Chapter: 27

Yozak sighed as he sat down across the fire from Koren, having just come from checking on the mules. He could have checked on them using the simple extension of his gift to ask the beasts if they were alright or needed anything, but this had given him an excuse to get up and collect himself. Koren had just asked him about his family and his childhood, so he wasn't sure what to say.

The man had asked him about his former life on several occasions before this one, and he always answered his questions without hesitation. Tonight however was different—it appeared that Koren had finally realized just what he found so weird about his answers.

The man had wanted to know about his family, and why Conrart and Conrart's family kept popping up in almost all of his childhood stories. Yozak had excused himself to check on the mules, and to gather his thoughts. Now all too soon he found himself facing Koren; he'd never hidden the fact that he was an orphan, or what his past was like before Conrart and his father had proceeded to change it. But he never exactly advertised it either, and other than Jissa, Conrart and likely Vanyel, the only person on this world who knew exactly what his life had been like before it was changed was Skif.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and was just about to start talking again, when he realized something –

Koren was staring at him.

"Um… what's with you?" he asked after a moment of scrutiny.

Koren jerked as if he'd been slapped before stammering out a reply. "Did I just see what I think I saw?"

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Yozak asked mildly, raising one eyebrow.

"Eyes" was all Koren said.

For a moment Yozak was completely confused, then understanding dawned. "Oh, you just noticed?"

"Yes… why?" the other man managed.

"It's a common trait among the Mazoku, even half-breeds have it."

Koren nodded. "I see." He said simply.

"About your original question," Yozak said with a sigh.

"I was born in Big Shimaron, a country – in human territory - across the sea from Shin Makoku. However, I don't have many fond memories of that place. My father was a wanderer form Shin Makoku, and my mother was a common born farmer's daughter. My father had every intention of bringing his wife back to the Demon Kingdom, but when he found out she was pregnant – he chose to stay in Big Shimaron – just until the child was born and old enough to travel. However, winters in big Shimaron are harsh, and he wasn't prepared for it. He took ill and died before I was even born.

When I was born, my hair and my eyes proclaimed my lineage – and my uncle, who'd taken in my mother after my father died, threw us out onto the streets.

My mother moved us both back to the little seaside village where she'd lived when she met my father. We lived there for a time, and my mother tried desperately to keep us both alive. But soon, I began to age differently, and nothing she could do would hide that – not when I was 12 years old and looked and acted like I was 6. Eventually, we couldn't hide from the authorities any longer. When they came, it was for me and me alone. They gave my mother the opportunity to renounce me, to claim I'd been sired against her will. She refused, so they sent us both to that village!" he suddenly fumed. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, sighing as Jissa sent him a wave of comfort and love.

"The Village was so far north that the very land itself had frozen until it was nothing but a barren wasteland – not even grass would grow there. We tried desperately to survive in the harsh conditions, but they sent us no food. It was their hope that everyone who bore the blood of the Mazoku or had contact with them would die. Well, they got their wish. My mother died there shortly after we arrived – I was only 19. I met Conrart shortly thereafter; his father led us all home to Shin Makoku. Nearly 13 decades later, we're still nearly inseparable."

