Fifth chapter, and I'm SO sorry it took me forever to get it out! In the words of Herald Vanyel, I'm sorry - I got tangled - and then I fell on my nose for a while - and then I had a visit to make - and then I had a visitor myself.

The salle was deserted when they came in. Or, rather, near deserted. In the corner, a shadow shape lurked. Keighven spotted it right away and made careful note of it.

"Featherfire!" Joselyn called into the echoing stillness. "We're here!"

"So I see." The shadow-shape moved, and came forward. "You're still not checking our surroundings closely enough, Joselyn," the tall, dark-haired woman admonished. "This lad saw me at once, but you probably wouldn't have known I was there if I hadn't moved."

Joselyn flushed a bit.

"You, on the other hand don't seem all that surprised to see me come from nowhere," the woman commented, turning her eyes to Keighven. "Which means one of two things – either you're a master at hiding your emotions or you saw me. I'll bet on the latter."

She offered her hand to him, and after a fraction of a second hesitation, he took it. Her palm was heavily calloused and warm, but not moist. A firm grip met his. She nodded once and released his hand.

Inside, he was still waiting for the 'Featherfire' that he expected to be running the salle to show up. True, calloused hands were all well and good for an assistant – if she even ranked that high, and Keighven had his own personal doubts about that – but a real weaponsmaster… He would be made of more than callous. A real master would have the careful, calculated movements of a man who let no energy go to waste. There would be a self-assured air to him. Like whoever this woman was –

Except a woman would never be a weaponsmaster.

"Joselyn," the woman barked, startling Keighven out of his half-dazed thoughts. "Get out some practice padding and armor. I'm going to have you two go at it for a bit before I take the lad on."

When he bristled at that, she noticed and laughed.

"Don't get defensive with me, lad. I've seen and trained enough good fighters to know excessive energy when I see it. Burn that off first so you won't make amateur mistakes in our duel, boy."

Keighven thought carefully about he words as he pulled padded armor on and selected a nicely balanced practice blade.

:She's right, you know,: Gryphon put in, a trifle unexpectedly. :And it'll be easier for you if you get the extra energy gone. So don't you dare hold back on Jos. She's a pretty damn good warrior herself.:

Those sobering words – and the implications they carried with them – echoed in Kev's skull as he took his place opposite Jos in the salle.

The two of them faced each other, matching one another stare for stare. Then the tension ripped as she charged and he stepped forward as well.

Gryphon and that woman were right – he could feel it immediately. His reflexes were a touch slow, partially from not being warmed up and partly from hyper-tense muscles. He guessed Jos felt the same way, though from the easy fluidity of her movements , she could have already been perfectly warmed u.

:She is. She came down to warm up before she took you to breakfast.:

Well, that was interesting, and if one person could do it, then surely another might be able to as well…

Joselyn attacked, her face nearly expressionless. Keighven stepped into the attack with his defense, a strategy that almost always threw the other fighter's balance off. It was a little risky because if his opponent's attack landed before his defense was properly up, it was as good as a suicide move.

But Keighven had had plenty of time to perfect it. Jos was effectively thrown out of synch with whatever it had been she'd wanted to do. When she recovered, Keighven was circling, partly crouched.

From the surprised look on her face, he knew he'd done something she considered to be unorthodox. Not that he really cared if it was. As long as the move worked, he could care less if it was legal!

The two of them exchanged a few more attacks and parried, all delivered in the careful, slightly reserved fashion of two warriors taking an opponent's measure.

Then Keighven attacked. The two of them had fallen into a pattern – something that was dangerous. Kev let it go on long enough to lull Jos into complacency, then attacked instead of retreating as she clearly expected. His sword crossed with her blade. In two heavy, hacking strikes, he drove her back, using his superior strength as an advantage.

When she stepped out of the circle, he expected the woman on the side lines to call it, but she didn't, so he assumed the duel wasn't going by the rule of the Fighter's Circle Discipline.

