Author's Note: I realize that fanfiction doesn't go in much for dedications, but until I'm published with original material, I suppose this will have to do. This story is dedicated to my mother, who died quietly in her sleep Saturday, August 3rd, 2002.
Also, there will be an epilogue.
Identity Crisis
Chapter Six
In which events come to their inevitable conclusions.
*******
Tatya groaned, and stretched as far as she could in the saddle. She could no longer be said to be saddle sore; that had come and gone a week and a half ago. Now, she floated in a worrying but blissful state of saddle numbness. When the formation stopped for the night, it took her several moments to even remember that her legs were there. The journey that had taken Faniel alone five days as breakneck speed took over two and a half weeks for the massed Guard units. And Tatya felt everyone one of those days in her back, shoulders, and neck.
*Gods, I feel like a trainee again. Why didn't you practice riding more?*
She didn't reply, except to send a mental jab of irritation deeper into her mind. He'd been grumbling on and off the entire trip. She'd eventually realized that he wasn't actually upset about what he _said_ he was upset about, but minor irritations were the only safe outlets for his frustration at being, as far as he was concerned, useless. So, Tatya had learned not to take it personally. Most of the time.
Byron, who had been riding several feet away, swung Gally close. "By your gloomy face, I take it that Rhys is showing his dreadful lack of manners, again?"
*Hey!*
"We're just tired," she said, taking the moral high ground with smug satisfaction. "I don't suppose I can expect him to be civilized, under the circumstances."
"I suppose not," Byron agreed, his face solemn. She felt the tickle as he connected to her mind in time to hear Rhys' indignant response. On the trip, she'd finally gotten used to the idea, realizing that the Heralds would never use their power to do anything wrong to her, and had given them permission to establish contact whenever they wished.
*You're ganging up on me! Faniel, be a pal and help me out, here.*
*Sorry, Chosen, but that's _my_ back you're insulting. You're on your own.*
Tatya relayed Faniel's reply to Byron, and they shared a chuckle. Rhys retreated, sulking. Tatya turned to Byron with a smile. "So, how far are we to tonight's camp?"
He gave her an odd look. "You mean, nobody told you?" She shook her head. "We crossed into Deshannel territory about an hour ago. We should reach the keep in another hour or so. It's almost over." His kindly tone took in more than just the endless ride.
"Did you know?" she whispered to Rhys.
*I...I knew. I just didn't want to worry you.*
"Oh," she said tonelessly. "Thank you."
*Tatya...*
Byron cleared his throat, interrupting whatever Rhys was going to say next. He untied a long, cloth-wrapped bundle from the top of one of Gally's saddlebags. "I've been meaning to ask you, Tatya. Do you have any weapons' training?"
She shrugged, still lost in her own thoughts. "Only with the bow. There's a Spring Hunt where I grew up, and it's traditional for all unmarried girls of a certain age to participate. It's the only reason my parents would let me learn the bow." She didn't mention the fact that they always arranged for her to ride a horse so old that she couldn't possible catch up with the front-runners or the game.
"Then you can use this," he said, and unwrapped the cloth to reveal an unstrung bow and a small quiver of arrows. "You should stay out of the fighting, but if something goes wrong, don't hesitate to defend yourself. If they get to close for you to use the bow, Faniel will see you to safety." She took the bow and arrows gingerly, and slung the quiver across her back. "Can you string the bow?"
She shook her head. "Not astride. If we could stop?"
Faniel and Gally moved to the side of the road, and she swung down with a heartfelt groan, strung the bow with difficulty, and clambered ungracefully back into the saddle. As they started to move again, she tried to find the least awkward place to stick the thing. When she was satisfied, she said to Byron, "Thanks. What will happen when we arrive?"
"It depends on the Duke. He'll know we're coming, unfortunately. It's impossible to hide this many armed men. He may choose to surrender." The King's Own sounded dubious, and Tatya heard Rhys snort.
"And if he doesn't?"
Byron spread his arms. "Then events progress as they must. I'm no Foreseer."
"What _are_ your Gifts, if you don't mind me asking?"
He looked startled. "No, it's no real secret. I'm a Mindspeaker, of course, and I have the Fetching Gift." At her blank expression, he pointed to a nearby sour apple tree. A couple of desiccated fruits still clung to its skeletal branches with grim determination. He held out his hand, and before she could blink, the nearest fruit had vanished from the limb, and nestled securely in his palm. Tatya's grin was delight, itself, and Byron preened a little bit under the attention. "That's all, I'm afraid. My real talents lie in the realm of the library."
