“Are you getting on all right?” Eldan asked Firesong in an undertone. “We haven’t had any news of you more recent than last summer.”
“Actually, not at all bad,” Firesong said lightly. “We get along, Silverfox and I. You and the lady look well.”
“Couldn’t be better; we’ve got four perfectly capable Weaponsmasters now, and she didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t take the trainees without her looking over their shoulders. Karal’s teaching some classes, if you can believe it. Things are so calm between Valdemar and Karse that his diplomatic skill is scarcely needed, so he’s teaching Karsite culture and language.”
“Wonderful! He must love it.” Firesong sounded genuinely pleased. “An’desha is up to his eyebrows in shamanistic business, and I’ve never seen him happier. I left him in Kata’shin’a’in, helping to weave a new history-tapestry.” He straightened, and looked about. “Well, we can catch up later; now we should deal with business.” He bowed a little to Eldan. “So, Herald Eldan, would you and your Companion care to join our council for an explanation of what’s going on?”
“That I would, Healing-Adept Firesong,” Eldan replied, with the same odd mingling of seriousness and humor that Firesong displayed. “Lead on.”
It took most of the day to get the reinforcements settled in their encampment. They were entirely self-sufficient, having their own cook, tents, and supplies, but everyone agreed that being able to use the Vale’s facilities made their camp seem downright luxurious. They were not in the least shy about stripping and plunging into the hot pools, men and women together, and at any hour of the day or night one was as likely to encounter a clutch of Valdemarans there as a group of Tayledras. Most often, the two groups mingled; the so-called “green” troops were green only in the sense of not having seen real combat, for they had trained and bunked with the Skybolts, and had Skybolt senior officers. Those who couldn’t handle the accepting and flexible manners of Kero’s troopers had long since been weeded out. Tayledras and Guards got along very well, with the troopers holding to the attitude that, once on someone else’s home ground, you played by their rules and not by what was called “good manners” and “appropriate behavior” at home. “Stay polite and respectful and ask before you touch,” was the watchword in the camp, and as a result, everyone got along remarkably well.
The next day Lord Breon and Val arrived for a real council of war, bringing with them their Weaponsmaster, who was Lord Breon’s second-in-command. With a storm threatening, they met in the common dining hall, taking up roughly a third of the available space. By common and unspoken consent, since this was hardly a secret council, anyone of the officers of sufficient rank who cared to listen in could do so as long as they stayed quiet.
“What’s this Captain Kerowyn like, personally?” Lord Breon asked Firesong, as the assembled council waited for Kero and Eldan, who were the last to arrive. Today Firesong’s mask seemed to be made all of fresh green leaves. Tayledras and a few of Kero’s officers lurked around the periphery of the group, and Darian saw a couple who were clearly Skybolts smile at that question.
“You’ll like her,” Firesong promised him. “Kero can be counted on not to jump to any conclusions and not to fight unless she has to. She’s very straightforward, never hedges her answers or gives you the answer she thinks you want unless it’s also the true one. She’s got - oh, decades of practical experience; before she came to Valdemar and was Chosen she was a mercenary captain with her own company in Rethwellan - the Skybolts, the same group that came up here with her. So, like most mercenary captains, she doesn’t believe in wasting her limited resources, her fighters. She plans things, she doesn’t just charge in and hope for the best.”
Darian saw nods of agreement from the Guards, and heard a great many murmurs of approval from the Hawkbrothers.
Lord Breon also nodded and seemed satisfied, at least to Darian. “That’s exactly the kind of person we need for this situation. Now, I take it that Herald Eldan is more of the diplomat?”
“Yes; they make a good team that way.” Darian definitely heard good-humored affection in Firesong’s voice. “Kero’s too blunt to make a good diplomat. They’ve been together since Kero was Chosen, and Selenay prefers to keep them as an official team, since Kero would probably find a sneaky way to accomplish the same thing without actually disobeying orders. You’ll like him, too.”
Just then, Kerowyn and Eldan showed up, but only Eldan was wearing Whites. Kero had changed into something of the same cut as a Herald’s Whites, but it was all of gray leather, well-worn and practical, but not white, by any stretch of the imagination.