Joselyn attacked then. She was panting and sweating. Kev felt like he was just getting properly warmed up. The excess energy that had made him move a little sluggishly at the beginning was gone now, leaving only a well-tuned and ready warrior.

The woman on the side seemed to know it, because before Kev could attack Jos and end the bout, she stepped in. He pulled the attack he'd been about to launch and dropped out of attack position into a defender's stance.

The woman smiled at Joselyn and took her blade, saying something to the younger woman softly.

Whatever it was, Jos nodded and began to walk slowly to the edge of the salle. Kev noticed she favored her left foot a little bit – just enough to produce a small limp.

His attention was regained by the woman in front of him.

"If you haven't figured it out yet," she said crisply, laying into him with an easy hacking swing, "I'm Featherfire, the weaponsmaster." Her casual tone made him feel very – odd. He had assumed that the master would be male, but somehow, too, he was hardly surprised now that she was the weaponsmaster.

After the brilliance of her assignments, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for her, though he wondered how much of it was his own and how much could be attributed to Gryphon.

He stepped back from her onslaught, deciding her name suited her battle style. Never in the same place twice, light on her feet and sparkling with a brilliant red-hot energy that defied obvious years.

Her style was as alien to him as he supposed his had been to Joselyn. Her blade was a single-handed sword, but she wielded it with both hands, slicing it through the air with a double grip that defied all conventionality.

Neither did she always move to engage.

Kev was reminded of the unpredictability of a campfire. She was never where he thought she was going to be. But if her style confounded him, his was at least as strange to her. He had seen brief flashes of annoyance or surprise flicker across her face a few times.

Then the two of them engaged at the same time. Featherfire's weapon was longer than Kev's, but its superior reach was compromised by her double handed hold on it. It left her open to attack.

Kev's blade dove forward, aiming under her defenses. Impossibly, she blocked it, but he couldn't tell how she'd done it, only that he blade had been deflected and that her sword was still too high to have done anything. And he realized he wasn't going to be able to catch her overhand attack.

There was the time he'd been in a similar predicament on the Fighter's Field. It had been practice, and he'd lost the bout, but he remembered asking the trainer later how to deal with such a situation should it arise on the Field in a real battle.

"Learn to fall."

"Fall?" Confusion rippled over his face.

"Yes, fall. Learn to throw yourself away from anything, including an attack, without losing your blade or accidentally impaling yourself. Learn to fall."

Featherfire's sword descended. Kev thrust his own sword out behind himself and then tumbled gracelessly sideways – away from his blade so he wouldn't be skewered on it. His unexpected tumble surprised Featherfire enough that he had time to regain his feet and make a token strike back at her.

She blocked it with ease, but he couldn't help but feel he'd surprised her somewhat with his cunning and ingenuity and the utter foolhardy audacity that the move took to execute.

Several exchanges later, they tangled swords and she used the opportunity to kick him in the shins, sending him crumpling down. While he was still prone of the floor, she struck. He got his blade up, just in time. She pulled back slightly and he stumbled to his feet.

Kev had fought all types when he was in the Fighter's Collegium. He'd trained with and fought against lowly street fighters from humble origins and those whose blood was blue enough to make them practically royalty. But no matter the walk of life, there was a personal code of honor which all silently vowed to uphold. The blade governed their lives by whom it chose to take.

There was no hand-to-hand combat within the arena. That Featherfire had kicked him at all was enough to send him into a near catatonic state as his mind attempted to rationalize what it knew with what he had felt.

In his thoughts, he was too slow to get his blade up to block another attack and received a stinging swat on his side for his troubles, followed by a double roundhouse kick that sent him staggering back, senses clouded.

His numb fingers resolutely refused to drop the blade he held, but if instinct hadn't been working, the metal would have slid from his hand long ago.

He waited, tense, for the final blow to fall, still dazed out of all proportion to the fight Featherfire had supplied him with.

