She fixed him with that glittering gaze of eyes shielded behind thick, glass lenses. "Shielded" was a good thought—she probably used those lenses as shields to hide what she was thinking.
"May I stop pretending that I'm brave and cheerful around you? I feel as if I can trust you, more even than the rest of the Heralds, I mean; you've seen me at my worst, I suppose, and you seem to know, somehow, why I have to be here." She shrugged, helplessly. "And I do. It's important that a Chronicler be here, and it can't be Elcarth, since he can't make himself detached enough—but it's also important that someone be here who knows history, because things that have been done in the past are likely to solve a problem now. I daren't pretend I'm anything other than insanely optimistic around anyone else; Joy is not entirely certain I should even be here—or at least she wasn't until this afternoon—and if they have any idea how terrified I am, they'll be certain I'll freeze up at the worst moment and try to send me back."
He felt his expression softening, and for once, he let it. How odd to see her looking vulnerable! It wasn't that she ever attempted to look warrior-tough, but she wore this facade of cool indifference, even when he'd been training her—when she wasn't wearing an aura of annoyed irritation. He didn't think he had ever seen her look so helpless, much less on the verge of tears. He held up his hand to stop her. "Of course you can," he said, with sympathy that surprised even him. "And although I did not expect to see you here, I understand what you can do that no one else can; the amount of information you must carry about in your mind is astonishing."
"Not so much that, as I know where to look for things. I can ask Elcarth to find what I need, and he can Fetch handwritten notes down here." She shook her head. "I can't do that from up there in Haven. It depends on being in a meeting and seeing a problem and knowing where to look for an answer. And telling people that there is an answer, right then, before they get hysterical. You have to be there to know what priority to put on the problem; reports don't tell you that. But nobody wants me here; they look at me and see a half-blind, clumsy liability who's likely to be in the way, or worse, need rescuing. So I have to put up a facade so they don't find another reason to send me back."
He hesitated. "As the Weaponsmaster, I am concerned that you are the person least able to defend herself here."
"Which is why I'm petrified," she replied, in a very small voice. "And I want to go home. But I can't, and I won't, and I won't ask anyone else to look out for me."
"I never thought for a moment that you would." The tent was so small, he could easily reach over and pat her shoulder, which he did, awkwardly. Her face crumpled, but she didn't cry. Just as well. Women in tears unnerved him. She did put her own hand up to hold his on her shoulder, though, and he didn't mind—
:Bollocks. You like it.:
:You stay out of my head,: he said sharply. :Or at least be quiet about being there.:
Kantor wisely did not reply.
"Don't think I want you to take care of me either," she continued, even though she was shaking. "I don't! I can take care of myself, even if I'm not a good fighter, I won't freeze up, and will be sensible and be the first to run away, if the time comes to retreat!"
"I didn't think you would ask, not for a moment. As your Weaponsmaster, although I am concerned, I am certain that I have trained you well, and I trust you to be intelligent enough to do what you must." He tightened his hand on her shoulder. "But as your Weaponsmaster, you need not be brave with me. In fact, if you have concerns and feel you cannot voice them to others, do tell me. The night stalkers, for instance; that was a reasonable thing to consider."
She sighed, and some of her shaking eased. "I'm not a brave person," she said reluctantly. "Actually, I'm rather a coward. I'm afraid of so much, it's easier to say what I'm not afraid of. I think about what can go wrong all the time, it keeps me awake at night, and it makes me want to dig a hole and hide in it. And even if things don't go wrong, it's still going to be horrible—people dying and blood and pain—and it's one thing to read about battles, but it's something else to have one happening around you."
There were so many things he could have said—that she was right to be afraid, that she would be less afraid if she stopped thinking so constantly about all the dire possibilities—He said none of them, for none of them seemed quite right. And after a moment, she let go of his hand and he took it back. With a touch of reluctance... which felt a bit odd.
:Because you don't know how to act around a woman who might be more than a friend, but isn't either out of bounds or a whore,: Kantor said bluntly.
Well—that was true enough. But this was no time to try and learn how. Later, perhaps, if there was a later. And now who is dwelling on the dire possibilities?
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned those glittery lenses in his direction with a wan smile. "Thank you for being my friend as well as my Weaponsmaster and fellow Herald, Alberich. It helps to have someone human I can be at ease with."
He nodded. "As you help me. Think of the relief I feel, not only to drop my mask, but to have someone with whom I can speak my native tongue." He managed a wry smile. "Perhaps you can help me with my Valdemaran, so we don't have a repetition of that scene in Sendar's tent. Only Selenay understood me!"
Myste shook her head. "At least it made her look very competent, and gave her credit a strong boost. Poor little Selenay! I hope she can find someone to take her mask off with."
"If no one else, it will be me," he promised, reading the request for exactly what it was. Then he deemed it time for a change of subject. "Now what else have you found in those Chronicles?"
"All the routes that your people have ever used to come at us." She reached under her cot, and pulled out a roll which proved to be a map. "I traced them all on this."
"Very useful." The hilly, sometimes mountainous terrain along the Border only permitted so many practical routes for an invading force, and here they all were, or at least, as much about them as the Valdemarans knew, since most of Karse was unknown land to them. But he knew the Border, if not as well as he'd like, certainly better than anyone here, and perhaps with the help of some of the FarSeeing Heralds or the ones with Animal Mindspeech who could see through the eyes of a high-soaring hawk, he would be able to fill in the terrain on the other side a bit, and they'd know which paths and passes to watch.
"Myste, I shall be sure and let it be known that you are monumentally useful," he said. And was rewarded with a genuine smile. "Now I shall go and present this to Sendar so that I can do that."
"And I shall write up the next lot of notes to dispatch." She tucked her legs under the tray and pulled it toward her, and that was how he left her, head down, lamplight shining down on it, an island of peace in the midst of frantic preparations for war.
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