Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, etc. created by Mercedes Lackey.
CHAPTER 7: The Messenger
By late spring, the two had settled into a daily routine. Torren and Rigan awakened a candlemark before each dawn and commenced early-morning inspections of the Lakeside Inn. Barring any immediate crisis involving guests, staff, building or—Havens forbid—plumbing—they headed down to the stables. Rigan saddled their new mare with the help of a bleary-eyed stable boy—one of the recent hirelings—and would be riding out of Westridge's town gates by the time dawn's first pink rays crept over the horizon.
Once safely out of the town proper, Rigan would give the mare her head until they came upon the first heavily-forested area. The mare trotted along a half-forgotten, narrow hunting-path through the woods until they arrived at a now-familiar clearing. There Rigan would tie the mare's bridle to a tree, leaving her to crop lazily at the sparse grass while he crossed to the other end of the clearing, and let Torren take over. Torren then would spend the rest of the early morning flying over the countryside and exercising his hunting skills.
Surprisingly, Rigan often found himself enjoying this time spent with Torren, quite possibly because it was often the only time of day the two could spend by themselves. The tenor of their lives had changed drastically since they had arrived in Westridge, and the majority of their time was spent tending to the affairs of the inn.
Once Torren completed his flight, he and Rigan returned to the clearing and headed back to the inn. Rigan then began his late-morning rounds of the inn, making certain that each area, from stable to kitchen, was running smoothly and that each member of the staff was performing his or her duties efficiently and well.
The middle of day was set aside for going over the inn's accounts and finances. The first few weeks had been devoted to taking account of the supplies needed to run the inn, down to the last grain of wheat that passed through the kitchen. Once Rigan figured out how much money was required to keep the inn going on a weekly basis, and then estimated how much help they would need to hire at what pay, he was able to decide the nightly rates for overnight guests and gauge how the tavern meals should be priced.
Rigan's current major project centered on the contracts Paki and Ramla's mother had entered into with the local suppliers. Several afternoons were devoted to hard bargaining sessions with these merchants and farmers, and he often returned to the inn late in the day, tired but proudly clutching a brand-new or reinstated contract containing several provisions in the inn's favor. Under Rigan's management, the inn was on its way to regaining its status as a growing, thriving business within Westridge.
Then came time to make the evening rounds and settle any of the guests' various complaints. Twice every week, 'Torrigan' would call together a meeting of Paki (still serving as main cook), the head groom, and the housekeeper to review the inn's performance and make suggestions for any future ideas or plans.
And in between all of these scheduled duties were the myriad tasks and minor complaints requiring 'Torrigan's' immediate presence and counsel. Paki in particular worked diligently and was a great aid and help to Rigan, but the teenager did not hesitate to admit that he was out of his depth when it came to actually running the inn. The young man depended entirely upon his new friend to make certain his and Ramla's only inheritance would survive and flourish.
The pressure on Rigan was immense, but he thrived on it. After all, it was one thing to proud of one's work as a simple hireling; but accepting responsibility for a business gave one a sense of personal accomplishment when it did well. Rigan didn't mind that he was only the innkeeper, and not the actual owner of the Lakeside Inn. He even had high hopes that he would one day help Paki expand the business. Rigan collapsed into bed every night exhausted and overworked, but satisfied.
So involved was he in managing the inn that he sometimes forgot his own—unique—situation. This pulled him out of his former depression, but had other consequences as well.
o.o.o.o.o
The late spring morning dawned clear and bright, a sign of the rapidly approaching summer. In these early candlemarks, the breeze remained cool and refreshing, but Rigan knew that by late morning the sun would turn hot and oppressive.
He was in a good mood as he swung down from the mare's saddle to the long meadow grass. Once he had hitched the horse to a nearby tree, he crossed to the other end of the clearing and turned control over to Torren. The mare at first had been very much startled by this, but now was quite used to the situation. She ignored the metamorphosis occurring not twenty paces away and concentrated instead on the nice bunch of sweetgrass just next to her hooves.
