:I don't see that. If you're friends, it wouldn't be cheating . . . never mind.:

:Go, and enjoy yourself.:

:Oh, I think I can manage that,: she said with deliberate innocence, gave him a slow wink, then frisked off with Gavis in close attendance.

The tack he did entrust to the stableboy, though the lad's wide - eyed awe in his presence left him feeling just a bit uneasy. 'Awe' was not something he wanted aimed in his direction. It felt too close to 'fear.'

He stepped into the open door of the inn's common room with his packs over one shoulder, and stood blinking in the sawdust - scented gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The lean and nervous innkeeper was at his elbow in a breath, long before Vanyel could see anything other than shadows, more shadows, and a dim white form in one corner that was probably Herald Sofya. It seemed as if he and the other Herald were the only guests this early in the afternoon, but this was harvest-season. The locals were undoubtedly making the maximum use of every moment of daylight.

'Milord Herald, an honor, a pleasure. How may this humble inn serve you, milord?'

'Please -' Vanyel flushed at his effusiveness. 'Just dinner, a room if you've one to spare, use of your bathhouse, food for my Companion - I took the liberty of turning her loose with Companion Gavis.' Now his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see what he was doing; he fumbled in his belt-pouch and pressed coins into the innkeeper's hand. 'Here; I'm on leave, not on duty. This should cover everything.' Actually it was too much, and he knew it - but what else did he have to spend it on? The man gaped at the money, and began babbling about the room: 'Royalty slept there, indeed they did, King Randale himself before his coronation -' Vanyel bore with it as patiently as he could, and when the man finally wound down, thanked him in a diffident voice and entrusted everything but the lute to the hands of one of the servants to be carried away to the rented room.

Now he could make out Herald Sofya in the corner; a dark, pretty woman, quite young, quite lean, and not anyone he recognized. She was paying studious, courteous attention to her jack of ale; Vanyel drifted over to her table when the innkeeper finally fled to the kitchen vowing to bring forth a dinner instantly, which - from the description - would have satisfied both the worst gourmand and the fussiest gourmet in the Kingdom.

'Herald Sofya?' he said quietly, and she looked at him in startlement. He surmised the cause, and smiled.

In all probability her Companion had been so taken up with Yfandes that he'd neglected to tell his Chosen Vanyel's identity. Or else she wasn't much of a Mindspeaker, which meant Gavis wouldn't be able to give her more than images. She had probably assumed the same was true for him. 'Your Gavis Mindspoke my Yfandes on the road, and she told me both your names before we arrived. Might I join you?'

'Certainly,' she replied, after swallowing quickly.

He sat on the side of the table opposite her, and saw the very faint frown as she took in the state of his Whites. 'I apologize for my appearance.' He smiled, feeling a little shy. 'I know it won't do much for the Heraldic reputation. But I only just got leave, and I didn't want to wait for replacement uniforms. I was afraid that if I did, they'd find some reason to cancel my leave!'

Sofya laughed heartily, showing a fine set of strong, white teeth. 'I know what you mean!' she replied. 'It seems like all we've done is wear out saddle - leather for the past three months. There're four of us on this route, and the farmers are beginning to count on us like a calendar; one every three days, out to the Border and back.'

'To Captain Lissa Ashkevron?'

'The same. And let us hope the Linean Border doesn't heat up the way the Karsite Border did.'

Vanyel closed his eyes, as a chill crawled up his backbone and shivered itself along all of his limbs. 'Gods spare us that,” he said, finally.

When he opened his eyes again, she was staring at him very oddly, but he was saved from having to say anything by the appearance of the innkeeper with his dinner.

Vanyel started in on the smoked-pork pie with an appetite he didn't realize he'd had until the savory aroma of the gravy hit him. Sofya leaned back against the wall and continued to nurse her drink, giving him an odd and unreadable glance from time to time.

He'd been too numb from the long, grueling ride to appreciate his meal yesterday. He'd stowed it away without tasting it, as if it had been the iron rations or make-do of the combat zone. But this morning - and now - the home fare seemed finer than anything likely to be set before Randale.

'I hope you don't mind my staring,' Sofya said at last, as he literally cleaned the plate of the last drop of gravy, 'but you're going after that pie as if you hadn't seen food in a week, and you're rather starved-looking, and that seems very odd in a Herald-unless you've been standing duty somewhere extraordinary.'

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