Exile's Honor

Women in tears unnerved him. She did put her own hand up to hold his on her shoulder, though, and he didn't mind—

:Bollocks. You like it.:

:You stay out of my head,: he said sharply. :Or at least be quiet about being there.:

Kantor wisely did not reply.

'Don't think I want you to take care of me either,' she continued, even though she was shaking. 'I don't! I can take care of myself, even if I'm not a good fighter, I won't freeze up, and will be sensible and be the first to run away, if the time comes to retreat!'

'I didn't think you would ask, not for a moment. As your Weaponsmaster, although I am concerned, I am certain that I have trained you well, and I trust you to be intelligent enough to do what you must.' He tightened his hand on her shoulder. 'But as your Weaponsmaster, you need not be brave with me. In fact, if you have concerns and feel you cannot voice them to others, do tell me. The night stalkers, for instance; that was a reasonable thing to consider.'

She sighed, and some of her shaking eased. 'I'm not a brave person,' she said reluctantly. 'Actually, I'm rather a coward. I'm afraid of so much, it's easier to say what I'm not afraid of. I think about what can go wrong all the time, it keeps me awake at night, and it makes me want to dig a hole and hide in it. And even if things don't go wrong, it's still going to be horrible—people dying and blood and pain—and it's one thing to read about battles, but it's something else to have one happening around you.'

There were so many things he could have said—that she was right to be afraid, that she would be less afraid if she stopped thinking so constantly about all the dire possibilities—He said none of them, for none of them seemed quite right. And after a moment, she let go of his hand and he took it back. With a touch of reluctance... which felt a bit odd.

:Because you don't know how to act around a woman who might be more than a friend, but isn't either out of bounds or a whore,: Kantor said bluntly.

Well—that was true enough. But this was no time to try and learn how. Later, perhaps, if there was a later. And now who is dwelling on the dire possibilities?

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned those glittery lenses in his direction with a wan smile. 'Thank you for being my friend as well as my Weaponsmaster and fellow Herald, Alberich. It helps to have someone human I can be at ease with.'

He nodded. 'As you help me. Think of the relief I feel, not only to drop my mask, but to have someone with whom I can speak my native tongue.' He managed a wry smile. 'Perhaps you can help me with my Valdemaran, so we don't have a repetition of that scene in Sendar's tent. Only Selenay understood me!'

Myste shook her head. 'At least it made her look very competent, and gave her credit a strong boost. Poor little Selenay! I hope she can find someone to take her mask off with.'

'If no one else, it will be me,' he promised, reading the request for exactly what it was. Then he deemed it time for a change of subject. 'Now what else have you found in those Chronicles?'

'All the routes that your people have ever used to come at us.' She reached under her cot, and pulled out a roll which proved to be a map. 'I traced them all on this.'

'Very useful.' The hilly, sometimes mountainous terrain along the Border only permitted so many practical routes for an invading force, and here they all were, or at least, as much about them as the Valdemarans knew, since most of Karse was unknown land to them. But he knew the Border, if not as well as he'd like, certainly better than anyone here, and perhaps with the help of some of the FarSeeing Heralds or the ones with Animal Mindspeech who could see through the eyes of a high-soaring hawk, he would be able to fill in the terrain on the other side a bit, and they'd know which paths and passes to watch.

'Myste, I shall be sure and let it be known that you are monumentally useful,' he said. And was rewarded with a genuine smile. 'Now I shall go and present this to Sendar so that I can do that.'

'And I shall write up the next lot of notes to dispatch.' She tucked her legs under the tray and pulled it toward her, and that was how he left her, head down, lamplight shining down on it, an island of peace in the midst of frantic preparations for war.

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But his night was not yet over. He went to Selenay's tent, and found her toying with the remains of her dinner—a dinner which, for the most part, looked uneaten. Her two guardians were right with her, and her tent was ringed with regular Guardsmen.

He nodded with satisfaction as they challenged him, then sent one of their number to fetch someone from Selenay's bodyguards who could verify his identity. That was quite right; they should never assume that someone was who he said he was if they didn't know him on sight. One of the two bodyguards