"Ahh…" Torren sighed from within his throat as he stretched his limbs out in relief. As always, it took several moments for the change to be complete. Tendons stretched and crackled; fingers retracted and talons extended in their place. Two brown-feathered wings snapped out on either side as the gryphon flexed his pectoral muscles. Fierce, yellow eyes blinked in the dawn sunlight and a hooked beak parted in an immense yawn, and then snapped shut with a resonant clack.
:So, are we very hungry this morning, old bird :
"Not verrry much," Torren responded aloud. "You did consssume a grrreat deal of food at dinnerrr lassst night. Perrrhapsss a rrrelaxing flight overrr the shorrreline, and then maybe a couple of harrresss?"
:Sounds like a plan to me.:
Torren coasted with the wind along the shore of Lake Evendim, away from Westridge. Here and there the cliffs were dotted with the tiny villages populated by Evendim fisherfolk. A flock of lakebirds joined them for a short while before turning out to the water to hunt for fish.
After a moment's quick conferment, Torren and Rigan decided to follow. Turning westward from the mounting sun, they made their way over the blue-green water. Neither worried about being recognized by the fishermen plying their trade in their wooden boats. And even if a particularly sharp-sighted fellow picked out their shape, well, at their height they wouldn't look much different from an unusually large hawk.
The fishermen didn't venture too far from shore; Lake Evendim was shallow for a certain distance, and then the bottom abruptly gave way to much greater depths. The local villages, and even Westridge, abounded with superstitions regarding the mysterious creatures which made their home in the middle of the lake. Torren was fascinated by tales of these "Wave-Wise," and became ecstatic whenever he caught a sleek form jumping out of the water and then splash down again. He was eager to investigate these legendary creatures further, but for Rigan's time-consuming duties at the inn.
As soon as they had passed the fishing boat furthest out, Torren winged his way up to another thermal, and turned northward. The two followed a curving path back to shore and continued further east until they were flying over deep forest. This was part of their usual route; along the way Torren would hunt for breakfast and then leisurely make his way back to the clearing.
The sun was climbing steadily now. Below them stretched league upon league of dense forest, undifferentiated but for the single dirt road winding its way through the ancient trees below.
:Huh. Looks like a traveler headed for Westridge.:
Few travelers traveled this road to Westridge; most preferred to head through Deercreek and Zoe, and then make their way up along the coastal road. Only the occasional trader would come from this direction, usually on their way from Forst Reach. Rigan wondered who could be traveling this way alone. Bandits were scarce here, but there was a reason for that these days…
Rigan's curiosity transferred itself to Torren, and the gryphon changed his flight path to match the direction of the road. Torren descended just low enough to get a good look without worrying about being identified.
:White horse…white clothing, too. A Herald! Wonder what he's doing here…:
"Perrrhapsss on Cirrrcuit?" Torren fought the wind a bit, so as not to overshoot the rider below.
:Maybe. I wonder if he's heading for the fishing villages? I hear that's a tough Circuit, if he is. Take us back up: Rigan told Torren. :I doubt we'll learn anything interesting, and I don't want the Companion to sense us if we stay any lon--: Rigan was stopped short by Torren's sudden tenseness.
:Therrre'sss sssomething down therrre: Torren sent excitedly.
Rigan looked down through Torren's eyes. He couldn't see anything unusual, but became aware of a vague, growing sense of unease. The Herald below felt it too, for his Companion had stopped in the middle of the road and was looking about nervously. Rigan saw the Herald remove an object from his back, and assumed it to be a weapon of some sort, perhaps a bow. And just in time because—
Two gray shapes jumped onto the path in front of the Herald. The Companion turned to gallop in the opposite direction, but was blocked as three more shapes detached themselves from the forest to join the others. The Herald was blocked on all sides now, and had no choice but to fight back.
:Changewolves: both Torren and Rigan realized at the same time.
The pair had run into Changewolves a time or two, in the course of their travels. Ungainly creatures, the 'wolves were changebeasts spawned from the Mage Storms. Twisted in shape, the creatures below would have knotted limbs, clawed paws, tufted and mangy fur, and curved fangs as long as a grown man's index finger. A part of Rigan froze in anxious fear for the Herald below.
