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whoever he belongs with.”
    He measured her with his eyes; she found his scrutiny unnerving. “Where are you from, child?” he asked at last.
    â€œSensholding, near Cordor. Back that way.” She waved vaguely back down the Road in the direction she’d come.
    â€œAh, Holderfolk,” he said, as if that explained something to him, “Well, young miss, there’s only one thing you can do if you find a lone Companion. You have to return him to the Herald’s Collegium yourself.”
    â€œMe?” her voice broke with alarm. “The Collegium? By myself?”
    He nodded, and she gulped. “Is it very far?” she asked in a near-whisper.
    â€œBy ordinary horse, three weeks or more, depending on the weather. You’re riding a Companion, though, and a little thing like you would be hardly more than a feather to him. You should get there in eight or nine days, perhaps a bit more.”
    â€œEight—or nine—days?” she faltered, looking self-consciously down at her wrinkled, travel-stained clothing. In eight or nine days, she’d look like a tramp. They’d probably shoot her on sight, for thieving Rolan away!
    His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, seeming to read her thoughts. “Now, don’t you worry, young miss. The Queen makes provisions for circumstances like these. Just wait right here.”
    She didn’t have much choice; Rolan seemed to be rooted to the ground. The man returned in short order with a pair of saddlebags, a brown wool cloak draped over one arm, and a small piece of metal in his hand. “Goodwife Hardaxe has a girl a bit older than you; there’s a couple of changes of clothing she’s outgrown in the lefthand bag.”
    She attempted to voice a protest but he interrupted her. “No argument, young miss. I told you the Queen herself makes provisions for this sort of thing. We help you, and we get half taxes next year, the whole village. The right hand bag’s got some odds ’n ends in it; firestarter, comb and brush, things you’ll need if your Companion can’t find a Waystation. Don’t be afraid to use what’s in the Waystations either; that’s what they’re there for.”
    He tossed the bags over Rolan’s back, fastening them securely to the back of the saddle. “This cloak’s good oiled wool; it should keep the rain off you, and this time of year it ought to be enough to keep you warm if the weather turns nasty. It’s more than a bit big, but that’s all to the good. Means less of you will hang outside it. Ah, here comes the Innmaster.”
    A pleasant-faced, plump man came puffing up. He had a waterskin, a small pouch, and a dun-colored frieze bag with him. The wonderful meaty odors rising from the bag made Talia’s mouth water, and her stomach reminded her forcibly that it had been a long time since breakfast.
    â€œI saw you didn’t have a belt-pouch, so I left word with Daro that you might be needing one,” the first man said, “People are always leaving things behind at the Inn.”
    â€œI just filled this bag with good spring water,” the plump Innmaster said, slinging it on one of the many snaffles adorning the saddle before she could say anything, “And there’s an eating knife and a spoon in the pouch. Put it on now, there’s a good girl; I’ve got more left-behind eating tools than you could ever imagine! And these pasties ought to stay sound for longer than it’ll take you to eat ’em, if I know the appetite of a growing child!” He handed her the bag, and wiped his hands on his apron, smiling. “Now you make sure you tell people how good our baking is! I have to get back to my custom.” And he puffed off before she could thank him.
    â€œSee this?” the first man said, holding up a little scrap of engraved brass. “When you get to the Collegium, give this chit to the person