Arrow's Fall (39 page)

“But—why?”

“Why are people always up here? A lot of reasons. The Lord Marshal always manages to think up something more about Ancar he’d like to know. Kyril and Hyron are always asking about Hulda. Only the gods know what her powers could mean. Even her friends, Lady bless them, are always coming in to ‘make sure that she’s all right’. Havens, I’m as bad as they are! Here, as long as you’re here, you can help me—I want to show this off.” She hid behind the wardrobe door for a moment, emerging in the scarlet dress. “Lace me up, would you? Then there’s the emergencies, though gods be thanked we haven’t had any really bad ones, like the backlash of a Herald getting killed.” Her face clouded, “Except for poor Nessa. Well, Talia fixed that quickly enough, once she was well enough to handle it.”

“Gods, does everyone in the world pop in and out of here?”

“Sometimes it seems that way. You know, I don’t think anyone ever really realized how
many
lives she’s touched until we thought we’d lost her. That dress, for instance—have you ever seen anything like that fabric in your life?”

“Never.” Skif admired the gown, with an eye trained by thieving to evaluate it; it was of scarlet silk, and patterned through the scarlet of the main fabric were threads of pure gold and deep vermilion. It was incredible stuff.

“Neither have I—and I have seen a
lot
of Court gowns. It came by special messenger, after Dirk had them keep watch tot the trader who smuggled in the argonel and the arrows to her, then got the message out to Rolan. Dirk was hoping he could find him and thank him, and let him know she was ail right. Well, he managed to get back acron the Border before Ancar closed his side, and he got Dirk’s message and sent this in reply. The note that went with that said that among his people the bride always wore scarlet, and while he knew that this would not be the case among us, he hoped his ‘little gift’ could be put to good use. ‘Little gift!’ Mother said that the last time she saw anything like this it was priced at a rate that would purchase a small town!” Elspeth finished tying up the laces in back. “Talia thought it would be lovely to use it for attendants’ dresses.
I
am not going to argue with her! Mother would never get me anything like this unless they discovered diamonds growing on the trees in Sorrows!” She wiggled sensuously. “Then there was the other truly strange gift. Did she ever tell you about the woman she helped up in Berrybay? The one they called ‘Weatherwitch’?”

“A bit.”

“Out of the blue came this really
elderly
Herald—I mean, he was
supposed
have retired, that’s how old. He came with a message from this Weatherwitch person— the
exactly
perfect day to have the wedding, and you know fall weather. Since we’re having it outside, we’d been a good bit worried about that. Talia says Maeven’s never wrong, so that’s why we’re having it then.”

She pressed her ear briefly against the door and giggled. “I think it’s safe enough to go out now, but I’ll bet it wasn’t a few minutes ago. Let’s go show off.”

As far as Skif could tell, neither Talia nor Dirk had moved an inch since they’d left them—although Talia’s hair was a trifle mussed, and both of them wore preoccupied and dreaming expressions.

“Well, what do you think?” Elspeth asked, posing dramatically.

“I think it looks wonderful. No one in their right mind is going to be watching me with you and Jeri around,” Talia said admiringly.

“Well, Elspeth and I are agreed; we’ll take care of the wedding arrangements,” Skif said with a proprietary air. “That will free you up a bit more, Dirk—that is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, and I think it’s very good of you,” Dirk replied, surprised. “Especially since you know very well that I don’t have to be freed up to do anything except spend more time up here.”

“That
was
the general idea,” Elspeth said mockingly.

“Enough, enough! It’s settled then,” he laughed, “and much thanks to you both.”

“Remember that the next time I do something wrong!” Elspeth giggled back.

She teased Dirk for a few moments longer — then her face clouded with anxiety when she realized that Talia had fallen asleep. She’d been doing that a great deal lately, sometimes right in the middle of a conversation. Elspeth was afraid that this was a sign that she would never be quite well again.

