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  Kris looked flatly astonished. "Whoa— wait just a minute here— you'd better start at the very beginning. I can hardly believe my ears—"

  "All right," she replied hesitantly, "but only if you promise to hear me out completely."

  "That's only fair, I guess."

  "All right; when I first got to the Collegium I had a pretty miserable time of it as you know. Dirty tricks, nasty anonymous notes, ambushes— it was the unaffiliated students, the Blues, but they made it seem as if it was other trainees that might be responsible so I wouldn't look inside the Collegium for help. It all came to a head—"

  "When they dumped you in the river just after Midwinter—"

  "And they meant to kill me."

  "What?" he exclaimed.

  "It isn't common knowledge. Elcarth and Kyril know; and Sherrill, Keren, Skif, Teren, and Jeri. Ylsa knew, so did Jadus; I think Alberich knows.

  Mero guessed. I'm pretty sure one or more of the others told Selenay some time later. One of the Blues told me to 'give their greetings to Talamir' just after they threw me in— I think the meaning there is pretty clear. They expected me to drown, and if it hadn't been that my bond with Rolan was strong enough for him to know what had happened— well. But I was delirious with fever when they were caught and I couldn't tell anyone.

  They claimed it was all just a joke, that they hadn't thought I'd get worse than a ducking. Your uncle backed them up before the Council. So instead of being charged with trying to kill me, they got their wrists slapped and were sent home to the familial bosoms."

  "That's hardly an indication that—"

  "You promised not to interrupt me."

  "Sorry."

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  "The next time we got into it was over Skif. It was right when Skif was helping me unmask Elspeth's nurse Hulda. I needed to find out who had sponsored her into Valdemar besides Selenay and Elspeth's father. Skif went to the Provost-Marshal's office to find the immigration records, and Orthallen caught him there. He dragged him up in front of Selenay, accusing him of trying to alter the Misdemeanor Book. And he demanded that Skif be given the maximum punishment for it— stable duty with the Guard for the next two years on the Border. You know what that could have meant. At worst, he could have been killed; at best, he'd be two years behind the rest of us, and I'd have been without one of my two best friends all that time— as well as being without the only person in the Collegium who could possibly have helped me expose Hulda. I got Skif off, but I had to lie to do it; and I can tell you that Orthallen was not pleased."

  Kris looked as if he wanted to interject something, but held his peace.

  "Lastly there's the matter of my internship. Orthallen 'in view of my youth and inexperience' was trying to pressure the Council into ruling I should stay out in the field for three years— double the normal time. Fortunately, neither Selenay, Elcarth or Kyril were having any of that— and pointed out that internships are subject only to the will of the Circle, not the Council."

  "Is that all?"

  "Isn't it enough?"

  "Talia, this all has very logical explanations if you know my uncle. Firstly he couldn't possibly have known about the students' malice— I'm certain of it. He's known most of them since they were in swaddling clothes; he even refers to people grown and with babes of their own as 'the youngsters.' And he probably felt obligated to act as their spokesperson.

  After all, you had two people to speak for you on the Council, Elcarth and Kyril."

  "I suppose that's logical," Talia said reluctantly. "But Skif—"

  "Oh, Skif— my uncle is a prude and a stickler for convention, I know that for a fact. Skif has been a thorn in his side ever since he was Chosen.

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  Before Skif came, there was never any problem with Heraldic students getting involved in trouble down in town— the unaffiliates and the Bardics, and once in a great while the Healers, but never the Grays."

  "Never?" Talia's right eyebrow rose markedly. "I find that rather hard to believe."

  "Well, almost never. But after Skif started his little escapades— Lord and Lady, the Grays are as bad as the Bardics! It's like the younger ones feel they have to top him. Well, Uncle is not amused, not at all. He's a great believer in military discipline as a cure for high spirits, and I'm certain he never meant anything worse for Skif than that."

  "What about me? Why does he keep trying to get between me and Selenay?"

  "He's not. You are young; his idea of Queen's Own is someone like Talamir. I have no doubt he truly felt a long internship was appropriate in your case."

  "I wish I could believe you."

  "Holding a grudge is rather childish— and unlike you—"

  "I am not holding a grudge!"

  "Then why are you even refusing to consider what I've told you?"

  Talia drew a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "There is a third explanation for what he's been doing. It could be that he thinks of me as a threat to his influence with Selenay. And I might point out one other thing to you— and that is I am willing to bet the person who told you all about those 'rumors' is your uncle. And I'd be willing to bet he asked you to investigate them. He knows what my Gift is. He could well know what the effect of hearing that poison would be on me."

  Instead of refuting her immediately, Kris looked thoughtful. "That is a possibility; at least over the internship thing. He's very fond of power, my uncle; he's been Selenay's chief advisor for a long time, and was her father's before that. And there isn't a great deal you can do to change the 176

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  fact that Queen's Own is always going to have more influence than chief advisor. And I hate to admit it," he finished reluctantly, "but you're right about my source of information on the rumors."