“I thought you were a Herald!” Val exclaimed, obviously without thinking before he opened his mouth.
He really has a problem that way, Darian noted. Does he ever think before he speaks?
“I am. I’m also officially on war-duty as of this moment, and I am not wearing one of those ‘oh-shoot-me-now’ outfits while I am in the front line. Eldan gets to be the obviously important person - he’s the diplomat, and he won’t be in the front line of fighting as long as I am in command unless he changes into something inconspicuous first.” She cast Eldan a significant glance, which Eldan ignored. This was evidently an argument of long standing between them. “I’m the one in charge if there’s fighting, and I’d better stay hard to hit if I’m going to stay that way.” She managed a very thin smile. “If this outfit is good enough for Weaponsmaster-Herald Alberich, it’s good enough for me.”
“That doesn’t sound very . . . heroic.” Val was either oblivious to the effect his blurted comments were having, or today he was just letting his thoughts go straight to his mouth without pausing to examine them. He wasn’t usually this clumsy. Darian winced inside, waiting for the rebuke.
But Kero actually softened a little. “My dear boy, I have been fighting for all of my adult life. I don’t have anything to prove anymore. I never did when I was a mercenary; if a merc doesn’t live, he doesn’t get paid. Heroics are for the young with nothing to lose.” Then she raised an eyebrow and added dryly, “When it comes down to cases, Eldan’s job is more important than mine. Diplomacy is much more economical than combat, unless you just happen to have a lot of people and no food to give them. Think about it, son. Think about it in terms of these green and fertile fields, and all the people who live on them - and the possibility that these new people are very, very hungry.”
Distant thunder growled, and it grew darker in the dining hall. Hertasi went about quietly lighting lamps.
Val finally figured out that he had been very rude and inconsiderate - and worse, perhaps, from his point of view, he’d exposed himself as inexperienced and immature. He blushed a brighter scarlet than Darian had ever managed and looked down at the table.
So much for Val’s love affair with heroic ballads. What I didn’t kill, Kerowyn flattened. But Kero was already getting down to business, and Val quickly got caught up in the plans along with everyone else.
“All right then, gryphon - Kel, right? - Kel, give us the numbers, then we’ll have something to work with.” Outside, thunder rumbled, warning that the storm was upon them. The first drops of rain hit the roof heavily.
“Of rrreal fighterrrsss, five hundrrred and twenty-two. Of old men, old women, youngsssterrrs old enough to take a weapon, and women without babesss, fourrrr hun-drrrred and eighteen. Of ssssmall childrrren, babesss, nurrrsing and prrregnant motherrrrsss, and crrripplesss, two hundrrred and forrrty-one.” Kel sounded very sure of himself and added, “I counted in many passsssesss, until the numberrrsss alwayssss came out the sssame.”
“Good for you - wait, did you say cripples?” Kerowyn stared at the gryphon incredulously. “Are you serious? There are crippled people among them?”
Kelvren had to wait as a flash of lightning followed immediately by an enormous peal of thunder drowned out any attempt at discussion. The rain began in earnest, drumming down on the roof with the promise that this would not be a mere cloudburst.<
br />
“Yesss. Mossst arrre childrrren, but sssome are adultsss.” He scratched an ear-tuft slowly and thoughtfully. “I thought that sssseemed odd, myssself.”
“Most barbarian societies that I’ve ever heard of wouldn’t allow their cripples to live, much less cart them along on a cross-country trek,” Kero said, tapping her lips with one finger. “Unless, of course, the cripple had a special skill that was vital to the tribe but didn’t require mobility. Obviously, no child would qualify to live in that way. What’s going on here?”
Darian decided to speak up. “That doesn’t sound anything like the first lot of barbarians that came here. They killed their own wounded.”
“In-ter-est-ing.” Kero drew out the word, intoning each syllable as if it was a magical incantation. “Well. What else can you tell me, Kel?”