But Dirk and Skif just exchanged amused glances while Dirk settled the sleeping Herald a little more comfortably on his shoulder. Elspeth heaved an audible sigh of relief at this; surely if anyone would know if something were wrong, Dirk would. Dirk hadn’t missed the anxious look or the sigh of relief.

“It’s nothing important,” he told her; quietly, to avoid waking Talia.

“He’s right— honestly!” Skif assured her. “Dirk’s mother told us she’ll be dropping off like this. It’s just a side-effect of speed-Healing. It has something to do with all the energy you’re using, and all the strain you’re putting on yourself. She says it’s the same kind of effect you’d get if you ran twenty or thirty miles, swam a river, and climbed a mountain or two, then stayed up three days straight.”

“According to mother,” Dirk continued, “It has to do with— fatigue poisons? — I think that’s what she called them. When you speed-Heal, they build up faster than the body can get rid of them, and the person you’re Healing tends to fall asleep a lot. When they stop the speed-Healing, she’ll stop falling asleep all the time.”

“Show-off,” Skif taunted.

Dirk grinned and shrugged. “See all the useless information you pick up when you’re a Healer’s offspring?”

Elspeth protested; “Useless, my eye! I thought for sure there was something wrong that nobody wanted to tell me about—like there was when she wouldn’t wake up. Nobody ever thinks to tell me
anything
anymore!”

“Well, imp,” Dirk retorted, “That’s the price you pay for poking your nose into things all the time. People think you already know everything!”

The Border was officially closed, but refugees kept slipping across every night, each of them with a worse tale to tell than the last. Selenay had had a premonition that Ancar wasn’t quite through with Valdemar, and had stayed on the Border with a force built mainly of the defectors from Hardorn’s army, now fanatically devoted to her. She had been absolutely right.

This time the attack came at night, preceded by a storm Selenay suspected of being mage-caused. There was a feint in the direction of the Border Guardpost, a strong enough feint that it would have convinced most leaders that the attack there was genuine.

But Selenay had Davan—a Farseer—and Alberich—a Foreseer—with her, and knew better. Ancar meant to regain some of his lost soldiers—and plant some traitors in Selenay’s new Border Guards. And to do both, he was going to use some of the
other
talents of what was left of his army of thieves and murderers.

But the force of black-clad infiltrators who attempted to penetrate the stockade-enclosed village that housed the defectors and their dependents met with a grave surprise.

They got all the way to the foot of the stockade, when suddenly—

Light! Blinding light burst above their heads, light nearly as bright as day. As they cringed, and looked up through watering eyes, four white-clad figures appeared above them, and out of the darkness at the top of the stockade fence rose hundreds of angry men and women armed with bows, who in no way wished to return to the man who called himself their King. Suspended from the trees by thin wires were burning balls of some unknown substance that flamed with a white ferocity.

“You could have knocked,” Griffon called down to them, “We’d have been glad to let you in.”

“But perhaps it is that this is no friendly visit—” Alberich dodged as one of those below threw a knife at him in desperation.

“By God, Alberich, I believe you might be right,” Davan dodged a second missile. “Majesty?”

“Take them,” Selenay ordered shortly. If A few were taken alive; what they had to tell was interesting. More interesting by far was the assortment of drugs and potions they had intended to use on the village.

Drugs that, according to those Selenay questioned under Truth Spell, would open the minds of those that took them to the influence of Ancar’s mages—and Ancar himself.

That told them much about what Ancar was currently abte to accomplish. What happened next on Ancar’s side of the Border told them more.

He fortified it, created a zone a mile deep in which he allowed neither farm nor dwelling place—then left it. And neither Foreseer nor Farseer could see him doing aaything offensive for some time.

So for the moment, Ancar’s knife was no longer at Valdemar’s throat—and Selenay felt free to come home to resume her Throne, and in time for Talia’s wedding.

Companion’s Field was the only suitable place within easy reach of the Collegium that could hold all the people expected to attend. The wedding site had to be within easy reach, because Talia’s feet were still not healed. The Healers were satisified that the bones had all set well (after so many sessions of arranging the tiny fragments that nonHealers had begun to wonder if her feet would ever be usable) but they had only begun to knit, and she had been absolutely forbidden to put one ounce of weight on them. That meant that wherever she needed to go, she had to be carried.

