Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (44 page)

He hesitated. “As the Weaponsmaster, I am concerned that you are the person least able to defend herself here.”

“Which is why I'm
petrified,
” she replied, in a very small voice. “And I want to go
home.
But I can't, and I won't, and I won't ask anyone else to look out for me.”

“I never thought for a moment that you would.” The tent was
so
small, he could easily reach over and pat her shoulder, which he did, awkwardly. Her face crumpled, but she didn't cry. Just as well. Women in tears unnerved him. She did put her own hand up to hold his on her shoulder, though, and he didn't mind—

:You stay out of my head,:
he said sharply.
:Or at least be quiet about being there.:

Kantor wisely did not reply.

“Don't think I want
you
to take care of me either,” she continued, even though she was shaking. “I don't! I
can
take care of myself, even if I'm not a good fighter, I won't freeze up, and
will
be sensible and be the first to run away, if the time comes to retreat!”

“I didn't think you would ask, not for a moment. As your Weaponsmaster, although I am concerned, I am certain that I have trained you well, and I trust you to be intelligent enough to do what you must.” He tightened his hand on her shoulder. “But as your Weaponsmaster, you need not be brave with me. In fact, if you have concerns and feel you cannot voice them to others, do tell me. The night stalkers, for instance; that was a reasonable thing to consider.”

She sighed, and some of her shaking eased. “I'm not a brave person,” she said reluctantly. “Actually, I'm rather a coward. I'm afraid of so much, it's easier to say what I'm
not
afraid of. I think about what can go wrong all the time, it keeps me awake at night, and it makes me want to dig a hole and hide in it. And even if things don't go wrong, it's still going to be horrible—people dying and blood and pain—and it's one thing to read about battles, but it's something else to have one happening around you.”

There were so many things he could have said—that she was right to be afraid, that she would be less afraid if she stopped thinking so constantly about all the dire possibilities—

He said none of them, for none of them seemed quite right. And after a moment, she let go of his hand and he took it back. With a touch of reluctance . . . which felt a bit odd.

:Because you don't know how to act around a woman who might be more than a friend, but isn't either out of bounds or a whore,:
Kantor said bluntly.

Well—that was true enough. But this was no time to try and learn how. Later, perhaps, if there was a later.
And now who is dwelling on the dire possibilities?

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned those glittery lenses in his direction with a wan smile. “Thank you for being my friend as well as my Weaponsmaster and fellow Herald, Alberich. It helps to have someone human I can be at ease with.”

He nodded. “As you help me. Think of the relief I feel, not only to drop my mask, but to have someone with whom I can speak my native tongue.” He managed a wry smile. “Perhaps you can help me with my Valdemaran, so we don't have a repetition of that scene in Sendar's tent. Only Selenay understood me!”

Myste shook her head. “At least it made
her
look very competent, and gave her credit a strong boost. Poor little Selenay! I hope she can find someone to take her mask off with.”

“If no one else, it will be me,” he promised, reading the request for exactly what it was. Then he deemed it time for a change of subject. “Now what else have you found in those Chronicles?”

“All the routes that your people have
ever
used to come at us.” She reached under her cot, and pulled out a roll which proved to be a map. “I traced them all on this.”

“
Very
useful.” The hilly, sometimes mountainous terrain along the Border only permitted so many practical routes for an invading force, and here they all were, or at least, as much about them as the Valdemarans knew, since most of Karse was unknown land to them. But
he
knew the Border, if not as well as he'd like, certainly better than anyone here, and perhaps with the help of some of the FarSeeing Heralds or the ones with Animal Mindspeech who could see through the eyes of a high-soaring hawk, he would be able to fill in the terrain on the other side a bit, and they'd know which paths and passes to watch.

“Myste, I shall be sure and let it be known that you are
monumentally
useful,” he said. And was rewarded with a genuine smile. “Now I shall go and present this to Sendar so that I can do that.”

“And I shall write up the next lot of notes to dispatch.” She tucked her legs under the tray and pulled it toward her, and that was how he left her, head down, lamplight shining down on it, an island of peace in the midst of frantic preparations for war.

But his night was not yet over. He went to Selenay's tent, and found her toying with the remains of her dinner—a dinner which, for the most part, looked uneaten. Her two guardians were right with her, and her tent was ringed with regular Guardsmen.

He nodded with satisfaction as they challenged him, then sent one of their number to fetch someone from Selenay's bodyguards who could verify his identity. That was quite right; they should never assume that someone was who he said he was if
they
didn't know him on sight. One of the two bodyguards recognized him the moment she put her head out of the tent, of course. Only then was he allowed inside the perimeter they had established.

Selenay gladly put aside the plate at his entrance. There were several lamps suspended overhead here, which didn't matter, since the felt lining the walls made it impossible for anyone to see silhouettes on the canvas. He noted the arrangement of the cot in the middle of the tent—now folded—with approval. “Is there any news?” she asked, her expression somber and a little pinched.

He shook his head. “That I have heard, nothing. But for you, a task I have.”

She actually brightened at that. “Good. I feel as if there is something I should do, but I can't think of anything.” She reached up and tucked a strand of hair self-consciously behind her ear. “I don't think there are many people besides you and father who think I should even be here.”

