Notes: Hooray…people are reviewing for me. Reviews, good are. Perhaps, backwards for a while I will speak. Good practice for coming chapters, it is.

…Uh, two things. One, I don't know if it's 'Valdemarian' or 'Valdemese' so I stuck with 'Valdemarian' for the heck of it. You'll also take note of some um…similarities between this chapter and the beginning of the first book. I did it on purpose. Don't get excited. (no, I did not COPY the book…sheesh. Read the chapter and you'll see what I mean.)

Disclaimer: I forgot to put this in the last chapter. I don't own Mercedes Lackey's characters or ideas. Technically, Creigh is my character. But not really. He's based off of Mercedes Lackey's ideas. Any questions?

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Chapter Two

Alberich had always shown little respect for Hurlee. As of this afternoon, he had none.

Given, he was not a crooked-hearted man, although he was strict. The punishment he had dealt on the group of boys responsible for the large welt forming above his left ear had been a fair one. Three nights worth of star-training. Which meant, for the next three days, six of his students would train in his class by day, and under the stars at night.

He hadn't expected he would one day be grateful for his hair. Now he was; it concealed the purple-and-red bruise from sight completely. No one would suspect it was there, unless the happened to touch the side of his head.

Which they would not.

:I still think that was harsh: his Companion told him, not for the first time. :Admit it. You were the one who walked onto their field without calling a break.:

:I was in plain sight: Alberich furrowed his brow as he passed through the mess hall. :Must I remind you again, that is was you who walked onto the field? Surely I am your Chosen, but I have no direction of where you place your feet.:

From wherever he was, Kantor snorted. :Hooves. I'm not blaming anyone, Chosen. Merely pointing out that under the circumstances, you overreacted.:

:I never overreact,: came the tart reply, and that was the end of it. Kantor was wiser than to continue arguing endlessly about it, as did Alberich. In the end, neither would win. There was no point in trying to match wits.

After another moment, however, Kantor spoke with a twinge of humor. :The looks on their faces…:

:That was worth it.:

Alberich could sense his Companion laugh, and it was admittedly contagious. He found himself smiling to himself as he strode between the long wooden tables. So lost in thought was he, that he hadn't noticed the man sitting in one of the numerous vacant seats as he passed by.

"You look cheerful," said Talamir, rising from his seat. "Which one of your students was victimized today?"

The smile faded from his lips as Alberich stopped. He regarded the Queen's Own with a confused look. "A surprise, this is," he said bluntly. "What brings you here, Talamir? An emergency it is not, I hope?"

"Of course not," the other man sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. I lost track of time and found myself wandering about until my feet got sore. So I sat down."

Alberich was not convinced. If Talamir had been a stranger, he still would not have believed him. For one, he'd known the man for too long to buy it. For another, the Queen's Own simply did not wander about until his feet got sore. Perhaps on a holiday, such as the Ice Festival, but today was certainly no holiday.

:Yes it is,: Kantor put in mildly. :It's 'Get Hit in the Head With a Hurlee Ball' Day. Don't tell me Myste didn't tell you?:

He brushed his Companion away with a stray thought and kept his gaze fixated carefully on the man before him. Before long, Talamir sat back down again.

"Nothing gets through you, does it?" he asked the Weaponsmaster.

"Rarely, yes," was the response. Alberich smiled grimly. "A very rare occasion, it is."

"Indeed." Talamir watched him for another second or two. "Actually, I came looking for you. No one knows what you do out of classes, except Kantor. It was through him I found you."

"Something important, then?" Alberich ventured. "Needed somewhere, I am? Or required for another class?"

"Yes, then no," said Talamir. "You had better sit down for this one, Alberich."

The Weaponsmaster frowned slightly, but did as he was advised.

Talamir nodded. "A few days ago, one of the younger Companions disappeared. At first, everyone believed he was simply off brooding over whatever choice he had made for a Chosen. Then night came, and we discovered he had traveled to the Karsite border and crossed it."

