The priestess swallowed once, audibly, then tried to smile. 'Perhaps Rashi simply needs some patience?' she suggested meekly.
'Patiencssse isss a good thing,' Treyvan agreed, lying back down again. 'Patiencssse isss a jewel in the crrrown of any prrriessstesss.'
The priestess bowed with newly-born meekness, then turned to go back to poor young Rashi, her assigned partner, who probably had no idea the young woman had come storming up to Treyvan to demand someone else. The trouble was, there was no one else. The priestess had alienated every Herald and most of the Rethwellan mages except dim but good-natured Rashi.
Gisell was only half-trained, but would certainly be Master rank when she finally completed her schooling. Rashi was only a bottom-rank Journeyman, a plain and simple earth-wizard, and never would be any more powerful than that - but his training had been the best. His instincts were sharp, and his skills were sound.
This was the essence of all the pairs, triads, and quartets that Treyvan and Hydona were setting up. Powerful but half-trained mages were partnered with educated but less powerful mages, with the former working through the latter, as Elspeth had worked in partnership with Need. To the knowledge of any of the fully-schooled mages, no one had ever tried this before. All the better. What had never been tried, Ancar could not anticipate.
Some of these teams were already out with the Guard or the Skybolts - and there had been, not one, but two Adept-class potential Heralds among the two dozen or so that had come riding in, responding to the urgent need sent out on the Web. Both of them had been paired immediately, one with the single White Winds teacher young enough to endure the physical hardships of this war, and one with the Son of the Sun's right-hand wizard, a surprisingly young man with a head full of good sense and a dry sense of humor that struck chords with Treyvan's own. They were doing a very fine job of holding Ancar's progress to a crawl, simply by forcing Ancar's mages to layer protections on the coercive spells controlling his fighters. Ancar had, in fact, been forced to send in the Elite Guard, putting them immediately behind the coerced troops to supply a different kind of motivation to advance.
Treyvan and Hydona were in complete charge of Valdemar's few mages and mage-allies, simply because they were the most foreign. Their ongoing story, at least so far as anyone other than Selenay and her Council were concerned, was just what Treyvan had told that young priestess. They were doing this as a favor to Darkwind; they were completely indifferent to Valdemaran politics, external or internal. Add to that their size and formidable appearance...thus far, no one had cared to challenge any of their edicts. When they needed to coordinate with Valdemar's forces, they went through subcommanders Selenay had assigned.
Treyvan turned his attention back to the trio he had been working with before Gisell interrupted. 'Yourrr parrrdon,' he said, thinking as he did so that at any other time and place, these three would have been at such odds that there would probably have been bloodshed. Not that they weren't getting along; they were cooperating surprisingly well. But a south-border Herald, a red-robed Priest of Vkandis, and a mage who had once fought Karse under Kerowyn...it could have been trouble.
The priest shrugged, the Herald chuckled, and the mere mage shook his head. 'Gisell always difficult has been,' the priest said, in his stilted Valdemaran. 'Young, she is.'
'Just wait until she gets out on the lines, she'll settle down,' the Herald advised. The mage, an older man, bent and wizened, nodded.
'They gen'rally do,' he said comfortably. 'Either that, or they don' last past their first fight.' He glanced at the other two. 'You, now - I kin work with the both of ye.'
'Query, one only, had I,' the priest said, looking at Treyvan, but with a half-smile for the old man. Treyvan waited, but the priest, oddly, hesitated. Treyvan wished he could read human faces better; this man's expression was an odd one. It looked like his face-skin was imploding.
'Red-robe, I am not, truly,' he said after a moment. 'Black-robe am I. Or was I.'
He looked from the Herald to the other mage, who shrugged without comprehension, and sighed.
'Black-robe, the Son has said, no more to be. Black-robes, demon-runners are.' And he watched, warily, for a reaction.
He got one. The old mage hissed and stepped back a pace; the Herald's eyes widened. It was the Herald who spoke first, not to Treyvan, but to the priest.
'I'd heard rumors some of you could control demons,' he said, his eyes betraying his unease, 'but I never believed it - I never saw anything to make me believe it.'
'Control?' The priest shrugged. 'Little control. As - control great rockfall. Take demon - send demon - capture demon. The Son likes demons not; the Son has said: 'Demons be of the dark, Vkandis is all of the light.' Therefore, no more demon-runners.'
'So she demoted you?' the mage demanded. 'Uh - took your rank.'
But the priest shook his head. 'No. Rank stays, robe goes, and no more demon-runners.' He turned back to Treyvan. 'Question: demons terrible be and all of the dark. Yet them do we use now, here?'
