The guard-shelter was placed in the deep shade of an enormous tree that completely overshadowed the road. Of all the buildings around, it alone was not brightly painted; rather, it was of plain wood, stained a dark brown. As they neared, Talia saw movement in the shadows, but the bright sun prevented her from seeing the Guard clearly at first. Her mouth fell open in amazement when she saw that the Guard who emerged from the shade was a woman—and one who wore a uniform identical in every respect to the first Guard’s. For one bewildered moment she thought that she must surely be mistaken—certainly the idea was preposterous. She shook her head to clear her eyes of sun-dazzle, and looked again. The Guard was a woman. Impossible as it seemed, there was no mistaking the fact that women seemed to be part of the Army as well as men.

Before she could collect herself, the Guard had walked briskly to where they had halted and was standing at Rolan’s head.

“Welladay!” she exclaimed before Talia could think what to say, “This is Rolan, isn’t it?” She patted his neck as he nuzzled her graying black hair; she laughed, and slapped his nose lightly, then bent to examine some marks that Talia had noticed earlier on the saddle. “It certainly is! You’ve been a long time out, milord,” she continued, clearly speaking to the horse. “I certainly hope it’s been worth it.”

Rolan lipped her sleeve playfully, and she laughed again.

“Now,” the Guard turned her attention to Talia, squinting a little in the noon sun, “What can I do for you, young miss?”

Talia’s confusion was doubled; however could she have guessed this Companion’s name? And “Rolan” was hardly common—to have thought of it purely by accident all on her own—it seemed to hint at a great deal more than coincidence. “His name really is Rolan?” she blurted—then hung her head, blushing furiously at her own rudeness. “I’m sorry,” she said to the pommel of the saddle. “I don’t understand what’s been happening to me. The—the Guard in Sweetsprings said other Guards could help me—”

“Sweetsprings!” the woman was plainly surprised. “You’re a long way from home, childing!”

“I—guess I am,” Talia replied faintly, watching the Guard out of the corner of her eye.

The Guard studied Talia as well, and the girl thought she must be appraising what she saw. Talia was wearing her original clothing, after doing her best to wash the worst of the travel stains from it, and keep it from drying with too many wrinkles in it. The loaned outfits had been of a heavier weight than was comfortable, riding all day in the sun—and at any rate, she hadn’t felt quite at ease in them. Once everything had been worn once, it had seemed better to try and clean her own gear and return to it. Now she was glad she had; the Guard seemed to recognize exactly what she was just by the cut of it.

“Holderfolk, aren’t you?” there was ready sympathy in her voice. “Huh. I’ve heard a bit about them—I’ll bet you are confused, you poor thing. You must feel all adrift. Well, you’ll find out what this is all about soon enough—trust me, they’ll set you right at the Collegium. I’d try and explain, but it’s against the rules for me to tell you if you don’t already know, which is probably just as well—you’d probably end up more confused than ever. As to how I knew this was Rolan, well everybody on Roadguard duty knew he’d gone out; all his tack’s marked with his sigil, just like every Companion—see?” She pointed to the marks she’d looked at, carved into the leather of the saddle skirting. Now that Talia knew what those marks meant, she could see they were a contracted version of Rolan’s name. “Now, how can I serve you?”

“I’m afraid I need some provisioning.” Talia said apologetically, half expecting a reproof. “They gave me some lovely meat pies—I did try to make them last, but—”

“How long ago was that?” the woman interrupted.

“Four days—” Talia replied, shrinking away a little.

“Four days? Hellfire! You mean you’ve been stretching your food for that long? What’ve you been eating, that dried horsecrap they keep in the Waystations?”

Talia’s expression must have said plainly that that was exactly what she’d been doing, as the Guard’s mouth twisted a little, and she tightened her lips in annoyance.

“Rolan,” she said sternly, a no-nonsense tone in her voice. “You are letting this poor childing off your back for an hour, you hear me? You know damn well you can make up the time, and she needs a decent meal inside her before she comes down with flux, or something worse! Then where would you be?”

Rolan snorted and laid his ears back, but he didn’t move off when the woman reached up to hand Talia out of the saddle. Talia slid down, feeling awkward under the eyes of the Guard, gawky and untidy—and once off Rolan, uneasy. Rolan followed close on their heels as the Guard led Talia by the hand to the Inn at the center of the village.

