Melody was hardly recognizable under the thick layer of mud and dust covering her coat. Hard and heavy this year, the spring rains had hit Valdemar just as the Karsite war stumbled to a ragged close. After four years of fighting an official Holy War, the Heralds and the Army won a decisive battle at Dervish Pass and the Karsites had agreed to a reluctant truce. The Crown pared its forces down to basic Guard outcroppings and gave everyone else the much-appreciated order to march home.
Stefen had been one of the last to leave, singing away pain to the pattering accompaniment of rain for the many invalid soldiers stuck waiting for carts and stretchers home.
It was good, he thought as he urged Melody into a trot. More than good.
Vanyel's words came back to him unbidden, It's this need, Stefen. He sighed. Yes, Van, I feel it too, now. I must be part-Herald simply through knowing you!
Lost in such meanderings, he barely noticed passing Haven's outer gate. Only the brief shine of a Guard's lamp in his eyes stirred him into croaking, "Stefen. I'm Bard Stefen."
The Guard smiled, showing a set of bright white teeth. "Bard Stefen! A regular camp hero, to hear them tell. The Heart of Valdemar, they're calling you!"
Managing a small smile, Stefen replied, "They call me lots of things." And not all so kind. Being known as Herald Vanyel's lifebonded has brought me quite the double-sided fame. Who would have thought half the world would know I was shaych?
"Eh," the Guardsman shrugged. "People say what they will. I've only ever heard tales of courage and strength. It's good to see your face alive and well—your camp came through a candlemark before ye, we were startin' to worry."
Exhaustion laced Stefen's reply, "I was sidetracked on the way home. Melody had a rock in her hoof."
"I better stop plaguin' ye with questions! Care to take a break or ye plowin' straight through?"
"Straight through," Stefen replied.
The guard nodded and gave a crisp salute. "Ye be off then, with my blessin'!" he said, clapping Melody on the rump.
Sidetracked, Stefen? He thought to himself with a bit of a laugh. More like, deliberately let yourself be left behind. Fortunately Kevron and Andros knew you well enough not to harp on your safety.
He'd never expected to become so close to two Healers. Before, his good friends had always been in Bardic, although they'd never shared more than drink and laughter. After four years back and forth from the Karsite Border, pain-blocking and singing, he'd come to know most of Healer's Collegium.
Most people didn't know that about him, though. He was known for what took up far less of his time: the Patriot Cycle songs, as he liked to call them. A group of ballads extolling various Heraldic and Guardic deeds—songs about Valdemar involving research and careful observation with no hint of magic or Herald-mages.
With the strength of his Bardic gift and the power of his words, he could almost send the troops running into battle. He sighed at that unpleasant notion.
Feeling guilty again, are we? An achingly familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. It was nothing short of a miracle how you raised their spirits, ashke. Reminded me of fighting the Shadow Master… The brief tendril of thought faded away, leaving Stefen wondering, yet again, if he wasn't a bit mad.
He looked up to see the Palace gate looming just ahead. A small page ran out a side door to take the reins of his horse.
Dismounting, he let the boy lead Melody away and stumbled out of the saddle into the warm, welcoming Palace corridor.
A familiar voice broke into his exhausted daze, "If it isn't the great Bard Stefen!"
Slowly, Stefen looked up to meet a set of warm brown eyes. "Medren!" he rasped, his voice still used from the border. "You're a welcome sight!"
"Two years since I saw you last, Stef, and look at the damage you've done to yourself! Hair a tangled mess, Scarlets dripping… you look half-mop, half-starvation victim!"
With a dry chuckle, Stefen replied, "That's about how I feel, too. Any chance you can scavenge me a cold dinner and a hot bath?"
"The bath's drawn and ready, Jisa had that done the second you set foot inside Palace walls," Medren said, glancing over at him once again as he weaved like a drunkard through the halls. "And I'll take care of dinner. Gods, Stef, you look utterly drained. I swear, you remind me of Uncle Van—" he stopped, cursing his tactlessness.
Stefen gave him a tired, but good-natured smile. "You can say his name, Medren, I won't break. I've made peace with my loss."
Looking into Stefen's eyes searchingly, Medren replied, "I suppose you have." He looks like Uncle Van did, talking about 'Lendel.
"And you're right, I am turning into him," Stefen said, after a moment of silence. "I feel half-Herald, and half the small part of Bardic that actually enjoys work!"
Medren laughed heartily. "I hope it's not contagious!"
"Not yet," Stefen replied, grinning. "And with the Border cooling down, you're even less at risk of contagion."
Holding open the door to the Bathing chamber, Medren said solemnly, "We have you to thank in large part for that."
Stefen flushed as he peeled off his damp, ruined clothes. "There are many people to thank for that."
Turning to leave, Medren simply smiled.