The Healers had chosen not to put the kind of plaster casts on her that they had used to hold Keren’s broken hip in place. This was mostly because they needed to be able to monitor the Healing they were doing on a much finer level than they had with Keren, but also partially because such casts would have been a considerable burden on a body already heavily taxed and exhausted. Instead they constructed stiff half-boots of glue, wood strips, and hardened leather, all lined with lambswool felt. These had been made in two halves that laced together and could be removed at will. Talia had been much relieved by this solution, needless to say.

“Can you imagine trying to bathe with those plaster things on your feet?” she’d said with a comical expression. “Or trying to find some way of covering them during the wedding? Or finding someone strong enough to carry me and all that damned plaster as well?”

“Not to mention Dirk’s displeasure at trying to deal with them afterward—” Elspeth had teased, while Talia blushed.

Elspeth was waiting in Talia’s room, watching Keren and Jeri put the final touches on her hair and face. The Heir privately thought that Talia was lovely enough to make anyone’s heart break. She was still thin, and very pale from her ordeal, but that only served to make her more attractive, in an odd way. It was rather as if she’d been distilled into the true essence of herself—or tempered and honed like an heirloom blade. They’d taken great pains with her dress of white silk and silver, designing something that draped well when the wearer was being carried and extended past her feet to cover the ugly leather boots. By the same token, nothing would fall far enough to the floor that the person carrying her would be likely to trip over it. Jeri had given her a very simple hairstyle to complement the simplicity of the dress, and her only ornaments were fresh flowers.

“ ‘Nobody in their right mind is going to look at me with you and Jeri around,’ “ Elspeth quoted to Keren under her breath, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Bright Havens, next to her I look like a half-fledged red heron!”

“I hope after all this time you women are finally ready,” Dirk announced as he came through the door, for once in his life totally immaculate, and resplendent in white velvet.

“Dirk!”
Jeri laughed, interposing herself between him and Talia. “Tradition says you’re not supposed to see the bride until you meet before the priest!”

“Tradition be damned. The only reason I’m letting Skif carry her at all is because if I try and manage her
and
the
ring,
I’ll
drop one of the two!”

“All right. I can see you’re too stubborn to argue with.”
 
She stepped aside, and at the sight of one another, they seemed to glow from deep within.

“Two hours I spend on her — “ Jeri muttered under her breath, obviously amused, “ — and in two eyeblinks he makes everything I did look insignificant.”

Dirk gathered her up carefully, holding her in his arms as if she weighed next to nothing. “Ready, loveling?” he asked softly.

“I’ve been ready forever,” she replied, never once taking her eyes from his.

The field was alive with color; Healer Green, Bard Scarlet, Guard Blue — the muted grays, pale greens and red-brown of the students moving among them, the gilded and bejeweled courtiers catching the sun. Most prevalent, of course, was Heraldic White, and not just because even more Heralds had managed to appear for this occa-flion than had arrived for Elspeth’s fealty ceremony. Half of the white figures in the crowd were Companions, be-flowered and be-ribboned by the loving hands of their Chosen, and looking for all the world as if it were they who were being wedded. Even Cymry’s foal had a garland— though he kept trying to eat it.

The ceremony was a simple one, though it was not one that was often performed—for the wedding of a lifebonded couple was less of a promising than an affirmation. Despite well-meaning efforts to the contrary, Skif and Elspeth had managed to keep the pomp and ritual to an absolute minimum.

Dirk carried his love as far as the priest, handing her very carefully to Skif, who felt proud and happy enough when he did so to burst. Elspeth gave him Talia’s ring, and he supped it onto her finger. Skif and Elspeth both bit their lips to keep from shedding a tear or two at that moment; partially because she’d moved Kris’ friendship ring to the finger next to it, and partially because the wedding ring was still so large for her.