*Rise, Chosen; it is not in Me to be pleased with subservience,* She said to the Herald, who obeyed Her at once, rising to stand silently and worshipfiilly at Tarma's shoulder. *Vai datha -- so, young princeling, your land forges white Swords that fit the same sheath as My black, eh?* She laughed, soundlessly, looking from Roald to Tarma and back again. *Such a pretty pair you make, like moon and cloud, day and night, bright and dark. How an artist would die for such a sight! Two such opposites -- and yet so much the same!*
It was only then that Tarma saw that the white clothing she had been wearing had been transmuted to the Warrior's own ebony, as was proper for Kal'enedral.
*And you. My gentle Child* She continued, ca-ressing the white horse's shining neck, *are Ushya'e Kal'enedral of another sort, hmm? Like My Hands, and unlike. Perhaps to complete the set I should see if any of My Children would become as you. What think you, should there be sable Companions to match the silver?* The look the horse -- no, Companion -- bent upon Her was one of reproach. She laughed again.
*Not? Well, it was but a thought. But this is well met, and well met again! This is a good land, yours. It deserves good servants, strong defenders -- vigilant champions to guard it and hold it safe as My Hands hold Mine. Do we not all serve to drive back the Dark, each in his own fashion? So I cry -- well met. Children of My Other Self!*
She turned that steady regard back to Tarma. *Are you answered. My cautious one?*
Tarma bowed her head briefly, rilled with such relief that she was nearly dizzy with it. And filled as suddenly with an understanding of exactly what and who this Herald and his Companion were. "I am answered, Bright Star."
*Then let white Sword and black serve as they are meant -- to cleave the True Darkness, and not each other, as you each feared might befall.*
There was another breath of hot wind, a surging of power that left Tarma's eyes dazzled, and She was gone.
The Herald closed his eyes briefly, and let out the breath he had been holding in a great sigh. As the horse returned to stand beside him, he opened his eyes again, and turned to face Tarma.
"Forgive me for doubting you, even a little," he said, his voice and the hand he extended to her trembling slightly. "But I followed you out here because -- "
"For the same reason I would have followed you had our positions been reversed" Tarma interrupted, clasping the hand he stretched out. "I wasn't expecting Her when I called, but I think I know now why She came. Both of us have had our doubts settled, haven't we -- brother?"
His hold on her hand was warm and steady, and his smile was unwavering and equally warm. "I think, more than settled, sister."
She caught his other hand; they stood facing each other with hands clasped in hands for a very long time, savoring the moment. There was nothing even remotely sexual about what they shared in that timeless space; just the contentment and love of soul-sib meeting soul-sib, something akin to what Tarma had for Kethry --
-and, she realized, with all the knowledge that passed to her from her Goddess in her moment of enlightenment, what this Herald shared with his Companion. For it was no horse that stood beside Roald, and she wondered now how she could have ever thought that it was. Another soul-sib. And -- how odd -- even the Heralds don't know exactly what their Companions are --
It was Roald who finally sighed, and let the mo-ment pass. "I fear," he said, dropping her hands reluctantly, "that if we don't get back to the others soon, they'll think we've either frozen to death, or gotten lost."
"Or," Tarma laughed, giving his shoulders a quick embrace before pulling her cloak back around herself, "murdered each other out here! By the way -- "
She stretched out her arm, showing him that the tunic she wore was still the black of a starless night. "-- I wonder how we're going to explain what happened to the clothing I borrowed?"
He laughed, long and heartily. "Be damned if I know. Maybe they won't notice? Right -- not likely. Oh well, I'll think of something. But you owe me, Swordlady; that was my second-best set of Whites before you witched it!"
Tarma joined his laughter, as snow crunched un-der their boots. "Come to the Dhorisha Plains when this is over, and I'll pay you in Shin'a'in horses and Shin'a'in gear! It will break their artistic hearts, but I think I can persuade some of my folk to make you a set of unadorned Kal'enedral white silks."
"Havens, lady, you tempt my wandering feet far too much to be denied! You have a bargain," he grinned, taking the porch steps two at a time and flinging open the door for her with a flourish. "I'll be at your tent flap someday when you least expect it, waiting to collect."
And, unlikely as it seemed, she somehow had the feeling that he would one day manage to do just that.
Nine
It was difficult, but by no means impossible, to pull energies from the sleeping earth in midwinter. All it took was the skill -- and time and patience, and Kethry had those in abundance. And further, she had serious need of any mote of mage-energy she could harbor against the future, as well as any and all favors she could bank with the other-planar allies she had acquired in her years as a White Winds sorceress. She had not had much chance to stockpile either after the end of the Sunhawks' last commission, and the journey here had left her depleted down to her lowest ebb since she and Tarma had first met.
So she was not in the least averse to spending as much time in the hidden lodge with Stefansen and Mertis as the winter weather made necessary; she had a fair notion of the magnitude of the task awaiting them. She and Jadrek and Tarma might well be unequal to it --
In fact, she had come to the conclusion that they would need resources she did not have -- yet.
On a lighter note, she was not at all displeased about being "forced" to spend so much time in Jadrek's company. Not in the least.
She was sitting cross-legged on the polished wooden floor next to the fireplace, slowly waking her body up after being in trance for most of the day. Jadrek was conversing earnestly with Roald, both of them in chairs placed where the fire could warm him, and she could study him through half-slitted eyes at her leisure.
Jadrek seemed so much happier these days -- well, small wonder. Stefansen respected him, Mertis admired him, Tarma allowed him to carry her off to interrogate in private at almost any hour. She was willing to answer most of his questions about the "mysterious" (at least to the folk of Rethwellan) nomad Shin'a'in. Roald did him like courtesy about the equally "mysterious" Heralds of Valdemar. Both of them accorded him the deference due a serious scholar. Warrl practically worshiped at his feet (Jadrek's ability to "hear" the beast being in no wise abated), and he seemed to share Tarma's feeling of comradeship with the kyree. Being given the respect he was (in all sober truth) due had done wonders for his state of mind. As the days passed, the lines of bitterness around his mouth were easing into something more pleasant. He smiled, and often, and there was no shadow of cynicism in it; he laughed, and there was no hint of mockery.
Physically he was probably in less pain than he had been for years -- which Kethry was quite sure was due to Need's Healing abilities. Need was exerting her magic for a man because he was important to Kethry. For Kethry had no doubt as to how she felt about the Archivist. If there was ever going to be one man for her, Jadrek was that man.