"13 decades," Koren mused. "That's quite a friendship."

~~~***~~~

Conrart sighed as he packed up his supplies; it wasn't hard. There were only his spare whites, the basic necessities (rope, knife, medical supplies, and some lightweight dried foodstuff, which both he and Vanyel could eat) and a few bars of almond or apple scented soaps, and some cloth. 85 years in the military had taught him to pack light and only the essentials. 2 wars and 5 years of following Yuri around had made it second nature, and a year being trained as one of the Queen's special messengers had simply driven the lesson home further and allowed him to pack for speed in his sleep, or drugged up to his eyebrows. The fact that Vanyel was in the back of his head, checking and rechecking everything he did, only made him absolutely certain that he'd gotten everything packed right. In the end, all he had were two saddlebags of supplies, his bedroll, a map, a lightweight message container and his weapons, all laid out on his bed and ready for inspection, as soon as the dean and his mentor decided to show up.

With a sigh, he settled himself down gracefully onto the edge of his nightstand, picked up a wet stone, and began to carefully sharpen the extra arrowheads stashed in a special pocket of his quiver. Then he checked and rechecked each of his arrows, making sure his pattern was properly notched into the fletching of each before moving on. Lastly he double checked the colored bands hidden away in the quiver pocket, making sure he had a few of each color—white (all's well), green (healer), purple (priest), gray (herald), brown (message), blue (treachery), yellow (military) red (danger), and black (for death or catastrophe). All Heralds were taught the Arrow Code, but it was particularly important for the Special Messengers, who dealt with more danger than most Heralds, and did the bulk of the diplomatic work.

He shifted quietly before reverently gathering up his sword and proceeding to meticulously clean and sharpen the familiar weapon, with its now leather-bound hilt. Two and a half years had passed since he'd last had to use it, and the weapon had never fallen out of repair—he was too much the soldier for that to ever happen, and his father had drilled the importance of keeping his weapons sharp and ready at a moment's notice too far into his head for him to easily forget it.

It was strange to think that half a year had passed since he'd been given his Whites, and he still had yet to start his own Internship. That was mostly due to the fact that Vanyel had only just finished growing; they had spent some time getting use to his new tack, and to the changes that the last growth spurt had made to the stallion's gait and stride. He had also moved out of the boy's dorms and into his own rooms in the Heraldic wing, only a few doors down from Yozak in fact and closer to the two huge double doors. Unlike Yozak, he had a small office attached to his rooms since he was expected to teach when not doing something else for queen and country.

That was fine with him. He actually liked children.

Yozak would be home in just under 10 months, and he himself would be home about eight months after that. It was strange to think that by the time they met again it would have been two years since the last time they'd seen each other. He missed him . . . he missed him a lot.

"Enter," he called out as a knock sounded on his door.

~~~***~~~

Holly groaned as she followed Dean Teren up to the young Herald internee's rooms. She simply could not believe this was happening! She and Rohanan were widely considered to be the best team out there as far as the Queen's Special Messengers went. They had been since they came back from their own internship ride years ago. In the nearly 8 years that had passed, they'd ridden on many missions; some diplomatic, dangerous, or both.

But they'd never been assigned an internee before.

Rohanan had informed her that an internee would only slow them down, which in turn would force them to teach rather than react, and that was dangerous. The crown recognized it as a useless risk of one of their best resources. As such, they'd grown accustomed to working alone.

Now everything had changed.

They'd been assigned an internee.

She protested to the dean, reminding him that they'd never had an internee. To her utter horror, Herald-Dean Teren simply informed her that she was overdue. They were sending her to the Tayledras Clans and on to White Griffon with a trainee in tow.

This couldn't end well!

For one thing, all Heralds dispatched to the clans had to be Wingsibs – adopted as a part of the clan yet still oddly separated from it. It was one of the reasons why there were so few of them. The Hawkbrothers were still very reclusive and at times downright xenophobic, despite the fact that they had been allied for more than 10 years. Of the 10 Heralds who were wingsib, most of them spent times among the clans when they were on leave from Haven, bringing their children (the few that had them) with them so that the clan could recognize them as one of their own, in the hopes that if one of their children were ever chosen, the Crown would have Heralds ready to serve in the compactly of Tayledras envoy. The problem was that those ten Heralds were wingsib to K'Valdemar vale. This wasn't surprising since it was the easiest place to send a Herald in order to ensure that they were properly made wingsib and given the Tayledras language.

Holly had objected to having the boy as an internee for one very important, rather logical reason, in addition to her own pride. They were sending her from Haven in a few scant hours with this child directly into the heart of Hawkbrother territory. Her presence was required in K'Treva with all haste to deal with something that required a Herald's hands to deliver immediately into the hands of the Queen.