"That's amazing!"
*He's married, Tatya. Try not to pant too obviously,* Rhys said sourly, apparently forgetting the link that still bound Tatya and Byron. Both of them colored. Or maybe, Tatya thought, he hadn't forgotten it at all.
"Rhys!" Tatya chided, looking anywhere but Byron.
For his part, the King's Own had begun to hem and haw. "I'd better get up to the front, since we're close." Gally bounced off.
"That was completely uncalled for, Rhys."
*Here, here,* Faniel said, *Gally and I were having a perfectly nice discussion until you showed yourself to be such a boor. I shouldn't wonder if she ignores me from now on.*
*I'm sorry,* Rhys said, sounding genuinely contrite. *I'm just...nervous. And angry that I can't do...anything of the things that I want to do. It's maddening. Please forgive me, Tatya.*
"Of course I forgive you," she said. "Just don't let it happen again."
*No, it won't.* She felt his smile, like a fragment of summer sunshine. For a while they just rode in silence, exchanging the feelings they couldn't find words for through the link that bound them.
*Children,* Faniel eventually said, shattering their fragile rapport, *We have arrived.*
* * *
The Duke was not inclined to surrender. In fact, he didn't even make an appearance, or wait for a formal reading of the warrants to be accomplished. As soon as the King's troops and Heralds entered the city, they were beset by the Deshannel personal guard, and ununiformed fighters that had the dark look of the prisons about them. Annice rode with the Guard. Her primary Gift, as it turned out, was Firestarting. From their position on the hill, Tatya and Rhys could see the attackers' progress measured in gouts of white flame. Byron had stayed with them at the beginning, but joined the fray when it seemed like an infantry unit would be routed by archers armed with flaming arrows. Although he hadn't moved from their side, Gally's rigid stance and Byron's glazed eyes made it clear that he was no longer with them.
*I should be there,* Rhys fretted, *What if they need me?*
"Then they'll call," Tatya said. She, for one, had no desire to race into that boiling cauldron of fighting men and women. It was no place for her, and she knew it. Faniel knew it too, for though she could sense his tense eagerness through her bond with Rhys, he made no move to join the battle, or to support Rhys.
Down the hill, a young Guard was trapped and cut down by two of the prison scum. Tatya looked away, wide eyed, and scanned the plains outside the city, just to give her eyes something else to do. When she almost thought she could look back at the city without embarrassing the Heralds by being sick all over Faniel's mane, something dark flickered at the edge of her vision. "What's that?" she asked.
She felt Rhys look through her eyes, and then a jolt of electricity shot through them. *It's the Duke! Faniel!*
The Companion went from standing still to full flight in one heartstopping moment; he screamed a battle cry as Tatya swore and grasped the reins in a deathly grip. "What's going on?" she cried.
*It's the _Duke_, Tatya! He's getting away!*
Faniel's legs pumped with furious speed, and the distance between him and the Duke's horse closed faster than Tatya would have believed possible. But it wouldn't be fast enough. The Duke had almost reached the trees, and once there, he had the advantage of knowing the land and whatever tricks that he'd prepared. Good, she thought wildly, let him go! If he's free, then Rhys will have to stay. He'll have to stay...with me.
*Tatya!* Rhys' voice was desperate, *You have to shoot him. We can't let him get away.*
"Rhys," she whispered. The wind ripped her plea way, but she knew he heard.
*Tatya...* She felt his fear, his anger, and his sorrow. They battered her and comforted her at the same time. And she knew that she could not trap him into the half-life that he'd been forced into. He would come to hate her as his captor, and she would hate herself.
"I love you," Tatya said, and a bubble of timelessness surrounded the girl and the Companion. She readied the bow, and noticed with detachment that her hands were lit with an icy blue aura. She notched an arrow, and the world narrowed to the bow, the figure on the racing horse, and the space in between.
*I love you, too, Tatya,* Rhys said. She felt his arms come about her, his cheek, warm and rough with stubble, pressed against her own. Together they drew the bow, and waited for that perfect moment for it to take flight. It came, and the arrow sprang like a hound after a deer. The horse screamed in fear as its rider fell, transfixed by a Herald's arrow in the throat.
For the second time in her life, Tatya's world dissolved under an onslaught of white fire. This time, however, she knew what was happening, and as she sank into oblivion, tears ran freely down her cheeks.
