Wartorn Obliteration

PRAULTH (4)

"Thank you, Xink."

"My pleasure, General Praulth."

She accepted the tallgreen tea, served in a delicate sunset pink ceramic cup, properly honeyed and at the very temperature she liked. She accepted Xink's ministrations, accepted his desperate need to care for her. She even accepted his apparent conviction that with enough coddling and nurturing he could undo all her wounds.

The deeper truth was that Praulth's wounds were healing, physically and in every other significant manner. Xink, however, had been damaged as well, and he seemed wholly unable to admit to this.

It was a dilemma, and a dire one, but it was also taking up precious space that she simply couldn't spare right now. Her ultimate purpose was coming to fruition, her day against Dardas. She had a war to consider, one that could permanently change the fabric of the Isthmus. That was where her concentration needed to be.

She sat among the tables that were atop the dais. The auditorium wasn't nearly so crowded and active as the last time she'd been here, but there were enough officials gathered to give the place an engaged atmosphere. Petgrad's Noble Ministry was not present.

The tables were still spread with maps and intelligence reports. Praulth was current on the movements of the Alliance army, which had assembled—and was still accumulating—on a wide prairie south of the fallen city of Trael. This area, she had learned, was called the Pegwithe Plains. The bulk of the forces were in place, though stray units continued to collect.

It might be generous on her part to regard this as the Alliance army. It was, quite literally, a hodgepodge of military companies of vastly unequal training and strength. Worse, these forces had had no time or opportunity to drill together in any manner. They would be tried and tested on their very first venture as a united military entity.

Holding them together was Cultat. And Praulth's plan to utilize the Battle of Torran Flats.

A desperate history being made...

The others here in the auditorium were secondary delegates who had remained in Petgrad and aides to these minor dignitaries. Praulth had brought Xink along in the capacity of her adjutant. He needed to be near her, and she understood that. Actually she felt very understanding toward him lately, a stark reversal from her previous attitude. She wasn't experiencing the hot reblooming of her one-time virginal love for him; rather, it was a calmer, more reasonable appreciation of his evident loyalty to her. He had, after all, stayed at her side despite the petty incivility and contempt with which she'd treated him too often since they had left Febretree.

Now, after all that had happened, Xink's deceptions didn't seem especially relevant. Even Xink working in cahoots with Master Honnis, blatantly manipulating her, didn't bother Praulth overmuch. Maybe Cultat had been correct; maybe manipulation wasn't so awful a crime.

She could certainly see the reasons for Honnis's artifices. Her old mentor had needed to be assured that she would stay entirely focused on the Felk war. Had he approached her openly, she might have hesitated, reluctant to risk the advancement of her academic career at the University. Xink had served as a distraction from her other studies.

Honnis had been right to do it. This war outweighed all other considerations. It occurred to Praulth, as she sipped her tea, that she wanted very much to tell Honnis that.

Merse was here in the auditorium as well. He sat alone, out in the seats, slouched, a brimmed hat on his head pulled low to shadow his weathered features. Praulth sensed that he wasn't asleep; rather, was watching this small assembly atop the dais, watching her in particular. He was there to receive and relay any messages from the Far Speak scouts observing the Felk and accompanying the Alliance forces. It had been nearly two full watches since he'd said anything.

She wondered briefly what Merse thought of her new title, then she dismissed the thought. What did it matter what the cantankerous Petgradite wizard thought? She was pleased with how Xink pronounced it: "General Praulth." Without any hint of irony. With the full respect the title merited.

Her gaze fell to the maps, but she already had every square memorized. The configuration for the Torran Flats gambit was carefully drawn out according to her instructions. From the reports so far received, it appeared the Alliance might just have sufficient numbers to carry this off successfully.

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).

Merse stepped up onto the dais, taking his time, coming to the opposite side of the table where she sat.

"Was the information you received detailed?" she asked, voice level.

He shrugged. "Those are good scouts out there. What exactly do you mean?" She knew that those Far Speak scouts were members of Merse's own clan.

Praulth turned a map around and pushed it across the tabletop. "Could you show where the Felk units are starting to appear?"

Merse paused a moment, then removed his hat and dropped it beside the map. "Give me something to draw with," he said, stooping. Praulth passed him an implement. He sketched quickly and neatly, pushed the sheet back toward her. "There. That's what you want?"

Praulth looked at the advancing Felk array. She stared. She felt her eyes glazing. She felt herself entering that physically languid, mentally dynamic state that she had assumed so often before at the University.

Moments later she blinked her way back to the auditorium. A silence was focused on her. The Q'ang official was turned, watching her. Xink had crept back up beside her. Merse, too, was still standing before her, a frown creasing his leathery face.

"Where did you go?" he asked, quite softly now, and a small impressed smile replaced his frown as she watched.

It wasn't the first time she had startled others with the depth of her concentration. Fellow students at Febretree had told her it was like she was asleep with her eyes opened.

"It is what I do," she said. "It's how I concentrate."

Merse nodded, seeming to regard her anew. He gestured to the map. "What are you looking for?"

She met his eyes. "A signature," she finally said, adding nothing more.

Merse said, "I'll bring you any further communications." He stepped off the dais.

The large municipal building that housed the auditorium was equipped with plumbing and indoor facilities. Xink followed when, later, she went to relieve herself.

"Xink..." she said, squelching a sharply edged barb; finally saying, "I can do this alone."

"I know." He halted there in the corridor outside the auditorium. His long dark hair fell around his face. He looked small, turned in on himself.

Praulth let out a small sigh. "Xink, you've got to come to grips. You can't be present for every single instant of my life from this moment onward. You can't safeguard me, not completely, not forever."

For a brief moment she thought he was going to start weeping, which would have annoyed her. Instead, he drew himself up straighter, took a step toward her. "I know," he repeated. "But what happened to you will never happen again. I swear that." His tone was hard, unyielding. But there was warmth there as well, compassion for her. He did still love her.

Praulth ignored the increasingly insistent pangs from her bladder. Immediately following the Incident it had hurt to urinate; since, however, the discomfort had eased.

"He's coming," she said.

Xink blinked, nonplussed.

"Dardas," she said. "I know it's still him. I feel him." Her lips tightened in a smile. The sketch Merse had made on that map had provided scant clues, just the outer shapes of the advance Felk companies. Yet... she had known. She wondered what old Honnis would say to her barely logical, acutely intuitive judgment.

Praulth turned away, hurrying a bit now, wanting to get back to the auditorium as fast as possible. She would stay there until this was done. He was coming. Dardas the Rapist. And she was ready for him.