Geri regarded him with a somber gaze. "You, of all people, ought to know that you aren't going to find many of those here. Questions, certainly, but precious few answers. Ours is a faith, Alberich, not a map or a guide, and certainly not a set of certitudes. At least, that is the way it should be—"
"Not what it has become." He said that sadly, and once again, he was back in childhood, with that kind, yet stern priest, who tried to show him in ways a child would understand, just what the Sunlord was and was not. "We are the mirror of Valdemar—"
"More like the twin. Or we were, before things disintegrated." Geri sighed. "I've had this discussion with Henrick, actually. He is of the opinion that the long slide began with a will to power. I think it's more complicated than that. I think that the priesthood was corrupted by the congregation."
Alberich blinked. "How, exactly?"
"The laity wanted absolutes, answers, and the priesthood finally elected to give them answers, the simpler the better," Geri replied. "The Writ took second place to the Rule, and a poor second at that. The answers took away all uncertainty, and what is more, took away the need to think."
Alberich frowned; not for nothing had he spent so much of his childhood under the tutelage of a priest who knew—and lived—the old ways. "Above all, the Writ demands that a man—or a woman, for that matter—learn how to think."
Geri nodded. "You see? The old ways require that each person come to the Sunlord having thought through everything for himself. The current Rule requires that men become sheep, herded in one direction, following one path, pastured in one field, ever and always, so will it be."
"Sheep." It occurred to Alberich that it was probably no coincidence that the Sunpriests of Karse had taken to calling their congregations by the name of "flock."
"Sheep don't have to think for themselves, do they?" Geri made a face. "The Sunlord was reshaped from the Unknowable into the remote but predictable Patriarch, from the Whirlwind to the windmill that grinds—exceedingly small. Do this—you are gathered unto His bosom. Do that—you are cast into the outermost hells." Geri shook his head. "Answers are terribly seductive. The simpler they are, the more seductive they become."
Alberich turned that over in his mind, and found it certainly matched some of his own experience. "But that isn't the whole of it," he objected.
"Of course not. I just suggest that this was where the corruption started," Geri replied. "Then came the power, power that came from giving people what they wanted instead of what they needed, and power is just as seductive and even more addictive than any drug. Now—I don't know, Alberich. I don't know how it can be fixed. Or even if it can. It would take the Sunlord Himself in manifestation, perhaps. And someone as the Son of the Sun who is willing to hold to the hard course and be disliked, even hated."
"And loved."
"And loved," Geri agreed. "At one and the same time, and probably by the same people. Because when you demand that each situation be considered separately, and not responded to with the predigested Answer, you are always going to anger someone since you're always going to disagree with someone. Probably even someone who agreed with you the last time, and now takes this new response as a betrayal."
Alberich smiled sourly. "It would take the Sunlord Himself to protect someone like that."
"I fear so, and I am very, very, glad it isn't me." Geri drained his cup and poured himself another, then smiled. "So, since I am not going to give you any answers, what can I do for you?"
"Give me an opinion." He outlined, as best he could, what he was doing with his four putative agents. "They have seen the very best that Karse is, in the form of Father Kentroch, my protector and teacher, and if I'm reading them correctly, they have warmed to him just as I did, and more importantly, responded to his ideas of responsibility and honor. We're just about up to the point where I first learned I had a witch-power; I suppose each of them will have a similar experience, but the witch-power will be his or her own Gift in real life."
"If you're wondering if you have somehow betrayed your vow to protect the people of Karse, let me tell you now that both Henrick and I are positive you are doing nothing of the sort," Geri said firmly. "If anything, you are going to put four more protectors in place, just as you had hoped. Did you know that all four of them have been coming down here for practice in the language? Or so they say."
Alberich shook his head, surprised.
"Well, they have—and what Henrick and I figured out after the first two visits was that they didn't want lessons in Karsite—their accents are impeccable, by the way—but an understanding of how our version of the Sunlord differs from what they're going to encounter in Karse."
Something about the way he said that made Alberich stare at him. "Oh, no—" he said, feeling his heart sink. "Please do not tell me that they want to convert."
"We wouldn't accept them as they are now if they did," Geri said with a laugh. "No, actually, I think they're integrating their two personae; then once they know how things are now, they'll react as a Karsite who was brought up in the old ways would."
Alberich felt a profound relief. The last, the very last thing he had wanted to do was to change anyone's religion. "That's sensible. Geri—" he hesitated.
Only now did Kantor interject something. :Geri is your priest. This is surely a question for your priest.:
"I'm torn," he said at last. "It feels as if there must be something more I can do, for Valdemar. Valdemar has given me so much—what should I be doing in return?"
Geri considered that question carefully. "Alberich, my friend, it is also my duty to tell you things that are true. You are doing as much as any other Herald; someone has to be helping to keep the peace here in Haven, and you are doing that. You still serve as Selenay's bodyguard, and thus free someone else to go South. And in case you were wondering if you should offer your military expertise—no.
"No?" That surprised him. "But—my training—"
"One of the things that is true is that you are not a great general. Not yet, anyway. Valdemar has great generals, and it doesn't need you in that capacity." Geri gave him a look shaded with pity and understanding.