The Companion reared, pawing the air with its forehooves as the Herald took aim with his bow. A small, narrow object—an arrow—darted forth toward one of the creatures. The 'wolf fell forward to lie still on the ground, but the other four continued to close in. One lunged for the Companion and was kicked for its trouble, but the other three dodged the hooves and leapt for the Herald.
His bow isn't going to do him any good now.
The Herald seemed to realize this, for now Torren and Rigan could see sun flash on metal at the Herald beat the Changewolves off with his blade.
But he still hasn't much of a chance, not with a pack of them! Even as Rigan thought this, two more 'wolves joined their brethren.
"We mussst help him!"
:What: Rigan was startled out of his half-paralyzed observation of the scene below. The gryphon was half-gone in battle rage, his feathers mantling and talons flexing in the empty air.
"He hasssn't a chancsse, and you know it! We mussst help him!"
:I suppose--: Now that his reverie was broken, Rigan shared Torren's compassion for the Herald battling below. Changewolves are tough; maybe we could provide a distraction and get him out of there…
But Torren took Rigan's silence as a disagreement, and the gryphon's temper snapped.
"Dammit Rrrigan!" the gryphon hissed with unusual vehemence. "That Herrrald needsss usss, and we'rrre going to help him. I may only contrrrol thisss body a candlemarrrk at a time thessse daysss, and I didn't arrrgue—you need yourrr worrrk at the inn, and it'sss worrrth it to sssee you ssstop mooning arrround like a motherrrlessss nessstling. It might not be worrrth anything to you with all yourrr plansss and ambitionsss, but otherrr people arrre sssufferrring too. And I'm in contrrrol now, and we'rrre going to help that man below, whetherrr you like it or not!"
And with that speech, the gryphon dived down, taking a stunned and speechless Rigan with him.
Good gods, what brought that on?
But he had little time to ruminate on Torren's outburst. Wings tight against his body, wind plastering his feathers against his skin, the gryphon swooped down on the Changewolf closest to the Herald, talons outstretched. One of the 'wolves looked up, suddenly aware that there was large predator bearing down on it from above. But it had no time to dodge Torren's attack; the gryphon delivered a vicious swipe before snapping his wings out and beginning a steep climb, the 'wolf's yelp of pain echoing in his ears. Blood coated the gryphon's talons.
At the peak of their climb, Torren and Rigan looked down once more: from here, they could see the eviscerated Changewolf sprawled on the ground, its blood and innards spilling out from its belly onto the surrounding ground. But the other 'wolves, too intent on their immediate prey, took no notice of the attack on their pack mate.
:Dammit: Rigan cursed. : Torren--:
He took stock of the gryphon's condition and realized he shouldn't have bothered. Torren gave a raptorial scream of anger and curved into a fast descent.
The gryphon didn't bother with hit-and-run tactics this time; battle rage was upon him fully now. He dived down with a demon-like screech, landing upon his prey and snapping its spine in two with a clap of his powerful beak. Torren savored the victory for a split second, and then whipped his head around to assess the Herald's predicament.
Both the Herald and his Companion were holding their own for the moment: the Companion lashing out with wicked hooves; her Herald slashing about him with his sword. But the Changewolves were getting closer with each snap of their jaws, and the duo was tiring.
Torren tensed his leg muscles under him, and then leapt from his position atop the dying 'wolf, talons extended. Using his wings to propel him forward, Torren crashed into a Changewolf mid-lunge, forcing him to the ground. They landed hard, Torren twisting his body to pin the 'wolf under him. The 'wolf struggled to escape, but the gryphon clamped his beak down through the beast's hide, trying to get at what vitals he could. Another wolf, come to aid his pack mate, bit at Torren's hind leg, but the gryphon refused to let go, and countered by lashing out with his hind talons. Rigan heard a yelp as the other Changewolf retreated, but Torren was concentrating fully on the prey in his grip. He bit down harder, harder, until he felt the telltale relaxation of the body under him, signaling death.
