Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
For you people who read the first two chapters before 5/7/02, I added a little to chapter 2, so things might not make sense unless you go back and look at the changes.
Note: Herald Neave's Companion Kyldathar actually is mentioned on page 271, paperback English DAW edition, of Arrows of the Queen. Neave himself is mentioned in that chapter, and in one paragraph on page 305 of Winds of Change. Yes, I am obsessed with the Valdemar books, all 21 of them (22 if you count The Valdemar Companion, but since I'm 4/7 holds on that at the library, I can't say I'm obsessed with it yet)! I'm fond of the little mentioned characters that have a sentence dedicated to them later, like Neave. He's always been one of my favorite two-second-bit characters.
Ralca woke up in a prison cell. She groaned. I wasn't supposed to survive that, she protested mentally. I was supposed to die...
Every part of her hurt. She wished Jarin was there with her. Not to die, of course, but for comfort. She hoped Ali had escaped.
She couldn't stay awake long; the pain was too much. She drifted back into oblivion still denying her survival.
When she woke up again, her wounds were bandaged neatly but not with overt care. Soon after, a pair of guards came and took her to her trial. It was ridiculous from the start. She was accused of aiding and abetting a heretic, of being a heretic herself, and the murders of all those she had killed when rescuing Ali. She was not allowed to speak in her own defense, nor was she allowed anything else. The trial was conducted by the Sunpriests themselves, still angry at the wounding of one of their own. Less than a candlemark later, it was over. Ralca would be burned the next day, at the same place Ali had been scheduled to be executed at. She was taken back to her cell and left there without food or water.
The next morning, she lay on her pile of straw until they came to take her. They set her on an old horse (bareback), tied her hands behind her back, and led her through the shouting, jeering crowd of the city to the burning post. She searched for Jarin, and found him. There was no trace of sorrow or pity in his iron eyes, only scorn, disdain, and disgust. His eyes met hers, and his face twisted into a scowl. He spit at her, and looked away.
It was more than Ralca could bear. Tears welled up in her eyes. For a second she wanted to be burned, wanted to die. The next she was angry. She blinked the tears away and looked around for a possible escape.
An abandoned but still sturdy shack-like "house" wasn't far off. Ralca kicked a guard's face with her right foot and swung the other one over the horse's neck, dropping to the ground. She fought her way through the crowd, elbowing and kicking. She collapsed against the door and slammed it shut behind her.
What luck! A knife and the board for the door were within easy reach! She sliced the ropes on her wrists and barred the door. Now, to find her way out. There was a door in the back that she could run out.
Her nose twitched, and she sneezed. A smell like smoke reached her nostrils—
Smoke. Her eyes widened, and her insides twisted with fear. They had set fire to the house.
She ran to the door, but they had reached it first. It was locked. There were no windows. The front wall was beginning to smolder. Someone threw oil on it outside, and it roared up.
Ralca began to panic. There was no way out. The fire was spreading. They had lit another fire at the other wall. She was on her knees now, trying to breathe. She heard the beams creaking, and knew that the roof would soon collapse.
Vkandis save me...
She crawled towards the only part of the house that wasn't encased in flames, coughing fiercely. The other section collapsed in a thunder of sparks. Ralca, squeezed against the wall, was still alive, but her left arm was caught under a burning beam. The fire ate through her clothes and began to lick across her skin. She screamed and thrust it away.
The roof was leaning against the floor, and the fire was flickering across it. Clutching her arm, Ralca tried to find a way through, but it was no use.
She heard cries of fear from outside, but they didn't compute in her fear-numbed brain. The fire crept towards her across the floor.
Silver hooves kicked through the slanted roof, opening a hole of freedom. Ralca looked up in shock, into a pair of stunningly blue eyes, and forgot about the fire as she fell into them.
:I am Daeor, and I Choose you, Ralca. I will never leave you.:
Another burning beam fell to the ground beside them. Daeor hopped away. :And now, we have to get out of here. Ride!:
Ralca pulled herself into the saddle. The smoke was more plentiful here, but Daeor ran back through the hole he'd made into the open air. The crowd fell away from them in fear. Soldiers moved to stop them, but Daeor ran them down, dodging between the spears. Ralca felt her side wound reopen, and an arrow strike her shoulder.
