Arrow’s Flight by Mercedes Lackey

there’s another Herald about, and who it is. Green calls for a Healer to be sent, purple for a priest, gray for another Herald. Brown tells the receiver to watch for a message; there’s trouble, not serious, but something that requires elaboration, and something that may delay the Herald sending it in keeping his schedule. Blue means ‘treachery’. Yellow calls for military aid, the number of yellow bands on the arrows tells how many units—if you send every yellow-ringed arrow you’ve got, and we know exactly how many you have, we know to send the entire Army! Red means ‘great danger—come with all speed.’ Then there’s black.”
    He paused, his eyes holding Talia’s. “I pray to Heaven that you never have to send a black arrow, Talia. Sending any black-ringed arrow means there’s been or will be death or catastrophe. And there’s a variant on the code for black you should also know now rather than later. The black arrow intact except for the fletching pattern means ‘total disaster, help or rescue needed.’ Break the arrow, send the pieces, and it reads ‘disaster, all hope gone. Do not attempt rescue.’ Remove the head, and it means that the one whose pattern is in the fletching is dead. The broken arrow, the headless arrow—those can actually be of any color so long as the fletching pattern’s there. Those are the two we’ll always understand—and the ones we never want to see.”
    Talia felt a peculiar chill thread her backbone, and suddenly the hot, sunny day seemed unaccountably gray and chill. She shook off the feeling, and repeated Kyril’s words back to him, verbatim.
    “That’s all there is,” he said, satisfied. “You’re as well prepared as any of us is for his first assignment— and you’re one of the best Heralds the Collegium has ever turned out. You ought to do just fine, even though this is going to be a tough assignment. Good luck to you, Talia; I look forward to seeing you in another year and a half.”
    She took her leave of him and despite her hunger, decided it would be a good idea to hunt up Kris. The first place she looked for him, given the situation, was the tackshed. After all, he was only just in from fieldwork; his first move should be to see that needed repairs had already been made to his Companion’s gear. That was exactly where he was, in company with Dirk, checking over his harness and tack.
    As alert as a wild thing to any hint of movement, Dirk was the first to notice her. “It’s our songbird!” he said genially, favoring her with one of those smiles that was almost an embrace. “I expect you have the word? And Kyril’s given you the code?”
    She nodded, feeling oddly shy, then searched for Rolan’s never-used traveling equipment. It was similar to the tack he’d worn when he’d found her, except that the bridle bells were removable, and the saddle was a bit more complicated. Besides the usual girth, it had breast and rump bands like those on warriors’ saddles, a far larger number of the snaffles by which objects could be fastened to the skirting, and an arrangement of rings and straps that made it possible for a rider—ill, injured, or unconscious, perhaps—to be belted securely into his seat.
    Talia rarely ever bothered with saddle or bridle around the Collegium, but she knew from experience, both her own and Rolan’s, that it would mean a great deal in the way of comfort on a ride of more than an hour (for both of them) for her to use the saddle. And as her near-fatal escapade in the river had shown, the otherwise useless reins on the bridle had other functions than guiding her Companion. Had Rolan been wearing his bridle, she could have twined her arms in the reins and let him tow her to shore, for instance.
    “Everything in good order?” Kris asked. She nodded an affirmative, feeling awkward and tongue-tied now that she was less than twenty-four hours away from a long journey spent mostly in his company.
    “Kris and I haven’t taken