"Ah." He felt deflated. But—well—
:We have the Lord Marshal, with decades more experience than you. Perhaps you have the advantage of training at the Academy, but we have the Collegium, which is, dare I say, just as good. It isn't only Heralds who are taught here. Occasionally, among the Blues, there is a young military genius from the Guard, and the Lord Marshal was one of those.: Ah. Geri was right, then. He stared down at his cup. "So—"
"So other than doing what you are doing—you should be getting yourself prepared for the day when the King and the Heir and everyone else that can hold a blade goes down to the battlefields of the South to hold off that last big push that you know is coming." Something about the tone of Geri's voice made him look up—because it was odd. Very odd. It didn't exactly sound like Geri.
Geri stared off into space, his face blank, his eyes looking—elsewhere. And Alberich felt an unaccountable chill on the back of his neck. There was something going on here, something he didn't recognize. "You are Selenay's bodyguard, Alberich, and when the day of that final battle dawns, she is going to need you more than she ever has before—because the last, the very last thing she will think about is her own safety, so it is the first, indeed, the only thing that you must be concerned about. That is what you must be readying yourself for. Nothing else, nothing less. If need be, you must save her from herself on that day, so that you save her for her Kingdom."
Alberich had never believed those stories about how "the hair on the back of someone's neck stood up" when something very, very uncanny happened. Now he did—because he could feel that exact sensation. Geri continued to stare off into space, with that peculiarly blank expression on his face, but something glinting in his eyes. And Alberich had the distinct impression that whatever was speaking, it wasn't Geri. Which left—what? Here in Vkandis' own temple, it couldn't
be anything inimical... but it sounded almost as if this was a prophecy.
He wanted to speak and ask something for himself; wanted to ask a question, a dozen—but they were all questions he really didn't want to know the answers to, honestly—
If I did, I'd be trying to tame that Gift of mine and make it serve me predictably.
The Writ said that the future was mutable and unknowable, until one passed through it and it became the past. That was why the Writ spoke against the witch-powers of those who tried to predict the future—not because the attempt to know the future was wrong in itself, but because being told a future closed some peoples' minds to the possibility of any other and they focused all their attention, their hopes, and their fears, on that future to the exclusion of other possibilities... which defeated the entire Prime Principle of Free Will upon which all of the Sunlord's Writ was based.
All this flashed through Alberich's mind in the time it took for the cup to slip out of Geri's fingers and drop to the table with a clatter.
"Botheration!" Geri was back, startled, seizing a cloth and blotting at the spill before it escaped to make an even bigger mess. "Look at me—woolgathering! I'm sorry, Alberich."
"No matter." The hairs on the back of Alberich's neck had settled, but not the uneasy feeling that something had wanted him to know more than he should about the future. A future.
Except that we know there is going to be a final battle. We're planning for that already. And if I had taken thought about it, I would immediately have known that Selenay would never consider her own safety under battlefield conditions. I haven't been told anything I couldn't have figured out for myself. Have I?
"I should be going. My day starts early, and yours, even earlier," he said, trying not to show any of his unease.
"True enough; good thing for me that I'm a real lark-of-the-morning," Geri said cheerfully as he walked Alberich to the door. "Come by here more often, won't you?"
Alberich almost, almost, prevaricated. Then he hesitated.
Because the Writ also said that when Vkandis wished the future to be revealed—or steered—He would find a way to do so.
"I will," he promised, and went back out into the cold, dark, and the rain—ordinary things.
Ordinary things.
He didn't think he was going to sleep well tonight. Probably not for many more nights to come.
PART THREE
THE LAST BATTLE
12
HE had been expecting it for months, with a feeling of heavy dread and sick anticipation that put him off his food and kept him staring at the ceiling at night. All winter he'd worried and wondered. Were the Tedrels going to break with their pattern and attack in the winter? After that strange evening when Geri briefly spoke for—Something Else—how could he not have felt that the storm was about to break?
He'd wished for an inkling that he was doing the right thing—and he'd gotten it. Nothing inimical could have used Geri as a mouthpiece, not a Sunpriest, and not inside the sacred confines of the temple. Everything in the temple was sacred, no matter how homely it seemed. Vkandis was the Lord of All, from the Sun-fire to the hearth-fire, and he did not scorn the small and commonplace. So even if what had spoken through Geri was not Vkandis Himself, it was certainly some spirit that was doing so on behalf of the Sunlord.
Be careful what you ask for. Well, now he had it, and now he knew, well in advance of everyone else, that Sendar and Selenay would go into combat, no matter who tried to stop them. Now he knew... and didn't dare tell anyone.
Now he knew but didn't know when. He only knew it would be soon. But how soon? Every night he went to sleep on edge, and every morning he woke with the feeling that a storm was coming. And certainly this was what everyone including the now-successful agents had been working toward, all this time—to lure the Tedrels into thinking that the Valdemaran defenses were a hollow shell, and a single concerted drive would crack through. And thanks to the four that he had planted, when that time came, Valdemar would know as soon as the Karsite troops themselves did. They would know days, weeks earlier than they would have before his four demi-Karsites got planted successfully on the other side of the Border.
