ever born,: commented Rath drily. :Say something encouraging, and move out. We need to go.:
“You broke. It’s not part of the job description, but it happens. It also happens to be history. We need to round up whatever troops we can find and send them back to the village. And we have to do it sometime before I have a birthday.” He stopped, feeling himself starting to run on.
:Nice,: said Rath.:Why don’t you kick her puppy while you’re at it?:
He snarled a curse by way of reply. The Companion turned downstream. The map showed this draw feeding into the creek that marked the border, but that was wrong too.
:Don’t take it out on me.: Rath replied. :It’s not my fault you have the emotional range of a sling bullet.: The Companion’s mental voice carried a tired good humor, but there was an edge. The last time he’d heard that edge, she’d dumped him in a well.
:Of course, the caterwauling when you were drunk may have helped.:
“I was singing.”
:Oh, is that what that was? It sounded like a cat hung by its tail. The maid’s father wasn’t impressed either. He chased you for nearly a mile. And having him present the foundling’s bill to Haven for the babe was what got you busted back to Circuit. That was what . . . second promotion, second bust. You know what they say about you in Haven? That’s our Gonwyn . . . stand up guy in a fight or for a girl, stands up for every fight and every girl.:
Gonwyn felt stung. “Anything else?”
:You’ve got your own issues, Chosen. So lighten up on the kid.:
He looked back to where Danilla followed. She had mounted. Her Companion moved slowly on the injured leg. The young mare wasn’t likely to pull up lame, but she wasn’t going to run any races either. He furrowed his brow. Same leg, same injury as Adreal’s Claris. He lodged that one away.
“Look,” he tried again. “We’re in a fix, and I need you in the here and now.” He softened his voice, adding firm but fair compassion. Anything she interpreted as pity would only make the situation worse. “What is done is done. We can’t change what happened. But we can learn from it and move on, try to do better. We won today, but it may not be over. We’ve got units all over these hills . . . along with many Tedrels. Our job is to find as many of the good guys . . . and as few of the bad guys as possible . . . so that we can reknit the army in case we have to fight tomorrow. Understand?”
She nodded. “Yes.” A little firmer.
“Now, time to ride.”
They pressed farther into the hills, calling several Valdemaran units, a half-company here, a few scattered squads, a platoon of mismatched parts, and a string of individual men lost from their units. They skipped around Tedrels, some of whom remained bent on violence, but most were as lost and confused as the Valdemarans. Gonwyn got the further sense that while the great center of the battle may have retained some organization, out here in the boonie-flanks command had all but collapsed on both sides.
He noted as they rode that the girl had firmed up. She’d stopped looking at the dirt in front of her. Once it became plain that there were others there who’d broken in that first confusion, she felt less alone. They weren’t Heralds, of course, but they were all human. By the time they stopped for the evening, she was watching for traps