“I suppose the Guard back at Sweetsprings was a male, hm?” she asked wryly, and the woman nodded a bit at Talia’s shy assent. “Just like a man! Never once thinks you might be more frightened by all this than excited, never once thinks you might not know the rules. Totally forgets that you may be Chosen but you’re also just a child. And you’re no better, Rolan!” she added over her shoulder, “Men!”

The Companion only tossed his head and made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

The inn was a prosperous place, with tables placed outside in the shade of a huge goldenoak that grew in the very center of its courtyard. There were a fair number of folk eating and drinking at those tables already. The Guard sat Talia down at one of these tables that was still unoccupied, and bullied the serving maid into bringing an enormous meal. She ordered Talia in tones that brooked no disagreement to “tuck into that food.” Talia did so, suddenly realizing how hungry she’d been the past few days, while the Guard vanished somewhere.

She returned just as Talia finished the last crumb, carrying the saddlebags that had been fastened to Rolan’s saddle and which now fairly bulged at the seams.

She sat down beside Talia, straddling the bench, and laid the bags between them “I’ve replaced your clothing. It’s Holderfolk style and colors; some of the younglings around here wear that sort of thing for heavy work. I know you’ll feel more comfortable in that kind of outfit, and this way people will know when they look at you that you’re not used to being out in the big world; hopefully, they’ll realize that you’re going to be confused.”

Talia started to protest that this wasn’t necessary, but the stern look the guard gave her made her fall silent again.

“There’s enough changes there to get you to the Collegium without you having to wash it yourself. Innkeeper’s bringing you some wayfood. I told him no wine; that right?” At Talia’s affirmative nod she continued, “Don’t stint yourself; you’re still a-growing and you don’t want to be falling ill. Don’t eat that crap they keep at the Waystations. That’s supposed to be for the Companions and dire emergencies, no matter what that lazy lout at Sweetsprings told you. I’ll tell you, the emergency would have to be pretty damn dire before I’d stomach that stuff! You stop every day for a hot nooning, unless there’s no towns. That’s an order! Here’s your townchit,” she said, handing another scrap of brass to Talia, who put it safely in her pouch. “Frankly, if it weren’t for the damn rules, I’d keep you here overnight so’s I’d know you’d gotten a hot bath and a proper bed, but—never mind. You’ll have to stop once more for wayfood. Try Kettlesmith. The Dayguard there’s an old friend of mine; she knows about Holderfolk and she knows children; she’ll make sure you’re all right. Ready to go?”

Talia nodded dumbly. This woman had all the brisk efficiency of Keldar with none of Keldar’s coldness—she had taken charge of everything so quickly that Talia’s head spun. And it seemed, at least, that she was concerned that Talia was all alone on the Road. Having someone concerned for her well-being was a strange sensation. Talia might almost have suspected an ulterior motive except that the Guard was so open and honest. If there was anything to be wary of in her manner, Talia couldn’t read it.

“Good enough; off you get.” She gave Talia a gentle shove toward the edge of the court where Rolan was waiting, surrounded by children. They were all vying for the chance to pet him or feed him a choice tidbit, and he seemed to Talia’s eyes to be wearing a very smug, self-satisfied expression.

The Guardswoman gave Talia a boost into the saddle, refastened the saddlebags to the cantle and the bags brought by the Innkeeper to the snaffles at the front skirting, and gave Rolan a genial smack on the rump to send them on their way.

It wasn’t until they were far down the Road that Talia realized that she hadn’t yet had a single one of her questions answered.

At least—not directly. Indirectly though—now that she thought about it, there had been some information there. The Guardswoman had mentioned “rules” about journeys like this; that implied that they were commonplace. And she’d spoken to Rolan as she would have to a person—that implied that Rolan was as remarkable as legends claimed, and that his actions involving Talia were planned and intentional.

So—that meant that there was something that the Companion intended for her to be doing. But what?

To have only bits of information was as maddening as having only half a book! But some of that information was beginning to make a pattern.

All right; it was time to try putting more of this together. The three books Talia owned always (now that she thought about it) referred to Companions as having some kind of magical abilities; a mystical bond with their Heralds. There had been an implication, especially in Vanyel’s tale, that Companions could communicate sensibly with their Heralds and vice versa. The Guard had spoken to Rolan as if he were a person—actually as if he had taken charge of Talia. That bore out the feeling that Talia had had ever since the first day—that it was Rolan who knew where they should be going and what they should be doing.

Rolan had given every evidence of understanding what the Guard had said to him. For that matter, he seemed to react to everything Talia said in the same way. He was the one who found the Waystations every night; he was the one who plainly guarded her. He was the one who knew the way back to the Collegium—the Guard had said as much.

