Uncertainly Heth added, "Shall I send in a scribe... my lord?"
"No. What's the gossip?" That might be more credible than Stralg's fictions. "What news from Florengia? Any great battles won?"
"Indeed, yes, my lord. The Heroes are jubilant over a great victory at a place called Miona. The rebels attempted to besiege your honored brother there, my lord. Although he was seriously outnumbered, he cleverly lured them into the town and then withdrew, burning it down on top of them. Their losses were enormous."
It was impossible to tell from the huntleader's flat military tone whether he believed that fable. Therek did not. He would give half his talons to be able to see Heth's expression, but at close quarters faces were only a blur to him now.
"Were they there in person, these Heroes?"
"I don't believe so, my lord."
"Where is this Miona? Near the pass, or far away?"
"I... I didn't think to ask, my lord." Heth's voice sounded more wary.
Therek laughed and turned back to the windows. "Come here."
Heth moved to his side. "My lord?"
"You don't understand what's happening, lad," the satrap said quietly. "Shouldn't call you that, though, should I? You're what... twenty-eight?"
"Thirty."
"Ah. Well, at thirty and a huntleader you ought to see the game in the shrubbery." He forced a little chuckle and laid an arm around Heth's magnificent shoulders. "Remember back when you were initiated? You wanted to charge off to Florengia right away. You'd have set off alone that very night if I'd let you. I insisted you wait until you'd made at least flankleader."
"I remember." The tone was flat, admitting nothing. "And then you told me it was too late, that I'd missed the war."
"I believed it, lad. I did. But then he made his terrible mistake."
"You mean in initiating natives, lord?"
"Of course I do. What else could I mean? Those mud-faced, black-eyed, slithery cheats! Traitors, all of them!"
"They will suffer for their treachery."
"Will they? You think so? The Florengian horde probably outnumbers Stralg's now. Their warriors are as lethal. Why do you think he keeps screaming for more men? He is losing!"
"A temporary setback."
"I don't think so." Click... click... click... Therek realized he was pacing again. "There is less ice on their side of the Edge!"
"My lord is kind." Undoubtedly Heth knew what Therek meant, but a good Werist must never say such things.
Therek could. "Even for couriers it is easier to cross in this direction, son, with the harder going on the downhill side. To bring a horde in this direction would be much easier. That's the scorpion in the blanket! That's why the war must continue at all costs. If Stralg cannot hold the north—Celebre and the road home—then he is going to come scrabbling back over the Edge with a Florengian horde breathing on his collar. You think Nardalborg can hold them? Those brown horrors will pour into Vigaelia in their sixty-sixties, burning our cities, raping our women! And all this because Stralg trusted Florengians!" He was ashamed to hear his voice break. "They killed your brothers!"
"Yes, lord."
In his time, Therek Hragson had fathered four sons and some daughters on a variety of women. He'd given the women good settlements, letting them keep the girls while he hung on to the sons. Now he wished he'd thought of keeping the girls for grandsons, but he hadn't. Three sons he'd admitted to, and every one had sworn to Weru and taken the brass collar. He had said farewell to each of them here in Nardalborg and watched them march off to fight for their uncle. Hrag Therekson, Stralg Therekson, Nars Therekson—mighty warriors all, and Florengian oath-breakers had killed them.
"That's why I keep you secret, son. That's why you must bear the shameful name of Hethson. Stralg took three of my sons. The Florengians killed them. And Karvak's two. And three of Saltaja's. Two of Horold's died on the way there." If either Stralg or Saltaja ever learned about Heth, they'd take him as well.
"Yes, lord."
"Florengian swine! I hate them, hate them! And that stinking brown whelp of a Florengian here in Nardalborg—you talked me into letting him take the tests, Huntleader! I won't forget that. Then that bonehead Gzurg actually passed him, so I had to give him his collar. I had to watch him spill his filthy blood at my feet. You made me accept an oath from a stinking brown Florengian traitor, knowing every word he uttered was a lie. I even had to embrace the scum!" He shivered with revulsion. He still wondered how he'd managed not to strangle the maggot there and then. All he needed was a word from the seer and he would do it. Personally. Why was she taking so long?
"Well, what do you want?"
"Just bringing you the dispatch and the news, my lord."
"That's a lie. You're no page. Out with it." He might not be able to see his son's face at this range, but he knew how to glare at it, and he heard the worry in the reply.
"My lord is kind. I came to say, my lord... to inform you... I have given permission for the cadets to touch the Presence. Tonight. My lord."
"No! No, no, no! That's ridiculous." Accidentally jostling a bench, Therek roared in fury and slapped it across the room; he heard it shatter against the wall. "They're not ready. They can't be. You're making a—"
"Father, will you hear me?"
Therek could not recall ever hearing Heth give him that title. It winded him. The Florengian mutineers had butchered three of his sons, he must not lose the fourth. He nodded dumbly, staring out at the eastward stars.
"Father, I have never seen a runtleader like Orlad. Every morning I tell him what I want done next and he's already done it! He's run those boys through six days' training in half that. I know it sounds impossible, but he's done it. All twelve of them! They're reeling. It's inhuman, but he's done it. They're out on their feet, but he keeps on pushing and they respond. They follow him like goslings. He treats himself harder than any and they follow. They know all the responses, word-perfect. I tested, my lord—of course I did! And I swear they are as ready to touch the Presence as any cadets I have ever seen. Don't waste this, lord! I beg you! If they don't go tonight they'll collapse and it will be a thirty before they can be brought up to readiness again—if they ever can be. Twelve cadets, Father, all twelve ready! Gods know we need them."
Therek growled deep in his throat. Readying a man to touch the Presence for the first time was the trickiest part of initiation. The postulant must be strung to breaking point, on the very edge of snapping, or the ritual would fail, and a first failure often meant no later success. It might even kill him. Exhaustion, hunger, and lack of sleep were all vital, but too much and the boys just crumpled. Heth was rarely wrong on this.
"Take eleven and break that other one's neck." "That won't work, lord! They're following him. Without Orlad they'd just collapse in confusion. They're beyond thinking."