Understandably, she and Rohanan were being sent, but she didn't understand this decision concerning the internee. All Teren had said was that the boy's particular and somewhat interesting combinations of gifts would make him a vital asset if things went sour. And what in the hell did Teren mean when he told her not to worry about the fact that the boy had yet to be made into a Tayledras Wingsibling? "The Clan Elders will welcome him as one of their own. His Companion will see to that," He had said. What the hell did that mean? Who the hell was his Companion that the Tayledras would welcome him with open arms simply on sight?

It was true that the Tayledras recognized Companions as something other than horses and respected them in their own right. But this was asking a bit too much.

At length they came to the boy's quarters, and she did her best to put her bad mood behind her. If nothing else the boy was a fellow Herald, and even if they didn't get along, they could tolerate each other for the duration of the mission. It was only for 18 months.

"Enter," the boy called when Teren knocked.

She entered the room at Teren's heels and got her first look at the boy. He was tall, with a lithe build and from what she could see he was quite eloquently muscled. He was still young though; she pegged him as being no older than 20 and likely closer to 19. He had high, almost delicately sculpted cheek bones set into a face that was only just too long to be considered heart shaped. His chin was smooth, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw. Large almond shaped, brown eyes adorned by long lashes harmonized perfectly with his delicately sculpted softly arched eyebrows, and a slim nose. His face was framed by the long strands of his gently wavy mahogany locks, which looked like it was trying desperately to escape the confines of the ponytail it had been pulled back into.

There was only one way to describe him, with the simple phrase of 'highborn pretty boy'! She suppressed the urge to groan; at least he'd fit in with the usually flamboyant Tayledras people. She had a feeling the boy would be leaving a trail of feathers and flowers in his wake.*

He bore a completely impassive expression, and she could honestly say that were it not for his stark white uniform, she never would have pegged him for a Herald. That was the interesting thing about Heralds; they came from all walks of life.

His unsheathed sword rested across his lap. He was apparently in the process of sharpening it with a deftly practiced hand. He glanced up at them and inclined his head politely, before sliding the sword back into its sheath. She got the impression that while the sheath was new, the sword itself wasn't. There was simply too much familiarity in the way his hand cradled the leather wrapped hilt. He looked almost too fragile to handle a blade, and she found herself wondering who he would be if he hadn't been Chosen. Would he have been one of those nobles who whiled away their time hunting and fishing, or would he become one of those completely useless social butterfly types that simply lazed about the court? Would he be someone who joined the guard simply for something to do?

Somehow she didn't think so—he was simply too damned frail looking.

Rohanan had picked her up in the slums of Oris to the east of Hardorn almost 16 years ago, she was all of 13 at the time. She could hardly remember what it felt like to not have the stallion in the back of her mind.

: Don't judge him on appearance alone Chosen, there has to be more to him than meets the eye or he wouldn't be Chosen in the first place. : Rohanan advised her calmly, before adding : After all, Herald Mage Vanyel himself was reported to have been a beauty. Or have you forgotten? I believe you were much amused by that one description you read of him during your trainee days. The one that described him as the alabaster carved masterpiece of a master sculptor. :

Holly suppressed the urge to snicker at that: Yeah, but he's no Vanyel. : She reminded her Companion mildly, ignoring the slight shift in his mindvoice that told her there was something he wasn't telling her.

She sighed—she supposed she should just play nice. It wasn't the boy's fault that he'd been assigned to her as an intern. She reminded herself that it was only going to be for 18 months, and it wasn't like they were going to be alone together… ever, since they both had their Companions.

: His name is Conrart, Chosen, and while you've been having an internal monologue, I believe he's been sizing you up based on something a bit more concrete than your pretty looks. : Rohanan informed her mildly.

She sputtered mentally, both startled and outraged, and watched quietly as Teren left them to 'become better acquainted.'

: Van, says to tell you not to underestimate Conrart. Apparently, the boy is older than he looks, and it seems he earned every one of the calluses on his hands long before he was even Chosen. : Rohanan paused, seeming briefly distracted, and she knew that he was conversing with the boy's Companion.

