“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.”
Nods all around, each of them looking as if they were hearing this for the first time, even though it was hardly news to any of them.
“But we have what they’ll never have,” she continued, holding her young head high, her pride in them showing in every word. “They don’t have a home and they don’t want to trouble to build one for themselves; they want to steal ours. They don’t have families, even, so Alberich says,” she gestured at Alberich, who contented himself with looking somber. “And I’d feel sorry for them, I’d even invite them to come settle if they’d just asked us! That’s what we’re all about, is Valdemar—we don’t keep people out if all they want is peace! That’s the way we’ve always been, haven’t we?”
Murmurs of assent, with a growl under it.
Good.
“But since these Tedrels don’t want peace, don’t want to build, and only want to steal our land and homes from us—there’s only one way we can meet them,” she continued, with a look of fierce pride that would have been incongruous on such a young face, but for the circumstances. “We didn’t begin this war, but by all that is holy, I swear we will end it!”
It wasn’t the best speech he’d ever heard, but it did exactly what Alberich wanted it to; it galvanized them. Partly it was Selenay’s personality, partly it was that they wanted to find a figurehead for their cause. They cheered for her, and that was what counted; she thanked them in a way that made them cheer for her again, and when she mounted Caryo, she was glowing with enthusiasm and flushed with pleasure.
Then it was off in another direction, to another campfire, wandering in a random fashion, skipping some groups that seemed to be intent on some business or entertainment of their own, going on to others who might need her speech more. Selenay was beginning to run out of energy and wilting a little when Alberich called a halt to the visits for the night, and led her and her guardians back to her tent.
“Did I—” she asked quietly, as the encampments quieted and the fighters around them let their fires die down and sought their bedrolls.
“Well, you did,” he assured her. “Very well. And tomorrow, again you will do so, and the next night, and the next. Each time, a different direction, a different set of fires. And know, all will, that their Princess cares for them, and thinks of them, and their King cares for them and his daughter sends to see they are well. So for you they will fight—”
“Not for me!” she exclaimed. “For Valdemar!”
“But Valdemar, you are,” he countered. “A face they need, upon the idea. That face, you are.”
She might have continued to voice her objections, but they had reached her tent, and he bundled her inside without standing on ceremony as soon as she had unsaddled Caryo and rubbed her down. “Sleep now,” he told her. “Think and argue on the morrow.”
And there he left her, too tired, really, to do more than he had told her to do. She let the tent flap fall shut behind her, Caryo ambled into the lean-to that served as her stable, and he mounted Kantor again.
:She has the spirit in her,: he told his Companion with intense satisfaction as they reached his tent, and he dismounted to free Kantor of his burden of gear. :And she found words enough that were right to do the job.:
:Caryo helped. But you’re right. And this is something that’s needed.: Kantor flicked an ear back in his direction. :She’s putting heart in them.:
He heaved the saddle onto its stand, and hung the bridle up beside it, taking up a wisp of straw to give the Companion a quick rubdown. :And they in her.: That was the beauty of the thing; even as she gave them something tangible to fight for, they gave her confidence, and helped her to find her courage. The more courageous she felt, the more heart she’d put in them. :There. That should hold you until morning.:
The Companion gave himself a brisk shake, and walked into his own lean-to. :You’re wasted as Weaponsmaster,: Kantor said thoughtfully, from out of the shadows under the canvas. :You should have been a Councilor.:
:Vkandis forbid!: he exclaimed indignantly. :I would rather muck out stalls!:
:There—it’s a similar occupation,: countered Kantor, and his mental chuckle followed Alberich all the way to his bed.
