The Companion started and jerked his head up, his eyes wide, as if she’d stung him with a pebble in the hindquarters. She slammed her shields shut again, and sent Hellsbane into a tired canter that took her to the front of the troop.
And when next she looked back, the Companion met her gaze with a wary respect—and nothing more.
She couldn’t help herself; she wore a smug little smile all the way back to the camp. “Don’t make judgment calls; you might find yourself on the other end of one.” That’s another one of Tarma’s sayings. And right now, I’m as guilty of it as that Companion is.
But damn if that didn’t feel good.
Camp was a cold camp; no fires, and trail rations. Tents stayed packed up; until they figured out the pattern Ancar’s troops had, Kero wasn’t going to give him any vulnerable points to hit—like a camp. Even with experienced fighters like hers, “camp” meant “safe” in the back of their minds, and right now she didn’t want anyone thinking “safe.”
They’d bivouacked in a grove of hezelnut bushes, tucking bedrolls out of sight under the bushes themselves, helping out nature’s own camouflage with artfully placed branches. From a distance, no one would ever guess there was an entire Company of fighters and their horses in here; it looked like any deserted orchard. What with the three rings of perimeter guards, no one would get close enough to find out any differently.
And that tentlessness included Kero. It was good for morale—and it made her less of a target. She did have one of the better bushes, a clump of them, actually, with thick, drooping branches, but room on the inside for three or four; and she had it alone—but there were a few advantages to being Captain.
The Herald vanished after they’d tucked themselves up, established perimeters and set watches, and sent the specialists off to make Ancar’s life interesting. She settled down on her bedroll with a piece of jerky in one hand and a tiny, shielded dark-lantern focused on the detailed map spread over her knees. At some point during her study her orderly brought her a battered tin cup full of water, and said—rather too calmly—that the Herald who’d been with her this morning was being replaced.
She looked up, sharply, and saw the corners of his mouth twitching. “Ah,” she said, and left it at that.
Made himself unwelcome, did he? Maybe I did a little judging, but it sounds like he did a lot more.
She fell asleep with a clear conscience, and a resolve not to let the replacement get on her officers’ nerves as the first Herald had.
In the morning, as soon as she’d gotten the reports from her scouts, she gathered her officers together inside the heart of the grove, to lay out her next plan of action. While she gave each Lieutenant his orders, she caught sight of something white moving up, just out of the corner of her eye.
So our first liaison couldn’t handle the job. A little late, my friend, she thought to herself, and I hope you’re a bit more flexible than your predecessor. But she otherwise ignored him until she’d finished briefing her officers. Only then did she turn to see who—or what—Selenay had sent to her this time.
And felt as if someone had just poleaxed her.
“Oh,” she said, faintly.
“I’m—uh—the replacement,” Eldan said with hesitation, playing with the ends of his Companion’s reins. “Selenay thought you’d be less likely to frighten us off. At least, on purpose.”
“I wouldn’t count on that if I were her,” Kero replied, around a funny feeling in her chest, still staring at him. He looked wonderful; he hadn’t aged to speak of, her dream Eldan become substantial. “You’ve never ridden with my troops. We’re a nasty lot, and what we meet up with tends to be just as vicious as we are.”
“That wasn’t what she meant.” Eldan dropped his eyes before she did, which gave her a chance to give him a quick once-over before he looked up again. He hadn’t changed much, either; maybe the white streaks in his hair were a little wider, and there were a couple of smile-lines around his mouth and eyes, but otherwise he was the same. She wondered how she looked to him. “It doesn’t have to be me. If you don’t want—I mean—”
“I don’t,” she interrupted him fiercely, fairly sure what he was going to say, and not wanting to hear it. “I can’t afford a liability, not here, not now. I can’t permit you to distract me from my people. If you can do your job and leave it at that, fine. Otherwise, find me someone else. And make sure it’s someone with guts and a sense of humor this time. We’re perilous short of both.”
“I’d noticed,” Eldan muttered with a flash of resentment and irritation, not quite under his breath.
“You—you what?” She stared at him for a moment, torn between wanting to laugh, and wanting to rip his face off for that.
Laughter won.