“That the way behind issss blocked. The ssstorm we have now isss jussst the firrrssst of many to come - ssso sssay the weatherrrr sssignssss and the weatherrr-watcherrrssss among the Tayledrrrasss.” Kel nodded at Snowfire who gave silent confirmation. “The rrriverrrsss to the norrrth arrre flooded. The tribe cannot rrrretrrreat.”
Darian listened to the rain on the roof, and thought about hundreds of people trapped by rain-swollen rivers. How were they handling it?
“That is not good; we can figure that if these people aren’t desperate now, they will be when we confront them with no way to retreat.” She looked around the table, making certain that she met everyone’s eyes. “They’ll not only be desperate, but trapped, if we fight them, we can count on them fighting to the last man, woman, and child. We’ll win, but it will be expensive, and we’ll end up with a gaggle of barbarian children and cripples to take care of afterward. This is, of course, assuming that the mothers don’t kill the children to prevent them from falling into our hands, which is very likely. Think you can handle having to sort through and bury a lot of dead babies?”
Darian felt his stomach lurch, and everyone else looked rather grim. Val was white, probably his imagination working again.
I don’t like these people, but I don’t hate them that much.
Kero nodded. “I thought not. Good, we will pursue diplomacy until there is no chance whatsoever that we can make it work. Fighting will be the last of a very long list of choices. Are we agreed? Aye for those who are.”
There was no dissension, and when Darian checked the expressions of the onlookers, there wasn’t any discontent there, either. Some of the Tayledras, and a couple of the Guard, looked dubious, but no one disagreed. More thunder rolled outside, and the windows lit whitely as lightning passed somewhere above.
Now I see why Kero didn’t mind having people listen. This is better than having rumors running wild through camp.
“Eldan, I yield the table to you,” she said, sitting back in her chair, with her arms folded comfortably across her chest. “If I’ve got anything to say, I’ll just raise my hand like the rest.”
Eldan chuckled, as if this was a joke only he and she understood. “Right enough, Kero. The first step in a diplomatic meeting is the first contact. Does anyone have any ideas there?”
Lord Breon cleared his throat. “We talked about it some, already. Figured we’d come in looking strong enough to squash any offense without thinking about it, but holding our hands to give these people a chance to speak for themselves. Show of magic, show of strength, even bring in the birds and the nonhuman allies to impress ‘em with our totem animals.”
“That’s a good plan; I think anything subtle is a waste of time,” Eldan replied, with an approving glance around the table. “There is one thing I would like, as a ‘just in case.’ I’d like to evacuate the village - ” he consulted a paper, “ - ah, Errold’s Grove. I’d like to send the evacuees to Kelmskeep for safety.”
Lord Breon protested in alarm. “Wait now, in the middle of growing season? There’ll be things that need harvesting soon - and herds - and - ”
“Whoa!” Eldan held up his hands, cutting Lord Breon short. “I didn’t say everyone. Evacuate those who are too frightened to stay, children, women with babies, the elderly. Basically, anyone who can’t move in a hurry or will panic if trouble comes. This time we have warning, and we’ll have time enough to clear the rest out if there’s fighting and if it looks as if it will move in the direction of the village. All right?”
Lord Breon frowned, but agreed grudgingly. “I don’t think you realize how much work everyone has in growing season, though,” he grumbled. “This is going to leave my farmers and small-holders mightily short-handed.”
Darian saw Kero and Eldan exchange another look, and Eldan’s slight shrug. “I think your farmers and smallholders will be grateful that their families are somewhere safe, my lord,” Eldan soothed. “And if you are worried about the harvest, perhaps some of our fighters could pitch in to help. They won’t be doing anything here but drill, and some of them might appreciate the change of pace.”
Darian thought of something that might be an incentive. “There must be twenty pretty girls in that village with no husband-prospects, and there’s a perfectly good inn there as well.”
Kero grinned and winked at him.
“There, you see?” Eldan spread his hands. “We’ll take our volunteers from those who grew up farming. At that rate, you can even have the mothers with young children as well as those with babies evacuate. In the event that the whole village needs to be cleared out, we’ll have a rearguard in place to hold the road behind!”
