:Don't be stupid,: Cymry replied, shoving at him with her nose. :Be sensible! Do you ever have black eyes and a broken nose in a dream? It's not a dream, you're not unconscious, and are Chosen. And you're going to be a Herald.:
“I don't bloody well think so!” he said, trying to back further away from her and coming up against the wall of the little building. “If you think I am, you're crazy. Don' you know what I am?”
How could this be happening? He didn't want to be a Herald! Oh, even Bazie had spoken about them with admiration, but no Heralds were ever plucked out of a gutter, not even in a tale!
:Of course I do,: she replied calmly. :You're a thief. A rather good one for your age, too — :
“Well, then I can't be a Herald, can I?” He groped for words to try and convince her how mad, how impossible this was. Even though, deep inside, something cried out that he didn't want it to be impossible. “Heralds are — well, they're all noble an' highborn — ”
She snorted with amusement at his ignorance. :No they aren't. Not more than a quarter of them at most, anyway. Heralds are just ordinary people; farmers, craftsmen, fisherfolk — ordinary people.:
“Well, they're heroes — ,”
:And none of them started out that way,: she countered. :Most of them started out as ordinary younglings, being Chosen by a Companion. There wasn't anything special about them until then — not visibly, anyway.:
“They're good!”
She considered that for a moment, head to one side. :That rather depends on your definition of “good,” actually. Granted, they are supposed to uphold the law,: she continued thoughtfully, :But in the course of their duties, plenty of them break the law as much as they uphold it, if you want to be technical about it.:
“But — but — ,” he spluttered, as the last light pierced through the tree trunks and turned everything a rosy red, including Cymry. “But — Heralds are — they do — ”
:Heralds are what they have to be. They do what the Queen and the country need,: Cymry said, supremely calm and confident. :We Choose those who are best suited to do those things and supply those needs. And what makes you think that the Queen and country might not need the skills of a thief?:
Well, there was just no possible answer to that, and even though his mouth opened and closed several times, he couldn't make any sounds come out of it.
She paced close to him, and once again he was caught — though not nearly so deeply — in those sparkling sapphire eyes. :Now look — I'm tired and hungry and sweaty. So are you.:
“But — ” They were in the middle of nowhere! Where was he — ? How was he — ?
:This is a Way Station, and as a Herald Trainee — don't argue! — you're entitled to anything in it.: She whickered softly. :1promise, there's food and bedding and just about anything you might need in there. There's also a bucket of water inside to prime the pump with. I suggest that before it gets too horribly dark, you pump up some water, clean both of us up, and get us both some of the food that's waiting. You are hungry, aren't you? You can eat and rest here for the night, and we can talk about all of this.:
She cocked both of her ears at him, and added, :And while you're at it, it wouldn't hurt to make a poultice for that black eye you're getting. It's becoming rather spectacular.:
* * * * * * * * * *
Herald Alberich, Weaponsmaster to Heralds' Collegium and sometime intelligence agent for Queen Selenay, put down the brush he'd been using on Kantor's mane and stared at his Companion in complete and utter shock.
Companions didn't lie — but what Kantor had just told him was impossible.
“You must be joking!” he said aloud, in his native tongue.
Kantor turned his head to look at his Chosen. :As you well know,: he said, with mock solemnity, :I have no sense of humor.:
“In a pig's eye,” Alberich muttered, thinking of all of the tricks his Companion had authored over the years — including the one of smuggling himself past the Karsite Border to Choose and abduct one Captain Alberich of the
