The discussion turned to other Trainees, older than Lan, who might be candidates for assignment to the Border, but none of them were as ready as the ones who had already left, or as necessary as Lavan. Pol listened, but didn't often need to give his opinion, and he was relieved when no one, not even the King, thought that there were any more Trainees who should be hurried into Whites. Ten—twelve, if you counted Lan and Tuck—were enough.
:Good gods—twelve—and twelve Companions went out. All we're doing is replacing Trainees.: Somehow that made him feel much better.
In Healers' Collegium, and to a lesser extent, Bardic, this same discussion was taking place. If Pol closed his eyes, he could sense the flood of resources, the redirection of attention, to the south. This war did not yet command the entirety of Valdemar, but it soon would, and it would continue to devour lives and resources until it ended.
However it ended.
Valdemar would be perfectly willing to end the war with the withdrawal of Karsite troops back across their own border. Karse, however, would not stop short of destroying Valdemar, unless the war became so expensive that their religious and secular leader, the self-styled Son of the Sun, called a retreat. This particular Son of the Sun was so firmly on the Sun Throne that it would take a great deal before his rule was shaken. And not until then would he give way. This was a holy crusade in their eyes, and they had been planning it for most of Pol's life.
"I believe that will be all for now," the King decreed, and Pol pulled himself out of his own thoughts to rise and bow himself out with the rest.
Had spring already begun down there? He longed for spring with all of his being, and yet dreaded it. Spring would allow the freer movement of troops; with spring, the slaughter would begin in earnest.
:This has been hanging over our heads all our lives,: Satiran observed sadly, as Pol reached his own quarters and went inside. :And now that it's here—even for me, it doesn't seem quite real.:
:Ah, old friend, it will be real enough, all too soon,: he replied. :Be grateful for the respite.:
He knew that he was. He would have to tell the youngsters that they were going soon, and then he would savor every single moment of every day until word came from Ilea. And that, he feared, would be very, very soon.
*
"SO we're both going!" Tuck said happily, sprawled over Lan's bed, while Lan occupied a pile of cushions in front of the fire, soaking up heat like a cat. "I was afraid they'd leave me behind!"
"I almost wish they would," Lan replied. At Tuck's stricken look, he added hastily, "Not because I don't want you along! But, Tuck, this isn't a lark, or a training exercise—"
"I know that!" Tuck said scornfully, interrupting him. "But you're my best friend, and I don't want you to go off anywhere without me along! Besides, Ma would skin me if I wasn't there; she'd want to know we were together so we could watch each other's backs." He lolled his head over the side of the bed and gave Lan what he probably thought was a reproving glare.
Privately Lan still thought that Tuck had no idea of what they were getting into, but he didn't say anything more. He was touched and comforted, knowing that Tuck would be there for no other reason but that they were friends. Bless him!
Tuck would be facing their enemy, not with a formidable Gift at his disposal, but with nothing more than a bow and arrows and Mindspeech. Surely Tuck had more to fear from this conflict than Lan did.
"I don't know why Elenor is coming along, though," Tuck continued, frowning at his fingernails. "She can't even fight, and she's not a regular Healer." He shrugged. "Maybe it's to take care of people who've seen too much fighting."
"I don't know why she's coming either," Lan admitted. A draft touched his neck and he put another log on the fire. "And I hate to sound like I don't like her, but I don't think this is the right thing for her to be doing, and I wish they'd let her stay here."
Tuck made a face. "War is no place for girls," he intoned, self-importantly. "She's going to take one look and beg to go home."
Of that, Lan was far from as sure as Tuck. "I think you're wrong there," he countered. "I think she's more likely to try and do too much, and hurt herself trying. She hasn't got all the practice that the older Healers have, so she'd know how to pace herself." He sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway. They said she should go, and she's going to."
The real reason that he wished Elenor wasn't coming along was very personal; he didn't understand her, or the way she was acting around him. Kalira only said she'll outgrow it, when he asked his Companion's opinion, but wouldn't tell him what Elenor was supposed to outgrow.
For a while, Elenor would be fine, just like always, a regular friend. A little bossy, maybe, but sometimes girls were like that. Then for no reason at all, she'd go melancholy and calf-eyed, and if he pressed her to say something or explain what was wrong, she'd just go sullen. Or worst of all, a couple of times she'd gone bursting into tears and running away. And when he saw her again, she'd pretend it hadn't happened.
He was afraid that she was under as much stress as he was; after all, her mother was already in the fighting, her father was going there, and so were her friends. Though her odd behavior had predated the announcement of war—
But she probably heard things from Herald Pol that no one else did. She probably knew there was going to be war way before the rest of us.
He certainly hoped so; selfishly, he didn't want to have to deal with anyone else's troubles, and he certainly didn't want to find himself burdened with a weepy girl on a long trip.
:Not that long,: Kalira corrected. :Six to ten days, at the most. We'll all share carrying Elenor as the double rider, and you have no idea how fast and far we can go in a day.:
Six to ten days! Lan would never have believed anyone but Kalira—why, it took the average caravan a full month to go from Haven to the Southern Border, and that was on the main road, pushing hard, with fit horses in the traces, not oxen, which would be a lot slower!
He supposed he could put up with Elenor for ten days, anyway, and once they were at their assignment, she'd have too much to do to have time for bouts of self-pity, or whatever it was.
"I know what you're going to be doing, but I wonder what they'll want with me," Tuck said, looking worried and self-conscious as the thought occurred to him. "I mean, all I've got is Mindspeaking—"
"You'll be with me, because it takes everything Kalira has to keep me from—losing control," Lan told him. "She won't have anything to spare to Mindspeak anyone but me. You'll be my contact with whoever is giving orders, through the Herald that's with him. We'll be behind the main front lines, somewhere high, I expect, where I can see what I need to hit or herd."
"But anybody would do for that," Tuck began anxiously.
"Oh no. I don't want some stranger!" Lan replied sharply. "I don't want somebody who might grab my elbow, or shout in my ear when I don't respond, or anything else! You know what not to do around me!"
"I guess," Tuck responded, with relief and the respect only someone who had seen Lan's latest practice sessions would possess. Lan was just grateful that his year-mates gave him respect and not the poorly-disguised fear that his own parents showed. Of his family, once the secret that he was responsible for the Merchants' School fire was out—and the fact that the King himself was Lan's personal protector—only Macy wanted anything to do with him. He'd even gotten a note of groveling apology from that loud-mouthed uncle who had so disparaged Heralds at the Midwinter Feast. If it hadn't given him such a sour taste in his mouth, it would have been funny. It was very clear from the note that the stupid lout didn't mean a word of his apology, he just didn't want his nephew to casually incinerate him in a fit of pique.