He regarded her gravely. “Come. Among the troops, we must walk. Speak to them, you shall, this night and every night. Of their homes and families, must you ask; speak you must as your heart tells you, to put heart in them, to put a face—
your
face—on Valdemar.”

“You mean, make myself some kind of mascot?” she asked, as he gestured to her guardians to take up their weapons and follow. “Create a symbol?”

“Of a sort. Speak of Valdemar, you must; not just of the evil that comes to tear her, not of fear alone, but of hope.” Hope.
He
hoped she was up to this; Sendar would likely be making his own forays among the troops, but there was a limit to his time. Selenay had more of that available to her, and Selenay was a handsome young girl, golden-blond and fresh-faced, and not unlike the pretty girls the men and women wearing the uniform tabards of the Valdemaran army would see at home. He wanted to put
that
face on the abstract notion of “my land, Valdemar.” He wanted them to see that their leaders served
them,
as much as they served their leaders. When they saw their leaders, remote and at a distance, he wanted them to remember the night
this
one walked and talked with them.

“But what should I say?” she asked, sounding a little desperate, as they left her tent. He motioned to the sentries to stay in place. Mounted on Companions, they were as safe as they would be in a knot of guards. Kantor waited for them; Caryo came out of her lean-to, and Alberich helped Selenay throw her saddle on her.

“Ask, first. Ask of home and family. Ask of their welfare. Then, think, and as your father would, speak.” She had spent all of her life listening to her father's speeches; it was time she learned to make some of her own. In fact, there was very little she could say that would be
wrong.
Her mere presence out here with the troops, asking after their well-being and their background, would be enough. She would be showing the concern of their monarch, putting a face and a voice under the crown. And word of that would spread.

They rode down the torchlit paths between the tents at a walk, so that the two bodyguards could keep pace afoot, until they came to the first campfire of common footsoldiers. As fighters did, the world around, they had gathered around their common fire, and there was talk, some rough joking, a small cask of beer to be shared. It all stopped, when two Companions loomed up out of the darkness. It ceased altogether, when they dismounted, their officer (good man! thought Alberich) recognized Selenay, and scrambled to his feet, then tried to drop to one knee. “Highness!” he stammered, as Selenay prevented him from going down by taking his elbow and keeping him erect.

“Just Selenay—ah—lieutenant?” she replied, her cheeks going pink.

“Lieutenant Chorran, Ma'am,” he said, his cheeks pinker than hers, his eyes anxious under an unruly thatch of dark hair.

“Well, then, Lieutenant Chorran, would you make me known to your men?” she replied with admirable composure. If Alberich hadn't known this was her first foray out into an army camp, he would never have guessed it.

She stood, hands clasped gravely behind her back, as Lieutenant Chorran introduced her to every one of the round-eyed men encircling the fire. When he was done, she picked one at random. “So, Nort Halfden—what part of the world are
you
from?” she asked, as if his answer was something she burned to hear.

“Boarsden, Ma'am, east of Haven,” he replied, looking as if he was having to concentrate to keep from tugging his strawberry-blond forelock at her.

“I know it; good grain country.” She smiled at him, and he looked about to faint, yet couldn't help beaming with pride. “And perfectly
lovely
morel mushrooms in the forest in the spring.”

“Aye, Ma'am!” he enthused, losing a little of his shyness. “That there be!” She gave him a nod of encouragement, and he warmed to his subject. “Why, there's a copse just by our duck pond that—”

That was all it took; he was off about his father's farm, and that led her to single out others who looked as if they were losing their awe of
her
to want to boast about their own lands. A leading question or two was all it needed; she just gave them a cue, and let them run on. This lot was all farm folk, though from differing parts of Valdemar; companies were made up of men (and women, though it would have to be a sturdy wench who was in the pikes) who came into the force at about the same time, so that they all worked through training together and got to know one another well. Alberich approved of the arrangement; it created cohesiveness.

When Selenay showed interest in their lives, their homes, and their families, they swiftly warmed to her. When she showed them that she was not that different from them, they took her to their hearts. The firelight shone on their young faces, and Alberich tried not to think about how
very
young they were, how it was certain that some of them would not be going back to those homes and families. It wrung his heart; he reminded himself that they would only be worse off if war had come to their little farms, and they had to face it all untrained.

“But what about now?” she asked finally, looking around. “Your lieutenant is obviously a fine officer—”

“The best, Ma'am!” said one stoutly, and young Chorran blushed.

She nodded with earnest satisfaction. “If there is there anything you need, then, I'm sure he'll see to it. But are you getting enough to eat—”

“Well, no one and nothin' is gonna fill up Koan, there—” said one fellow slyly, and the rest laughed; this was evidently a joke of long standing among them. “But barrin' that, it ain't home, here, but we're all right, Ma'am.”

She looked at each earnest, friendly face in turn, and Alberich watched them watching her, intent on her. It was clear that she had it, that subtle charisma that marked her sire. She had more than their attention; she had won their loyalty.

“My father and I want you all to get home again,” she said softly, as the firelight made a golden halo of her hair, giving her, had she but known it, a slightly ethereal look. “We want that more than anything. And we want you to go right on gathering mushrooms every spring, chestnuts and potan roots every fall, telling tales beside the fire every winter. But that isn't going to happen if
they
win.”