A hand tugged at his blade. He released it to whomever it was, glassy eyes simply staring ahead of himself, seeing nothing. Then there was a hand on his shoulder and a voice.

Rough and deep, the voice called him out of himself and he forgot for a moment that he had lost, forgot long enough to look up and meet Featherfire's dark eyes.

"I take it you're not used to street fighting," the weaponsmaster commented wryly. "Judging by the look on your face, it must have been one hell of a surprise for me to kick you. I apologize for that. I wasn't quite sure if your relative inaction was faked or not, at least at first."

When Kev didn't answer, Featherfire shook him gently. "Speak to me," she commanded.

Kev opened his mouth to croak out, "Yes, sir."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "It's obvious you need a run-down in hand-to-hand, but your swordsmanship is nigh imperfectable. I've never seen anyone execute a move like that; you'll be teaching that sometime, make no doubt of it.

"So, it'll be plain weapons in the evenings for you," she continued, "but hand-to-hand each morning until you're competent enough to interlace them like I did. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Then stand up, stretch out and walk the length and breadth of the salle a few times as a cool down." She stood up in one fluid motion.

Keighven watched her, then pushed himself to his feet. His body was trembling, partly with overexertion of a sort and partly still in shock.

:Are you all right?: Gryphon asked. He sounded concerned.

:I'll be fine,: Kev growled back, his voice lacking its usual bite. :I'm just tired, is all.:

:And suffering frostbite, dehydration, lack of sleep, shifter's shock - : the Companion added, his mind voice heavy with sarcasm.

:Don't fall over dead, Keighven, or I'll pound you into the earth. Twice.:

Keighven declined to answer. Truth to tell, he wasn't feeling very stong at the moment at all. His whole body felt the way he usually did after a tenth bout.

But I only fought twice… his mind argued. Though, his warm-up with Joselyn had easily been the length of a regular duel for him, and the one right after with Featherfire had been perhaps twice as long, and requiring of all his ingenuity and physical abilities.

I over-taxed myself, he ruefully admitted to himself.

:Thought so.:

Joselyn was rather subdued on the way back up to the Collegium.

Kev attempted to ask Gryphon about it, but the Companion didn't answer. Finally, when the silence became unbearably uncomfortable, Keighven decided to do something about it.

"the silence is beginning to sound louder than words," he remarked offhandedly, pointedly not looking in Joselyn's direction. If she took the hint…

She did.

"I'm sorry, it's just –" She cut off, looking a tad bit confused.

"Just what?" he questioned.

"Well, I'm doing a lot of things right now, between duties to the Circle, family and myself. There just doesn't seem to be enough time for it all," she concluded wistfully.

Kev laughed. "There's always enough time," he argued. "Oft as not, too much time. The trick is to find it."

"Oh?" So she was skeptical? Good.

"Most time is taken up with less important matters. Sometimes these matters are such that they seem impossible to go without, but often times, all the little specks of boredom coloring the day are bits of time waiting to be forcibly assembled into a masterpiece work of time. "

Joselyn raised an eyebrow. "that was almost too eloquent to have coming from your lips."

Keighven chuckled. "Then good it is, that it was not from me whence the idea came, na?"

Jos nodded, her steps slowing a bit as she looked thoughtfully at the ground.

"I can't pretend it doesn't help a bit," she finally admitted. "Not that I'm going to enjoy cutting back on my worldly pleasure of reading, mind, but if I can take that candlemark just before bed… I think you have something there, Keighven. "

"Then it is well I mentioned it, yes? And I believe you have tasks now that be opposite in direction of mine," he concluded when they reached a split hallway.

Joselyn nodded and turned to trot down one of the longer halls at a brisk pace. More sedately, Kev proceeded down another hall, stopping to peer into the empty rooms.

:That was an interesting conversation,: Gryphon said quietly into the back of his mind while he peeked into a deserted room.

