"He is no friend of mine," Vahnka said. "And business is business. Of course, it would be convenient if an accident befell him or he were killed resisting arrest so that he could not betray his outside contacts."
"I had already taken that into consideration," Aquint smiled.
"Just one question," Vahnka said. "You are an officer in the Felk army, but you're willing to rob your own fellow soldiers of necessary supplies and sell them to the very forces you're likely to be fighting in the near future. Doesn't that bother you?"
"We won't be taking everything. Just a little here and there. And besides," Aquint stared at Vahnka levelly, "in your own words, 'they're no friends of mine, and business is business'."
PRAULTH (2)
BEING MADLY IN love and being in love for the first time weren't, surprisingly, the distractions one might imagine them to be. In truth, she felt more focused than she had before Xink had appeared in her life. He—through his caring, his passion and compassion, through his simple steady presence—settled her mind and spirit... settled those restless and longing parts of herself she'd not even been aware of before Xink's advent.
Yes ... that and all the fabulous, wonderful, glorious sex they were having! That, too, had settled and centered her.
Over the blur of the past several days so much had changed. And yet she was still ardently pursuing the massive assignment Master Honnis had burdened her with. It was an intellectual challenge she welcomed, yes, but still it was onerous.
However, that her elderly mentor had chosen her made her... proud.
Master Honnis was still receiving current intelligence about the war in the north. The Felk were moving once more, having settled the occupation of Sook.
Honnis hadn't shared with Praulth any details about the source or sources of his information, and she didn't have time to speculate. She had spent the past quarter-lune poring over the battle synopses. She had submerged herself in the study.
She was envied for her talents by her fellow pupils. They saw how deftly she absorbed lessons, grasping the material and adding to it her personal insights, rather than merely making restatements. What most of those average students didn't understand was the effort she put forth.
Praulth didn't simply study surfaces. She virtually assumed the personas of those she studied, even the "personalities" of historical events and locales.
History was not inanimate. Praulth accepted it as a kind of ultra-reality, weighing over the present, influencing, directing, birthing events as surely as women brought forth their generations of children. The past did not die.
If any wished to argue the point, she now had proof beyond her convictions. Dardas. The famed (at least among war scholars) general of the Northland. He lived. Almost impossibly, but it was so.
Praulth of course didn't believe that the two-and-a-half-centuries-dead war commander had
reconstituted himself from moldering meat and bones and was now leading the Felk army in its southward campaign to claim the Isthmus. The dead didn't need to parade about before the living to prove her point that history was immortal.
Dardas was dead. Yes. But his tactics, his unprecedented brilliance on the battlefield, survived him. Weisel. Lord Weisel of the Felk. That was the vessel that was carrying Dardas's ... well, spirit, she supposed, though her rational mind immediately balked at the term.
Praulth had marked Weisel's name. History was occurring now, history that even the ignorant and indifferent would remember. The Felk meant to conquer the Isthmus.
This she knew. They had the means, and they had chosen the proper time for the move. No other state stood strong enough to oppose the Felk. The Northerners had amassed a powerful army and were adding to it with each city they subdued. They were using wizardry, a practice that was changing the face of warfare forever. She had learned of Matokin, a mage. Evidently he had established himself as the ruler of the Felk and had fostered this war.
Master Honnis had wanted to know why the Felk had obliterated U'delph. She had dutifully examined the battle precis. She had reached her conclusions.
U'delph's eradication seemed meant to incite resistance. Not—as at first seemed obvious—to intimidate the Felk's future opponents into surrender.
She had immersed herself in this Lord Weisel, who himself was effectively embodying the long-dead Dardas. Weisel was plainly an exemplary war scholar to know the Northlander general's methods so well. Praulth could only imagine how rewarding it would be to sit and talk with him, for days on end, trading historical insights.
She sighed.
What had occurred at U'delph was certainly deliberate. Atrocities, historically, were often unplanned, happening sometimes despite all efforts to prevent them; but U'delph wasn't like that.
Dardas, in his day, had been known to commit similar acts of annihilation. These always occurred when his enemies were most disorganized, and the effect was almost always to rouse those adversaries into action.
U'delph's annihilation might not necessarily be a demonstration of power. It could be taken for a challenge. A dare. U'delph might have been so ruthlessly destroyed in order to cause outrage, horror... and to impel defiance.
Praulth didn't understand why Weisel might be doing this, but deep within she felt certain of her findings. She was operating on a level of logic so advanced it could contrarily be misunderstood as instinct. Or magic.
She had of course told Master Honnis her conclusions. He agreed. Just as he agreed with her larger assessment that the Felk's ultimate intent was to capture the entire Isthmus. As General Dardas before him, Lord Weisel desired total conquest.
And so eventually the war would come here to the deep south, to Febretree. Perhaps this was why she was able to care so little about neglecting her other studies in favor of this assignment, despite the fact that she was straying dangerously from the path toward academic success and security.
But such deviating was encouraged, her coldly capable mind argued. Iconoclastic thinking was a far surer means of advancement within the University than sticking rigorously to the curriculum. That made her actions and behavior matters of pure logic, which pleased her.
What pleased her more, though, was Xink.
She liked the campus's Blue Annex. The quarters of a sixth-phase Attaché were indeed superior to her old cell, and a palace, when compared to conditions in the dormitories. It was roughly four times the space she'd had before. The floor was finished wood, not stone. (She even recognized the type of wood—blood-ash, a fine wood—and was surprised and amused that she retained any knowledge of timber from her Dral Blidst childhood.) There was a brazier where she heated water for tea—the tallgreen tea, of which Xink seemed to have an unaccountably inexhaustible supply.
The two most important furnishings in the chamber were the desk and the bed.
It was a broad, solid desk, and the chair was upholstered and quite comfortable. The bed was to her
old bunk what... well... being sexually experienced was to being virginal!
She hummed a bright little laugh to herself at the thought. That was something she was having to get used to. Laughter. Also smiling. Lately, when Xink fixed her with that gorgeous smoldering stare of his, she was able to return what she thought was an equally wanton look. She laughed a bit harder now, thinking of their first kiss and how awkward she had been, nearly swooning—not from passion, but from abject terror and uncertainty.
It was incredible to think that before Xink no male had ever touched her in the least lustful way, had ever expressed the most minute carnal interest in her. She did not feel slighted in hindsight by this inattention. Quite simply, she hadn't known what she was missing out on. Whatever normal curiosities she might have experienced in her life had been ground under by her deep-seated social timidity and her overwhelming academic urges. Those had served to effectively bank her hormonal fires for all those years. It had taken Xink to awaken everything in her.