What Might Have Been

By Cybra

A/N:  I'm glad to hear people still like the story, but I'm afraid that this is not an A/H story.  :::points to summary:::  Yes, I know I'm evil, but that's the way this story's going.

Disclaimer:  What?  You think I own Velgarth and Hey Arnold!?  :::laughs:::  Those two worlds belong to Mercedes Lackey and Craig Bartlett respectively.  Worship them, not me!  Oh, and I also do not own the two Heralds who make a guest appearance here.  They're owned by Toei.  :::evil grin:::

Chapter 5: Journey to the Palace

The day of departure arrived swiftly, and Phoebe stood nervously beside Arnold and Sarabi.  Trying not to fidget, she reached out and touched Sarabi's beautiful white coat.

Arnold smiled as the Rethwellan royals gave their final goodbyes to him.  The princess had noticed the Herald's manner relaxing little by little in front of her parents as the King and Queen grew to trust that he would be able to complete the task assigned to him.  If she had not known better, she would have thought he had planned that.

Finally, the Queen opened her arms.  "Goodbye, Phoebe."

Immediately, the Heir rushed to those open arms and hugged her mother.  "Goodbye, Mother."  She turned and hugged her father.  "Goodbye, Father."

"You'll be back before you know it," her father reassured her.

She nodded and released him, walking back over to Herald Arnold and Sarabi.

Somehow, Arnold had swung up into the saddle without anyone noticing, so he had to reach down with one calloused hand to her.  When she accepted the hand silently yet graciously, he pulled her up behind him.

"Take good care of her," the King sternly ordered, but there was a kind smile on his face.

"She's in safe hands."  At a snort from the Companion, Arnold amended, "Safe hands and safe hooves."

Phoebe simply adjusted her glasses[1] with a small smile.

The King of Rethwellan waved his hand for them to be on their way.

Sarabi reared up, spun on her hind legs to face the opposite direction, placed her front hooves back on the ground, and took off at a canter that made any judge of horses drool.

"Show off," Arnold hissed in her ears.

:Naturally.:

Phoebe could not hear the response from the Companion, but judging by the way the Herald reached forward and rapped her between her ears, it was not the response someone humble would give.  The princess laughed.

~@~

For about an hour, the chiming of silver hooves on the cobblestones and silver bells on the tack were the only sounds heard.  The young Herald had never let that bother him.  Lonely circuits were something he was used to with only the "voice" of Sarabi nagging at him in his head.

Still, he had yet to adjust to those little bells.  He really hated the formal tack.  Why did they not just ride into some bandit camp and make it even easier for possible thieves?

:Say something to her,: Sarabi finally ordered him.

:Hm?:

:Helloooo!  You're a human!  She's a human!  Converse, boy!:  She rolled her pretty blue eyes.  :Honestly.:

He glared at her.  :How often do I talk to actual human beings?:

Slowly, she admitted, :Not often.  But you could be a bit more social at the Collegium if you worked harder at it.:

Mentally blowing her a raspberry, he turned his head to catch the princess in his (sadly limited) peripheral vision.[2]  He had told her to dress as much like a commoner as possible, and he had been pleased by her choice.  At least no bandit would realize that this lone Herald was ferrying a princess.

Her eyes were turned towards the passing countryside with interest.  Yet as soon as he turned his head, she turned her dark brown eyes towards him.

:…Sarabi, what in gods' names am I supposed to say to her?:

:If I could, I would slap a hand against my forehead in frustration.:

"I'm really sorry that I'm not that talkative…" he apologized awkwardly.

"It's all right."  She smiled and brushed a stray lock of black hair out of her face.  "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure."

"Why were you Chosen?"

Arnold paused, lowering his head slightly.  And before she could retract her question in apology, he answered, "I don't know.  Sarabi Chose me earlier than she ordinarily would have, but she keeps telling me that she was going to Choose me no matter what had happened to me.  But what she saw in me, I don't know."

His choice in wording must have confused her, but she did not comment.  Instead, she said, "I bet your parents are proud."

"I'm sure they would have been.  Dad was a Herald, and Mom was a Healer."

He saw her eyes widen at his use of the past tense when she whispered, "You lost them?"

"They rode up past the Sorrows one day to help a village.  Nobody ever saw them again."  At her unasked question, he went on, "My grandparents, both Heralds, took care of me until I was six.  They died trying to save a village from fire.  Look, can we not talk about this?"

"Of course."  She changed the subject.  "So, what do you normally do?"

"Well, on normal circuits, I ride around from village to village, or hold to hold, or whatever, delivering messages, dealing out justice, that sort of thing.  But if you mean on the roads like this, I usually talk with the lovely lady we're riding on…"  Sarabi tossed her head here as Arnold smiled.  "…sing as I play my lute, or play my recorder."

"You play the lute?" she asked with interest.