Holly sighed and nodding to Conrart, before going through his packs to make sure he had everything he needed and nothing he did not. She was rather surprised that he bore her inspection with neither comment nor complaint. Idly she wondered what Van was short for, as it was very rare for a Companion to have a name that was only one syllable. It wasn't that it couldn't happen; it just wasn't likely.

For that matter, was this Van a mare or a stallion? She could think of several names Van could have been shorthand for, and one of them was Vanya. She put the matter out of her mind. She'd know one way or another in only a few hours. They would be riding circuit together shortly, and in that time she would likely learn the Companion's full name.

She was actually quite surprised by how little was in his packs. He had just the essentials, and if she hadn't known any better she would have thought he'd been doing this for years. After a moment's consideration of his gear, she realized there was nothing she would have added or taken out. As such, she pronounced his packing job 'adequate', and told the man to meet her outside of Companion's stable in a candle-mark.

~~~***~~~

Conrart watched the retreating form of his mentor for a moment, and then shook his head.

: Well this is going to be interesting. : He told Vanyel mildly.

Vanyel snorted. : Lighten up, : the stallion retorted gently. : You may end up enjoying it. :

Conrart shrugged, and rose from where he'd been sitting; it only took him a moment to attach his sword to his belt. He then proceeded to pack the one thing that he'd refused to pack before he actually had to, just in case his mentor decided to do exactly what the woman had.

It reminded him of the day one of his instructors from the Shin Makoku Military Academy had come to escort him to the school. He remembered how the man had gone through his packs and forced him to leave his flute behind. Yozak had returned the much loved instrument to him the first time he'd snuck off the school grounds to meet his friend in the city. He didn't want to risk his mentor forcing him to leave the instrument behind. With a sigh, he looked around the room that had been his for the past six months, gathered up his packs, and left the room. He closed the door softly behind him; he'd said his farewells last night. All that was left to do now was to actually ride out.

Somehow he found himself a little alarmed at the prospect; the Collegium had been his home for the last two and a half years. He strangely felt reluctant to leave the security of its walls. He was a Herald, and he would do his duty, but still it seemed as though his life had only begun the day Vanyel had Chosen him. That event was definitely life changing, and he was fairly certain that the Conrad Weller Vanyel had Chosen no longer existed. He was Herald Conrart, and he couldn't –quite – remember how he'd ever functioned, how he had lived 135 years of his life without the stallion.

The idea of life without Vanyel was just as foreign to him as the concept of life without Yozak. Losing his left arm wasn't even as traumatic!

He didn't know how, but he found himself in Yozak's rooms. Sitting on his friend's bed, with his packs on the floor at his feet, he drunk in the sight of the things that were distinctly Yozak. He allowed himself a moment of reflection. He remembered the young boy that he'd met so long ago. He remembered the war and Yozak's determination to bring him home, despite the fact that he didn't think it mattered if he threw his life away, and didn't care one way or another if he lived or died.

Yozak had stayed with him through thick and thin for as long as he could remember.

He closed his eyes and flopped backwards onto his friend's bed. He'd done this so many times when Yozak was out on a mission for Gwendal. At least in Shin Makoku, the room had smelled of Yozak. But here, Yozak hadn't lived here long enough for it to have acquired his smell. There were times he would have thought his friend gone if not for the steady and familiar pulse of their bond in the back of his mind.

: Chosen, it's time to be going. : Vanyel announced.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet and turned to leave before coming to an abrupt halt. He dropped his packs unceremoniously onto the floor again and made his way calmly over to his friend's wardrobe. It took him a moment to find, but finally he found the many armbands that Yozak had acquired throughout the years. Without even pausing to think, he snagged one of the older, more frequently worn ones and closed the wardrobe door. He tucked the armband into one of his bags and redid the ties. Then he gathered up his things and left the room.

After thirty years of use, the armband would still carry Yozak's scent despite the fact that the last time he'd worn it was six months ago.

He paused just beyond the doors that led from the gardens into the Herald's Wing, wondering just when he'd started acting like a teenager in heat?

