Brightly Burning (45 page)

Trust Satiran to stay on top of things for him.
:Yes I am, and thank you,:
he replied gratefully, and instead of turning left when he passed the door marking the entrance to the Palace, he turned right, and penetrated deep into the heart of the Palace. The closer he drew to the seat of power, the more Guards he passed, until he reached the door of the Royal Suite itself. Instead of the usual two Guards, there were six. Theran was taking no chances with the safety of himself or his family.

Pol nodded to the two Guards actually on either side of the door itself, recognizing both of them. One of them opened the door for him, and Pol stepped right into the midst of the ongoing meeting.

They all stopped long enough to greet him, then returned to the discussion at hand—the contributions of those first ten Trainees who'd been rushed into service. Pol took a seat next to the fire and listened.

Jedin was the one making the report; Rolan was fully capable of Mindspeaking to any Companion in the country, no matter how far apart they were, so it was Rolan who relayed these reports to his Chosen.

It was fairly clear why Theran had chosen to hold the meeting in his private quarters. Warmth and comfort. Even the Lesser Council Chamber was drafty and chill, and the seats around the Council Table were hard and unyielding. Granted, this did tend to lead to shorter Council sessions—which in itself wasn't a bad thing—but why endure discomfort when you didn't have a reason to? Not that anyone was lolling about by any means, but there were not going to be any long, drawn-out arguments from this lot. Like Pol, everyone here had so much to do that they resented a single wasted moment.

The gist of Jedin's report was that the newly-promoted youngsters were doing as well or better than they had been expected to. All of them had Gifts that were particularly useful in a battlefield situation. Of the ten, six were strong Mindspeakers and acted as communications liaisons all along the front. Two were FarSeers and essentially functioned as scouts, spying on the movements of enemy troops. One, an Animal Mindspeaker, was able to use the birds of the region for the same purpose. The last had one of those quirky Gifts that did not, at first, seem particularly useful until one saw it in action. This youngster had very short-term ForeSight, the sort of thing that led his friends to ban him from games of chance. His range was no more than a candlemark, and he did not actually see anything so much as get a sense of what would happen given the present conditions. But that made him incredibly useful during battles; he could tell those in command where they could expect to see a push by enemy forces far enough in advance of the actual occurrence to bring forces of their own to meet the opposition.

This of course did not guarantee victory by any means, but at least it helped to prevent defeats.

All ten youngsters had fit themselves in quickly, enabling their mentors to spend most of their time in service, rather than in supervision.

When Jedin was finished, Theran's pointed look prodded Pol to speak.

“Lavan is able to hit specific targets at a distance of twenty furlongs, and I have no reason to think that farther distance is going to make any difference in his ability to burn them. As long as he can see something, he can hit it. He can bring up fire walls to surround troops and hold them for a full candlemark, or move them and hold them for a quarter candlemark. His only limitation is how long he can sustain anger.” Pol took a deep breath, and answered the unspoken question in every face. “He's as ready as you want, I think. Only practice is going to make him—more than he is now.”

“He isn't going to get the kind of practice he needs on bales of straw,” Theran said bluntly. “If his only limitation is sustaining his anger, then to provoke his abilities to the fullest he needs to be on the front lines. The first time he sees what the Karsites are doing to our people—”

Pol dared to raise a hand, cutting the King off. “I respect that you have to think of the larger view, Your Majesty,” he replied, feeling slightly sick. “But please remember that this is a boy not yet old enough to be accepted as a volunteer in the Guard.”

“I never forget it,” Theran said, softening his eagle look a trifle, “but there are plenty of young volunteers his age that are lying about their years and going to the front anyway. I know that we aren't catching more than half of them and sending them home. Under other circumstances, Lavan might have been one of
them.
”

Knowing Lan's former aspirations, Pol could only nod agreement; poor Lan might well have considered volunteering and going to fight the lesser evil, given a choice between the Guard and further torment at the Merchants' School.

“So the only question is, how soon can you go?” Theran asked. “You'll be his mentor, of course.”

“Not until his friend Tuck is also ready.” Pol seized on that as a delaying tactic. “I want Tuck's help; he needs his friends to keep him steady.”

“Hmm. I can see that. We don't want an emotional youngster with
that
particular Gift feeling friendless.” Theran nodded. “Jedin, have a word with the other boy's teachers. Has he any other friends?”

“Pol's daughter,” Jedin volunteered. “Young Healer, well in advance of the rest of the Trainees her age. Ready to go into full Greens, from what I hear. Mind-Healer.”

“Which we will have need of there,
and
she can see to it that he stays sane. Good. See if she wants to volunteer as well,” Theran decreed.

Pol blanched, but held his peace. There was always the chance that Elenor would not volunteer. . . .

With a chance to follow Lan? You're fooling yourself, old man.
He felt even sicker, now.
But they'll be protected; they're all too valuable to let anything happen to them—

“They'll be as safe, or safer, than if they were here, Pol,” Theran added, with a hint of sympathy. “Lavan Firestarter may be the one person who can turn this war for us. When his Sun-Priests start incinerating, the Son of the Sun may think better of prosecuting this idiocy and pull back behind the Border again.”

“Lan is all right burning inanimate objects, but he has serious mental difficulties—” Pol began.

Jedin interrupted him. “I have good reason to think he'll lose those reservations when he actually sees fighting,” the King's Own said grimly.

What kind of good reason? Is it
that
bad out there?
Pol wondered. He'd heard vague rumors of things the Karsite Sun-Priests were doing. Were those rumors based in fact?

He didn't get any time to contemplate that; Theran was already going on. “Given that your daughter will be with you, do you still want to have your wife return to Healer's collegium when you leave?” he asked. “Or would you rather have the three of you together?”

“Let me think about it,” he temporized, “and let me see if I can get a message to her. I don't think that I want to make a decision about this without asking her opinion first.”

:That may be the wisest thing you've ever said,:
Satiran observed.

“That's a reasonable request,” the King agreed. “Jedin, put it on your agenda. We can schedule your departure as soon as we know what your lady thinks.”

:Rolan is going to think he's nothing but a messenger service.:
This time Satiran was actually snickering. Pol let him; there was little enough these days to be amused about.

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.