Yes, he was expecting it. But when the word came, it still hit him like a blow to the gut.
It was Talamir who delivered the blow; that didn't make it better, but at least it was from the hand of a friend and delivered as calmly as that worthy could manage.
It was early spring—or tail end of winter, take your choice. Raw weather, in any event, the trees still leafless, though there were a few, far too optimistic for his way of thinking, that were swelling into bud. The snow was gone, but a bite in the air and the snarl of the wind suggested that it wouldn't be too wise to tempt fate by rejoicing aloud that it was gone. Half the days were clear and cold, half raining, that miserable, dripping rain that would come up without warning and then stay a week, and by the time it crawled away, half the Collegium would be down with head colds. It never stayed clear long enough for things to dry up, in any event, and it was a good thing that the Trainees' uniforms were gray, because you couldn't help ending up with mud from the eyebrows down by midday, no matter what you did. Tail end of winter, he would call it, for all that the days were longer, and you could, if you searched diligently, find a few foolhardy crocus and snowdrops coming up in the gardens.
Spring, and he hated to see it, because it meant at least another season of war. And Spring came sooner, the farther South you went. True, in the mountains at the Border, it actually came later, but once out of the mountains, or when you stuck to the valleys, Spring was well on the way.
Spring was no longer a season of hope and renewal, and had not been for some time. But would this be the last season of war, or only the latest? That was the question that hung suspended over his head like a sword.
For the past fortnight, he'd been running a cross-class with the Horsemanship teacher, an accelerated course in fighting while mounted, and each day it had taken most of a candlemark to clean Kantor up afterward; all the Companions had been mired to mid-flank and spattered above that line. He was cold as a frog, tired, and every time he licked his split lip, he tasted mud and blood. There was no other way of learning how to fight in this kind of muck except to do it, though, no matter how much everyone hated it. He was looking forward to a hot bath with utter longing, and he trudged into the quarters behind the salle, expecting only to see Dethor and perhaps get a little commiseration before he went back to see about that long soak in hot water.
It took him aback to see Talamir there—Talamir, sitting in one of the hearthside chairs, and the sun still in the sky, for Talamir never was free enough to come back here before sundown. Talamir's expression told him the worst even before the King's Own opened his mouth; he froze, feeling as if something had just petrified him in place. He knew; he knew. And it didn't take a Gift to tell him.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. For a moment, he was stunned. The blow had fallen.
The Tedrels were moving.
"This is the season," Talamir said, and that was all he needed to say. So the bait had been taken, the misinformation believed, This season, as soon as the rains stopped, the rivers subsided, and the ground was firm instead of mired, the Tedrels would make their all-or-nothing push.
He'd wanted it and dreaded it in equal parts, and now it had come.
He nodded, for there wasn't much that he could say at this point. Other than: "Know where, do we? When?"
"When—well, they're going to take a little longer than usual. They're going to try and browbeat the Karsites into adding troops, and if they can't get troops, they plan to demand money so they can hire whatever non-Guild scum they can hold together under a banner." Talamir sounded quite certain of that information, which meant that someone had overheard something he (or she) technically shouldn't have. "They want shock troops to take the brunt of battle, so their own can move in behind, undamaged. And they'll want a bigger base to move from than before,
one that will hold all of their people and possessions in it, ready to move into Valdemar as soon as they take it."
"But where?" he persisted. That was critical. When they knew where the Tedrels were going to come across, they could set up their own defensive lines on ground of their choosing.
"Not yet," Talamir admitted. "Other than that we don't think it'll be Holderkin lands. The last taste of them that the Tedrels got didn't seem to agree with them."
Alberich's lip curled a little. He didn't much care for the Holderkin, but they had surely proved to be too tough for the Tedrels to digest. And it wasn't that they'd actually formed any kind of a defensive army either. By law and custom, they kept enough food in storage at each of their Holdings to keep everyone minimally fed for two years—and in that way, no single bad year could bring them to their knees. So when the Tedrels descended last summer, instead of fighting them, the Holderkin had locked every man, woman, child, and beast into their fortresslike compounds and sat the Tedrels out. After looting what little hadn't been locked up, and burning the crops, there wasn't much the mercenaries could do, except circle the walls, trying to get in. That wasn't a very successful strategy, and they wound up getting shot full of arrows for their pains any time they got within range. The places were too small to justify the amount of effort it would have taken to breach those walls, and there was no real loot of any kind if you did. The Tedrel recruits being what they were, they fought for the loot as well as the promise of a land of their own. Yet you couldn't leave the hundreds of Holds intact if you intended to occupy the land; that wasn't merely asking for trouble, it was inviting trouble in and offering it a cup of tea, so to speak. So last season when the Tedrels had tried to take Holderkin territory, the season had been singularly profitless and unsatisfying for them. Perhaps that had added to the impetus that impelled them to put in their final push now. They could not afford two lootless seasons in a row; too many of their recruits were not fighting for a new homeland, and would break ranks and desert if they saw no profit coming for a second year. You couldn't even tempt them with the Holderkin women; if the walls were breached, as had happened in one or two instances, the ones that didn't kill themselves were slain by their menfolk.
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