Alberich did nothing to mask the enormous shock that struck him. Had this been any other than Talamir, he might have made an attempt. But he did not even try, and he did not need to. Before he could comment, Talamir went on.

"Immediately, we sent two Heralds across the border to fetch him. The closest to him, coincidently, happened to be two of your recently graduated students. They made it across all right, but by the time they found the Companion, he was already in Karsite hands. They too, were captured while attempting to rescue him.

"Karsite soldiers trapped them in a tight circle, blocking off their escape. Then something odd happened. No, they were not thrown into chains and put to death. Karsite boys, untrained farmer's sons by the look of them, were set against them with arms. There may have been eight or nine, but none of them appeared happy to be doing the battling."

At this, Alberich relaxed slightly. He knew why the boys had been recruited and he knew why they had been forced to battle before their first lesson. It happened very often in border towns; soldiers arrived to recruit young men, took them away and made them fight fresh from their homes. And if one of them showed a hint of witch-power…

A chill swept through him. Border villages often had mixed blood -- Valdemarian and Karsite together. Although legal Karsite citizens, it was not unusual to find a boy or girl within the Karsite border who had some power. The stronger ones were normally recruited and taken to the Temples, but the rest…

"You can imagine which side won," said Talamir. "But during the fight, another unusual thing happened. One of the Karsite boys stopped an arrow from striking a Companion down."

This confused Alberich even further. "Not with power?" he inquired. "Such a thing is possible?"

"It is," said the other man. "It's a rare gift: Meditation. It's the same as Mindspeech, only the user's senses are tripled for an intensely short amount of time. Instead of directing speech, the power is used to stop objects in mid-air. It can also be used for lifting things as well as striking things from a distance."

"Very useful, that is," said Alberich.

"Like I said, very rare," the Queen's Own countered. "But that is not all. The Companion, whose life he saved, Chose him."

Alberich stiffened in his chair immediately. "Chose-"

"They somehow escaped in the confusion. The soldiers, and the Sunpriest present were attempting to recapture the boy, having seen his Gift. The two Heralds, Garan and Jale, managed to elude the soldiers as well." He sighed. "Currently, they are meeting with the Queen. The boy from Karse is resting in the Healer's salle and receiving treatment from a head wound Jale's Companion inflicted. That is why I sought you out."

"I?" Alberich forced himself to appear calm. "What reason for my help there is? A translator, you need not. From a border village he may be, thus he may be fluent in both languages."

"Well, for one," Talamir put mildly. "His syntax is worse than yours. Yours, a least, seems to be improving somewhat, but this boy can't seem to decide which words belong where and what language to use them in. Wherever he's from, they must not receive many Valdemarian travelers.

"And," he added with a bit more force. "He is young and confident. And stubborn, from my perspective. I'm not summoning you simply because you are Karsite in blood, Alberich. His similarities to your students are increasing with every moment he's conscious. From that same perspective, I believe you're the best one to handle this. You were once in the same position he is now."

"Much the same," Alberich spoke softly. "Confused and angry, he must be. Taken from his family at first, then from his home was he removed."

"My thoughts exactly," said Talamir quietly. "If anyone is to try and convince him that we are not all monsters who breed demons, why not you?"

Alberich gave him a reproachful look. "As each day passes, more like Selenay you sound. Her idea, this was?"

"She mentioned it," came the distracted response. "Well, Alberich. I won't delay you from your leisure activities much longer. Also, I cannot order you to sort this out, nor would I given the opportunity. I would prefer to think about it as a favor. If you want to, you should visit the boy later on. The Healers already have word that you're coming."

There was a definite pause as Alberich conferred with his Companion over a question he'd meant to speak out loud. "Distant from his Companion, this boy is. Kantor tells me that Donli, his Companion, most surface thoughts he cannot reach."

"All the more reason for you to speak to him," said Talamir as he rose from his seat. "Selenay needs me again. I'm probably required to present a suitable reward for the young Heralds. Good luck, Herald Alberich."

