Read Online Arrow’s Flight by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page B

Dirk’s earlier comments about Heralds “keeping each other warm.” From time to time some of these rose from the dark, and either left for more private surroundings or rejoined those by the two fires. And over all was an atmosphere of—belonging. There was no one here that was not cared for and welcomed by all the rest. It was Talia’s first exposure to a gathering of her fellows under pleasant circumstances, and she gradually realized that the feeling of oneness extended outside the walls as well—to the Companions in the Field, and beyond that, to those who could not be present this night. Small wonder, with such a warmth of brotherhood to bask in, that the Heralds had deserted the main revelry for this more intimate celebration of their joy at the Choosing of the Heir. It was enough to make her forget the strange uneasiness that had been shadowing her the past three weeks.
    As soon as she could manage it, Talia retrieved Skif from a knot of year-mates who seemed bent on emptying a particular cask by themselves.
    “Let’s go up to the loft,” she said, after scanning that perch and ascertaining that none of the amorous had chosen it themselves. “I don’t want to disturb anybody, but I don’t want to leave, either.”
    The “loft” was little more than a narrow balcony that ran the length of one side and gave access to storage places in the rafters. Talia noticed immediately that Skif—very uncharacteristically—kept to the wall on the stairs, and put his back against it when they reached the loft itself.
    “Lord and Lady, it’s good to see you!” he exclaimed softly, giving her a repeat of his earlier hug. “We weren’t sure we’d make it back in time. In fact, we left all the baggage and the mules back at a Resupply Station; took only what Cymry and Ahrodie could carry besides ourselves. I’ve missed you, little sister. The letters helped, but I’d rather have been able to talk with you, especially—”
    Talia could sense him fighting a surge of what could only be fear.
    “Especially?”
    “—after—the accident.”
    She moved closer to him, resting both her hands on his. She didn’t have to see him to know he was pale and white-knuckled. “Tell me.”
    “I—can’t.”
    She lowered her shields; he was spiky inside with phobic fears; of storms, of entrapment; and most of all, of falling. In the state he was in now, she doubted he’d be able to look out a second-story window without exerting iron control—and this from the young man who’d led her on a scramble across the face of the second story of the Palace itself, one dark night!
    “Remember me? What I am? Just start at the beginning; take it slowly. I’ll help you face it down.”
    He swallowed. “It—it started with a storm; we were caught out on the trail in the hills. Hills, ha! More like mountains! Gods, it was dark; rain was pouring down so hard I couldn’t even see Cymry’s ears. Dirk had point, the mules were next, I was tail—it was supposed to be the safest place. We were more or less feeling our way along; sheer rock on one side of us, ravine on the other.”
    Talia had herself in half-trance, carefully extending herself into his mind. He was fighting down his fear as he spoke and beginning to lose to it.
    “The trail just—crumbled, right under Cymry’s hooves. We fell; there wasn’t even time to yell for help.”
    Gently, Talia touched the fear, took it into herself, and began working away at it. It was like knife-edged flint, all points and slicing surfaces. As softly as flowing water, and as inexorably, she began wearing away at it, dulling it, muting it.
    “We ended up wedged halfway down. Cymry was stunned; I’d broken my arm and most of my ribs, I think; I don’t remember much. It hurt too much to think, and where I was stuck, there was a flood of water pouring down the wall like a young waterfall. You know I don’t Mindspeak too well, and Dirk’s Gift isn’t Mindspeech anyway; I couldn’t get hold