The Dark Companion
Chapter I
"Rains, rains, go away, and come back some other day." Weaponsmaster Laban chanted the old children's rhyme to himself as he surveyed the training grounds in the gathering dusk. It was early spring, and it had been raining for days over the Collegiums. The poor weather was starting to make everyone, healers, bards, and heralds alike, moody and impatient.
The weather was even harder for the young heralds-in-training. Each day, the teens trained in all forms of combat, in all weather, under the critical eye of Weaponmaster Laban. Tall and lean, his arms and legs corded with muscle, Laban was the perfect image of a warrior. His face was deeply lined from years of training under the sun, and his long black hair, tied in a braid, was beginning to gray. Students often could not meet his steely blue eyes, fearing to find criticism and disappointment. In truth, Laban's eyes often reflected what the students disliked about themselves, which was Laban's unique talent, the power of empathy, for good or for bad. Due to weather and the physical stress of swordplay and wrestling, the youngsters were beginning to view their Weaponsmaster as an ogre of a man who liked nothing better to torture students to the point of physical and mental breakdown.
Not true at all, Laban shook his head. It was harder than anyone knew to be an empath teaching defense and weaponry. For every student who cried tears of frustration and defeat after a hard session, Laban's mind cried along with them. The job was sometimes almost too much to bear sometimes, but when the trainees graduated from student Grays to herald Whites, the weaponsmaster's heart soared with pride. He had never let a student fail at his by giving up on him or her. All Heralds in training had the talent and strength to achieve their goals, some just didn't know it.
Laban had another reason to be moody, besides the downpour. It was foaling season for the Companions, and his own Companion, the mare Sanaa, was due any time. Oh, how precious Sanaa was to Laban, his soul mate, and his heart bonded friend. He was fifteen when the Companion came for him, a young farmhand whose future did not look bright. His kinsmen had often said that Laban had very few wits, and no work ethic, he had seemed doomed to a lifetime of herding cattle and planting seeds. He could still recall every detail of the moment he had first looked into Sanaa's sapphire eyes, felt her unconditional love and acceptance, and knew he would never be lonely again.
What had followed was the hard adjustment to Collegium life. Never really excelling at book learning, the Heralds had worked many long hours with the boy, figuring out his innate talent. His empathic nature showed through for younger and smaller students, Laban leaped to their defense when they were being bullied, and sat by their beds when they were sick or injured. After attaining his Whites, Laban and Sanaa had spent many years on border patrol, making sure territories maintained critical alliances and bringing peace to those who were disputing. Returning to the Collegium to take up the job of weaponsmaster from a venerable, but elderly teacher had been the challenge of a lifetime, but Laban had long depended on physical intelligence and knowledge of combat styles, and the job suited him well.
Laban was now middle-aged, still spry enough for his job, but beginning to feel the effects of years of hard physical action. Strangely, Sanaa had never showed any interest in anything sexual, unlike Laban, who enjoyed the occasional tryst. So it had come as a shock to everybody when Sanaa had announced the past summer that she was gravid. By the Queen's Own Companion, Rolan, she had said rather smugly. Companions did not foal with the ease of horses, so constant monitoring was required during the foaling season.
"Are you feeling, okay, love?" Laban anxiously Mindspoke his Companion. :You old mother hen, I'm fine: came Sanaa's reassuring chuckle.
"Just checking." Laban sighed. :You worry too much: Sanaa's mental voice was bossy : You wear yourself out doing so. You're tired, I can tell. Go to bed, get a good night's sleep:
"Yes Ma'am." Laban chuckled back. In truth, he was looking forward to a warm bed and forty winks, today's lesson in wrestling had been draining. Trudging up the flights of stairs make Laban's legs feel like iron, and he fell into bed without pulling off his Whites. As sleep closed in, Laban's thoughts were still vaguely uneasy.
Laban gasped as a sharp pain exploded deep within his bowels, jolting him out of his dream. He sat up straight in bed, gripping the sheets as lightning flashed across the night sky, the rain pounding on the heavy, leaded windows. No need to Mindspeak his Companion, he knew that Sanaa was in labor. Pulling on boots and a cloak, Laban pounded down the stairs. A small, wiry youth almost collided with him as he rounded a corner. "Herald Laban!" the girl gasped, brushing wet hair from her eyes. "Sanaa has." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I know, Jenfer!" Laban nearly choked on his words, another sharp pain made his muscles spasm, and Jenfer, looking alarmed, but his arm around his shoulders and helped him outside.