The Weaponsmaster nodded slightly, staring after the man as he took his leave from the room. It was late, the evening meals done and the hall was vacant for all except him. The deafening silence only helped him think, for which he was grateful. He needed to think.

A very large part of him agreed to the idea whole-heartedly. But it fought against something else, a small feeling of doubt and dislike. Of course, speaking to this young Karsite boy and explaining the truth about the life of lies that shrouded him could only be a good thing. However…

However, that part of him could only argue that it would be wrong. This boy, whoever he was and wherever he had come from, was Karsite. No matter how Alberich told him, his efforts would only seem like an attempt to convert the boy away from his home. It would feel so to the boy and to himself as well.

Then again, 'home' was an overrated term. Karse was not this boy's home any longer, now that his gift had been revealed. He was in exile, brought to Valdemar by the same means that brought Alberich. A Companion, a place to stay, and people willing to accept him for what he was.

And that, he knew, was just enough.

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He was alive.

The pain in his head made it clear that he was still very much alive. There was a soft surface underneath him: a bed, no doubt. He would have been very much surprised to find himself anywhere else, besides in the shackles of some dark prison, awaiting his execution by Fire. But that was not the scenario, no, for he was no longer Creigh of Leindal. He was no even Creigh of Karsite. He was Creigh of Nowhere.

This he had known for quite some time. Around him were voices, speaking a language he couldn't understand. Then again, he found he could grasp it, but their words made no sense to him whatsoever. That didn't matter. After unsuccessfully attempting to ask for a glass of water, he had given up.

There was a problem. Try as he might, he could see nothing of his surroundings. He felt hot, and exhausted, and he could smell the wood, the embers of the nearby fire, the faint smell of cinnamon from a warm beverage nearby. But there was no sight -- only darkness.

He'd hoped, a small, futile hope, that he had been discovered at the side of a road by another Karsite. That hope had actually become his only will to continue living, that perhaps the Sunpriests had not found him, that the entire dilemma was just a horrible nightmare. And it lasted for several hours, until he could think clearly enough to realize that were he in Karse, people would speak Karsite. Not this horrible witch-tongue.

For better and worse, the voice of the witch-beast had not returned. At first, he could 'hear' traces of it in the back of his mind, somewhere. The creature must have elected to leave him alone once it realized it wasn't going to provoke a response. And yet, Creigh regretted it after a while. Whatever the beast was, it was the only thing that understood him in the midst of this terrible mess. It was the only thing he could understand.

Creigh counted minutes in his head. He lost track of time somewhere around two hours, no longer feeling the need to know whether it was light or day. He could not sleep, as much as he wanted to, and he was forced to endure the sharp, painful ache in his head and the heat that swallowed his body in silence.

After a while, someone entered the room. They closed the door and made a sound that resembled a cloth being dipped in water, and rung out again. Something cool and wet was draped over his blazing forehead, and he almost shuddered with relief. The 'person' made a clucking sound of disappointment before turning around and exiting the room once more.

He was not left alone for long. Another few minutes strolled by before he was aware of two persons entering the room. One was speaking steadily, as if giving orders. The other was sighing and replying in sharp tones, and Creigh concluded that their argument had something to do with him. The cloth was removed and replaced by a hand.

It was cold, and dry. The hand lingered for a second and withdrew again. The first speaker, a man judging by the voice ordered the other (a woman) to do something. She must have complied, for there were no further protests.

At first, Creigh thought they had left. He heard no creak of the door, nor the falling of footsteps, but it seemed so anyway. It had gone silent -- dead silent, and Creigh only had time to open his mouth to utter a weak inquiry before something miraculous happened.

It felt like someone had reached into his head and fixed an icy grip around the burning sensation that he'd been suffering. It was as if someone had doused the flames of discomfort with cool water, leaving nothing but a tingling in the front of his mind. And all at once, the veil of darkness lifted from his eyes.

