Page 76 of Valdemar

Restil had an odd thought that Darshay picked up on immediately. :If all Companions are Mindspeakers, and all Companions can share their memories, does that make all of the Companions together into one big mind with everyone’s memories?:

Darshay seemed impressed. :Aren’t you clever. We all have minds of our own, but you are close. And yes, the more Companions there are, the more memories and insights there are to draw upon.: She added, in a more serious tone, :We have our vulnerabilities, too. Our state of mind carries over when sharing thoughts, so we take sanity very seriously. Derangement can be—infectious for our kind. That is why Repudiation exists; it is to cut off the Chosen’s madness from spreading through us. Just the thought of it is heartbreaking. No one should be pushed away when in so much need. But that is a risk we simply cannot take. It is the conundrum of the swimmer and the drowning man who seizes him and threatens to pull him under.:

:But just how much madness are you talking about? Some of our best friends are pretty strange.:

:Weirdness is embraced, as are those differences that often put someone at odds with those around them, and so forth, but we are on our guard about self-destruction beyond—how shall I put this—beyond the amount that comes with self-examination. There are specialized Healers of the heart and mind that can pull someone back from doom, but we are not they. We would like to be all things, but we cannot be. We want and need our Chosen to be healthy, in mind, heart, and body, without losing who they are.:

Restil pondered for a few moments. :There are so many things I learned about the Hawkbrothers that would seem mad to a regular Valdemaran, but I feel like they’re understandable, just different from our ways. I don’t know if I could live as they live, but I am happy for them.:

:I know. And by that, I mean, I know. However aberrant, chaotic, or embarrassing your imagination may get, we understand. A Companion is the best of friends—someone who knows you for exactly who you are, and loves you anyway.:

:Hah! That will take some getting-used-to, but I trust you. I’ll still blush sometimes.:

Darshay whickered. :I know that, too.:

:All right, let’s get you up to the Palace and out of your gear so I can get cleaned up and presentable.:It was even odds whether the stablehands would be around to help, or off practicing their bow and pike skills, so Restil would probably be the one taking care of her. Not that he minded. If anything, he was just a bit resentful that he wasn’t going to be able to spend a leisurely mark or two grooming her, as he almost always did when he got the chance. It was soothing for both of them.

By a miracle, there was a stablehand available. Her face lit up when she saw Restil approaching, though her eyes were entirely on Darshay, not her rider. In fact, when he dismounted, the Crown Prince was greeted with a dismissive “Don’t worry, Herald, I’ll take care of everything” and a proprietary hand on Darshay’s neck. She didn’t even look at him to see which Herald he was.

Restil clamped his jaw tight to keep from laughing out loud and took a moment to compose himself before he could thank her gravely and go on his way.

Darshay, of course, could not help but comment, but at least she waited until Restil was out of earshot. :You have been snubbed, Prince Restil.:

:Not exactly. No one pays attention to a mere Prince when there is a Queen in view.:

:Hah! Save that silver tongue for Starbird.:

He trotted to the Palace, grinning. He kept a couple of spare clean uniforms there for moments like this. Heading straight to the royal suite to bathe and change was going to save a lot of time.

Supper was uneventful, though in the end, he was glad that the King had hijacked his plans, because the soup was one of his favorites, a nice squash soup made with herbs, butter and cream, and garnished with bits of bacon. And it was only the royal family and Sai, uncle Hakkon, and Jonaton; Silvermoon had gone back to k’Vesla a fortnight ago—and amusingly enough, the hertasi had taken advantage of the Portal opening to kick a trio of large carts through before it closed. Jelavan hadn’t been through the Portal to visit, but Restil had seen that Delia did have packages waiting in the hertasi bundles. The first cart through was heaped with rolls of cloth, baskets with tagged plant clippings and bulbs, sturdy boxes of special crystals and other who-knew-whats for the mages, and a sealed box addressed to Jonaton. The other two carts were laden with a couple of tightly packed bales of handsome new Herald uniforms. Actual bales, about the size of a big wardrobe trunk. When the dense bales had been cut open, they spread out into an area three times the size of the original bale. Now everyone had a “best” set of uniform clothing: white doeskin with a light ramie shirt for summer and a white lambswool shirt for winter. Of course the tunics, trews, shirts, and soft boots were ornamented liberally, with embroidery, fabric manipulation, and tooling, but it was subtle, all white-on-white. Starbird assured them all that the hertasi were aware that the laundry facilities were not up to hertasi standards, and that everything had been “treated” to prevent dirtying and staining. How, Restil was not sure. Magic, perhaps? Or perhaps the hertasi had managed to unravel the secret of the Doll canvas.

