Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [56]
In the second place—
It’s possible that the Companions actually have been keeping Heralds from even thinking just that. The Firecats were known to be what they were only to the Priests—the rest of the Karsite populace simply regarded them as signs of Vkandis’ favor. Most ordinary folk were not even aware that the Cats spoke to the Priests; after all, the Priests had the Voice, what did they need with a talking feline?
I can think of several reasons why Companions would not want it known that they had once been Heralds, Karal decided, rather grimly, after a moment of silence that gave him plenty of time to really examine the idea. For instance, there had been one infamous attempt to destroy a Firecat by the traitor who had brought about the assassination of the Son of the Sun whose name the Firecat bore.
Not that that worked. Firecats can protect themselves very nicely. The assassin made a lovely bonfire, so the
story goes. But surely, there were people who would be very unhappy if certain Heralds were to reappear after their demise—and Companions, unlike the Cats, could be killed.
And even a Karsite knows that if you kill the Hellhorse—the Companion—you’ll probably kill the Herald.
There could be emotional conflicts among the Heralds as well. How would a loved one feel, knowing that the beloved ex-Herald could return if he chose, even if in a tather—inconvenient—form? It would be devastating if he did, and nearly as bad if he didn’t.
As he was mulling all this over, he caught sight of Laylan staring back at him over his shoulder—and when he caught his eye, he nodded as if he had been following his very thoughts.
As if—like Hansa—he can see what is in my mind—Once again, he sat frozen in place, stunned. Like Hansa. The Cats are like Companions—
Once again, he nodded; gravely, but unmistakably.
Only one thought floated up out of the shock.
If the Cats are like the Companions, then we are not so different from our ancient enemies after all.
And he could not for the life of him decide if that realization was a reassuring one.
An’desha
Seven
An’desha stared unhappily out the window of his provisional home. Late afternoon sunset streamed through the branches of the trees around Firesong’s ekele, and left patches of gilding on the grass beyond the windows. The silence that must surely be outside was not mirrored within. The indoor garden was full of laughter and talk, even to the point where the burbling of the waterfalls and fountains was overwhelmed by human chatter.
An‘desha sat on a rock ledge in the farthest comer of the hot pool, dangling his feet in the water and trying not to sulk. He could not suppress his bitter unhappiness, though, and by the gods, he wasn’t sure he wanted to! Firesong had not consulted him on this; he hadn’t even been warned that there were visitors coming this afternoon. Firesong had simply showed up with all of them in tow, some of whom An’desha had never even met before. It was rude, it was unfair, and he was not in a mood to make the best of it.
This was supposed to be his retreat away from all the strangeness of Valdemar—so why did Firesong have to bring half of Valdemar into the retreat and spoil it?
Well, maybe not half of Valdemar, but it certainly sounded like it. The garden felt overcrowded, and the fragile peace he had been trying to cultivate was shattered.
An’desha had not had a very good day today; not that everything had gone wrong, but nothing had quite gone right. Firesong kept telling him that he needed to get out and interact with other people, to meet some of these foreigners, so today he he had gritted his teeth and made an attempt, hoping for Firesong’s approval. Hoping for some success to show him, however small that was.
He’d gone off on his own this afternoon while Firesong taught the young mages. A few days ago he had volunteered to help a group of those youngsters who wore the rust,