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Tantris always liked Sorrows. It was one of his favourites circuits, and he knew several other Companions who agreed—those closest to Tylendel or Stef and Vanyel especially. Sayvil, or whatever the name of her incarnation, was certainly happy whenever she rode through it, though her current Chosen was still somewhere in Rethwellan. At least she knew the woman would come to Valdemar eventually, so she wouldn’t have to leave the country like Kantor did for Alberich.
As for Tantris, well, he hadn’t ridden this particular path before, but he’d spent enough time with Kris visiting the home of Ahrodie’s Chosen, Dirk. More than one midwinter was spent among old friends these last years, odd as it was to feel pulled between two forms; two lives. Gods, he couldn’t imagine how poor Stef felt. At least Tantris got to keep all of memories instead of having them all dumped on him at once, but he supposed five hundred years was enough time to get used to anything.
Things in the village of Waymeet were difficult. His Chosen stayed for almost a week trying to treat the sick villager’s Snow Fever. It was practically a miracle Kris didn’t fall ill himself, although that might have been somwthing to do with his Mage-Gift; something to aak Vanyel about, perhaps. He was relieved when the healer Kerithwyn forced Kris and Talia to leave.
There was the concern about Talia’s Gift—which she was not misusing, thank-you-very-much Kris; lord and lady what Lancir would have to say if he knew what people thought of Talia’s Empathy in this era, let alone Jisa—but now that they were away from Waymeet, they had a chance to tackle it.
Tantris relaxed further as they entered Sorrows. He could feel the shift of attention to them, distant for now, but it wouldn’t be long before it came closer. By tonight, Tantris imagined Stef, Vanyel, and Yfandes would be fully aware of his presence. If not, Tantris would reach out to them.
The plan changed a half-day away from Waymeet when Kris called a halt to eat. Sorrows had several twisting paths through it, and if they missed theirs, they could be stuck wandering well into the night before finding shelter—unideal in the winter cold.
After Kris dismounted, Tantris joined Rolan in eating some of their fodder. It was odd being around grove-born steeds—Gwena was the same way—they just- well. They were different from regular Companions. The grove-born were true instruments of the gods. They were never Heralds, they were never human; something more, like an elemental spirit. It made them difficult to talk to, and Rolan was especially protective of his Chosen. Not that Tantris could judge; he’d had a Chosen he was more protective of than the others; a youngling who reminded him a little too much of Van. He still wished Rolan would tell him more about what was going on with Talia, if only so he could reassure Kris.
As nice as the break was, it didn’t last long. Kris and Talia sensed the chirras’ agitation the same time Tantris and Rolan did, and Talia managed to recognize the coming storm without the Companions having to warn her, thank the gods. Heralds weren’t trained to read the weather like Herald-Mages used to be, a skill that Tantris knew came in handy for more than just using magic that may affect the weather.
They didn’t have much time to reach shelter, but the icy, uneven forest paths made it difficult for the chirras and Companions. A bitter wind began to moan through the trees, and the first sprinkles of snow were whipped up into a frenzy. Tantris could hardly see, and he knew the others were no better off.
Damn, damn, damn.
Snow piled up with frightening speed, covering the ground and making it even more difficult to move. Time seems to slow and stop, leaving nothing but the storm of snow and wind. Talia and Kris dismounted, no longer able to ride, and they all pressed onwards.
Eventually, they realized they lost the path, and Kris’ fear pressed down on Tantris, worried that they’d die out here; that Talia would die. That he’d lose the damn Queen’s Own because her partnered Herald couldn’t guide her through a storm-
Desperately, Tantris reached out. :Vanyel!:
:Here: the response came immediately, so warm and familiar Tantris could have cried.
He felt a pull and followed it like a lighthouse, trusting Van to guide their way to safety.
Vanyel did, of course, and Tantris probed at the bushes until he found the path leading to the waystation. He Felt Kris’ relief as they managed to find their way into a sheltered lane between two shallow ridges, safe from the wind.
Tantris kept following Vanyel’s guidance. He Felt Stef and Yfandes close at hand, watching in case they needed further help.
Finally, up ahead the waystation loomed.
:It’s fully stocked, but they’ll need more wood: Vanyel said. :You should be safe now:
:Thank you, friend:
He felt Vanyel withdraw with the others and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they were safe now.
Kris and Talia tethered themselves to Tantris and Rolan and set off into the storm for wood.
It was awful. Tantris was frozen through, and he knew Kris was no better. The wind cut through the layers of Heraldic Whites and stole the warmth from their skin. If they stayed out too long, they’d freeze, and after the week in Waymeet, Kris and Talia didn’t have much left to give.
Kris brought the chirras inside and Tantris pressed close to their warm fur as his Chosen lit the fire. He’d never admit it, but part of Tantris missed the old days, when Heralds often had more Gifts. Kris had Farseeing and Mindspeech, which was enough, but Talia only had Empathy. Back during Tantris’ days as a Herald, one of them would have probably had a dash of Fire-starting too. But maybe he should be glad such Gifts were no longer needed; that Valdemar was at peace enough for Heralds to only need one or two—for now, at least. With Elspeth’s powers inherited from Vanyel in far greeter quantities than other descendant in the last five centuries, who knew what was to come.
If they’d been born in a time like this, Tantris thought, maybe Mardic and Donnie would have lived to see old age; maybe Savil would have died naturally. Maybe Gala would never have repudiated Tylendel; maybe he and Vanyel would have spent their lives together instead of a scattering of months across two lifetimes.
But there was no use thinking such things. The world was how it was, and they did their duty to Valdemar as much now as they did then. Besides, Tantris had seen his friends since—those who chose to reincarnate, at least, and he would see the rest one day, when he grew too tired of life as a Companion and finally made his way to the Havens.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.