Dirk, Herald of Valdemar

Dirk frowned, drumming his fingers on his desk. His primary duties were still circuit-Herald, but with the war claiming more and more of their resources and his wife so very tied up in Haven, he had been finding himself taking on more jobs in Haven itself to free up others to head east. But even with the extra duties, every time the Bell tolled he felt another pang of guilt that he just couldn't lay aside. The Queen, of all people, had taken to sympathizing with him as apparently she'd been in much the same situation during the Tedrel Wars.

Two devastating, full-out wars within a generation of each other. That hadn't happened since before Herald Vanyel's time, if Myste were to be believed and one didn't count the usual skirmishes with Karse.

The bell hadn't rung in moons though, a respite he was desperately grateful for, especially as every time it rang he couldn't help but hold his breath and recite the names he thought it would break him to hear. Griffon. Skif. Neave. Anur. Crista.

His wife's good friends, three of them. His student, one of those three. And the other two were the only other members of his and Kris' year still alive. Every single one was stationed on a near permament basis in the southeast, though at least Crista and Skif were frequently rotated out to either Haven or messenger duty and Griffon was pulled back every winter to plot and regroup. Neave came back every once and a while, but stayed in the keeps more often than not, helping with harvests and refugee settling.

Anur was the only one who never seemed to take a break, aside from one Midwinter visit to his family years ago.

What happened to you, brother? he wondered, careful to keep his thoughts partitioned from Ahrodie. She was flirting with one of the other Companions anyway, she'd given him the heads up to shield more today, but still. He'd made it something of a habit whenever he was thinking of Anur. Ahrodie always seemed eager to brush it aside, urge him forward.

But he didn't want to be urged forward, to forget and ignore what was going on because curse it all, Griffon was right. Something was wrong between them and he couldn't for the life of him remember what, remember where or how things had gone sour. Or if things even had gone sour and if this wasn't just them growing apart, but if Griffon, who knew Anur, who had worked with him and seen him more in these past four years than Dirk had since they finished their Internships, thought something was wrong, he was probably right.

Assuming otherwise wasn't worth the risk.

What if he was the reason Anur hadn't been heard from in anything besides reports – terse, to the point, rather pathetic reports at that – in years? He'd used his clearance to hunt up all of Anur's official reports and more casual informative missives and he couldn't shake the feeling of something being off. Of there being something wrong.

But there was little he could do, here. Not when he didn't have the first idea of what was actually going on, not when his Companion didn't see the point in pursuing the issue with the herd. Having no knowledge of the circumstances made it impossible to write and demand answers, he couldn't justify it. What right did he have to be so nosy, to push his way into Anur's life when he very clearly didn't want him there, or at the least didn't care enough to bring him in?

So he would stay here, and fret, and hope that one day, he'd be able to sit down with his absent brother Herald and find out just where things had gone wrong.

Joss, Healer of Valdemar

"You'll be fine Sara," Joss assured the young woman who was going to replace him in his off the beaten path cottage. She'd only just returned from her own work for the Lord Marshal and he'd taken the chance to snap up his former student; since she'd been in Hardorn for the past five years she was fully within her rights to retire from field work and remain as discrete support when needed.

"I know, Joss," Sara smiled at him, the expression weary as every single one of her moods seemed to be lately. The only reason he was even considering leaving her here alone was because he'd extracted very binding promises from all the surrounding villages to have someone come in and check on her every other day – more frequently as needed of course.

But she'd always loved herb healing, and growing things. Perhaps a few years of peace in the midst of rural Valdemar, garden and forest and all, was just what the Healer ordered.

It had certainly helped him.

"It's quiet here," she closed her eyes and turned towards the sun, some of the weariness falling away and Joss felt his worry ease. When Ancar had taken over, she'd only been in Hardorn a couple of weeks, supposedly an easy mission to get her feet wet, not intended to last longer than a few moons.

But duty had held her there, where a Healer would be in constant agony over all the death and wrongness that had become the every day, and he couldn't regret that. It was what he had taught her to be, after all.

"It is," he agreed.

"Too quiet for you," Sara opened one eye to look at him, smirking slightly, "Found something fun to stick your beak into, old teacher mine?"

"Hmm… perhaps," he replied lightly, "Too soon to tell. But visiting Naomi is always good for a bit of excitement, and I'm curious about how these harsh winters are affecting the south. They could use the extra help west of the lines I'm sure."

"Healers are always welcome," she said darkly and Joss draped an arm over her shoulders, a gesture that would have gotten him bruised ribs when she'd first arrived weeks ago.

"I'll be here a few days longer," Joss said quietly, "Want to finish my stocking efforts."

"And then you'll be off on your adventure," Sara chuckled wearily, "I wish you the best. I've had my fill of them."

The woman, young enough to be his daughter, Trifold Lady what he had done to her when he'd chosen her as his protégé could never be forgiven, turned away from the sun and went inside. But he'd delayed too long as it was; the faint traces of Foresight he'd been afflicted with his whole life were telling him if he wanted in on Naomi's schemes, he needed to be in the south as soon as possible.

And he so very desperately wanted in on Naomi's schemes. Not only were they always entertaining, and always in need of a Healer, but this one involved Karse and wasn't even her idea in the first place. Had he not been dragged in himself, he'd never have believed he'd see the day where blue and crimson worked alongside peaceably and not for a fight alone. Those strange days he'd seen them burying the dead indiscriminately, tending to the injured with no regard for uniform, sharing quarters with nary a qualm he could spot.

This was the chance to see something marvelous, something historical, something new – and he'd be damned if he let that chance slip through his fingers.

Captain Naomi, Valdemaran Guard

Winter was coming to an early end this year, which was damn good to see for once. The season had come early and hard and stayed longer for years now, having a season where the moon after Midwinter wasn't spent in cursed blizzard after blizzard was a nice change. There were probably people out there who didn't even remember that this weather was weird at this point, it'd been so many years.

She wasn't looking forward to the escalation Dinesh said was coming, and he would know.

Drumming her fingers on her desk, Naomi looked over the letters she'd just finished going over; only one or two of them a true social call. All the rest were inquiries – cautiously worded most of the time, none of her old contacts and friends would dare be too blunt – but inquiries nonetheless into the down right bizarre rumors and stories that had been coming out of Karse this whole time. Certainly, she'd had an inside look at the workings of one Sunsguard unit, but she could hardly speak for the nation.

She'd been very careful to avoid any situation where she might have knowledge of the nation. If she had that sort of knowledge, she'd have been obliged to pass it on – as it was, she was treading on the very edge of her willingness to disseminate.

She'd also never been directly asked until now.

Lying on the very top of the stack was a letter bearing the seal of the Lord Marshal – it contained orders, nothing unusual, just an update on how her unit's patrols would be shifting in the spring, when they could expect replacements and the like. But woven into it, as she and some few others would be able to tell, was an order to get some useful knowledge out of Herald Anur regarding the Karsite matter, as his reports had been scarce and empty of any truly useful strategic information.

She wasn't surprised. She wouldn't be surprised at all if the man's first thoughts were in Karsite by now. The Heralds had done something stupid with that one, leaving him adrift, and while he'd be the first Herald she'd known to go native, he'd be far from the first person. At least with him being a Herald she knew that there wouldn't be any harm to Valdemar coming from that conversion.

Swearing under her breath, Naomi gathered up her letters and headed for her quarters. There were a few weeks leave in her name, and she'd be taking a couple of them.

Time for her to get some answers.