With my old gravel-shifting voice I said, “We will win, in the end, Silda, because defeat is unthinkable.” Then, to Drak, I said, “Have you seen your mother?”
“No. Nor anyone else of the family. But they are all right.” He glanced up at Quienyin. “Otherwise we would have heard.”
I grumped at this. But he was right.
“I would like to go after those rasts. But we must consolidate what we have and strengthen our new frontiers. The army will have to be looked at, too.” My face, I think, must have looked its usual ugly self, for Drak lost a little of his fretfulness. “And as for hiring mercenaries—”
“They fought well and earned their hire.”
“Maybe. But I want Vallia to be liberated by Vallians. Is that clear?”
“Why shed our blood when—?”
“Just because it is our blood and the prize is bloo