He laughed.  "My grandma taught me.  I learned the recorder while I was laid up with a broken leg at the Collegium.  I annoyed the Healers since I was so bored.  I think I wasn't the only one who was glad when my leg finally healed.  I brought the recorder – in the right saddlebag with my spare Whites, princess – but I left the lute in my room at the Collegium since I felt we'd need speed on this trip."

At the word "princess," Phoebe requested as she continued to root around in the right saddlebag, "Please call me 'Phoebe,' Herald Arnold."

"Only if you call me 'Arnold.'"

"Done."  She pulled the wooden instrument from the saddlebag.  "Why don't you play something?"  Then she paused.  "Wait.  You need two hands to play both the recorder and the lute.  How do you play while you're riding?"

He released the reins, letting them drop against Sarabi's neck, taking the recorder from her stunned hands.  "We're trained to do everything in the saddle: eat, sleep, write, etc.  Some people claim they've even…"  Arnold coughed.  "Well, that's not really something to discuss in polite company."

:With some of those people, I wouldn't be surprised…: Sarabi whickered.

:Sicko.:  Turning his attention from Sarabi, he asked, "Anyway, how about something from Rethwellan?  'Threes?'" [3]

"You know 'Threes?'"

"It's very popular amongst the Heralds."  He grinned, raising the recorder to his lips.

He played the beginning of the song: a quick, bouncy tune of irregular rhythms.  He felt her tap her fingers through the first verse.  He felt and heard the hoof beats of Sarabi fall in time with the song.

By the third verse, he was smiling broadly as he played, for the princess was singing along.  He had to admit that she was pretty good.  He supposed that she had had music lessons at the Rethwellan Palace.

"Three things trust above all else: the horse on which you ride, the beast that guards your sleeping, and your shield mate at your side!"[4] she sang, as they finished.

At her request, he played other songs, this time from his homeland: "Dark and Stormy Night," "Holderkin Sheep Song," and "Windrider Unchained."  Even as he played them, he deeply regretted not having brought his lute.  She might have liked the words that went with the tunes.

The rest of the day passed without event.  It would be a few days until any sort of incident would occur.

~@~

Arnold had just finished a pride-filled rendition of "Herald's Creed" when his Empathy Gift detected malevolent emotions ahead.

He tensed, and Sarabi, knowing that habit, slowed.

"What is it?" Phoebe asked.

"Trouble."

He stretched his Gift ahead of them towards the source of those dark emotions.  He sensed greed, cruelty, and malice.

He cursed.  "Bandits."

"How far ahead?"

"Far enough ahead that if my Gift wasn't that strong, I wouldn't have sensed them this early, but close enough to start worrying about them.  We'll have to cut around them."

Searching his brain for the geography of the surrounding area, Arnold tried to remember if there was another road they could use other than the South Trade Road.  He sighed after a minute.  Their best escape route would be across open country, which would make the farmers angry.  The Crown would have to reimburse them afterwards.

:I can always outrun them, Chosen,: Sarabi pointed out, cutting into his thoughts.

:Ordinarily, I'd say go for it, but we have the princess.:

:Right.:

:We'll have to curve around.  The faster we get back on the road, the more distance we can put between them and the less damage we do to the fields.  No offense, Sarabi, but it's easier to make tracks on a paved road.:

:None taken.  It is easier.  I don't have to worry about whether I'm shoving my hoof down a gopher hole.:

"I'm assuming we have a plan," Phoebe stated with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Arnold answered, sticking the recorder into his saddlebag. "We're going to run and fight only if necessary."

"All right."  She gripped on tightly.  "Ready."

Sarabi rocketed forward and off the road.  Patches of dirt flew every which way as she raced.  The two riders leaned over her neck to help her increase her speed.

The bandits appeared seemingly from nowhere, trying to cut them off from the front.  They screamed in challenge.

Sarabi charged towards the road.  All she needed to do was get ahead of them, and then they would be left in the dust.  No horse could keep up with a Companion running at full speed.

"Phoebe!  In the right saddlebag, there's a brown pouch!  Throw it!" Arnold ordered.

Phoebe, gripping onto him for dear life with one arm, opened the right saddlebag and pulled out a small brown pouch.  It jangled slightly with coins.  "What is it?!"

"It's my strip end!"

"Your pay?!"

"Yes!  Just toss it!"

"But…!"

"The Crown will reimburse me!  Just throw it!"

She did as she was told, throwing it behind her and towards the bandits.

Only one stopped to pick it up while the others continued to chase them.

Arnold cursed.  "They want more than just money!"

"What do they want?!"

The Herald looked back at her meaningfully.

"How do they know I'm a – ?!"

"They don't!  You're a woman!"

Something in her mind clicked, and Phoebe turned scarlet.

:Arnold, we have a problem!:

:What?!:

:We've been cut off!:

More bandits were coming from the road.  The ones from behind were looping around them to encircle them.