It followed that he’d really had a purpose in being where she had encountered him—the Guard had said he’d been out a long time—and that purpose involved her. There was no getting around it. The question was—why?

Was it—dared she think—he might have been looking for someone to be tested as a Herald-candidate?

She had no notion of how Heralds actually became Heralds—except that they had to undergo strenuous training at the Collegium. Only Vanyel’s tale had mentioned early on that he nearly hadn’t had the courage to take up the task—the tale had made no mention of how he’d been picked. And all she knew of Heralds from Hold gossip was that they were supposedly monsters of moral depravity; wanton and loose, indulging in sensuous, luxurious, orgiastic behavior. She had suspected most of this was spite and sheer envy, especially since Heralds gave short shrift to Hold ideas of a woman’s inferiority and proper place in life, and they answered to no authority but that of the Monarch and each other. That there were women in the Guard had come as a surprise, but since her first book had been the quest of Sun and Shadow, Talia had long been aware that there were women as Heralds who held equal position with the men. That freedom was one of the reasons she’d longed to become one.

Did she dare to dream that might happen now

Just when Talia thought she might be getting used to the surprises of her journey, she was taken unawares again. The guard at Kettlesmith was not only another woman, but was one bearing obvious battlescars, with a peg of wood replacing one leg from the knee down. She told Talia, quite offhandedly, that she’d lost the rest of the leg to a wound she’d taken in the last war. The idea of a woman being in battle was so foreign to Talia’s experience that she was in a half daze all through her meal and until she reached the outskirts of town afterward. It was only meeting with the Herald that shocked her out of it.

The Road led down into a wooded valley, still and cool. The trees were mostly pines, and Rolan’s hooves crushed the needles that had collected on the Road’s surface so that they traveled in a cloud of crisp scent. They were well inside the wood itself and out of sight of habitation within a few moments. Finally, in the heart of the wood the Road they’d been on met with another—there was a crossroads there. Talia didn’t even notice that there was someone approaching on the other road under the shadows of the trees until an exclamation of startlement jarred her out of her trance.

She looked up, starting out of her daze. Facing her she saw, not more than four or five paces away and his astonishment written plain on his face, a white-clad man on a cloud-white mare. It was a Herald, a real Herald, mounted on his Companion.

Talia bit her lip, suddenly feeling a chill of fear. Even after all she’d been told, she still wasn’t entirely sure she was doing right. Now she was for it; there was no disguising that Rolan was a Companion and that she wasn’t any kind of a Herald. If she was to find herself in trouble, this encounter would bring it. She was conscious of an odd little disappointment, though, under all her apprehension; somehow it didn’t seem quite proper for a Herald to be so—homely.

For the young man now approaching was just that. Carrying himself with all the authority of his office, poised, collected, yes. Obviously sure of himself, and every inch the Herald, but still—almost ugly. He certainly was nothing like the beautiful Vanyel or the angelic Sunsinger of the tales.

His voice made up for it, though.

“By the Hand of the Lady! Rolan, as sure as I stand here!” The words were melodious and unexpectedly deep. “By all the gods, you’ve finally Chosen!”

“Th-they told me to take him back to the Collegium, m’lord,” Talia stuttered with nervousness, keeping her eyes down as was proper for a girl speaking to a man of rank, and waiting for the axe to fall. “I didn’t know what else to do, and they all seemed so sure—”

“Whoa! You’re doing the right thing, exactly right,” he cut her torrent of explanation short. “You mean you don’t know? No, of course you don’t, or you wouldn’t be acting like I’d caught you with your hand in my beltpouch.”

Talia looked up for a second, bewildered by his words. He didn’t speak anything like the Heralds in her tales, either. He had almost sounded like Andrean for a moment.

She longed to see if his eyes looked like Andrean’s, too, but glanced hastily back down to the pommel when he tried to meet her gaze.

He chuckled, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that his expression was of gentle good humor. “It’s quite all right. You’re doing exactly as you should. Keep straight on the road you’re on, and you’ll be at the capital before dinner; anyone there can direct you to the Collegium. Hellfire, Rolan knows the way better than anyone else—you won’t get lost. I wish I could tell you what’s going on, but it’s against the rules. You have to be told the whole of it at the Collegium—otherwise you’d be getting all kinds of stories about what all this means, and you’d be taking days to get straightened out afterward.”