Torren slowly unclamped his beak and rose cautiously, wary of further attacks. When none came, he turned to assist the Herald.
And met two sets of eyes; one assessing, the other curious. Both held gratitude. The Herald had dismounted and was now wiping his blade with a white handkerchief. The Companion nosed frantically at the man's hair, as if trying to assure herself that he was still in one piece.
"They're all gone," the Herald called out. He nodded past Torren. "Ran off when you took care of the last one."
Phew, Rigan thought.
"Thank you very much," the Herald continued. He gave a rueful half-grin. "I really don't know what we would have done if you hadn't arrived. I'm all right, Kismat! I'm in one piece; no need to worry!" This said to his Companion, who continued to fret over her Herald. He scratched behind her ears. "I'm fine, thanks to our friend here." He looked at Torren expectantly.
The gryphon said nothing out loud, but remained frozen where he was. Rigan understood his nervousness, but was frustrated at his partner's complete loss of words.
:Say something: he hissed. :They're going to suspect something if we just stand here like a lump.: Indeed, Kismat had left off her worried ministrations, and joined her Herald to stare oddly at them. Rigan could practically see a Dhorisha tumbleweed drift by in the awkward silence.
The Herald shifted his feet and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, thank you again for your most timely intervention. You probably wish to know who it is you've helped, no doubt." He laughed somewhat self-consciously. "My name is Rasul, and this is my Companion, Kismat." He paused. "Anyhow, I know you're probably wondering just what Kismat and I were doing through this area without any escort. I'd heard some Changewolf packs had migrated east from the Pelagirs, though I hadn't had the privilege until now of running into them. But, you see, Kismat and I, we were riding Circuit and had stopped at Forst Reach overnight. We were enjoying a little impromptu feast that Lord Ashkevron—they're very strange, the Ashkevron clan, have you ever met one of them? But that's all right, they do produce the occasional Bard or Herald, not to mention Herald Vanyel, of course, so they can't be all that—"
Dear gods, Rigan thought. Doesn't this man ever shut up?
"But anyhow," the Herald was saying. "I was discussing an estate tax law with the Lord, when I received a rather frantic message from the Heraldic Circle. Not literally, of course, but through Mindspeech, and it had to do with one of the higher lords on his deathbed and the only male heir long disappeared, but it turns out that he has a sister whose whereabouts just became known and I have to get the message to h—"
Fortunately, Torren seemed to finally shake himself out of his frozen state. Mantling his wings, the gryphon stepped forward.
"No thanksss arrre necesarrry, rrreally," he managed to get in edgewise through the Herald's soliloquy. "We—errr, I, I mean—wasss jussst passsing by when I sssaw you needed asssissstancsse."
"And thank the Lady you did!" the Herald responded cheerfully. "Too bad for me my Gifts aren't the offensive kind; Firestarting would have come in useful, that's for certain. Nothing but Mindspeech and a touch of Healing for me, though. So," he continued with an abrupt change in subject. "Where are you from; where're you headed?"
:Son of a bi—: Rigan began to curse, but fortunately by now Torren's wits had fully recovered.
"I am on my way to Dhorisha Plainsss, to the Kaled'a'in sssettlement therrre," the gryphon said quickly. "I am orrriginally from White Grrryphon, but have ssspent the lassst severrral yearrrs amongssst the Valesss and villagesss herrre, ssstudying local legendsss."
Well, as far as Rigan knew, that last part was true enough. And fortunately, the Herald seemed to buy into it. And so long as Lady Kismat does too, I'm fine with that. No Herald or Mage can do anything for us, and I'd rather not be dragged off to the capitol to spend my life as a magical curiosity, thank you very much!
"You study legends, myths, that sort of thing?" the Herald asked curiously. "Are you some sort of Bard, then?"
"Morrre of a scholarrr than a Barrrd, rrreally," Torren replied with some warmth. "I like to find the orrrigins behind the legendsss. Actually, I study culturrres morrre than anything. It wasss—isss—my ambition to ssstudy and wrrrite booksss, guidesss, on other peoplesss."