Briefly he considered ascending the stairs again to return his prize to its rightful place on its owner's shelf, but he was pressed for time. Holly would be less than pleased with him if he was late, and he didn't fancy telling her that he'd been late because he was simply returning something he'd stolen. Yozak had only been gone six months and the separation HURT. Each day it was like someone was digging their fingers into a wound. And the further from Haven Yozak got –

The more it ached!

He didn't even want to think about how badly it was going to hurt with him in the Vales and Yozak on circuit. He'd bear it as best he could, but it was an agony that he couldn't understand, and honestly didn't want to endure.

Yozak would understand—he was sure of it.

With that in mind, he turned and continued walking towards the Stable and Vanyel. He arrived and managed to have Vanyel brushed to a glossy shine and his tail done into a nice plait before Herald-mage Holly had even arrived. He glanced up at her when she walked past him. He saddled Vanyel with the brisk efficiency gained from years in the military and set about attaching his bedroll and packs to the saddle skirting. Then he swung up into the saddle with the ease and grace of a born horseman, running his fingers through Vanyel's mane in an attempt to calm himself down.

He wondered what Yozak was up to. He hoped the man was safe. Granted, he knew Yozak could take care of himself and he trusted his friend to do so, but still he worried.

He told Yuri once that Demons could go years without seeing each other and be perfectly happy so long as they knew the other person was safe. That was true, but it had always been harder for him to handle Yozak's absence.

Vanyel sent him a wordless stream of comfort and love, gently reminding him that Jissa would keep Yozak safe.

After a few minutes, Holly had her Companion - :Rohanan: Vanyel supplied – saddled and they were off heading not out the palace gate as he had assumed, but out into Companion's Field. He sat quietly in Vanyel's saddle during the short ride, drinking in the sights, sounds and smells of a place that in less than three years had become more of a home to him than his own country had ever been.

The Heralds were an interesting group; here he had more family members than he could count. He always had family—a father who'd cared for him, a mother who'd loved him and done her level best to protect him from the world.

Then there was Gwendal his elder brother. He'd always looked up to Gwendal as a boy, but Gwendal had been so much older than him that it was often hard to find common interests, and in some cases even common ground. Wolfram was a horse of an entirely different color. He loved his baby brother, and they were close enough in age that they should have been friends and had a close relationship. Should, being the operative word in that sentence. Things had started out that way, but their relationship had taken a rather abrupt nosedive the day Wolfram learned he was only half demon. He didn't even want to think about Stoffel! The man had always made his opinion of his lowly half-breed nephew quite clear.

He shook his head in an effort to clear away the memories. As soon as they arrived, the Heralds had closed ranks around them, doing their best to make sure the two 'off world' members of the circle were included and in general just doing their best to make them feel safe and at home.

It had meant the world to both him and Yozak.

He shifted slightly in his saddle as they came up to the old bell tower, feeling Vanyel's discomfort and a vague sense of an old pain at the sight of the death-bell (which rang every time a Herald died) and the doorway into what had once been a little chapel. The chapel was long gone, but the doorway was still used for Gating.

"Van?" he asked quietly, gently caressing the crest of the stallion's neck in an attempt to soothe him.

: I'm fine, Chosen, : Vanyel reassured him calmly. : It is only memories from the past. Sometimes I cannot bear to look at that tower, and others I can stand by it and almost forget the things I lost that night. :

Conrart patted Vanyel's shoulder before leaning forward in his saddle and hugging Van's proudly arched neck, offering his Companion a wordless wave of love and affection, and what little comfort he could for a past he knew very little about. This particular story he knew however, after finding out that his Companion was famous – he'd done a little reading. He knew how Herald Vanyel's first lifebonded had committed suicide by throwing himself off that very bell tower after the death of his own Companion.

They watched quietly as Holly built up the gate that would take them to the last known location of K'Tava Vale.

~~~***~~~

A.N

* in the clans flowers and feathers are an invitation have sex. A primary feather from a bond bird is used to signify a lengthy relationship, that can be casually ended with the return of said feather.

A.N this is the last of the finished chapters the next few are currently being edited so hopefully the wait won't be too long. Read and review please.