“But—” She was longing for someone, anyone, to explain this whole mess to her. It was like being caught in some kind of enormous game, only she was the only one that didn’t know the rules and was stumbling from square to square without knowing why or where she was going. If anyone knew the whole truth, it would obviously be a Herald. And the kindness in his eyes made her long to throw the whole tangle in his hands. How anyone so homely could put her in mind of Andrean, she had no idea—but he did, and she found herself drawn to him as she’d not been to any male since her brother’s death.

“No buts! You’ll find out everything you need to know at the Collegium! Off with you!” With that, he rode close enough to reach out and smack Rolan’s rump heartily, surprising the Companion enough that he jumped and broke into a canter, leaving the Herald far behind. Talia was so busy regaining her balance that she didn’t notice the Herald and his own Companion galloping off into the trees, on a course that would eventually bring them back onto the road considerably ahead of Talia.

By the time she’d gotten over her startlement, the road was becoming crowded with other wayfarers, both going in her direction and in the opposite; other riders, walkers, carts drawn by various beasts, pack animals. But although she craned her neck in every direction, there was no sign of other Heralds.

The crowd on the road was not quite like any other crowd Talia had ever found herself among. For one thing, it was loud. Holderfolk kept their voices restrained at all times; even the Harvest Fair gatherings at the height of bidding excitement hardly generated more than a buzz. For another, all these people wore their emotions, their personalities, plain to be seen on their faces. The faces of well-schooled Holderfolk were closed, giving nothing away, and unlikely to display anything that would reveal their true feelings to one of their fellow creatures.

The other travelers took little special notice of her for the most part. Rolan threaded his way among them with delicate precision, making far better time than most of their fellow wayfarers, although keeping a good pace didn’t really seem. to be a prime consideration for most of them. Talia was so involved in people-watching that she forgot to watch for the city.

Then they topped a rise, and there it was.

It was so enormous that Talia froze in fright at the sight of it. Once again it was just as well that it was Rolan who plainly had charge of their journeying, or Talia would have turned him back along the way they’d come, bolting back to the familiarity of the Hold.

It sat in a river valley below them, and the view was excellent from the hilltop they’d just mounted. From here it could be seen that it had originally been a walled city, much as the Hold villages were but on a much bigger scale. With the passage of time and increased security, however, the city had been allowed to spread beyond the walls, spilling over them like water from the basin of a fountain. And like water, the spillage had followed certain channels; in this case, the roads.

Within the walls, houses crowded together so thickly that all Talia could see were roofs. Within the first wall there seemed to be a second wall, enclosing a few large buildings and a great deal of green, open space with trees in it. Outside the walls were more buildings, from single-storied huts to massive windowless places that could have held every structure at Sensholding within their walls. These clustered all around the first wall, then trailed out in long arms that followed the paths of the roads and the river. Talia’s eyes were drawn irresistibly back to that inner space of green and trees and a stone edifice that towered over all the rest. This—this surely was the Palace and the Collegium—but before Talia could be certain that this was indeed the case, Rolan’s steady pace had brought them down past the point where the view was so clear.

As they came closer to the area where the city dwellings began, Talia found herself assaulted on all sides by sound and noise. Hawkers were everywhere, crying their wares; shopkeepers had people stationed by the doors, screaming at the tops of their lungs, extolling the virtues of the goods within the shops. Children played noisily in and around the crowd, often skirting perilously close to the hooves of the horses, donkeys, and oxen that crowded the street. Neighbors screeched gossip to each other over the noise of the crowd; from the vicinity of inns came voices loud in argument or song. Talia’s head reeled, her ears rang, and her fear grew.

And the smells! She was assaulted by odor as she was by sound. Meat cooking, bread baking, smoke, dung, spices, sweat of man and beast, hot metal, spilled beer—her poor, country-bred nose was as overwhelmed as her ears.

They came to the gate in the first wall; there were guards there, but they didn’t hinder her passage though they looked at her with expressions she couldn’t quite read; curiosity, and something else. The wall they passed under frightened her even more; it was as tall as the rooftop of the Temple back home. She felt terribly small and insignificant, and the weight of it crushed her spirit entirely.

The noise and tumult, if anything, was worse inside. Here the houses were multi-storied, and crowded so closely together that their eaves touched. Everything began to blur into a confused muddle of sound, sight, and scent. Talia huddled in Rolan’s saddle, unaware that she was drawing pitying looks from the passersby, with her eyes so wide with fear in her pinched, white face. It was just as well that Rolan knew exactly where to go, for she was so frightened that she would never have been able to ask directions even of a child.

