Page 75 of Valdemar

In the past near-fortnight, Starbird had fitted herself so well into the Herald corps that she could easily have been among the first Chosen. That, alone, would have been fortune enough, given the strengthening of the alliance between the Tayledras and Valdemar, but Restil had every reason to think that Starbird regarded him as something more than a friend by this point. Or, at least, she regarded him as a best friend. And if only they were not Heralds, he would definitely have pushed those boundaries as far as he dared. Come to think of it, she probably would have pushed first. The Tayledras, in general, weren’t shy about showing interest in someone.

But they were Heralds, and he was a Crown Prince with additional duties, and they were both kept busy enough that once she’d settled in, he didn’t get to see her nearly as often as he would have liked. At meals, generally, although she often ate dinner with the Healers, who had their own separate building and kitchen. Herald she might be, but she was still pursuing the learning that had brought her here in the first place. She didn’t particularly need weapons training, but she did keep up her practices, and those were not at the same time as Restil’s. Restil was still sitting in on Council meetings, and now often at Kordas’s Court as well. And in accordance with the planned duties for the Herald corps, they both, along with the other Heralds, often got sent off when there was a new law or ruling that affected the entire Kingdom, though other Heralds got the more distant parts and Restil and Starbird were never sent out on journeys that took them more than a couple of marks at their Companions’ fastest pace.

Except for the frustration of not being able to spend time in Starbird’s company, Restil would have been pretty contented with his lot in life—but—

But there was that looming storm on the horizon. The Adept out there was still pursuing the formation of an army of her own, and it was an army that was growing. At this point it was the size of a full genuine Imperial battalion. Where were the additional fighters-in-training coming from? Frustratingly, there was no way of telling. All they could safely do was watch through Jonaton’s tiny Portal and worry. The training that they could see showed the soldiers to be, if not good, no longer terrible. There was no sign that Lord Legenfall had been replaced by someone more competent, but there was also no sign that he hadn’t.

Restil knew his father was increasingly worried—well, so was he. But there wasn’t anything that either of them could do about this situation other than what they were already doing.

The only progress that had been made was that Hakkon, the Fairweathers, and Ivar had returned with the good news that there was only one reasonable line-of-march that an invading force could take to get to the Valdemar border, thanks to terrain that was not particularly hospitable to a force of armed men on foot. Rocky ground, threaded with a lot of small streams, suited mostly to grazing, which was how the few holdings Hakkon and the others had found out there used the land. So they had a good idea of where on the border an army would appear, and where to sculpt their ground, and Pebble was already on the job. So were the green mages, who were following behind Pebble making sure that the alterations to the ground were camouflaged by what would look like the growth of decades.

Herald Menalus was on permanent assignment to make sure that all the Valdemarans up there kept in practice with weapons, and held evacuation drills about once every fortnight. Roughly half the Valdemaran Guard had been sent up there as well—not as a single force, but trickled in by squads and quartered in villages and farms near where Pebble was working, just in case the Adept was doing some long-distance spying of her own. The joint verdict of both the Six Old Men and Silvermoon was that if the Adept observed Pebble working, she really would not recognize what the Elemental was doing. No one out here in the records of the Hawkbrothers had ever tried to enslave and exploit an Elemental, even a youngling, so she would assume Pebble was amusing himself.

And the favor of all the gods wouldn’t help her if she had a go at Pebble. Pebble’s mother would appear, and her wrath would be terrible.

Menalus would be able to spot any invading force when it was at least a day away by virtue of his Farsight, which would be plenty of time to assemble the Guard on ground of Valdemar’s choosing.

But anxiety and tension only increased with every day that passed without any idea of what the Adept was going to do. Farmers looked over their shoulders, brought in harvests as early as possible, and made plans to hide their stock, their valuables, and themselves. The citizens of Haven made no long-term plans, and their short-term preparations included securing valuables as best they could and having evacuation bags packed and at the door so they could run for the safety of the Palace if invaders got as far as the capital. And as for the highborn—they relocated themselves from their manors back to their crowded quarters in the Palace, and no one complained about the conditions. In fact, the weapons-practice fields were in use from first light to last, as everyone who could use a weapon of any sort made sure their skills were no longer rusty. Court sessions were much, much shorter these days; those with bones to pick with other highborn were concentrating on the young Kingdom’s first martial threat, rather than picking fights with each other. Mysterious illnesses, insect plagues, and the troubles of the farmers hadn’t made much of an impression on them, but an army on the border? That, they could understand. And it didn’t hurt that this was something they themselves could combat. This was particularly true among the ones around Restil’s age, who were still naive enough to think that they would be the great heroes of any battle they took part in, and in between practices, had a lot to say about “glory” and the amount of it they expected to get for themselves.

If the weaponsmaster had any thoughts on this, he was keeping them to himself. Or at least, he wasn’t voicing them where Restil could hear them. Uncle Hakkon, however, had had a few choice words for the King about “expensively dressed arrow magnets.”

Rothas was invaluable; his Gifts kept spirits up, and by day he circulated around the city performing anywhere he could, returning only to the Palace in time for the last serving of supper in order to do the same there. And Lythe had recruited a little army of her own in the form of night-birds, who kept a watch to make sure the Adept didn’t slip anything into Haven or the Palace under cover of darkness.