And very far away, in a half-built temple in Companion's Field, the Death Bell began to toll.
Also, there will be an epilogue.
Identity Crisis
Chapter Six
In which events come to their inevitable conclusions.
*******
Tatya groaned, and stretched as far as she could in the saddle. She could no longer be said to be saddle sore; that had come and gone a week and a half ago. Now, she floated in a worrying but blissful state of saddle numbness. When the formation stopped for the night, it took her several moments to even remember that her legs were there. The journey that had taken Faniel alone five days as breakneck speed took over two and a half weeks for the massed Guard units. And Tatya felt everyone one of those days in her back, shoulders, and neck.
*Gods, I feel like a trainee again. Why didn't you practice riding more?*
She didn't reply, except to send a mental jab of irritation deeper into her mind. He'd been grumbling on and off the entire trip. She'd eventually realized that he wasn't actually upset about what he _said_ he was upset about, but minor irritations were the only safe outlets for his frustration at being, as far as he was concerned, useless. So, Tatya had learned not to take it personally. Most of the time.
Byron, who had been riding several feet away, swung Gally close. "By your gloomy face, I take it that Rhys is showing his dreadful lack of manners, again?"
*Hey!*
"We're just tired," she said, taking the moral high ground with smug satisfaction. "I don't suppose I can expect him to be civilized, under the circumstances."
"I suppose not," Byron agreed, his face solemn. She felt the tickle as he connected to her mind in time to hear Rhys' indignant response. On the trip, she'd finally gotten used to the idea, realizing that the Heralds would never use their power to do anything wrong to her, and had given them permission to establish contact whenever they wished.
*You're ganging up on me! Faniel, be a pal and help me out, here.*
*Sorry, Chosen, but that's _my_ back you're insulting. You're on your own.*
Tatya relayed Faniel's reply to Byron, and they shared a chuckle. Rhys retreated, sulking. Tatya turned to Byron with a smile. "So, how far are we to tonight's camp?"
He gave her an odd look. "You mean, nobody told you?" She shook her head. "We crossed into Deshannel territory about an hour ago. We should reach the keep in another hour or so. It's almost over." His kindly tone took in more than just the endless ride.
"Did you know?" she whispered to Rhys.
*I...I knew. I just didn't want to worry you.*
"Oh," she said tonelessly. "Thank you."
*Tatya...*
Byron cleared his throat, interrupting whatever Rhys was going to say next. He untied a long, cloth-wrapped bundle from the top of one of Gally's saddlebags. "I've been meaning to ask you, Tatya. Do you have any weapons' training?"
She shrugged, still lost in her own thoughts. "Only with the bow. There's a Spring Hunt where I grew up, and it's traditional for all unmarried girls of a certain age to participate. It's the only reason my parents would let me learn the bow." She didn't mention the fact that they always arranged for her to ride a horse so old that she couldn't possible catch up with the front-runners or the game.
"Then you can use this," he said, and unwrapped the cloth to reveal an unstrung bow and a small quiver of arrows. "You should stay out of the fighting, but if something goes wrong, don't hesitate to defend yourself. If they get to close for you to use the bow, Faniel will see you to safety." She took the bow and arrows gingerly, and slung the quiver across her back. "Can you string the bow?"
She shook her head. "Not astride. If we could stop?"
Faniel and Gally moved to the side of the road, and she swung down with a heartfelt groan, strung the bow with difficulty, and clambered ungracefully back into the saddle. As they started to move again, she tried to find the least awkward place to stick the thing. When she was satisfied, she said to Byron, "Thanks. What will happen when we arrive?"
"It depends on the Duke. He'll know we're coming, unfortunately. It's impossible to hide this many armed men. He may choose to surrender." The King's Own sounded dubious, and Tatya heard Rhys snort.
"And if he doesn't?"
Byron spread his arms. "Then events progress as they must. I'm no Foreseer."
"What _are_ your Gifts, if you don't mind me asking?"
He looked startled. "No, it's no real secret. I'm a Mindspeaker, of course, and I have the Fetching Gift." At her blank expression, he pointed to a nearby sour apple tree. A couple of desiccated fruits still clung to its skeletal branches with grim determination. He held out his hand, and before she could blink, the nearest fruit had vanished from the limb, and nestled securely in his palm. Tatya's grin was delight, itself, and Byron preened a little bit under the attention. "That's all, I'm afraid. My real talents lie in the realm of the library."
