Owlsight

“Wonderful! He must love it.” Firesong sounded genuinely pleased. “An’desha is up to his eyebrows in shamanistic business, and I’ve never seen him happier. I left him in Kata’shin’a’in, helping to weave a new history- tapestry.” He straightened, and looked about. “Well, we can catch up later; now we should deal with business.” He bowed a little to Eldan. “So, Herald Eldan, would you and your Companion care to join our council for an explanation of what’s going on?”

“That I would, Healing-Adept Firesong,” Eldan replied, with the same odd mingling of seriousness and humor that Firesong displayed. “Lead on.”

It took most of the day to get the reinforcements settled in their encampment. They were entirely self- sufficient, having their own cook, tents, and supplies, but everyone agreed that being able to use the Vale’s facilities made their camp seem downright luxurious. They were not in the least shy about stripping and plunging into the hot pools, men and women together, and at any hour of the day or night one was as likely to encounter a clutch of Valdemarans there as a group of Tayledras. Most often, the two groups mingled; the so-called “green” troops were green only in the sense of not having seen real combat, for they had trained and bunked with the Skybolts, and had Skybolt senior officers. Those who couldn’t handle the accepting and flexible manners of Kero’s troopers had long since been weeded out. Tayledras and Guards got along very well, with the troopers holding to the attitude that, once on someone else’s home ground, you played by their rules and not by what was called “good manners” and “appropriate behavior” at home. “Stay polite and respectful and ask before you touch,” was the watchword in the camp, and as a result, everyone got along remarkably well.

The next day Lord Breon and Val arrived for a real council of war, bringing with them their Weaponsmaster, who was Lord Breon’s second-in-command. With a storm threatening, they met in the common dining hall, taking up roughly a third of the available space. By common and unspoken consent, since this was hardly a secret council, anyone of the officers of sufficient rank who cared to listen in could do so as long as they stayed quiet.

“What’s this Captain Kerowyn like, personally?” Lord Breon asked Firesong, as the assembled council waited for Kero and Eldan, who were the last to arrive. Today Firesong’s mask seemed to be made all of fresh green leaves. Tayledras and a few of Kero’s officers lurked around the periphery of the group, and Darian saw a couple who were clearly Skybolts smile at that question.

“You’ll like her,” Firesong promised him. “Kero can be counted on not to jump to any conclusions and not to fight unless she has to. She’s very straightforward, never hedges her answers or gives you the answer she thinks you want unless it’s also the true one. She’s got - oh, decades of practical experience; before she came to Valdemar and was Chosen she was a mercenary captain with her own company in Rethwellan - the Skybolts, the same group that came up here with her. So, like most mercenary captains, she doesn’t believe in wasting her limited resources, her fighters. She plans things, she doesn’t just charge in and hope for the best.”

Darian saw nods of agreement from the Guards, and heard a great many murmurs of approval from the Hawkbrothers.

Lord Breon also nodded and seemed satisfied, at least to Darian. “That’s exactly the kind of person we need for this situation. Now, I take it that Herald Eldan is more of the diplomat?”

“Yes; they make a good team that way.” Darian definitely heard good-humored affection in Firesong’s voice. “Kero’s too blunt to make a good diplomat. They’ve been together since Kero was Chosen, and Selenay prefers to keep them as an official team, since Kero would probably find a sneaky way to accomplish the same thing without actually disobeying orders. You’ll like him, too.”

Just then, Kerowyn and Eldan showed up, but only Eldan was wearing Whites. Kero had changed into something of the same cut as a Herald’s Whites, but it was all of gray leather, well-worn and practical, but not white, by any stretch of the imagination.

“I thought you were a Herald!” Val exclaimed, obviously without thinking before he opened his mouth.

He really has a problem that way, Darian noted. Does he ever think before he speaks?

“I am. I’m also officially on war-duty as of this moment, and I am not wearing one of those ‘oh-shoot-me-now’ outfits while I am in the front line. Eldan gets to be the obviously important person - he’s the diplomat, and he won’t be in the front line of fighting as long as I am in command unless he changes into something inconspicuous first.” She cast Eldan a significant glance, which Eldan ignored. This was evidently an argument of long standing between them. “I’m the one in charge if there’s fighting, and I’d better stay hard to hit if I’m going to stay that way.” She managed a very thin smile. “If this outfit is good enough for Weaponsmaster-Herald Alberich, it’s good enough for me.”

“That doesn’t sound very . . . heroic.” Val was either oblivious to the effect his blurted comments were having, or today he was just letting his thoughts go straight to his mouth without pausing to examine them. He wasn’t usually this clumsy. Darian winced inside, waiting for the rebuke.

But Kero actually softened a little. “My dear boy, I have been fighting for all of my adult life. I don’t have anything to prove anymore. I never did when I was a mercenary; if a merc doesn’t live, he doesn’t get paid. Heroics are for the young with nothing to lose.” Then she raised an eyebrow and added dryly, “When it comes down to cases, Eldan’s job is more important than mine. Diplomacy is much more economical than combat, unless you just happen to have a lot of people and no food to give them. Think about it, son. Think about it in terms of these green and fertile fields, and all the people who live on them - and the possibility that these new people are very, very hungry.”

Distant thunder growled, and it grew darker in the dining hall. Hertasi went about quietly lighting lamps.

Val finally figured out that he had been very rude and inconsiderate - and worse, perhaps, from his point of