  Talia figured that now that she'd got him thinking instead of just reacting, it was time to change the subject. She would dearly have loved to have suggested that Orthallen might well have originated the rumors, but Kris would never have stood still for the implication that his uncle's conduct was less than honorable.

  "Kris— let's try and forget about it, for a few hours, anyway. We've got other things to worry about."

  He regarded her soberly. "Like the fact that you had enough energy to project; like the fact that you could do it again."

  "Yes." She drew a deep breath. "I could even break down again; I was right on the verge of it this afternoon. If we hadn't had something to do, I might have. And I was— maybe hallucinating out there."

  "Hell."

  "I'll— try. But I thought you'd better be warned."

  "Featherfoot?" He looked long at Tantris, then nodded in satisfaction. "He says he thinks he and Rolan can handle you, if it gets bad again. He says it was mostly that Rolan was caught off-guard that things got out of hand the first time."

  She felt a heavy burden fall from her heart. "Good. And— thanks."

  He gave her a wink. "I'll get it out of you."

  She made a face at him, and curled up in the blankets to sleep with a much lighter heart.

  They woke at very close to their normal time; there would be no dallying today, nor for many days to come, not if they wanted to reach the road before their supplies ran out. They suited up in their warmest clothes, took the shovels, and began the long task of cutting a path to freedom.

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  The snow was wet and heavy— an advantage, since it stayed on their shovels better. But the very weight of it made shoveling exhausting work.

  They took a break at noon for a hot meal and a change of clothing, as what they'd put on this morning was now quite soaked through. They shoveled until it was almost too dark to see.

  "We've got to get to that tree and get it moved out of the way while the snow's still like it is now," Kris said over supper. "If it should turn colder and freeze, we'll never be able to
get that thing moved. It would be stuck in ice like a cork in a bottle."

  "We'll be all right as long as the snow keeps falling a little," Talia replied, thinking back to her days watching the Hold flocks at lambing time. "We'll only have to worry about the temperature falling if the weather changes."

  They turned in early, hoping to get to the tree before the end of the next day.

  By late afternoon they had reached it, and decided, after looking the massive trunk over, that it would be best if they hacked it in half with their handaxes and hitched the chirras and Companions to the lighter half.

  When darkness fell, they were slightly more than halfway through the trunk.

  Again they rose with the sun and returned to the tree. They managed to cut through it by noon, and after lunch made their attempt to move it.

  They had decided the previous night to leave nothing to chance and had made a set of harnesses for themselves from spare rope. They hitched their own bodies right in beside the chirras and Rolan and Tantris.

  It turned out that it was just as well that they had decided to do so. Only when all six of them dug in and strained with all their strength did it move at all. All of them gasped and panted with the effort, and over-burdened muscles screamed out in protest, while the tree shifted fraction by minute fraction. It took until dark to haul it clear of their escape route.

  As darkness fell, they dragged themselves back into the Station, nearly weeping with aches and exhaustion. Nevertheless, they rubbed the chirras 178

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  dry and groomed their Companions, fed and watered and blanketed them.

  Only then did they strip off their own sodden garments and collapse on their bed. They were too bone-weary to think of anything but lying down— and their aching bodies.

  Finally, "Do you really want supper?" Kris asked her dully; it was his turn to make it.

  The very idea of food was nauseating. "No," she replied in a voice fogged with exhaustion.

  "Oh, good," he said with relief. "Neither do I."

  "I can't seem— to get warm." It took an effort to get the words out.

  "Me either." Kris sat up with a low moan. "If you'll get the tea, I'll dig out the honey."

  "It's a bargain."

  They'd left hot water for tea on the hearth, knowing they'd want it. Neither of them rose any farther than their knees as they dragged themselves to their goals. Talia poured water onto the herbal mixture, spilling half of it as her hands shook with weariness. Kris returned with the jar of honey in one hand, and something else in the other.

  He put the jar down with exaggerated care, and Talia spooned three generous dollops into each mug. Fortunately, it was too thick to spill as the water had. She pushed one mug toward Kris, who handed her something in exchange for it.

  It was one of the fruit and nut bars Kerithwyn had forced into them back at Waymeet. Talia felt sick at the sight of it.

  "I know," Kris said apologetically. "I feel the same way. But if we don't eat something, we'll pay for it tomorrow."

  She stirred the honey into her tea and drank it even though it was still so hot it almost scorched her tongue. As heat spread through her, the food 179

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  began to seem a bit more appealing. As she finished the second mug of tea, she was actually feeling hungry.

  Chewing the tough, sticky thing took the last of her energy, though. From the look of things, Kris was feeling the same way. The third cup of tea settled the question entirely. She just barely managed to get underneath the blankets before she was asleep.

  She woke with every muscle screaming an angry protest. She shifted position a little, and a groan escaped.

  "I wish I was dead— I wouldn't hurt so much," Kris moaned forlornly in her ear.

  "Me, too. But I keep thinking of what Alberich always told us."