It seemed an age before Rolan paused before a gate in the second, inner wall. The gate was small, only large enough to admit a single rider, and closed, and the guard here looked her over curiously. Unlike the lighter uniform of the others, this man was clad in midnight blue with silver trimmings. He opened the gate and came forward as soon as he saw them, and Rolan waited for his approach. He smiled encouragingly at Talia, then drew close enough to read the little marks on Rolan’s saddle, and gave an exclamation of glee.

“Rolan!” he cried with delight, seeming to forget momentarily about Talia’s existence. “Finally! We were beginning to think you’d never find someone! There was even a bet on that you’d jumped the Border! The Collegium’s been in a fine pother since you left—”

He finally seemed to see Talia, nerves strung bowstring-taut and white-faced.

“Your ordeal is almost over, childing,” he said with real sympathy even as she shrank away from him. “Come down now, and I’ll see that you get to where you need to go.”

He aided her down out of the saddle as if she’d been a princess; no sooner had she set her feet on the ground than another uniformed person came to lead Rolan away. Talia watched them vanish with an aching heart, wondering if she’d ever see him again. She wished with sudden violence that she’d followed her first impulse and ridden him far away. Whatever was to happen to her? How could she have dreamed that she’d be of any significance to folk who lived in a place like this?

The guard led her into the gray stone, multi-storied building at the end of the path they walked. It was totally unlike any structure Talia was familiar with. Her heart was in her shoes as they entered a pair of massive, brass-inlaid wooden doors. Never had she seen anything to equal the work in those doors, and that was just the beginning of the wonders. She was feeling worse by the minute as she took in the grandness of her surroundings. The furnishings alone in just one of the many rooms they passed would have exceeded the combined wealth of the entire Holding. Not even the Temple High Sanctuary was this impressive. She would have bolted given a moment to herself, except that after the first few minutes she was well and truly lost.

At last he brought her to a room much smaller than many of the ones they’d passed; about the size of a large pantry, though no less rich than the rest of the building.

“Someone will be with you in just a few moments, youngling,” he said kindly, relieving her of her townchits, “You’re among friends here, never doubt it. We’ve been waiting for you, you know! You and Rolan were a welcome sight to these eyes.” When she didn’t respond, he patted her carefully on the head. “Don’t worry, no one is going to harm you—why, I have little ones nearly your age myself! Make yourself comfortable while I let the proper people know you’re here.”

Make herself comfortable? How, in a room like this?

She finally chose a leather-padded chair as the one she was least likely to damage and sat on it gingerly. In the silence of the unoccupied room, she began to lose her fear, but her discomfort grew as the fear faded. Surrounded by all this luxury, she was acutely aware of the fact that she was sticky, damp with nervousness, smelt faintly of horse, and was dressed in the kind of fabrics they probably made grain bags out of here. She was also painfully aware that she was only thirteen years old. When she’d been with Rolan, none of that had seemed to matter, but now—oh, now she was all too aware of her shortcomings. How had she ever dared to dream she might become a Herald? Never—never—only people born and bred to surroundings like these could aspire to such a position. The Guard had probably gone for some underservant to give her a bit of silver and send her on her way—if she was lucky, it would be someone she could talk into giving her a job.

A miniature whirlwind burst into the room, interrupting her thought.

“Oh!” said the girl, a little of about seven with chestnut hair, blue eyes, and a rather disagreeable expression on an otherwise pretty face, “What are you doing here?”

For the first time since she’d seen the city, Talia felt back on secure ground. Littles were one thing she could handle!

“I’m waiting, like I was told,” she replied.

“Aren’t you going to kneel?” the child asked imperiously.

Talia hid a smile. It was amazing how so simple a thing as having to deal with an obviously spoiled child made her feel so very much more confident.

“Kneel?” she asked with mock-astonishment. “Why should I kneel?”

The child was becoming red-faced with temper. “You’re in the Presence of the Heir to the Throne!” she replied haughtily, the capital letters audible, her nose in the air and her expression disdainful.

“Really? Where?” Talia looked around her with an innocent face that covered inner mischief newly aroused by the child’s pretensions. This little was about to receive the treatment her bad manners deserved. If she was the Heir—well, someone was obviously not doing his job in training her. And if she wasn’t, she deserved it for lying. “I don’t see anyone like that.”

“Me! Me!” the girl shouted, stamping her foot, frustrated and angry. “I’m the Heir!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Talia said, thoroughly enjoying herself. “You’re nothing but a little having a temper tantrum; one that fibs a lot. I’ve read all about the Heirs. The Heir is always polite and gracious, and treats the lowest scullery maid like she was the Queen’s own self. You act like you’d treat the Queen like the lowest scullery maid. You can’t possibly be the Heir. Maybe I should call a guard and tell him there’s an imposter in here.”