Creigh reacted much the same as a hawk with its hood removed. No longer pinned down by blindness or fever, he jolted forward and sat up in the bed. He saw the woman -- who had been very close to him before he jumped -- pull back in surprise. The man, the one with the dry hands stood behind her, eying him carefully.

The woman was rather plain, dressed in a gray robe that touched the floor. Besides her youthful air, she appeared to be quite old and stubborn, but there was kindness behind those eyes. That alone surprised him.

The other, the man, was adorned in a white uniform -- a collection of robes and a tunic that were embroidered with patterns of thread. He was not quite as old as the woman, but his slender, cragged face as that of deep wisdom. His hair was a very pale gray, almost as light as the clothing he wore. He was staring intently at the boy.

"Where am I?" Creigh demanded. "Who are you?"

He could tell by their blank expressions that he had spoken Karsite instead of their own, backwards language. Still, he knew enough of it to at least try to make them understand.

Before he open his mouth, however, the man spoke in Valdemarian. "You are at the Collegium, young man. Can you understand me?"

He did. Setting his jaw firmly, Creigh nodded. "I do. This place, I do not know. Where I am, tell me."

There was some flicker of relief in the man's gaze. "You are in Valdemar. The Collegium is a school for training Heralds…those like you, who have gifts."

Heralds? Creigh understood half of what the man said to him, but he didn't quite understand what a 'gift' meant. And the world for 'school' meant nothing to him. His knowledge of this language was very limited indeed.

He was sure that they could tell from his blank expression that he did not understand. The man sighed and turned to the woman, spoke something rapidly, and then dismissed her. She looked sour, but she did leave the room to carry out the man's wishes.

"Teach," said the man, returning his attention once more to the boy. "Do you understand that?"

It was a vaguely familiar word, yes. Creigh nodded again, a little more hesitantly.

"Good. We teach here. Teach people like you to use their…magic." The man's voice was hesitant, too, as he searched for alternate words.

Creigh understood immediately. This was a school of witchcraft! He would have preferred a thousand fires and a thousand dishonorable curses than to be at such a place! Simply breathing the air inside this revoltingly secular building was enough to condemn a man.

Unless, of course, he was already condemned.

The man obviously regretted telling him, and could see the horror flash across the boy's face. He shook his head and held up a hand. "Wait. I cannot…speak so that you understand. Another man will come to talk to you."

The man turned to leave, but Creigh started. "Wait!"

He received a questioning glare, which he returned in force. "What…of me do you want?"

A grim nod followed his demand; the man regarded him as one would see a child much younger than he. "That, you will learn yourself."

Once again, Creigh was left alone in the small room with only his thoughts for company.

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Creigh jolted awake. There were more voices outside his door. Cursing himself for falling asleep and cursing them for unknowingly waking him up, he shifted his weight so that he sat up straight. Somehow, he'd managed to doze off while leaning against the wall beside his bed, having spent a good half hour at a blank wall with nothing to do.

The voices he heard were muffled and distant, meaning they were still a long way from the door. Even so, he did not want them to catch him slouching, like some witless, hopeless life. They were not going to make a prisoner of him.

Thankfully, his fever had not returned. Also, the ache where he'd been struck during the battle had all but disappeared and he was delighted to find that he could concentrate on his surroundings. The light no longer hurt his eyes. Something very unusual, but pleasant had happened to him in the past few hours. There was no word to describe it but 'miraculous'.

His back went rigid when the voices grew louder. There were two, both male. He was sure that neither one of them belonged to the man he'd spoken to earlier. One was young and cheerful; the other deeper somewhat slower than the first. Something about it unnerved him. It was…familiar, yet not recognizable. The way it sounded was familiar…

Then it struck him. It was the other man's accent. It was Karsite.

He could not even question himself about this, for the door to the room suddenly swung forward to reveal two men in similar clothing, save for their colour. The younger man wore white, resembling the ensemble of the man he'd encountered, however less extravagant. The clothing of the older man was gray, like that of the woman who had healed him. But theses were not robes; they were real clothes, not entirely unlike the ones worn in Karse.