:How so?"

:You're acting like a Monarch's Own Herald,: Gryphon said, still sounding strangely subdued.

:A what?: the unfamiliar title caught Kev's attention and he paused in his inspection.

:Monarch's Own,: Gryphon repeated patiently. :He or she provides an honest opinion for the Monarch so that no King or Queen of Valdemar ever goes without having at least one true friend. It's a very important position.:

:And you think I sound like one of these Monarch's Own people?:

:There's only ever one Monarch's Own at a time, and yes, I think you're acting like one. That exchange between you and Joselyn – very neatly handled if I do say so myself.:

:Why are you telling me this? Am I not supposed to do that type of thing?:

:Good havens – that wasn't what I meant!: Gryphon exclaimed. :It's just -: he hesitated, as if unsure of whether to reveal hidden information.

:Spit it out, Gryphon,: Kev growled through the mind link.

:It's just that part of the reason Kyrith was so worried about Justyn's disappearance was because he was certain Justyn would be the next Monarch's Own after Randall.:

:Is Randall old then/" Kev asked, wondering what possible difference it could make.

:Well, no,: Gryphon admitted. :But he's prone to sickness and there've been one or two close calls with his health already. Not to mention that because Justyn is Randall's brother, his emotional well-being is all tied up. It's a complex mess. I wish Kyrith had thought about it before he Chose Randall, but I guess there weren't any other candidates around who fit the job description.:

:Job description?" Now Kev was lost. He'd followed Gryphon's rant pretty well, until the part about Kyrith Choosing Randall and a lack of candidates with suitable qualifications.

:The Monarch's Own is drawn to the imbalanced, to fix that balance within them. He or she has a sort of other-worldly connection with an ability to set minds at rest. A true people person.:

:And now you think I'm going to be Monarch's Own? Just because of my small talk with Joselyn?: It seemed too strange a concept to grasp.

:That's not all.: Gryphon sounded a little embarrassed. :I'm not precisely sure what a true Choosing is supposed to feel like, but I'm pretty sure that you and I aren't anything like a usual pairing.:

:You aren't making sense,: Keighven interrupted.

Gryphon seemed to be struggling to find words to explain something. Keighven returned to his explorations as he waited for the Companion to address him.

:Well, the whole notion of a Companion's Choice is that a spot is filled – a vacancy becomes occupied inside someone. I knew I had to Choose you, Keighven, and believe me, I really care for you very much, but somehow I doubt that this bond is typical.:

:There doesn't seem to be anything filled that was empty before,: Keighven finished thoughtfully. He felt like his legs and arms had become lead. What did this revelation mean for him?

:Exactly,: Gryphon concluded with a sigh. :Which means that most likely, if you're still around when Randall dies, you'll be Chosen by Kyrith and be the Monarch's Own.:

:What about this Justyn fellow?: Kev inquired.

:I'm not sure Justyn will be around when Randall goes,: Gryphon answered. :It seems to me that the daredevil in him has requested that both he and Fedor take off like a streak of lightning, never to be heard from again. Disappearing Heralds aren't all that common, but I won't say it's never happened.:

Keighven felt slightly ill.

:Well, don't just stand around,: Gryphon barked, resetting to his more usual self. :You've got classes in less than ten minutes, so I suggest you find where it is you're supposed to be and get there!:

Keighven did as he was told, but his mind refused to concentrate on the lesson, so absorbed was he in all the implications of what Gryphon had said.

Author's Note: Well, there's the major secret of the story, out already... ::sigh:: You know, I almost wish I was a better secret keeper. Then I could write mysteries and people would actually like them...
I think Misty explained somewhere about a Companion's Choice of a new Monarch's Own to be a compulsary Choice rather than a true Choosing. Make any sense? 0.o
Quote taken from Magic's Promise by Mercedes Lackey, pg 188, paperbound edition copyrighted 1990.