The child’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly with frustration and rage.

“Maybe you’re a fish,” Talia added ingenuously, “You certainly look like one.”

The girl shrieked in anger, and drew back one balled-up fist.

“I wouldn’t,” Talia said warningly, “I hit back.”

The child’s eyes widened in surprise, then her face grew even redder with rage. “I—how—oh!”

“You said that already.”

At that the girl gave an ear-piercing squeal, pushed over a small table that stood nearby, and ran out of the room before it hit the ground. Talia had expected her to do something of the kind and had sprung to the table’s rescue, catching it before it was damaged and righting it with a sigh of exasperation.

A dry chuckle came from behind Talia, who turned to see a curtain pushed aside, and a tall, handsome woman in Herald’s Whites step into the room. Though she wore a long skirt with the thigh-length tunic instead of breeches, and the materials were clearly fine velvet and silk, she was no different in appearance from other Heralds Talia had seen or heard about. Her face was triangular and strong rather than pretty; her hair was bound in a knot at the nape of her neck and was the same golden color as raival leaves in the fall. She had very penetrating, intelligent blue eyes the same intense sapphire blue as a Companion’s.

Talia started to scramble to her feet, but the woman gestured that she should remain seated.

“Stay where you are, youngling,” she said, as Talia resumed her place and continued to watch her shyly. “You’ve had a long and tiring ride—you deserve to sit on something that isn’t moving for a while!”

The woman studied the child seated obediently before her and liked what she saw. There had been competence in the way that she had handled the Heir’s rudeness and temper; there had been enough mischief there to suggest a lively sense of humor, but at the same time this child had been clever without being cruel. That boded very well indeed for her future success.

“Well, so you’re Talia. I hope you don’t mind the fact that I was eavesdropping, but I wanted to see how you’d handle her,” she said, with a hint of apology.

“With a hairbrush to her behind, if I had charge of her,” Talia replied, almost automatically. The incident and the woman’s obvious approval had put some of her fears to rest; and if Keldar exuded an air that always made Talia feel nervous and incompetent, this woman had the very opposite effect on her.

“She’s had precious little of that,” the woman sighed, “and I fear she’s overdue for a good share of it.”

She examined Talia more closely and was even more encouraged by what she read in the child’s face and manner. There was intelligence and curiosity in her large brown eyes, and her expression was that of a child blessed with an unfailingly sweet and patient nature. The woman guessed that she was probably a bit older than she appeared to be; perhaps around thirteen or fourteen. The heart-shaped face crowned by tousled brown curls was very appealing. The sturdily built, well-muscled body showed that this child was no stranger to hard work. With every observation it seemed as if Rolan had supplied the Collegium with the precise answer to all of their hopes and prayers.

“Well, that’s tomorrow’s problem,” she replied, “I am told you’re the one Rolan brought back—is that correct? Has anyone told you anything yet?”

Talia was encouraged by the understanding in the woman’s face. The encouragement she found there, and the unfeigned interest, and most of all the reassurance, caused words to boil up out of her without her even thinking about them.

“No! Everybody seems to know what’s going on but me!” she blurted, “And nobody wants to explain anything!”

The woman seated herself with a careless grace. “Well, now someone will. Why don’t you tell me about what’s happened to you—from the beginning. I’ll try to help you understand.”

Talia found herself pouring out the whole tale, from the time Keldar called her into the house till this very moment. Before she’d finished, she was fighting back tears. All the doubts that had occurred to her were coming back—she had nothing to count on except the dubious possibility of their gratitude. And she fully realized just what kind of a hopeless situation she was in if the Heralds chose to turn her out.

“Please—you must know someone—someone—”

“In charge?”

“Yes. Can’t you please find me something to do here?” Talia begged shamelessly. “I’ll do anything—mend, wash, scrub floors—” She stopped, afraid the tears would come if she went on. How had she ever dared to dream she might join these magical people? They were as much above her as the stars.

“Dirk was right. You haven’t a clue to what’s happened to you, have you?” the woman said, half to herself. Then she looked up, and Talia averted her own eyes from the intensity of her gaze. “Did you really mean what you said to the Firstwife, that you wanted to be a Herald?”