Oh, really? That was a new revelation for Rigan, and he mentally filed it away for future reference. Or at least to tease Torren about it over the next several weeks or so.
Now, the Herald looked somewhat impressed. "Really? There is the occasional text written on neighboring kingdoms, but nothing scholarly on new folks, like Iftel or those barbarian tribes up north." He propped his back up against Kismat and pursed his lips. "Those would be particularly useful, especially for trainees at the Collegium."
"Errr," The gryphon said hesitantly. "My parrrentsss did not sssee quite the potential asss do you. They dealt prrrimarrrily with Kaled'a'in and the Haighlei Empirrre, who werrre familiarrr to them. And they wanted me to become a Ssssilver Grrryphon, like themssselvesss."
The Herald chuckled. "If lack of appreciation ever inhibits your ambitions, you should come visit us in Haven. With the Alliance, anyone with that kind of scholarly interest is definitely welcome; I can't tell you how many times folks have come close to declaring a Shin'a'in-style bloodfeud based on simple misunderstanding alone! And you would be at home there, too," he enthused. "I've had the pleasure of meeting with several gryphons; ambassadors and teachers at the Mage's Collegium. I've met with Lady Hydona, as well as the Iftel delegation," he continued on blithely, unaware of Torren's growing discomfort at the mention of other gryphons.
"Errrm, Herrald Rrrasssul?" the gryphon cut in. The Herald stopped abruptly and gave Torren an inquiring look. "I rrreally mussst be going now. It being a long dissstance to the Plainsss, and summerrr heat coming on quickly, you underrrsstand." And with that, Torren gifted the Herald with a brief nod and turned to make a running take-off up the path, leaving both the Herald and his Companion to stare perplexedly after him.
"Well, that's rude," Herald Rasul said to his Companion. "I did try to thank him, you know. He didn't even tell me his name!"
And it was too bad Rigan wasn't there to hear Kismat's acidic reply, because—
:I, for one, think it's no wonder he took off. Don't you ever shut up:
o.o.o.o.o
:Well, that was just about the most awkward moment of my life: Rigan sent. :Any longer, and I think he would have asked for your testimonials:
"I beg yourrr parrrdon," the gryphon said stiffly. "He exprrresssed interrressst in my worrrrk." He made slight change in his trajectory as he spoke, sending their current path curving westward back to the Lake.
Rigan was suddenly aware of having committed an unforgivable blunder :I didn't know you were so passionate about it. I'm…sorry.: He gave a mental sigh. :I've been so consumed with my duties at the inn, I haven't given any thought to how you might feel, cooped up inside all the time.: A sense of profound guilt struck him. :And that's the way it's going to be for some time, too, you dormant all the time. Maybe this was all a bad idea, maybe we should just forget it and move on like always. We'd split time evenly again, it's only fair--:
Torren seemed to freeze in midair, losing several feet altitude before finding the wind current again. :Don't you even think about it, Rrrigan: he sent with a mental hiss. :I won't have you—usss—ssstuck in that kind of life anymorrre, do you hearrr me: Rigan, shocked again by his partner's sudden vehemence, could only send a docile affirmation. Torren sighed aloud.
"I am sssorrry indeed for sssnapping at you earrrlierrr," he spoke. "But—it isss imporrrtant to me that we have a place, a purrrose to live forrr frrrom now on. It trrruly wouldn't be fairrr to go on asss we werrre. And I—I will cope." And he firmly refused to speak any more on the matter for the rest of the flight.
o.o.o.o.o
As they walked through the inn's door, Rigan took one look at their latest guest and decided right then and there that Lady Fate had it in for him.
"Innkeeper!" Herald Rasul said cheerfully, striding forward to clasp Rigan's hand. "I'm so happy that you're here! Your hirelings said that you could be gone for a candlemark more."
:Dear gods: Rigan complained. :Why me:
:Why usss, you mean: Torren corrected.
:Why him, actually.: he countered in turn, and turned to the Herald with a plastered-on smile.
"Good day, Herald—um," he said as though he had never met the man before in his life.