Sanaa was pacing back and forth in the heated stable at Companion's Field. Her legs were rigid with tension, and there was sweat on her neck, making her fine mane stiff and tangled. Laban embraced his Companion's head, looking deep into the soulful eyes. "You are in terrible pain." Laban's eyes teared with the depth of his emotion. :It. It's not that bad: Sanaa's mental voice betrayed her as another contraction rippled her flanks. An elder Healer approached Laban. "May I.?" he asked. Laban cut him off, "Yes, anything do anything you can to ease her pain."
With gentle hands, the Healer stroked and prodded the Companion, testing to see if he could rotate the foal in Sanaa's pelvis. "The foal's a big one." He said, worry clouding in his eyes. The other healers and Heralds were talking softly in the corner, their own Companions nearby, all fidgeting and casting worried looks at Sanaa, doubtlessly Mindspeaking words of comfort.
The hours dragged as Sanaa labored. By dawn the Companion's Mindvoice was nearly incoherent with pain. Suddenly, her legs gave out, and she flopped into the straw, rolling and kicking, teeth bared, eyes wild. :IT BURNS!!: her mental voice screamed, red blood staining the bedding.
"Lois, Jakob, get over here, now!! Bring me hot water, a needle and catgut thread, and coagulating herbs!" The elder healer lifted the Companion's soiled tail, revealing emerging hooves. Laban's empathic senses were overwhelming him. Fear, exhaustion, pain, and anxiety had completely brought down his mental barriers. Vision blurring body numb, he turned and vomited copiously into the straw, as two young Heralds held his shoulders. Sanaa gave a frantic squeal, and kicked at the air. The foal, still encased in the birth sac, slid forward into the Healer's hands.
Laban looked up, wiping saliva and tears from his face. Sanaa's breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps. The traumatic birth of her foal had been too much. Sanaa's exhausted heart slowed. : My dearest.: the Companion sighed to Laban : I love you so much.: Sanaa wheezed a last breath, and her sapphire eyes rolled back in her head.
"NO! Don't leave me! I NEED you!" every part of Laban's being shouted out his grief and despair. A fiery pain spread through his chest, and Laban's own heart contracted and stopped. I'm dying. Thank the Gods." Laban realized before the quiet dark embraced him.
Chapter I
"Rains, rains, go away, and come back some other day." Weaponsmaster Laban chanted the old children's rhyme to himself as he surveyed the training grounds in the gathering dusk. It was early spring, and it had been raining for days over the Collegiums. The poor weather was starting to make everyone, healers, bards, and heralds alike, moody and impatient.
The weather was even harder for the young heralds-in-training. Each day, the teens trained in all forms of combat, in all weather, under the critical eye of Weaponmaster Laban. Tall and lean, his arms and legs corded with muscle, Laban was the perfect image of a warrior. His face was deeply lined from years of training under the sun, and his long black hair, tied in a braid, was beginning to gray. Students often could not meet his steely blue eyes, fearing to find criticism and disappointment. In truth, Laban's eyes often reflected what the students disliked about themselves, which was Laban's unique talent, the power of empathy, for good or for bad. Due to weather and the physical stress of swordplay and wrestling, the youngsters were beginning to view their Weaponsmaster as an ogre of a man who liked nothing better to torture students to the point of physical and mental breakdown.
Not true at all, Laban shook his head. It was harder than anyone knew to be an empath teaching defense and weaponry. For every student who cried tears of frustration and defeat after a hard session, Laban's mind cried along with them. The job was sometimes almost too much to bear sometimes, but when the trainees graduated from student Grays to herald Whites, the weaponsmaster's heart soared with pride. He had never let a student fail at his by giving up on him or her. All Heralds in training had the talent and strength to achieve their goals, some just didn't know it.
Laban had another reason to be moody, besides the downpour. It was foaling season for the Companions, and his own Companion, the mare Sanaa, was due any time. Oh, how precious Sanaa was to Laban, his soul mate, and his heart bonded friend. He was fifteen when the Companion came for him, a young farmhand whose future did not look bright. His kinsmen had often said that Laban had very few wits, and no work ethic, he had seemed doomed to a lifetime of herding cattle and planting seeds. He could still recall every detail of the moment he had first looked into Sanaa's sapphire eyes, felt her unconditional love and acceptance, and knew he would never be lonely again.