Daeor finally made it out of Sunhame, and raced down the road at a pace no horse could hope to match.
When they had run for what Daeor judged long enough, he slowed and halted. Ralca nearly slid out of the saddle with weariness. :Strap yourself in,: Daeor advised.
Ralca looked, and found a multitude of straps and buckles for just that purpose. She fixed herself in, still not thinking about what had happened. When she was secure and Daeor kept walking, she spoke. "You're a Hellhorse, aren't you?"
:No. I am a Companion.:
"A Hellhorse," Ralca insisted. "From Valdemar."
:We're not Hellhorses,: Daeor explained patiently. :We're Companions.:
"Does this make me—"
:A White Rider? Yes. A Herald.:
"Oh, sweet Sun Lord..." Ralca swayed in the saddle again. "But I don't have magic! They tested me, and—"
:They missed it. Your power is so small that they overlooked it.:
"You mean I have witch-powers?"
:Mind-magic. Yes. You have a small Gift of Mindspeech, but that's all.:
"Then why the hell did you Choose me?" she wailed.
:I couldn't have Chosen any other,: he replied simply. :You are my Chosen, and that's the end of it.:
Ralca's burned arm was throbbing painfully. She felt tears sneaking up in the back of her eyes. "This can't be happening to me." Everything hit her at once. She was going to be a Demonrider, Jarin hated her, Ali was Vkandis-knew-where, she had survived a fire, she hurt all over...
:Chosen, am I so evil?: Daeor asked.
"No!" Ralca replied immediately, angrily. "Never you!"
:I am no different from any other Companion. We aren't evil, I assure you. believe me, Ralca, if no one else.:
Ralca rubbed her eyes. "I suppose I have to believe you. I—I couldn't not believe you. You're my Companion, and...I am what I am, and that's a De—Herald."
:And you wonder why I Chose you?:
"I think I'm going to faint."
And she did.
Not much longer, then we can turn around and go home.
:I hope you're right, Chosen,: Kyldathar grumbled. :I'm sick of "roughing it" and I want to get back to Haven,:
Herald Neave grinned and ruffled his Companion's mane. "There's a Waystation near here, I think. We should be able to sleep comfortably tonight."
:Thank the gods.:
True to his word, they found a Waystation just as night was falling. Neave took care of Kyldathar and went to make himself some dinner.
The Waystation was one of the better ones, to his delight: well-stocked, with two rooms, each with its own bed, and an iron stove for cooking. Neave was raiding the cupboards when Kyldathar Mindspoke him. :Neave, Daeor's coming.:
Neave frowned. :Daeor? Isn't he one of the stallions who hasn't Chosen yet?:
:Not anymore. He's got his Chosen, and she's badly hurt. He needs help, he says. They've been riding like hell for the last few days, and she's barely been awake enough to eat.:
:Where did he get her?:
:Karse.:
:Karse?! The crazy idiot!:
Neave got a sense of agreement. :Yes, he is that, apparently. But he's coming here, and I'm afraid you'll have to help take care of a wounded Karsite Herald.:
"A Karsite Herald," Neave muttered, shaking his head. Well, at least there were two beds in this Waystation. "At least she'll have company, unlike Alberich."
He stuck his head out the door and looked south. As Kyldathar had said, Daeor was pounding up the road. He came to a halt in front of Neave.
The fiery-haired Herald raised his eyebrows and shook his head. The woman slumped across Daeor's back did not look well. Neave set about unbuckling the straps that held her in place. He caught her as she fell and carried her inside, laying her carefully on the bed. "Companion Daeor?" he asked. "Shall I tend you or your Chosen first?" The question was joking, but vital.
:I'll last. I'm not sure if she will.:
Neave heard Daeor's underlying panic, and held up the woman's badly burned left arm. She groaned in her sleep.
"The burn's infected," he told the Companion, who had walked inside and was standing behind him. "What happened, anyway? And what's her name?"
Daeor explained everything as Neave set about cleaning and bandaging all of Ralca's injuries. "She really been through a lot," he murmured as they both finished.
:And coming from you, that really means something,: the Companion said softly.
Neave shrugged and turned away. "The stable is over here." He hoped Daeor would take the hint and change the subject.
He followed Neave out docilely, saying no more. Neave was very grateful for the respite, and even more so that he wouldn't be pressed about his past.