Exile's Honor

They reached the periphery of the tents, a boundary marked by another set of sentries stationed every few paces around the edge. The edge was defined by what appeared to be ornamental swags of rope hung between stakes. It wasn't ornamental, and it was a device suggested by Alberich. Hidden amid the fringe and bullion were bells, very loud bells, and anyone who so much as brushed against those ropes would raise a very audible alarm. One couldn't climb over it or crawl under it. A small thing, but one more barrier between his charges and harm.

The Lord Marshal was taking no chances. It was the Lord Marshal who had suggested the second innovation, a layer of black felt lining the inside of the tents, so no one would be silhouetted against the canvas by lights within. Another small thing, but it would make the King, his Heir, and the officers less of a set of targets once night fell. Unless a spy was able to watch them closely, one wouldn't even know when they were in their tents.

The Lord Marshal himself was there to greet them, and Alberich moved closer to Selenay as they all dismounted. This would be another good time to strike at her, in the moment when everyone was a trifle relaxed at the end of the journey.

But Kantor had made a statement that needed to be answered. :She is not Valdemar? Then let her become Valdemar,: he said fiercely. :Men fight better when the symbol of what they fight for is before them. Why do you think we carry a shrine of Vkandis before us when we wage war?:

He actually took Kantor aback for a moment. :An interesting observation,: the Companion replied, and left it at that.

It was as well that he did, for Alberich's attention was elsewhere now—scanning every face and every body around them, even—no, especially—among the servants of the highborn. That was the place for a traitor to slip in, among the servants. He watched without seeming to watch, a good trick he had acquired in the taverns of the worst part of Haven. There were a great many tricks he had acquired there, or learned from Dethor, and he had taught most of them to Selenay's Six, and Sendar's too, or at least as many as he could impart to them in the short time he had to school them.

He was pleased to see that they were using those lessons; pleased to see that the ones guarding Sendar were doing likewise. They were more obvious in their watchfulness, but there was no harm there; they drew attention to themselves, and if there was anyone watching them, he would spot the watchers....

Layers upon layers of care and misdirection, of planning and deception, and upon them Selenay and Sendar's lives might depend.

The moment passed; the King and Heir moved into the circle of guards and canvas. Thin protection, or so it seemed, but stronger than one might guess, for they were out of the milling crowd, where a knife could be employed suddenly and without warning, and into a more controlled place where more watchers watched the watchers.

He joined them, in the background, always in the background. Now, more than ever, he needed to be unnoticed.

How ironic, that he, who had trained for most of his life to be a leader, should now require of himself to be insignificant.

How ironic that he should find, as he dropped back to be a shadow-Herald in his dark gray leathers, that he preferred the place in the shadows to the one in the light. He watched young Selenay as, white-lipped, but with her head held high, she took her place beside her father at the planning table.

And then he turned his attention to those around his King and his charge. He knew what the strategy for the initial stages of battle would be, at least for now; it had been discussed and discussed until it was tattered. He knew, and he feared that the enemy knew.

But it had been too late to prevent them from knowing when the strategy was decided—and as he himself had told Dethor, 'No strategy survives the first engagement.' You could plan and plot all you liked, but when your plans depended on the enemy doing what you thought he would do, it wasn't likely that he'd cooperate with you.

Now all they could do was see what he did, and trust that they could move to counter it, whatever 'it' turned out to be. Chances were, it wouldn't be anything they had planned for. The Tedrel Warlords had not survived this long by being stupid. If anything, they were entirely too clever; that very cleverness had caused any ruler who might consider hiring them to take a good long look and realize that they were in many ways as much a danger to the one who had hired them as they were to the enemy they were sent against. So no one, in all the time they had been roaming, had ever before hired the entire nation. Broken up into Companies, they were safe to have inside your borders. Only the Sunpriests, in an act of monumental hubris, had gathered all the Companies together in one place.

Now the Sunpriests were well aware of their folly, too late to do them or Valdemar any good.

We cannot simply turn them back, he thought with anguish. If we do, they will only turn on my people—

And of all of those here in this camp, he was the only one who would care if they did.