What had followed was the hard adjustment to Collegium life. Never really excelling at book learning, the Heralds had worked many long hours with the boy, figuring out his innate talent. His empathic nature showed through for younger and smaller students, Laban leaped to their defense when they were being bullied, and sat by their beds when they were sick or injured. After attaining his Whites, Laban and Sanaa had spent many years on border patrol, making sure territories maintained critical alliances and bringing peace to those who were disputing. Returning to the Collegium to take up the job of weaponsmaster from a venerable, but elderly teacher had been the challenge of a lifetime, but Laban had long depended on physical intelligence and knowledge of combat styles, and the job suited him well.
Laban was now middle-aged, still spry enough for his job, but beginning to feel the effects of years of hard physical action. Strangely, Sanaa had never showed any interest in anything sexual, unlike Laban, who enjoyed the occasional tryst. So it had come as a shock to everybody when Sanaa had announced the past summer that she was gravid. By the Queen's Own Companion, Rolan, she had said rather smugly. Companions did not foal with the ease of horses, so constant monitoring was required during the foaling season.
"Are you feeling, okay, love?" Laban anxiously Mindspoke his Companion. :You old mother hen, I'm fine: came Sanaa's reassuring chuckle.
"Just checking." Laban sighed. :You worry too much: Sanaa's mental voice was bossy : You wear yourself out doing so. You're tired, I can tell. Go to bed, get a good night's sleep:
"Yes Ma'am." Laban chuckled back. In truth, he was looking forward to a warm bed and forty winks, today's lesson in wrestling had been draining. Trudging up the flights of stairs make Laban's legs feel like iron, and he fell into bed without pulling off his Whites. As sleep closed in, Laban's thoughts were still vaguely uneasy.
Laban gasped as a sharp pain exploded deep within his bowels, jolting him out of his dream. He sat up straight in bed, gripping the sheets as lightning flashed across the night sky, the rain pounding on the heavy, leaded windows. No need to Mindspeak his Companion, he knew that Sanaa was in labor. Pulling on boots and a cloak, Laban pounded down the stairs. A small, wiry youth almost collided with him as he rounded a corner. "Herald Laban!" the girl gasped, brushing wet hair from her eyes. "Sanaa has." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I know, Jenfer!" Laban nearly choked on his words, another sharp pain made his muscles spasm, and Jenfer, looking alarmed, but his arm around his shoulders and helped him outside.
Sanaa was pacing back and forth in the heated stable at Companion's Field. Her legs were rigid with tension, and there was sweat on her neck, making her fine mane stiff and tangled. Laban embraced his Companion's head, looking deep into the soulful eyes. "You are in terrible pain." Laban's eyes teared with the depth of his emotion. :It. It's not that bad: Sanaa's mental voice betrayed her as another contraction rippled her flanks. An elder Healer approached Laban. "May I.?" he asked. Laban cut him off, "Yes, anything do anything you can to ease her pain."
With gentle hands, the Healer stroked and prodded the Companion, testing to see if he could rotate the foal in Sanaa's pelvis. "The foal's a big one." He said, worry clouding in his eyes. The other healers and Heralds were talking softly in the corner, their own Companions nearby, all fidgeting and casting worried looks at Sanaa, doubtlessly Mindspeaking words of comfort.
The hours dragged as Sanaa labored. By dawn the Companion's Mindvoice was nearly incoherent with pain. Suddenly, her legs gave out, and she flopped into the straw, rolling and kicking, teeth bared, eyes wild. :IT BURNS!!: her mental voice screamed, red blood staining the bedding.
"Lois, Jakob, get over here, now!! Bring me hot water, a needle and catgut thread, and coagulating herbs!" The elder healer lifted the Companion's soiled tail, revealing emerging hooves. Laban's empathic senses were overwhelming him. Fear, exhaustion, pain, and anxiety had completely brought down his mental barriers. Vision blurring body numb, he turned and vomited copiously into the straw, as two young Heralds held his shoulders. Sanaa gave a frantic squeal, and kicked at the air. The foal, still encased in the birth sac, slid forward into the Healer's hands.
Laban looked up, wiping saliva and tears from his face. Sanaa's breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps. The traumatic birth of her foal had been too much. Sanaa's exhausted heart slowed. : My dearest.: the Companion sighed to Laban : I love you so much.: Sanaa wheezed a last breath, and her sapphire eyes rolled back in her head.
"NO! Don't leave me! I NEED you!" every part of Laban's being shouted out his grief and despair. A fiery pain spread through his chest, and Laban's own heart contracted and stopped. I'm dying. Thank the Gods." Laban realized before the quiet dark embraced him.