It was, for the moment, the quiet agony of wait and see.
This was the first time Praulth had come out of her rooms since the Incident. Xink, capering about in an unproductive panic, had finally summoned a physician that night, then officials of the local police. These latter were a pair of elderly officers who had remained behind while the Petgrad army rode off to gather with the Alliance forces. Petgrad's police force was a meager complement these days, the ranks dangerously thinned. It was why patrols of the streets had been reduced and why crimes of opportunity were on the increase. Add to that the catastrophic influx of refugees, many hungry and destitute, and the situation was well out of hand.
Praulth, following the professionally thorough examination by the Petgrad physician, had told the police she understood the dire state of things. She had by then recovered her voice. It was Xink who insisted repeatedly that the individual who'd assaulted her be apprehended. He demanded that no effort be spared. He invoked her prominent standing and her personal favor with Premier Cultat. The police promised to do everything possible, but Praulth had recognized that a single scavenger, even mentally unbalanced as he probably was, could likely elude capture in this vast city.
She didn't yet know if the Incident had left her pregnant. Certainly her assailant took none of the prudent precautions with which she was familiar with Xink. Again it was a matter of wait and see.
Did she feel wounded? Did she feel invaded, violated? Naturally she did. The foul creature had robbed from her. He had knocked her to the ground and infiltrated her body in the most careless and hurtful fashion, indifferent to everything but the savage satisfaction of the moment. He had gibbered and ranted all the while, ugly broken fragments of speech propelled by repulsive breath.
But when the fast wrenching spasms had struck him, this violator let out a frail little whine, like the sound of a hurt puppy, and leaped to his feet and went running off in a mad scramble. It was very much as if that violent and rapid climax had taken with it every last shred of maddened courage the creature possessed.
Such was the conclusion Praulth had drawn in those first stinging instants after the Incident. Her attacker was weak, she told herself. Therefore, she would be strong. And thus she had picked herself up from the street and returned to her rooms, all on her own, without faltering, without even tears.
She had since cried, and it had served her as a release. Xink had certainly been generous enough with his own tears, almost to the point where she felt an inkling of that old reflexive irritation; but she'd checked that. There was no point in abusing him. He, however, was going to have to find his own way to come to terms with the Incident.
Praulth had dressed for today. She wore no uniform, though she had considered it; it was, after all, her privilege. Instead, she had picked meticulously through the clothes that had been provided with the rooms. It was quite a wardrobe. Eventually she had settled on a long coat of dark green that was trimmed with leather at the cuffs and collar. She chose a flattering shirt and trousers, accentuating with a knotted scarf of a deep red metallic fabric. She also picked out a pair of gleaming boots, ones that fit her to her knees and served to compliment the narrowness of her legs. She was very pleased with the ensemble. She was determined to wear it from here on out, for all public appearances. When she was remembered, when her portrait was painted and handed down with history, she would be dressed so. It would help seal the memory of her.
She didn't think these details trivial. Certainly they weren't as important as her prime purpose, but she had a clear and concise picture in her mind of the full sweep of her life from this point onward. Her place at the University, once the self-contained goal of her existence, would be in hindsight only an interlude, even if in her declining years she elected to return to Febretree to take up a lofty post among the faculty. It would be nothing too demanding, merely enough to keep her mind active. More of an excuse, in truth, to receive the excited visitations of burgeoning war scholars younger than she was now who would be eager to bask in her—
Merse, who Praulth was keeping furtively in her line of sight at all times, abruptly rose to his feet. In his hand he gripped an old bracelet she recognized as an article he used when he worked the Far Speak magic.
Her heart quickened. She sat up straighter. The ancillary diplomat from Q'ang, who had been keeping up a steady banal patter next to her, went silent, following her gaze.
"Is that—" he started.
Xink was on her other side, standing behind, acting every bit the attentive aide. She felt him edge forward, near enough that she heard his breathing.
Merse stood there a moment, silent, his features beneath the hat's brim hardened in concentration. Then it broke, and the disconnection was almost visible. He jammed the bracelet back into his coat and started up the aisle.
"The outer fringes of the armies have just come within sight of each other," the older, wiry-limbed man announced, not addressing anyone on the dais directly, which annoyed Praulth mildly. Clearly she was the personage of highest rank present.
The minor diplomats broke out into excited chatter. Praulth remained silent, stately, her eyes still on. Merse. She had known from the scouts' reports that the Felk had mobilized, doubtlessly alerted to the Alliance forces by their own Far Speak scouts. The Felk had come to meet the Alliance, without any apparent hesitation.
Dardas, it seemed, wasn't about to shirk from a fight.
This would effectively be the very first battle of this war. As yet, the Felk had ably conquered cities and villages without meeting any special resistance. Even the infamous atrocity at U'delph had been merely a one-sided slaughter.
Premier Cultat was leading the Alliance in the field. Petgrad's respectably sized military was by far the single largest force among the Alliance's array, and so leadership fell naturally to the man most responsible for assembling that Alliance. Cultat knew how this reenactment of the Battle of Torran Flats needed to be conducted. Praulth had seen to it that he was fully versed on the placement of troops, the tactics, every military nuance of that original campaign. If it was carried out properly, Dardas would be lured into a fatally vulnerable position, allowing the Alliance to drive straight through the Felk.
If it was still Dardas leading that army...
"Merse," Praulth said, "approach, if you would."
He had halted at the foot of the aisle. Now Merse lifted his chin to give her a wry look. "What's it you want, Praulth?"
"That's General Praulth," Xink said, storming forward a step, voice cracking off the auditorium's far walls, as the place had been acoustically designed for.
Merse let a subtle—and all the more infuriating for it—smile touch his lips. Praulth recalled the naked contempt he'd had for the students at the University. His view was that they should all be eagerly joining the Alliance. Perhaps he still regarded her as one of those "idlers."
But she would not respond childishly to his attitude. Her position called for a dignified bearing. She had survived the Incident. She would weather this man's opinions.
Praulth gently but pointedly waved Xink back. He was so... so coiled these days. His anger winding him up. It was his frustration that he hadn't been there to defend her. He wanted to assuage that futile anger by finding the culprit who had assaulted her (this was unlikely, the Petgrad police had said) and by protecting and tending to her every moment (this was becoming rather intrusive, but she was determined to let him do what he needed to do).