Lord Breon sighed heavily. “All right. It’s a damned good idea, and I’ve no doubt m’lady can keep the whole lot of ‘em busy helping with wedding froufraraw.”
“Kelvren, can you fly a long sortie tomorrow?” Kero asked, as if struck with a sudden thought. “I’d like you to see if there’s any pattern to the barbarians’ migration.”
Kelvren slapped his foreclaw to his chest in what Darian thought must be a salute. “Cerrrtainly.”
“Right.” She looked around the table. “Can anybody think of anything else for now?”
“Only that we should make this meeting a daily one,” Snowfire said, and smiled apologetically at Lord Breon. “Sorry, my lord, but unless you prefer to let us deal with this without your opinions or wishes, your lady will have to do without you for a while.”
“My lady told me to pack my bags,” Lord Breon replied and grinned. “She reckoned Val and I were in for an extended stay. Gods forbid that fighting comes that far, but she can command my personal troops as well as I can, and as for setting up for refugees and a siege - she’s as good or better than I am. That’s one reason why I wed her in the first place.” Val looked startled, as his father bowed to Starfall and Snowfire. “ ‘Fraid I’m going to have to beg quarters from you, gentlemen, and camp-space for my men.”
Keisha felt as if she had somehow fallen into someone else’s life. Here she had gone along for years, with nothing more serious than sick sheep and broken bones to take care of, and nothing more worrisome than trying to work her way through those damned indecipherable texts. . . .
And now?
She was living in a Hawkbrother Vale, taking lessons from one of the most famous mages in the world - well, in Valdemar, anyway - learning how to do things that weren’t even in those texts. And if that wasn’t enough, now there was an army in residence, with no less than three full Healers and six apprentices, all perfectly willing to give her extra lessons and advice if she thought she needed it. She had seen more new people at once in the last few days than all of the people she’d ever seen in her life added together.
“Not that you really need much advice,” observed Gentian Arbelo, the most senior of the three. He was also the oldest, bald as an egg, and the thinnest healthy man Keisha had ever seen. “You have all the basic herb-knowledge so solidly there’s no point in questioning it, and you could teach us a few things about the local cures. As for using your Gift - ” he shrugged. “It’s more a matter of practice and getting comfortable with it than needing any advice
or lessons. Still, if you want to sit in when any of us work, we’ll be happy to link minds with you so that you can see exactly how we do things.”
“Please,” Keisha responded immediately, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. “Please. I need experience, and I’m horribly afraid I won’t have much time to get it.”
“There is that,” agreed Nala Karcinamen, the junior Healer. “If there’s fighting, well, we’re going to wish we had double our number.”
The middle, a robust and cheerful man, of middling height, brown hair, eyes, and beard, who called himself Grenthan Miles, made a face. “Piff! This is Captain Kero we’re talking about! If there’s a way to get this settled without crossed swords, she’ll find it, her and Eldan both. Meanwhile, this is an army, they’re always beating on one another, and that means bruises and cuts. Likely, there’ll be at least one serious fight with a broken bone if we sit about for more than a fortnight. We’ll have hangovers, upset stomachs from overstuffing, all manner of minor troubles. There’s nothing better to practice on, m’dear, and if you botch it up a bit, there’s no serious consequences.” He grinned first at Keisha, then at his two colleagues. “We’ll take her on the rounds and let her use her Gift on ‘em with us as safety. She’ll get practice, we can use the time for some full exams, and that’ll keep every mother’s child in this mothering army up to strength. What do you say to that?”
Nala looked dubious, but Gentian nodded. “Good idea. In fact, it would be a good idea for all the apprentices.” His grin, buried as it was in a bright red beard, was doubly infectious. “By the gods, we’ll spoil those soldiers, though! They’ll think this is how we should always treat ‘em!”
Keisha flushed, her cheeks hot, and Nala gave her a penetrating look. “Have you something you’d like to say, Keisha?” The plump and motherly gray-haired woman looked more like someone’s grandmother than a Healer who’d followed armies literally all her life. She seemed to understand Keisha’s shyness, and how hard it was to volunteer information.
Lackey,Mercedes - Darian's Tale02 - Owlsight.doc Page 33