"Rasul," the other supplied. "I'm passing on through here as a courier. I was planning to make the next Waystation, but my Companion and I were attacked by Changebeasts on the way over. I want to warn the mayor about their presence, so he can get the word out to the surrounding villages."
Rigan arranged his features into an appropriate expression of mingled horror and concern. "But you are all right, sir? Should I send for a Healer, perhaps?" He ignored the twinge coming from his own leg where the 'wolf had bitten Torren; fortunately only liniment had been necessary.
The Herald waved away his concerns cheerfully. "No, no. A gryphon passing through—or above, I should say—dived into the fray and chased the mangy creatures off. Quite heroic, really. A brave soul, and quite magnificent too."
Rigan could feel Torren radiating smugness.
"But he never did give me his name." Rasul frowned. "Quite rude, actually."
It was Rigan's turn to mentally smirk at Torren's discomfiture.
"Anyhow," the Herald was saying. "I was hoping that I could stay here for the night, and I must say that I am very pleased with my personal lodgings…"
"But?" Rigan filled in.
"But the accommodations for Kismat, my Companion, do provide something of a concern. You see, I can't quite convince your stable boys that she isn't a horse…"
"I'll take care of it right away," Rigan promised. The Herald flashed him a blinding grin.
"I would appreciate that very much. Thank you, innkeeper."
"It is no problem, Herald Rasul," said Rigan as he turned to go outside to the stables. "And please, call me Torrigan."
o.o.o.o.o
That afternoon, 'Torrigan' was lecturing the head groom on the proper care and feeding of Companions, when Paki came in at a run.
"Torrigan!" he gasped. "Come quick!"
Rigan, the head groom, and Kismat all whipped their heads around at the boy's entrance.
"What is it, Paki?" Rigan asked.
Paki just shook his head, trying to regain his breath. He motioned frantically for Rigan to come with him.
"Excuse me, Eachan; Lady Kismat," Rigan said to his fascinated audience. Bemused, he followed Paki out of the stable, into the inn, and up the stairs to the third floor hallway. Paki gestured for him to stop at the door of one of the more expensive suites.
"Isn't Sir Bolan staying here for the fortnight with his wife, the Lady Yusra?" Rigan queried. Paki nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by loud skidding noises, the sound of a crash, followed promptly by a sharp yelp. "What the—?"
Several curses emerged from the suite, followed almost immediately by Sir Bolan himself, Lady Yusra in tow. The portly, middle-aged knight appeared out of breath, and with his free hand he was carefully probing a rapidly-forming bruise on his forehead. Lady Yusra seemed to be desperately holding back a snicker.
"Sir Bolan?" Rigan asked tentatively. "Is there a problem?"
"There most certainly is," the other man bit out. "I have never seen such poor housekeeping in all my life. I would cast my servant out to the street for such a thing! Come, dear," he tugged at his wife who was rapidly losing the battle against her own amusement. "We're leaving. Now. Once it's safe, my valet and your maid can gather our luggage together."
Once it's safe? "Sir Bolan!" Rigan called out after him. "What exactly is the problem?" But the knight was already thumping down the stairs, his wife's peals of laughter echoing in the hallway.
Rigan sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take a look at the mess. Whoever's responsible will either have to make up for it or find another job, depending on how bad it is." He stepped into the room, failing to see the desperate shaking of Paki's head. "Don't go in there!" the teenager managed at last, but it was too late.
"Hmm," Rigan said as he stepped into the tastefully appointed salon. "It looks clean so far. I wonder what the problem could be-eeeeeeaughhhhhhhhhh!" he yelped as he slipped and slid across the wooden floor.
Crash!
A heavy table stopped his flight across the room, and Rigan immediately felt a bruise form all the way down his thigh. Right above the Changewolf bite.
:Ouch. How painful. I hope that doesn't affect my body when I take over: Torren commented, but not without sympathy.
"Shut up, featherball," Rigan muttered.
"Torrigan?" Paki had poked his head around the doorframe and was now looking at Rigan a bit strangely.
"Never mind." Rigan shook his head and wincingly got to his feet. "What exactly happened here?"