“Yes. Oh yes!” Talia was studying the hands clenched in her lap. “More than anything—I know it’s not possible, but—I didn’t know any better, then. No one ever told me what this place was like, and I don’t think—I don’t think I could have pictured it anyway. Sensholding isn’t anything like this. I never could have guessed what I was asking. Please—please forgive me—I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Forgive?” the woman was astonished. “Child, forgive what? It’s no disrespect to dream of becoming a Herald—though it’s not like the tales, you know. It’s work that is both dull and dangerous; if not one, then the other. Half the Heralds never live to reach old age. And it’s a life where you find you have very little time for yourself. It’s a wonder that anyone wants the job, much less dreams of it as her heart’s desire. A Herald has to always consider her duty above all else, even her own well-being.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Talia cried, looking up.

“Why not? What does matter?”

“I’m not sure.” She groped for the words to express what until now she’d only felt. “It’s that Heralds do things instead of complaining about them, things that put peoples’ lives back together, even if it’s only settling a quarrel about a cow. And—” she faltered, “there’s the Companion—”

Tears began to flow despite her resolution as she remembered with bright vividness the days on the road, and how, for once in her life, she hadn’t been lonely. It might have been imagination, and yet—it had seemed, at least, that Rolan had cared for her. Dared she think—loved her? There was no doubt in her mind that she had loved him. And now he was gone, no doubt taken to the Herald he truly belonged with.

“Oh my poor child,” the woman reached out instinctively and gathered Talia to her, to let her sob on her shoulder.

Talia tried to pull away, fighting back the tears, even though she longed to relax on that comforting shoulder. “I’m all over dirt,” she sobbed, “And you’re in Whites. I’ll get you all grubby.”

“There are more important things in life than dirt,” the woman replied, holding her firmly, exactly as Vris had done more than once. There was something almost as comforting about her as there had been about Rolan—or Vris, or Andrean. Talia’s reticence evaporated, and she cried herself out.

When Talia was again in control of herself, the woman gave her a handkerchief to repair the damages with, and said, “It’s fairly obvious that, for some reason, you were never told of how Heralds are chosen.”

“Aren’t they just born into it, like being Eldest Son? I mean—all this—”

“ ‘All this’ means nothing—if you haven’t the right makings. It is true that Heralds are born to the job, since no one can learn to be a Herald, but blood doesn’t matter. No, the Companions Choose them.”

And it all came flooding back—that bright, joyful moment when she’d first looked into Rolan’s eyes. “I Choose you,” he’d said in her mind. She remembered it all now....

The woman smiled at Talia’s gasp, as all the little bits of the mystery suddenly assumed their rightful pattern. “It usually happens that they don’t have to go very far. It’s a rather odd thing, but for various reasons anyone who is of the proper material to be a Herald finds his or her way to the city, the Court, or the Collegium more often than not. Sometimes, though, the Companions have to go seeking their Heralds themselves. There’s one Companion that always does this; tell me, in the tales you read, did you ever come across the title ‘The Monarch’s Own Herald’?”

“Ye-es,” Talia replied doubtfully, still a little dazed with the revelation and the newly awakened memories, “But I couldn’t make out what it meant.”

“It’s a position of very special trust. It takes a very extraordinary person to fill it. Everyone needs someone to trust utterly, someone who would never offer false counsel, someone who could be a true friend in all senses of the word. The Monarch needs such a person more than anyone else because she is so surrounded by those who have nothing but their own interests at heart. This is what the ‘Queen’s Own’ really is; the very fact of the Queen’s Own’s existence is one of the reasons this Kingdom has had so little internal strife over the years. When a ruler knows that there is at least one person who can be utterly trusted and yet will always tell her the truth, it tends to make her more confident, more honest with herself, less selfish—and altogether a better ruler. The position of Queen’s Own is a lifetime one, and the person to fill that position is always Chosen by the Companion of the last Herald to hold it. When that Herald dies, the Companion leaves the Collegium to search the Kingdom for a successor. In the past reigns that hasn’t taken more than a day or two, and quite often he Chooses someone who is already a Herald or nearly ready to be made one. This time, though, it was different. When Herald Talamir died, his Companion was gone for nearly two months, something that hasn’t happened in a very long time.”

Talia was so wrapped up in the story the woman was telling that she forgot her apprehensions. “Why?” she asked simply.

The woman pondered Talia’s simple question for a long time before answering it. The child deserved the best answer she could give, and an honest one.