:Sarabi, call for help!:

:You got it!:

"Phoebe, I hope you have some sort of training when it comes to fighting because we're in for one," Arnold said grimly, as Sarabi pulled to a stop.

Before she could answer, he handed her a knife.  He cursed himself thrice-over for not having any sort of long-range weapon on him, but speed had been what they needed for this, so he had packed bare essentials.  He cursed his small size for being unsuitable for handling a sword.  He hoped his knife-wielding, a skill he was particularly proud of, was a match for this lot.

As the first of the bandits came to meet them, Sarabi reared, flailing her hooves as well as any trained warhorse.  Blood spurted from the eye of the bandit's bay.   The injured horse reared in pain and sent its rider flying.

With a flick of the wrist, Arnold sent a throwing knife into one overbold bandit's throat.  Sending silent thanks to the man who had devised the clever wrist holders that held his throwing knives, he flicked his wrist twice: once to release another knife into his hand, and again to throw it into another bandit's chest.  He stabbed one bandit who came too close with a normal knife.

A glance back stunned Arnold into nearly losing an eye to one bandit's clever feint.  The princess, who he had assumed would barely know what to do with a knife, slashed one bandit who had come up from the rear in the face, cutting the villain from the corner of his eye to his chin.  Even though she came close to losing her balance several times due to Sarabi's continual bucks as the Companion attacked with her hooves, Phoebe fought as if she had had some practice.

Returning his full attention back to his opponents, he cried out in pain as one slashed at the arm holding the normal knife.  He cursed as he instinctively released the weapon but quickly grabbed the knife with his other hand.  He could still throw with his bad arm, but it would hurt.

The bandits laughed at the Herald.  It was only a matter of time until the pair wore down enough to kill the Herald and take the young lady for their own sick pleasures.

Unfortunately, an arrow from behind imbedding itself into one bandit's back seemed to tell them that they should rethink their plans.

A white blur with brilliant crimson riding atop it circled around.  A sword lashed out, hacking into the bandits.

The bandits, screaming now with fear, began to break away from their targets.

But the earth itself seemed to rebel, turning to mud under their horses' hooves.  The only places that were solid were where the white blur and where Sarabi stood.  The horses struggled as they sank in the mud and their masters urged them onward.  Any men who attempted to abandon their horses were caught in the mud or fell prey to the blur's sword.

When the horses had been buried up to their necks and their riders up to their chests, the mud suddenly dried, imprisoning the horses and riders in the earth.

The white blur stopped to reveal a Companion stallion and a male Herald about five years Arnold's senior with brilliant red hair.  The pair trotted right up to the struggling, trapped bandits.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you that it's not nice to gang up on people?" the red-haired Herald sassed.

Bell-like hoof beats announced the arrival of a second Herald that was the same age as the redhead, but this Herald rode a mare like Arnold.  The man who rode the mare had dark hair that looked as if it had blue highlights.  He pulled up beside the redhead.

"Are you all right, Arnold?" the dark-haired man asked.

Arnold winced, putting away his knife before gripping his wound tightly.  "'Tis but a flesh wound."  He glanced at Phoebe.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine.  A little scratched, but not as badly as you."  She reached into the left saddlebag – "her" saddlebag – and rooted around until she found the bandages.  "Hold still."

Arnold could only blink before he found his hand gently pried off of his arm and his wound being tended by the princess.  He stared at her for a moment before he glared at his fellow Heralds who stood snickering.

Embarrassed, he asked, "So why send a Herald-Mage to deal with a bunch of bandits, Ken?"

The dark-haired Herald grinned.  "Koushiro, Wythern, Ylsa, and I were dispatched by the Monarchs to deal with rumors of a blood mage.  We were passing by when Wythern and Ylsa heard Sarabi's call.  Lucky you."

The redhead, obviously Koushiro, grinned as well.  "So who's your lady friend?"

Arnold growled at their toothy smiles.  He had a reputation around the Collegium, and it was not a reputation to be envied: the "Unsexed Runt."  He did not particularly care for romantic entanglements, so several of the Heralds had jokingly started calling him that.  Unfortunately, the nickname had spread beyond the Heralds, and it was not always used affectionately as the Heralds usually used it.

Gathering what dignity he had left (and deciding to punch each of them in the teeth at the first opportunity), he answered, "May I present the Heir of Rethwellan.  Phoebe, these jokers are Herald Koushiro, his Companion Wythern, Herald-Mage Ken, and his Companion Ylsa."

Phoebe looked up from her work and smiled.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The youngest of the three Heralds smirked as Ken and Koushiro's jaws nearly hit the ground.  Even their Companions looked properly flummoxed.

The trapped bandits swallowed, sweating profusely.  Attacking citizens and Heralds was one thing.  Attacking royalty was another matter entirely.