  "Must you remind me? 'The cure that is best for the sore body is more of what made it sore.' Oh, how I wish he was wrong!"

  "At least we have to go out long enough to see what we have to deal with beyond the tree."

  "You're right." Kris uncoiled himself slowly and painfully. "And we have to wrestle more wood inside."

  "And more hay."

  "And more hay, right. There's this much, little bird. If you feel like I feel, you couldn't project past your own nose right now!"

  They helped each other wash and dress; there were too many places they couldn't reach for themselves without their stiff muscles screaming at them. Talia managed to concoct porridge with fruit in it, making enough to feed them twice more, and tea as well. They would probably be so tired they wouldn't taste either, but it would be solid and warm, and hopefully they wouldn't be so tired tonight that the very thought of food was revolting.

  When they opened the door, the glare of the sunlight on all that snow drove them back— for the weather had changed overnight, and the sky 180

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  was cloudless. Without some kind of protection for their eyes they'd be snowblind in moments.

  "Now what?" Talia asked, never having had to deal with this kind of situation before.

  Kris thought hard. "Keep your eyes shadowed from above by your cloak hood, and I'll see if I can rig something for the snowglare."

  He rummaged through his pack, emerging with a roll of the thin gauze they used for bandages. "Wrap that around your head about twice. It should be thin enough to see through."

  It wasn't easy to see through, but it was better than glaring light that brought tears to the eyes.

  The tree lay where they had left it, and beyond it was the pathway out.

  Somewhere.

  It was possible to see where it went by the lane between the trees and the absence of underbrush. The problem was that it lay beneath drifts that from where they were standing never seemed to be less than four feet deep.

  "Well, at least there're no more downed trees," Talia said, trying to be cheerful.

  Kris just sighed. "Let's get the shovels."

  The drifts were deep, but at least they were not as wide as the ones in their valley had been. Though the snow was seldom less than two feet deep, it also was rarely more than six. They shoveled and trampled until dusk, then brought in more wood and fodder, ate, and fell into bed.

  Talia woke in the middle of the night feeling very cold. Puzzled, she huddled closer to Kris, who murmured sleepily, but didn't wake. Despite this, she kept feeling colder. Eventually she moved warily out of bed; as soon as she did so, the chill of the air struck her like a hammer blow. She slipped her feet into her sheepskin slippers, wrapped her cloak around herself, and quickly moved to pile wood on the fire. When the flames rose, 181

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  she could see the eyes of the chirras and Companions blinking at her—they had moved out of their corner and nearer to the heat.

  "'Smatter?" Kris asked sleepily. "Why's it so cold?"

  "The weather changed again. The temperature's dropping," Talia said, thinking about how the wet snow outside must be freezing into drifts like outcroppings of white granite. "I think the luck-goddess just left us."

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  Nine

  When at last they slept again, it was restlessly; they woke early, and with a premonition of the worst. The icy chill of the Station did not encourage dawdling; they dressed quickly and went out to discover just how bad the situation truly was.

  It wasn't good, by any stretch of the imagination. The snow had frozen, thickly crusted on top, granular and hard underneath. The crust was capable of supporting their weight, and even the weight of the chirras unladen (providing that they held their pace to a snail's crawl), but it would never hold the chirras with even a small pack, or the Companions.

  And as if that weren't bad enough, it was obvious that their shovels were not sturdy enough to deal with snow this obdurate.

  Both Heralds stared hopelessly at the rock-hard place where they'd left off digging the night before and
at the now-useless shovels. Finally Talia swore passionately, kicked at a lump of snow, and bit her lip to hold back tears of frustration, and reminded herself not to let anything leak.

  "Look, Talia, we're not getting anywhere like this," Kris said after a long moment of silence. "You're tired; so am I. One day isn't going to make any difference to us one way or the other— for that matter, neither will two or three. I'm your counselor; well, I counsel that we take a rest, and let our bodies recover, until we can think of a plan that has some chance of getting us out of here."

  Talia agreed wearily.

  Once back inside, she lit the little oil lamp and surveyed the shambles they'd made of the interior of the Station. "We're obviously going to be here a while, so it's time we stopped living in a goat pen. Look at this! We hardly have room to move."

  Kris looked around, and ruefully agreed.

  They began cleaning and rearranging with a vengeance. Working in the comparatively warm Station was by far and away easier than shoveling 183

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  snow had been. Before noon, the Station was cleaned and swept and all was in good order.

  "Had any ideas?" Kris ventured over lunch.

  "Nothing that pertains to the problem. I did think of something that needs doing, though. Since we're stuck until we can think of a way to handle that snow, we ought to do something about washing our clothing. The only warm things that I have left to wear are what I've got on."

  "There's saddle-soap in the Station supplies to clean the leathers," he said, thinking out loud, "and we could empty two of the barrels to wash in."

  "I brought more than enough soap for all the rest," she told him, "And the Lord knows we don't have to scrimp on water!"

  "All right then, we'll do it! I'm in no better shape than you— and I hate wearing filthy clothes."