“Well, we think it has something to do with the current situation,” she replied after long thought. “The Heir has been badly spoiled—that’s partly the Queen’s fault: she allowed too much of her time to be taken up with politics and things that seemed important at the time, but in the long run, were not. The child’s nursemaid is from outKingdom and has given the girl a very exaggerated idea of her own importance. It’s not going to be an easy task to make the brat into the kind of woman that deserves to sit on the Throne. Talamir’s Companion had to roam far to find someone equal to it.”

“He did find someone, didn’t he?” Talia asked anxiously.

“He certainly did. He brought her to us today.”

She watched Talia’s reaction carefully, knowing it would tell her a great deal about the girl.

The child was completely incredulous. “Me? But—but—I don’t know anything—I’m just a low-born farmgirl—I don’t fit—I can’t talk right—I don’t look right—I’m not anything you’d want—”

“You know how to handle a spoiled child. Talia, I will admit I was hoping for someone a little older, but—well, the Companions don’t make mistakes. You’ll be close enough to Elspeth in age that you can be her real friend, once you’ve tamed the brat. As for not fitting in—she’s been too much cosseted by courtiers as it is; she could use a good dose of farm sense. Yes, and a good dose of country spanking if it comes to that! And for the future—if I’d had someone that I’d have felt easy in confiding in—gossiping with—I expect I’d never have wedded her father.” She sighed.

“You—her father—you’re the Queen?” Talia jumped to her feet, her eyes horrified, and the Queen did her best to stifle a smile at the look of utter dismay she wore. “I’ve been getting the Queen all grubby?” She would have fallen to her knees, except that the Queen prevented it, insisting that she return to her seat beside her.

“Talia, dear, the Queen is only the Queen in the Throne Room,” she replied. “Anywhere else, I’m just another Herald. And I’m a mother who needs your help very badly. I’ve bungled somewhere, and I haven’t the skill to put things right. I think from what I’ve seen just in the past hour that you have, despite your tender years.”

She hoped that the child could read the entreaty in her eyes.

“No one can force you to this. If you honestly don’t feel equal to the task of being Queen’s Own to a woman old enough to have mothered you and to a spoiled little monster, we’ll find someplace else here where you can be happy. I’ll admit to you that this is a job I wouldn’t want under any circumstances. You can say no, and we’ll send Rolan out again. But—I think his judgment was right when he Chose you. Will you be a Herald, Talia, and Queen’s Own?”

Talia gulped nervously, still not certain that she wasn’t victim of a terrible mistake. She opened her mouth intending to say no, but once again her heart betrayed her.

“Yes!” she heard herself saying, “Oh, yes!”

The Queen sighed as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you, Talia. Trust me, you won’t have to bear this alone for a long, long time. You have too much you need to learn, so there will be many willing and able to help you. The most important thing is that you become Elspeth’s friend, so that you can start to guide her. I may set my Heralds hard tasks, but I try not to make them impossible.” She smiled, a smile bright with relief. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”

“Could I—” she swallowed a lump in her throat. “Could I see Rolan? Once in a while?”

“See him? Bright Havens, child, he’s your Companion now; if you really wanted to, you could sleep in his stall!”

“I can? He is? It’s really all real?”

It was too much like a tale. At any moment now, Talia expected to find herself waking in her bed back in the attic of the Steading. This couldn’t be real. It had to be that she was dreaming. Yet, would a dream have included the feeling of being slightly grubby, and the hard edge of the chair that was digging just the tiniest bit into her leg?

She was forced to conclude that this was no dream. Suddenly she felt dizzy and half-drunk with compounded relief and elation. She was going to be a Herald—she really was going to be a Herald, like Vanyel and Shadowdancer and all the others of her tales and legends! And not just any Herald at that, but the highest ranking Herald in the entire Kingdom.

Best not to think about that for a moment. It was too much to really comprehend completely.

She raised her eyes to meet the Queen’s, dropping her Holderkin reserve and letting her happiness show plainly.

“Yes Talia. It’s quite real,” the Queen’s eyes softened with amusement at the naked joy on the child’s face. This girl was so self-possessed that it was quite easy to forget that she was only thirteen—until she herself reminded you. Like now, when she was all ecstatic child. It would not be hard to care for this Talia in the least. Especially not at moments like this.

Then she made the switch again, back to miniature adult. “Where do I start? What do I need to do?”

“You start now,” the Queen pulled a bellrope behind her to call the Dean of the Collegium, who had been impatiently awaiting the results of this interview. “As soon as Dean Elcarth gets here. He’ll get you settled at the Collegium. As for what you need to do; you learn, Talia. And please,” her eyes were very sober. “Learn as quickly as you can. I—we—need you more than you can guess.”