Koushiro cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, and addressed the bandits, "The Guards are on their way.  I sent them a message through Mindspeech."  A smirk lighted on his lips.  "I suppose we'll see you again in a few years after you've done hard time."

"Wonderful," Arnold said.  He turned to Phoebe. "Sorry about this."

"Did you ask the bandits to attack?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Well…no."

"Then don't apologize.  I doubt you have ForeSight as a minor Gift."

Arnold blinked again before glaring at Koushiro and Ken's grinning faces.  Though not an overly violent person, the two Heralds were starting to seriously annoy him into considering acts of substantial violence with those looks on their faces.

Glancing at the low position of the sun, he sighed.  "I suppose we'll have to camp here for tonight.  Care to join us?"

"If the lady does not object…?" Ken asked.

Phoebe smiled, shaking her head.  "I don't think I'd mind the extra company."

"We knew you'd say that."  The dark-haired Herald said, blue eyes twinkling.

The redhead grinned, his own black eyes twinkling as well.  "Arnold the Eternally Anti-Social isn't exactly the best company for anybody."

'That's it.  They die in their sleep,' Arnold decided.

~@~

Sarabi stood facing Ylsa and Wythern late that night.  Unlike her Chosen, she was rather social with her own kind and talked to them when she needed to clear up something she did not understand.  (While Arnold would do the same, he preferred to ask the Companions for pearls of wisdom first since he felt more comfortable with them.)

:There's something…strong…there,: Sarabi explained. :I don't know what it is.  I've never seen anything like it before.  It's so…strange.  I mean, it's absolutely bizarre.  It's similar to a Companion-Herald bond, but it's – obviously – not that.  I can sense it, but I can't name it.  And I don't think they know it's there.:

Ylsa and Wythern exchanged looks.  To any casual observer, the two Companions were twins except for their gender.  Both were slim and small; Sarabi was actually more muscular than Wythern.  But the two Companions were not related; in reality, they were a mated pair.

:Sarabi, we know what you're sensing.  We've sensed it, too,: Ylsa said slowly.

Sarabi pricked her ears forward, eager to learn from the older mare.

The stallion pawed the ground and glanced back towards his chosen and the young man who had his arms wrapped around the redhead.  :It's the same as the bond between those two.:

:What?:  Sarabi turned her head towards Ken and Koushiro.  :But they're lifebonded…:

It was not unheard of to have lifebonds between two of the same gender.  Herald-Mage Vanyel had been lifebonded to two men though it could be argued that they were the same man since Bard Stefen was the reincarnation of Herald-Mage-trainee Tylendel.

Wythern dipped his head to the ground, letting his forehead bump the ground in a Companion's version of slapping a hand against the forehead.  :Yes…:

Sarabi looked from Ken and Koushiro to Arnold and Phoebe.

Currently, the princess was covered by Arnold's blanket.  She had been trying to hide her shivering, but he had seen and given her his blanket to supplement the warmth of her own.  She had protested, but he told her that he could take the cold.  When Phoebe had fallen asleep, Arnold had thrown a rock at Koushiro's snickering but had leaned against the saddlebags, crossed his arms, and fallen asleep fairly close to her.

The young Companion stretched her senses to get a "feel" of the bond that existed between Ylsa and Wythern's Chosen.  Her blue eyes widened at the familiar feel of the bond.  To make sure she was not making a mistake, she felt the bond between the princess and her own Chosen once more.

It confirmed her earlier impression: the bond was the same.

:Oh, no,: Sarabi murmured, shaking her head. :No, no, no…She's promised to someone else…:

Ylsa leaned her head forward and gave the younger mare a sympathetic nuzzle.  :I know.:

:It's not fair!  Once they realize it, it'll kill him!  I swear it will!  This will be the absolute last straw!:  Sarabi looked up into Ylsa's eyes.  :Isn't there any other way?  Can we break it?:

:No,: the ordinarily cheerful Wythern sighed. :We can't.  When you get to Haven, you will have to just go along with the plan as if nothing has changed.:

Sarabi trembled in agony.  She cared for her Chosen like an older sister would care for a little brother:  She bickered with him but truly loved him.

:Talk to Barris,: Ylsa suggested. :Maybe he'll know what to do.:

Looking back at her Chosen, Sarabi whispered, :I hope so.:



[1] I forgot to mention this in an early chapter, but one of the Heralds, Herald-Chronicler Myste (Tee hee, Misty!), had glasses, so they did have glasses in the world of Velgarth.  Besides, it is impossible to imagine Phoebe without them.

[2] Based on the wide shape of Arnold's head, it is pretty safe to assume that his peripheral vision is somewhat lacking.

[3] This is a real song.  Excellent song.  You can hear it on Heralds, Harpers, & Havoc.

[4] This is, obviously, an excerpt from "Threes."