"That's amazing!"
*He's married, Tatya. Try not to pant too obviously,* Rhys said sourly, apparently forgetting the link that still bound Tatya and Byron. Both of them colored. Or maybe, Tatya thought, he hadn't forgotten it at all.
"Rhys!" Tatya chided, looking anywhere but Byron.
For his part, the King's Own had begun to hem and haw. "I'd better get up to the front, since we're close." Gally bounced off.
"That was completely uncalled for, Rhys."
*Here, here,* Faniel said, *Gally and I were having a perfectly nice discussion until you showed yourself to be such a boor. I shouldn't wonder if she ignores me from now on.*
*I'm sorry,* Rhys said, sounding genuinely contrite. *I'm just...nervous. And angry that I can't do...anything of the things that I want to do. It's maddening. Please forgive me, Tatya.*
"Of course I forgive you," she said. "Just don't let it happen again."
*No, it won't.* She felt his smile, like a fragment of summer sunshine. For a while they just rode in silence, exchanging the feelings they couldn't find words for through the link that bound them.
*Children,* Faniel eventually said, shattering their fragile rapport, *We have arrived.*
* * *
The Duke was not inclined to surrender. In fact, he didn't even make an appearance, or wait for a formal reading of the warrants to be accomplished. As soon as the King's troops and Heralds entered the city, they were beset by the Deshannel personal guard, and ununiformed fighters that had the dark look of the prisons about them. Annice rode with the Guard. Her primary Gift, as it turned out, was Firestarting. From their position on the hill, Tatya and Rhys could see the attackers' progress measured in gouts of white flame. Byron had stayed with them at the beginning, but joined the fray when it seemed like an infantry unit would be routed by archers armed with flaming arrows. Although he hadn't moved from their side, Gally's rigid stance and Byron's glazed eyes made it clear that he was no longer with them.
*I should be there,* Rhys fretted, *What if they need me?*
"Then they'll call," Tatya said. She, for one, had no desire to race into that boiling cauldron of fighting men and women. It was no place for her, and she knew it. Faniel knew it too, for though she could sense his tense eagerness through her bond with Rhys, he made no move to join the battle, or to support Rhys.
Down the hill, a young Guard was trapped and cut down by two of the prison scum. Tatya looked away, wide eyed, and scanned the plains outside the city, just to give her eyes something else to do. When she almost thought she could look back at the city without embarrassing the Heralds by being sick all over Faniel's mane, something dark flickered at the edge of her vision. "What's that?" she asked.
She felt Rhys look through her eyes, and then a jolt of electricity shot through them. *It's the Duke! Faniel!*
The Companion went from standing still to full flight in one heartstopping moment; he screamed a battle cry as Tatya swore and grasped the reins in a deathly grip. "What's going on?" she cried.
*It's the _Duke_, Tatya! He's getting away!*
Faniel's legs pumped with furious speed, and the distance between him and the Duke's horse closed faster than Tatya would have believed possible. But it wouldn't be fast enough. The Duke had almost reached the trees, and once there, he had the advantage of knowing the land and whatever tricks that he'd prepared. Good, she thought wildly, let him go! If he's free, then Rhys will have to stay. He'll have to stay...with me.
*Tatya!* Rhys' voice was desperate, *You have to shoot him. We can't let him get away.*
"Rhys," she whispered. The wind ripped her plea way, but she knew he heard.
*Tatya...* She felt his fear, his anger, and his sorrow. They battered her and comforted her at the same time. And she knew that she could not trap him into the half-life that he'd been forced into. He would come to hate her as his captor, and she would hate herself.
"I love you," Tatya said, and a bubble of timelessness surrounded the girl and the Companion. She readied the bow, and noticed with detachment that her hands were lit with an icy blue aura. She notched an arrow, and the world narrowed to the bow, the figure on the racing horse, and the space in between.
*I love you, too, Tatya,* Rhys said. She felt his arms come about her, his cheek, warm and rough with stubble, pressed against her own. Together they drew the bow, and waited for that perfect moment for it to take flight. It came, and the arrow sprang like a hound after a deer. The horse screamed in fear as its rider fell, transfixed by a Herald's arrow in the throat.
For the second time in her life, Tatya's world dissolved under an onslaught of white fire. This time, however, she knew what was happening, and as she sank into oblivion, tears ran freely down her cheeks.
And very far away, in a half-built temple in Companion's Field, the Death Bell began to toll.