The younger man barely glanced at him before speaking rapidly to the one in gray. Gray nodded his head, but did not take his eyes off the boy.

This was the ultimate shock of his life. Creigh took no notice of what the one in white was saying. He could not, and did not want to avert his eyes from the Gray man's face. He could only stare, mouth slightly agape.

There were scars, countless ones, on this man's face. Had he managed to look, he may have noticed that they were on his hands as well. But these were not scars created by deep cuts, not earned in battle or anywhere like it; there was no definite line to them. They were old burns, many, many healed wounds cause by some great fire.

Somehow, for some cold, heart-stopping reason, Creigh knew exactly what had caused them.

"Yes," said the man in perfect, unaccented Karsite. "These are from the Fires, much like the ones you would have endured were you not Chosen by your Companion."

Creigh snapped his mouth shut at once. And then everything, the fear of being captured, the confusion, the anger towards his captives for treating him so unfairly, exploded from him in that one moment.

"You're Karsite!" he yelled, face twisted furiously. "You're one of them! Is this what they do? They take children from Karse right out of the Fires and brainwash them to be their puppets?"

The older man was apparently unaffected by his onslaught of accusations, and did not so much as flinch. The man in white however, was staring at Creigh with wide eyes. It was to Creigh's shock, however, that there lay a robust, defensive glint in those youthful eyes. He did not succeed in fazing the Gray man, but his companion looked ready knock out teeth, and most likely would have, had the Gray man not been there.

"I am," said the Gray man. "But we do not brainwash people, least of all children. As for myself, I was scarcely younger than I am today when I first came to Valdemar. My Companion crossed into Karsite land to reach me, just as your own Donli has done."

"Companion…" Creigh shook his head. He was standing now, realizing that he had leapt off his bed during his outburst. "Your witch-beasts? You sent a horse across the border to find me?"

"Not horses," said the man. "Companions. A horse is an animal, while our Companions are…" There was a pause, as if he were listening closely to someone, though no one spoke. "Beings. Not animals."

An image of the great white beasts -- or beings, apparently -- fighting for their rider's lives flashed into Creigh's mind. Even if he had an argument, he would not be able to deny the unusual intelligence of the creatures.

Not to mention how one spoke to him. But surely all of that was a dream…wasn't it?

:Not at all.:

Creigh jumped back and very nearly fell over his bed. While he fought to control his balance, he felt something move into his mind. A presence, not unlike the one he'd felt on the battlefield, suddenly flooded his thoughts.

"Remain calm," the Gray man told him. "That is your Companion, Donli. Until now, he had been blocked from your mind. Because you now recognize him as your Companion, not an animal, you are able to hear each other. As it should be."

"Should be?" Creigh spat, rubbing his temples. "I don't want him in my mind! How do I block him out?"

:Please don't: came the voice again. It was quiet and pliant. :It does cause me a great deal of stress. I am sorry if you feel encroached upon, Chosen. Please understand. I won't always be here. We are still two very separate beings. I am me, you are you.:

"Chosen?" Creigh shut his eyes. "Why me? What if I don't want to become one of your puppets? Don't I get a choice?"

At this, the older man raised an eyebrow, as if something were amusing him. Creigh did not know it, but what he had just said was something very similar to what the Gray man had said when he was Chosen. Either way, he didn't like the look on the old man's face. It reminded him of the lieutenant -- no, the Sunpriest who had ended his life with that one, critical moment of betrayal.

"You have your choice," said the man at last. "But first, I believe it would be better to hear the terms for your options."

Creigh gave him a strange look. He didn't have to voice the fact that he was confused -- that was clear enough without a word being said.

"Creigh is you name, is it not?"

The boy opened his mouth, and then closed it, stunned.

"You are sixteen years old. You once lived in a village named Leindal. Your father is a farmer and you have no siblings," the man went on considerately. "These things my Companion tells me, for your Companion has told him."

"How-" Creigh began to say.