So matters stood, as summer became autumn, and nerves, if not yet frayed, were under a great deal of tension.

• • •

:Your father particularly wants you at second serving tonight, to eat with the family,:Darshay reported, as she and Restil made their way back through the purposefully winding streets of Haven to the Palace. Kordas and the Lord Martial had planned from the beginning to make it difficult for an invader to get through the city to the Palace. Invading forces would have to make their way through constant street-fighting with no direct way to get anywhere. Yes, this made it a little inconvenient for people trying to cross from one side of Haven to the other, but there weren’t a lot of people actually doing that, and what was inconvenience for a single person would be a nightmare for groups of fighters.

Some bright spark in the mayor’s administration of Haven itself had gotten the idea of replacing the guards stationed in the city with a force of their own—the Watch. Right now it was composed primarily of people too old or unfit to serve in the Guard, but who were perfectly willing to patrol their own neighborhoods for whatever problems might arise, from theft to drunken fighting to neighbors clashing. And, of course, to lead the street-fighting in the event an invading force got as far as Haven. Making already known and trusted people into a sort of defensive command would help to keep casualties down, while professional fighters did the grim business of warring. Kordas had encouraged this plan, and Restil had been assigned to make sure that the Watch wasn’t composed of bullies looking for a “legitimate” reason to shove people around, but instead were folks with a genuine interest in keeping their neighborhood safe. He’d weeded out a few bad apples, but most of the people who had volunteered had been not just well intentioned, but pretty well suited to the task.

:Did he say why he wants me to eat with the family?:Restil asked, because after a solid day of traipsing around the city, inspecting the little neighborhood groups, he was more tired than he’d been after that run to the southern border. It wasn’t just a physical exhaustion—he generally liked people no matter the occasion, but in his rounds there were plenty who were awed at being within speaking distance of the Crown Prince . . . but not awed enough to keep their opinions to themselves. So speak, they did.

His own side of that was that he’d been trained how to be safe in neighborhoods, and how to interpret particular gestures as incipient assaults—and that training screamed at him all day. And there had been no attacks! But there were endless quick moves and arms swinging about, and the noise of people’s excitement got shrill before long.

:Dear heart,:Darshay spoke gently in his mind, :That doesn’t make you self-important or arrogant. You have been around well-disciplined people for most of your life. Life isn’t like that for regular people. Their lives are more random in nature, and when something novel happens their emotive displays are much more pronounced than you are accustomed to. Your reputation carries weight among the people. They show you approval and respect—but many of the ways they do that are unpleasant to you.:

:It’s starting to rub my nerves raw. Probably none of this would bother Hakkon and Jon, but I was just old enough to get all the lessons in danger about being too loose-tongued around strangers who might be Imperial spies. And that made me see risks hidden in the slightest gesture, you know? Sometimes I miss being on the barges, in convoy on the river, feeling sunlight and seeing wonders. New lands, trees, birds, but safe in a cozy cabin or comfortable deck.:

:No clusters of star-struck admirers trying to touch you.:

:That, too.:

:Imagine how I was feeling as an enchanting, gleaming, soft-eyed white horse with amazing proportions. I had so many children around me I was afraid I’d step on one!

:You truly do have the hardest life possible,:Restil jabbed back.

And really, all he wanted was to boil an egg in his room, toast some bread and cheese at the fire, drink the last of his apple cider before it turned, and go to bed, the desire to see Starbird notwithstanding.

:As to your question, Ardatha didn’t say why you are summoned to the family table.:

:So it’s probably that Father wants to show the entire royal family acting calm and composed.:He sighed, and resigned himself to putting on an act.

:Very likely. There was a bout of hysterics and catfighting earlier. Nothing that couldn’t be smoothed over, but—:

:But highborns will be highborns and convinced that the universe revolves around them, and that they are in the most danger, and are the likeliest targets.: That was somewhat unfair . . . but only somewhat. And Restil was not in the mood for tempers or tantrums right now.

:Indeed.:The details of the altercation drifted into his mind from Darshay, probably via Ardatha. All the Companions were very well acquainted with the vagaries of the courtiers by this time, presumably from sharing their Chosens’ impressions in context to the other Companions. A few had naively assumed that in the face of threat, everyone would be on their best behavior. They quickly learned that people didn’t “work that way,” and adjusted their own behavior and expectations accordingly. Restil suspected that the unpartnered Companions were serving as a repository of information on every single person, from kitchen boy to the Seneschal, that lived in the Palace, so that the rest didn’t have to keep track of who was likely to have an outburst at any given time. That kept the Herald-Companion pairs within the Palace walls from being blindsided. Usually those outbursts were limited to semi-hysterical demands for information no one actually had, but sometimes they escalated, and being forewarned kept things from getting out of hand. That catfight, for instance, had been a completely unneeded brawl between two highborn mothers who were intent on securing the services of the Palace blacksmith on behalf of their offspring, for armor alterations, and both were adamant on “jumping the queue.” Selfish? Absolutely. Understandable? Absolutely.