"Ramla," the teenager said between clenched teeth.
"Ramla—? Oh." Rigan could feel his muscles tense with Torren's concern combined with his own rising anger. "Paki, would you please bring your sister up here? And get the housekeeper, too." Paki nodded, looking both nervous but relieved. Of course. He can't handle her, Jaron went back to Haven a fortnight ago, so it's up to me as the new 'head of the household.' Dammit. With great caution, Rigan slowly made his way back across the room to the hallway.
As he leaned against the doorjamb, he could hear loud protests from the stairwell. Ramla's small form appeared first in the hallway entrance, followed shortly by Paki, pushing the girl in front of him. Ramla grudgingly allowed herself to be prodded along the hallway until the pair reached Rigan. One there, Ramla planted her feet firmly apart on the floor, and scowled up at Rigan. Rigan bent down on one knee in front of her and tried not to wince.
"Ramla," Rigan began.
"Torr'gan," Ramla responded. She bit at her lip, but continued scowling. It wasn't a very attractive expression on her small face.
"Ramla, did you wax the floors up here today?"
Ramla said nothing. "Yes, she did," Paki answered for her. "She's supposed to help the upstairs maids before leaving for the Temple school, and then help in the kitchen when she gets back."
"Not as a server, I hope!" Rigan exclaimed in horror.
"No, not since it turned out she was spilling on people on purpose. I would've thought you learned from that drunken lout," Paki frowned at his sister. "Why are you doing this, Ramla? We need your help to make this place like it was before Mother and 'Da left, don't you understand?" he pleaded
Ramla only scrunched up her face even further, and then lapsed into a deliberate expressionlessness.
"Fine," Rigan sighed. "I don't know why you're trying to make your brother's work even harder, not to mention mine. But I can't let you continue this without consequences." He saw the inn housekeeper scurry toward them, and he straightened up.
"Ah, good. Amala," he gestured for the housekeeper to come closer. "I need to speak with you. First off, Ramla is to no longer help wax the floors."
"So I heard," the housekeeper muttered. She glared at the culprit. "You're lucky you're family, child. Torrigan and I would have turned you out several times over by now, otherwise."
"Which brings us to her punishment," Rigan continued. "Amala, do you have any suggestions?"
Ramla looked surprised and turned to her brother. Paki only nodded at Rigan, deliberately ignoring his sister.
:Even the most indulgent of siblings can only take so much. And she's not making it easy for her brother to take care of her:
"Scrubbing out the pots is a good start," Amala said finally. "And I have some of the more difficult tasks the maids wouldn't miss having someone take over for a while."
Rigan smiled. "Then I leave her in your capable hands, Amala. And when Ramla is not at the Temple or practicing her lessons, I expect that most of her otherwise free time could be put to more productive use for, say, the next fortnight? And," he gave Ramla a hard look. "If you cause any more trouble for the guests or Amala, I will be happy to extend your punishment further. Do you understand?" Ramla looked unhappy, but she nodded.
"She got off easy," Paki muttered under his breath.
: Yesss; big brrrotherrr hasss finally exhausssted the lassst of hisss endlesss sssupply of patienssce.: That was Torren. :But why ssshe ssshould behave thisss way, worrrking to make our efforrrtsss to help thisss inn ssso difficult, isss harrrd to underrrssstand.:
:A brat is a brat, is all.: Rigan replied. :Gods, I hate dealing with children.:
o.o.o.o.o
The next morning, Rigan woke feeling refreshed and ready to get an immediate start on his early rounds. On his way through the kitchen, he grabbed a plate of yesterday's bread and went into the main room for a quick bite before heading out to the stables.
"Torrigan!" he heard the now annoyingly familiar voice behind him.
With a heavy sigh, Rigan turned around and dredged up a convincing smile of welcome. "Herald Rasul," he said with forced cheer. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine, fine. Kismat and I are leaving for Highglade early this morning."
"Oh. I'm glad—sad, sad, I mean!—to hear that."