"The terms are these," interrupted the man, crossing his arms. "Should you choose to return to Karse, your bond with you Companion will dissolve. It is very painful, and lasts for a very long time. It is far more painful than losing even your closest friend. Furthermore, you will be sought for everywhere you go. When caught, they will offer you to their Fires."

Creigh could only look on blankly. This too, was something undeniable. As for the separation being painful…well, what reason was there to not believe him?

:That is very true: said Donli, startling him not for the first time. :Again, I beg of you to not do this. I can't imagine…losing my Chosen.:

He could not imagine losing his Companion, actually. But there was no time to dwell on it. He raised his eyes to see the Gray man watching him carefully.

:Herald Alberich,: Donli provided solemnly. :He is the Weaponsmaster here. Most respect him, and he is very good at what he does. I haven't yet encountered a Companion that dislikes him.:

That would explain why the man had not yet introduced himself. Perhaps he was waiting for Donli to give him that information. It was a very quick and easy source for exchanging knowledge, Creigh admitted to himself (and possibly Donli as well) but he was still uncomfortable about it.

"Now," said Herald Alberich. "Should you wisely choose to remain here, you will be enrolled as a Trainee at the Collegium. You will be trained in mind as well as heart and body. Weapons-" he paused, to stress the point "-scholarly classes, and training your Gift."

"I won't take part in such an unholy place," said the boy through his teeth.

"Not unholy," objected Alberich. "Only different. There is the same Sunlord on both sides of the border. The Sunpriests spread rumours of Valdemar that mark the Heralds as witches possessed with dark powers. The night-demons they conjure to terrorize Karsite people into believing them."

This was a lot of information to swallow at once. Creigh became aware of another ache in the back of his head. No bludgeon from a Companion's hoof was this, however. It was a headache, growing steadily worse with every word Alberich spoke. What this man was telling him seemed false and true at the same time. There was no possible way to be sure, especially not today.

As if the Weaponsmaster had read his mind (and through Donli, quite possible had), he lowered his arms to his sides and softened his expression. Slightly.

"We will not prevent you from resting any longer. You must think about your choices and decide what you feel is best for you and your Companion. Perhaps tomorrow, a tour of the Collegium can be arranged. That too, is yours to decide."

Creigh only glowered, but managed a stiff nod. Alberich seemed pleased with the boy's consent, however reluctant it was.

"To Selenay, I must hasten," said the Weaponsmaster, addressing the other man in Valdemarian. "Progress, I believe she is expecting. I hope to not disappoint her."

The other man chuckled and agreed with a word that Creigh did not recognize. He had little interest in this white-clad Demon-Rider, however. He was content enough to silently provoke the man with wary glares -- evident reminders that no trust was gained today and that he still did not like Demon-Riders or their Companions.

:Heralds, Chosen,: said his (his!) Companion. :You must at least accept that it is possible Herald Alberich tells the truth. He too, had difficulties adjusting to our ways. You will find that you both have unseen similarities.:

"This man is Mical," said Alberich, before Creigh could conjure a response. "His knowledge of Karsite is incomplete, but conversational. He will remain here at the salle until morning. Should you need to question him, he will provide you with answers."

"Depending on the question," added Mical, in a form of Karsite that was just as misplaced as Alberich's syntax. "I'm not as wise as my old Weaponsmaster."

"Mock me not," Alberich warned. "Authority over your Hurlee training, I still have."

"Yes, sir, Captain, sir," said Mical. Even as a full-fledged Herald, his mischievous streak lived on.

Alberich's dark eyes traveled to Creigh once more. "Will you consider what we have discussed?"

"Yes."

It was flat with multiple undertones of distaste and doubt, but it was still agreement. Alberich set his mouth into a line and turned, exiting the room. Mical lingered for another moment, shot a last inquiring look at the boy, and followed the Weaponsmaster down the stairs.

And for the third time that day, Creigh found himself alone. Although, this time, he was not quite deserted. And blissfully unaware that his Companion felt his emotions, he let himself dwell in comfort that Donli was there.

There was ever so much to think about.