“Dee says it’s always a pleasure to meet the legendary Sergeant Krandal,” said Erek, “and when’s lunch?”
“We break in fifteen minutes or so,” said Krandal with a grin. He turned back to the ranked militia.
“Back to work, people! You heard His Majesty. He’s depending on you to save the kingdom. But don’t get big heads about it!”
They sat on the grass in the common area between the company cook fires and the drill field. Lunch was cracked grain boiled with bits of sausage and what vegetables might be available, a staple of the Guard in the field. The troops had a dozen nicknames for it. The commonest and least profane was “Thunder Mud.”
“The cooks are trying to kill us with this stuff,” said Aed. “They sure cooked this until it’s dead.”
Sergeant Krandal snorted. He pulled a tiny bottle from his belt pouch, undid the stopper, and sprinkled a bit of reddish-orange powder on his food.
“Never let the cooks hear you gripe about the food,” he said. “If you do, don’t eat camp soup after that. Besides, any dish loses a lot when it’s made for five hundred at a time. Perking it up’s your problem.”
“What’s that stuff, Sarge?”
“Ground Karsite peppers. Guaranteed to put a little zip into anything the Guard dishes out.” He restoppered the bottle, tasted his food, and nodded.
“Sarge,” said Aed, looking to where Rury and Erek sat apart, with the Herald’s white Companion standing behind, “is Rury in trouble?”
“We’re all in trouble,” muttered Sergeant Krandal. “It’s just that we might be able to help Tellar with some of his.”
Herald Erek seemed likable enough, but Rury had never met a Herald before, let alone had the personal attention of one. He was nervous.
“Guardsman Tellar,” said Herald Erek after they got settled, “can I call you Rury?”
“Uh, sure,” said Rury. “Am I in trouble or something?”
Erek smiled slightly. “Not with me, you’re not. I’m just here to help with a problem you may have.”
Rury felt the Herald’s sincere concern, but he still didn’t like where this was going. “I’m, uh, not sure what you mean.”
“Let me make a guess,” said Erek. “You think everyone around you is trying to climb into your head, or that maybe you’re just going crazy.” Erek’s voice stayed calm, but it took control not to laugh aloud at Rury’s open- mouthed, goggle-eyed response.
“What . . . how . . . ?”
“It’s all right,” said Erek. “May I touch your arm for a moment? It should help me help you.” Rury held out his left arm in reply. Erek grasped Rury’s wrist. His Companion, whom he’d introduced as Deanara, left off nibbling grain from a canvas bucket and swung her head to where Erek could place his free hand on her nose. Rury felt a gentle coolness brush his mind. A few moments passed and Erek released Rury’s wrist.
“I was almost certain, but Dee confirms it.” Said Erek. “you have a strong Gift of Empathy. I have a touch of it myself, though my major Gift is Mindspeech.”
“It doesn’t feel like a Gift,” said Rury, “More like a curse.”
“That’s because you haven’t learned how to keep other peoples’ feelings out. It can go both ways, too. If you have strong emotions of your own, you can influence others around you.”
“You mean like the rest of the militia?”
“Yes, especially with feelings like fear. They could feel afraid for no reason other than you’re afraid.”
Rury didn’t want to think about what that might mean in a fight; the entire militia panicking because of him.
“Is there a cure?”
Erek chuckled, but cut it off. “Sorry. It’s not a disease, so there’s really no ‘cure’. You can make it easier for yourself, though, and safer for your comrades. You need to learn ways to shield your feelings from others, and keep the emotions of others out.”
“I could do that?” Rury looked like he’d been reprieved from a death sentence, which was just what Erek was trying to do.
They spent the rest of lunch break running over simple techniques. Rury seemed more relaxed at the end of it. Erek hoped it would be enough. Keeping out the random jitters of his comrades was one thing. Shielding against the raging emotions of two armies locked in mortal combat would be an entirely different beast.
The night was clear and cool, with stars twinkling in a black sky. No one looked at the stars. Soldiers glanced away from their fires toward the Karsite border, where an orange glow marked the encamped Tedrel horde. Tension and suppressed fear, thick and heavy, pushed through Rury’s best attempts to shield his mind. His own fear kept intruding on his efforts to block out emotions of those around him.
Sergeant Krandal stood and stretched, wincing.
“Better hit the bag, people,” he said. “We don’t want to oversleep the party tomorrow.”
“Sarge,” said Snipe, “I heard the next company over is sleeping in their armor. Should we?”
The sergeant shook his head. “No, not unless you’re sure you can actually sleep that way. If you have any clean, dry clothes with you, especially underclothes, change into those. Wouldn’t hurt to keep your boots on either.” He looked around. “Tellar and I will take first watch. The rest of you turn in.”
They shuffled and muttered back to their tents. Sergeant Krandal had Rury take a position on the company’s tent line, facing away from the banked fire. After noise from the tents settled down, he appeared at Rury’s side.
“You might not feel like talking, Tellar,” he said, “but tell me true, how’s that empathy thing going?”
“It’s better, Sarge. Really, it is.” He paused, wondering if he should go on.
“But you still feel afraid,” Sergeant Krandal said.
“Well . . . yeah, kind of.”
“You’ll be fine, lad.” The sergeant smiled. “Every sane soldier is afraid at some time or another. It’s what separates the good soldiers from the dead ones. A little fear is Nature’s way of making you pay attention. If you feel afraid, use it. Stay calm and let it turn to something else, something you can use.”
“What if I freeze up?”
“I doubt that’ll happen. Let your training and reflexes take care of things while you deal with it. Herald Erek taught you ways to handle the Empathy, right?”
“Yeah, Sarge, but I’m not sure if I can make them work.”
“Then turn in and practice until you sleep. I can handle the rest of the watch, and I want you fresh tomorrow.”
“Sarge, I don’t . . .”
“That’s an order, Tellar,” Sergeant Krandal said gruffly. “Go.” His tone softened. “It’ll be all right.”
Krandal watched Rury trudge off, then muttered under his breath, “I hope.”
Half a candlemark later, Erek and Deanara appeared at the edge of the firelight. Sergeant Krandal waved them in silently.
“Well?” he said, barely above a whisper.
Erek swung off Deanara, sighed heavily, and sat down. He replied in equally soft tones.
“I didn’t get much farther than you did, Sergeant. The brass isn’t about to pull one young pike soldier off the line this late in the game. I’m sorry.” Behind him, Deanara gave a snort of disgust.
“I’m not surprised,” Sergeant Krandal replied. “Guard policy is like Guard cooking. What’s best for the army is usually hard on the individual soldier.”
Erek nodded. “I did point out that an untrained Empath probably wouldn’t survive the coming battle, and that the intensity and volume of emotion he’d face would leave him dead or insane.” He sighed heavily. “They said there are hundreds, maybe thousands of young soldiers in this army who won’t survive the battle, Empaths or not.”
“They’re right. So, what’s to be done?”
“I spent what time I could teaching him shielding techniques. It wasn’t much, but we have to hope it will do. We’ve simply run out of time. Can you shift him in the unit?”
“I could, but he’s one of my best. And if he’s capable of what you say, and he panics, he could take the whole unit with him. If he breaks, I’d just as soon it be where I can see him. I’ll shift things so I’m behind him in the second line.”
“So you can help if there’s trouble?”