Each bale also bore a secured stack of identical, glossy white boxes on top. The boxes sported shiny protected corners, edged with steel rails and handles like miniature luggage, each adorned by painted Valdemar crests. A note from the hertasi inside every one read, “May you live to be a thousand years old.” Inside each box was a full “casual” Herald uniform of Doll canvas and white canvas gaiters to go over the more sturdy and practical boots that had not yet been replaced by the leatherworkers, which made Restil giggle. Hertasi, it seemed, didn’t understand “formal” or “informal” like Valdemarans; they just understood “more impressive” or “less impressive.” Apparently, they understood “uniform” as meaning that every outfit was supposed to match—and so they did, down to the smallclothes with little Valdemar crests embroidered on them. These uniforms had less ornamentation, but that didn’t mean no ornamentation.

They made us ornate casual-wear uniforms. That may be the most hertasi gift ever.

As he had suspected, this evening’s display was to show the courtiers that the royal family was taking the situation seriously, but not panicking about it. But alas, Starbird was not in sight; she must have eaten with the rest of the Heralds at the first serving, or was still with the Healers. But that meant that he was seated at the King’s left hand—the right being reserved for the Queen—so they made a nice block of pristine white in the middle of the high table. The only one missing was Delia, who was still up north with Pebble.

When dessert—the usual fruit and cheese—arrived, the King finally turned to him. “What would you say to going up north to get eyes on Pebble’s progress?” he asked.

“I’d say I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near that border,” Restil replied.

“Well, with half the Guard up there, I’m not as concerned as I was. As for borders, what we think of as our border likely isn’t what they think of as their border. There’s a good bit of distance between the area that city is served by, and us. A wilderness buffer.” Then his father paused. “Well, we had better talk to Jonaton after dinner to see what he has to say about the idea.”

Restil did not groan, although he was tempted to. He preferred to have a word with Starbird, then go to bed to sleep for a year. But . . . this was not a request. This was a not-at-all- veiled command from the King to his son, and from the King to his Herald. So he nodded, steeled himself for another mark or two of not-sleeping, and waited until the King and Queen rose to leave.

Kordas passed by Jonaton and murmured something too low for Restil to hear. Jonaton nodded, said a word to his tablemates, and got up and followed them.

So much for getting to sleep.

But at least Kordas led them back to the royal suite instead of all the way across the grounds to Jonaton’s workroom. “My other sons are certainly going to stay and listen to Rothas and the other entertainers, so we’ll have some privacy for a while,” Kordas said, as he gestured for all of them to take seats among the couches and chairs near the fireplace. “Jonaton, before I consult you on something else, you told me right after Silvermoon left that you had something to show me. I’m sorry I didn’t have time, but why don’t you show me now?”

Jonaton’s body language expressed relief, though his face displayed displeasure. “I will, though it was hard-won. I wanted to be wrong about it, so I spent myself confirming as best I could. Just before he left, I finally got Silvermoon to myself. I showed him what I had on that anomaly that happened during the coronation, and, you know, just came out and asked him if the Hawkbrothers had anything to do with it.” Jonaton made some gestures in the air and brought up a sharp illusory teaching diagram. Fortunately Restil knew how to read it, or he probably would have been sorely confused. “He said no, and gave me some instructions and information that helped me refine the diagram. He showed me how to fan radiance filters across mage-tracery to see them as a solid shape, and how to move other filters over that. It’s brilliant. It makes images like in a teaching spell, but from actual readings, not approximations. With that, I was able to walk around the readings’ illusion, examining it like a sculpture, and it proved out what I was hesitant to tell you unless I was sure. I didn’t have the readings of the Red Thing itself, but I did have detailed readings of its effect on the Tayledras shields. So I reversed the—” He paused. “You stopped listening a while back, didn’t you?” His expression was both exasperated and resigned.

“No, no, I follow so far,” Kordas nodded, but Restil left his expression a bit on the stupid side. He had a vague idea of what Jonaton was talking about, but combat magic had everything to do with knowing what to do instantly, not faffing about trying to analyze things while you were trying not to be killed.

“All right. Aside from what that will mean to us in the future—since I think this method of visualizing pattern qualities is completely unknown to Imperials, should we need it—I could understand the textures of the magic by experiencing tastes. Seeing a flavor. The different series of spikes, their patterns of force, or the lower undulations and reverberations—I began tasting them.”

That sounded familiar. “We’ve heard you talk about the flavors of magic before,” Restil offered.