16
FOR days, there had been nothing but drill and drill for the men, plan and replan in the commanders’ tent. Every day Selenay sat at her father’s side and listened, putting in a word or two that was always apt, always to the point. Every night she and Alberich and her bodyguards went out to another set of campfires, talking to another set of fighters. He tried to see to it that she had words with every sort—from the young Knights of the heavy cavalry to the archers and pikemen, from the half-wild hill folk serving as scouts to the massive brutes of the heavy foot. He had his own ears to the ground, and he was satisfied with what he heard—as he’d hoped, the men and women she spoke with talked, and soon it spread like wildfire across the entire army that the King and his pretty daughter were “right folk” worth fighting for, who knew their people and cared for their people and would be right in there slogging it out with their people when the day came. The mood in the army shifted imperceptibly and took on a focus. That was what he wanted; Selenay had helped to make it happen. Now there was a sense of the rightness of the cause, and a certainty of purpose. Now their leaders were not some impersonal images somewhere. The King and Heir had personalities and faces, and were well on the way to becoming “beloved.”
“Beloved” was excellent; men (and presumably women too) fought fiercely for something that was “beloved.” And should anything happen to Sendar, his daughter stood a fighting chance of being able to take up the reins without a pause or hesitation. Nor, should the worst happen, was there now any chance that another contender could take the throne away from her—not that any Herald would try, but he had to operate on the assumption that there could always be someone willing to attempt a coup. Certainly, the common people, the Guard, and the army would support her without a second thought, should a would-be usurper appear. He hadn’t revealed that part of his plan to anyone, not even Kantor—though he had the feeling Kantor had guessed it and approved. As Sendar would approve, if he ever learned it himself.
Selenay, of course, would be horrified, which was why she would never hear of it.
Now he sat in Kantor’s saddle, under a clear, summer sky, with dew still wet on the grass. The planning was over; it was too late now to wonder if they had overlooked anything.
For now it all came down to this: two massive armies, both rested, facing each other across firm ground. The Tedrels had taken their time getting here, and they seemed unsurprised to find the Valdemaran Guard waiting for them. “Seemed” was the operable word, since there was no way of knowing for certain if they were surprised or not; when the Tedrels began to move, Sendar ordered the spies out and back home.
(And they made it; somehow, they all made it, though not entirely intact. A couple were injured escaping, but escape they did, and the last of them had come over the Border two days ago.)
Alberich hoped that was a good omen. He could use a good omen, for he was not at all confident about this final confrontation. Of all the times to have some handle on the future, this would have been the best, for the sake of his own spirits, if nothing else—so of course, he got no inklings at all. If the Tedrels, or the Sunpriests,
were blocking ForeSight, they were doing a good job of it, if he couldn’t even get a hint of what this day would bring. All he felt was akin to having an enormous wave cresting a furlong above him, about to crash down on him, and the sense that nothing he could do would get him out of the way. Which was, in a figurative sense, exactly what was about to happen. He wouldn’t describe the feeling as “impending doom” precisely, but it certainly was a sense that events were about to overwhelm him.
Last night, the Tedrels had camped just over the horizon; the glow of their campfires had been clearly visible from the edge of the Valdemaran camp. It had made for an uneasy night on this side of the Border. Alberich doubted that anyone had gotten very much sleep. There had been scouts of all sorts out all night, and double the usual guards—the Tedrels were not altogether predictable, and a night attack had not been out of the question. A lot of people had slept (or tried to) in their armor.
This morning, there they were, having marched into place in the predawn, deliberately arranging their ranks on the other side of the valley, quite as if they were setting up for a review or a parade, looking as if they’d shown up for an appointed meeting.
It might just as well have been an appointed meeting. Alberich had no doubt that they had known since they began moving in this direction exactly where the Valdemaran army was. There was no reason why the Tedrels should not have spies of their own, and every reason why they should. Alberich had done his best to find them, but he doubted he’d made more than a significant dent in the population.
And, when it all came down to cases, it was rather difficult to hide the movement of the entire Valdemaran army from much of anyone in a country that had as much freedom as Valdemar; the Tedrel spies had no doubt counted most of the Valdemaran troops and reported them on the move. Alberich could only hope that the Tedrels believed those troops were made up of old men and inexperienced boys and girls—basically, the last possible lot of conscripts left out of a depleted population.
Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor Page 32