The Herald nodded and spent the next several minutes nattering on about how disappointed he was that he couldn't spend at least another few days exploring Westridge—"Quite a lovely and bustling town, it is"—and making much of the mayor as a man of action—"he's sending news of the Changewolves to all the nearby villages straightaway, though we'll be taking a roundabout path to Highglade to spread word about the Changebeasts to the villages along the way" Then he paused for all of an entire breath before adding, "Too bad about that gryphon."
"Huh?" Rigan was startled into paying attention.
"He mentioned how interested he was in local legends, that sort of thing. And right after he left, I suddenly remembered a new one that's popped up a bit north of here."
"Hmm?"
"Yes, there've been rumors going around about some sort of man-beast. Seems that over the past few years, some villagers claimed to have witnessed a young man who, when enraged, turns into a vicious monster."
"You don't say," Rigan said weakly.
"Well, I don't, but these people do. Fascinating, really, but most other people don't give it much credence."
"It's probably just too much ale, I'd think. You know how it is when you're in a secluded village…"
"But it would be exciting if it were true, wouldn't it? You never know, especially with the Mage Storms having created all those Changebeasts, so maybe it hit a human before the Shield Wall and Counter-Storm went up? Fascinating…"
"Yes, it would be, wouldn't it?" Rigan said quickly. "Personally, though, I'm not much of one for wild tales. And I really must go attend to some business, so if you'll excuse me?"
Herald Rasul colored slightly. "Of course, of course. You must have a great deal of work to attend to and I'll leave you to it. I do want to say that I was thoroughly pleased with my accommodations, as was Kismat. I'm leaving shortly, and I wanted to thank you for speaking with your stable boys in case I missed you later."
"No trouble at all," Rigan called out, already heading out the door. The Herald couldn't leave Westridge fast enough, as far as he was concerned.
o.o.o.o.o
Rigan patted the mare's flank and left her to her usual patch of sweetgrass. He started across the clearing.
"Thank goodness that Herald is leaving today," he said out loud. "And I pity the next person who has to deal with him."
:Underrrssstandable.: Torren replied. :He did tend to go on a bit, didn't he:
"A bit! Why, I'm surprised he even paused to breathe. For a Herald, he should know when to keep quiet and just listen for once."
:True: the gryphon replied with good humor. :Arrre you ssstill up forrr flying:
Rigan snorted. "Huh. You're the one who does all the work for flying; I'm just a passenger. You know," he said, continuing to the other side of the clearing. "Someday, I'd like to truly feel what it's like to fly like you do, the wind against my wings and everything. Not to mention your bravery in battle, and how you manage to handle people like Rasul and Ramla. I was so annoyed with her yesterday; I'm glad I had your calming influence. Battle rage excluded, of course."
:And someday I'd like to have your certainty in my ambitions.: the gryphon replied. His mindvoice turned thoughtful. :But I suppose we complement each other, don't we:
"Hmm." Rigan stopped at a patch of wildflowers and let Torren take over.
:Well, I suppose so. After all, if one of us were like Rasul, the other one would've killed the both of us within a se'nnight of meeting in that Changecircle.:
We get along pretty well, don't we.
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A/N: For those who are curious, Mercedes Lackey did write a short story involving a Herald and the mindspeaking creatures that dwell in Lake Evendim. I found a link to the story online: type in "Out of the Deep a Valdemar story" into google. This is going to be worked into chapter 10, FYI.
And no, I'm not dead. I apologize profusely for the ridiculous delay, which has been due to three factors: procrastination, lack of a set schedule, and the next three chapters. I work three chapters ahead, and just so you know, chapters 8 and 9 are MUCH longer than the previous chapters, and chapter 10 is almost a novella in itself with lots of exciting action and adventure (I'm actually pretty proud of it!). I want to get started on chapter 11 ASAP, though I have a few things to work out with the Akakios character first (the guy has serious issues; heck, at this point he has a frickin' subscription). As always, your reviews help inspire me to get this show on the road!
BTW, does not seem to allow me to use question-marks with the colons. (No : when people are thinking questions at each other). So it's the site and not bad grammar on my part. Just imagine they're there. :P
UrsaWolf