Brightly Burning

:Well, given what happened to them, would you come back here?: Satiran asked reasonably. He raised his head and looked around alertly. :I believe that the Lord Marshal is in the command tent, and as you suggested, still in need of a level head to point out that Lan is no danger to our side. The vista that lies below us did not give him much of a sense of comfort this morning. I can't imagine why not.:

Well, Satiran was back to normal, at any rate.

The two of them made their way to the command tent, and this time Satiran just poked his head inside without an invitation, decided there was enough room in there for him, and squeezed his considerable bulk along one side of the map table, much to the Lord Marshal's gape-mouthed surprise,

'Sorry, my Lord, but Satiran is necessary,' Pol said apologetically, wedging himself in on the same side as his Companion. Satiran seized a camp chair in his strong teeth and pulled it over to Pol, who felt it over, then sat down in it gratefully. Turag looked at both of them and then turned to the Lord Marshal.

'My Lord Weldon,' he said, 'I would like to be put back on duty with the rest of the army.'

Pol was probably as surprised as the Lord Marshal himself; that venerable gentleman was taken entirely aback.

'Hear me out,' Turag continued earnestly. 'My only Gift is Mindspeech, which, I'll grant you, is very strong— but I have no battlefield experience, no leadership experience, and this is not the time or place to get them at the possible expense of making blunders. Herald Pol has both, you are known to each other, and even more important, he is the mentor of that—ah—remarkable youngster, Herald Lavan. Please, I beg you; let me go back to a job I know how to do, and put Herald Pol in my place.'

'Hrmph,' coughed the Lord Marshal, fingering his beard and looking at Pol with speculation. 'I don't want you to think that you haven't been doing a good job—'

'I know my own abilities and limitations, my Lord,' Turag relied. 'I have been doing an adequate job. You need someone outstanding.'

Meanwhile, Pol's spirits rose; the plain fact was that Turag was right—even without the use of his own eyes, he would be just as good a Marshal's Herald as Marak had been. Not that he wouldn't be happy to hand Marak's job back to him as soon as he was fit again, but in the meantime....

'Pol, how do you feel about this?' the Lord Marshal asked. 'I don't want you to think this is offered out of pity, because it isn't. You're good—you may not be the strongest Mindspeaker about, but you're strong enough, and your Companion can make up for that. Being the youngster's mentor makes you doubly valuable to me.'

Pol smiled wholeheartedly for the first time since he had lost his eyesight. 'My Lord, I would be pleased and honored to accept. Herald Turag, I am and will be forever grateful for your generous offer and great soul.'

Turag heaved a sigh of relief. 'You're the generous one, Herald Pol,' the young man replied. 'And I'm the one who is grateful! Now, if you don't mind, I'll excuse myself and Adan and we will take ourselves back to the unit we came from!'

Turag lost no time in making himself scarce, which left Pol and the Lord Marshal alone for a moment or two—until the next crisis came on.

'How's the boy?' the old man asked, betraying just a hint of his unease.

'Still recovering. Last night's exhibition was well out of his normal abilities.' Pol felt the edge of the table and pulled himself closer to it. 'I hope you aren't planning on more of the same, because I'll be honest with you; I don't think he can do that sort of thing very often.'

'Ah.' That seemed to be exactly what the Lord Marshal needed to hear. 'On the other hand, the Karsites don't know that, do they?'

'So any time fires start—' Pol allowed himself a cruel chuckle. 'I can't say that seeing them run like frightened mice is going to make me unhappy. Well, let me tell you what Lan can do on a regular basis.'

Briefly he outlined what Lan had been practicing, and the Lord Marshal nodded as he listened. 'We can extract a great deal of tactical advantage from having him. Not to mention that he can rid us of that nocturnal enemy that gave the Karsites an advantage over us. How long do you think he'll need to recover? We can hold camp here for another day or so, if that's all it will take.'

:Kalira thinks he'll be up and able by tomorrow morning,: Satiran reported.

'That should be long enough,' Pol replied.

'Excellent.' The Lord Marshal rubbed his hands together and flexed his fingers. 'Now, come over here and have a look at this troop disposition—'

It was Satiran who craned his neck over the map table as the Lord Marshal pushed tokens about, but it was obvious that this made no difference to the leader of Valdemar's armies. Pol bent over the table, holding his head up in both hands, suggesting possible strategies, and felt whole once again.

*

LAN woke slowly; Elenor wasn't sitting there next to him, but Tuck was, and he was just as pleased with that substitution. It was easy enough to tell the difference even with his eyes closed; Tuck didn't hover over him. I guess Healers think they have to loom over their patients all the time. When he finally stretched and opened his eyes, he discovered that there were only three cots set up in the tent, which he recalled as holding more than that.

'Hey,' Tuck said cheerfully. 'You're finally awake! Wait until you see what you did the other night, out there in the pass! It's pretty impressive!'

'Um.' Lan wasn't all that sure that impressive was the proper word for it. 'I, ah, just did what I could to get rid of those things the Lord Marshal was afraid of. I thought, you know, if I got rid of those Dark Servant priests and chased the rest away, that would—be a good thing—' He really didn't know what else to say at that point.

'And believe me, the entire camp is grateful! Two entire nights without bogles howling around the camp and people dying in their sleep, and two days without fighting!' Tuck replied, and threw him a clean uniform from a stack