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Preparing for war with Scanra was very different from the months leading up to the Immortals War. With the Immortals, it had been pockets of attacks, less than a year of all out fighting, something playing out in the Mortal Realms just as it did in the Realms of the Gods. It was a war of magic, and as difficult as that was to counter, it was something Numair knew, something he could prepare for.
Uniting clans, advancing into Tortall, burning whole villages, leaving refugees, taking prisoners and conscripting them to fight, magic as one of many tools in a war, Numair had less to offer. This was a war of men, and he wouldn't be called upon to negotiate with dragons, cross realms, fight the only person whose skills with magic rivaled his own. It was difficult work, being one of Jon's advisors in a time of conflict, but it was nothing compared to ten years ago.
Still, it had him missing meals, keeping odd hours, and generally lost in his own thoughts, processing the information he obtained from scrying. At least that was his explanation for why he didn't notice that he hadn't seen Lindhall for quite some time. Not in the libraries, not in the halls of the wing of the castle where the teachers lived, not even at meals. It was only because he had a question about the winter activities of the small mammals up north, and Daine was busy tending to one of the King's hurt horses that he went looking for his friend.
There was no answer when he knocked on Lindhall's door, and he wasn't in the menagerie. Numair checked the libraries, where the librarian said he hadn't seen Lindhall in weeks, and even the kitchen, before finding Lindhall in his classroom, tending to one of his water lizards. He must have been absorbed in his work, because he startled at the sound of the door opening, though he smiled when he saw Numair.
"It must be a very important question," Lindhall said, carefully replacing the lid on the tank. “Unless you’re here to see the animals?”
“Not that important,” Numair said, leaning down to peer into the water lizard’s tank. “It could’ve waited but—”
“You couldn’t move on with whatever you’re doing until you had an answer,” Lindhall finished. “I know the feeling.”
Numair smiled, his old teacher knew him well. “I’m trying to find out which birds stick around Scanra during the winter, rather than migrate. If there aren’t any, another animal will do, but a bird would be best. Something that won’t attract too much attention.”
Lindhall didn’t respond right away, and instead carried the tank back to its niche in the wall. “I’m not sure you should be asking me that kind of question, Numair,” he said finally, after he’d replaced the tank. “You may not realize it, but you’ve given away an awful lot about the King’s intelligence efforts in Scanra.”
“Nothing you don’t already know, or couldn’t guess,” Numair replied, a little perplexed by Lindhall’s sudden discomfort.
“But guessing and knowing are two different things. If this information gets out, you’ve put yourself at risk by sharing it, your loyalty could be called into question.”
“Lindhall, be serious,” Numair laughed. “You smuggled slaves out of Carthak under Ozorne’s nose. I think you can keep the King’s plan to have my wife survey Scanra as a bird out of Maggur Rathhausak’s hands.”
“Not everyone knows me as well as you do,” Lindhall said. “If there are some who question my loyalty to Tortall over the country of my birth—”
“But you would never—”
“Obviously not, but suspicions can do as much damage as actions,” Lindhall interjected. “Numair, you have to be careful. You have a life here.”
It was then Numair looked, really looked, at his friend and teacher. Lindhall was no stranger to keeping odd hours, neither of them were, but Numair had never seen the bags under his eyes this pronounced. He looked a bit thinner too, and he had the air of a coiled spring, like he was ready to break apart at any moment. Numair wondered if Lindhall hadn’t been absorbed in his work when he came in, if he’d startled because was generally on edge, waiting for some unknown shoe to drop.
“You have a life here too,” Numair finally said.
“A life that can be moved.”
“Only if you want to move,” Numair countered.
Lindhall smiled sadly at him. “You know as well as I do that whether you stay or leave a country often depends entirely on the rulers.”
“Jon’s not Ozorne.”
“You’re right, King Jonathan isn’t motivated by power, nor by building an empire. But he is deeply concerned for his subjects—”
“Of which you are one.”
“And he wouldn’t hesitate to remove people he considered threats to his subjects,” Lindhall continued, as if he hadn’t heard Numair at all. “I am not so naive in the ways of war to think I can avoid becoming a liability to the realm.”
“Because you’re Scanran?”
Lindhall nodded. “I’ve heard you say more than once that you’d never go back,” Numair said.
“I wouldn’t, not if I have a choice.”
“Then why would you be any danger to Jon?”
“Numair,” Lindhall said, his voice tired.
“You spent too long under Ozorne,” Numair said. “Not every ruler is like him.” Lindhall gave Numair a look, the same one he’d given him when Numair was a boy, and would come bursting into his teacher’s chambers, ready to test out a new idea, propose a new solution to a problem. Narrowed eyes, and a soft smile, inviting Arram to talk through the problem, one or two well-placed questions, letting him discover on his own the flaws in his approach.
“I know the difference, Lindhall,” Numair said, his voice icy.
“I know you do.”
“Jon doesn’t have cages.”
“He doesn’t have Empty Rooms, no. But all rulers have cages, Numair.”
“He wouldn’t put you in one.”
“He wouldn’t put you in one,” Lindhall countered. “You’ve become indispensable to him. For the rest of us, he’d put us where he needed to secure the safety of his kingdom.”
“That’s not why.”
“What?”
“It’s not because I’ve become necessary to him. That’s not why he wouldn’t imprison me. Jon is a fair man. He wouldn’t do that to me, to anyone, not without a trial, not without a good reason.” Lindhall didn’t respond. “You don’t believe me,” Numair said, more as a statement than a question.
“No, I don’t,” Lindhall said sadly. “I want to. And maybe you’re right, maybe it’s too many years under warlords, of one kind or another. There are always ways to make the imprisonment of the unpopular look fair, look just.”
“That’s why you’ve been hiding out?”
Lindhall smiled ruefully. “I figured it was the safest bet.”
Numair sighed. “I wouldn’t have suggested you come if I didn’t think it was safe.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to trust them,” Numair said. “Not right now. But I hope you’ll trust me. Believe me when I say you don’t need to lay low, that no one who matters is looking at you with suspicion. Believe me when I tell you I know what an unjust ruler looks like, and Jon is the furthest thing from that.”
Lindhall was silent for a long moment. “You know,” he said finally. “There aren’t many people left alive that I’ve known as long as I’ve known you. Certainly not any on this side of the Great Inland Sea.”
“And you’re right,” he continued. “I spent many years not trusting anyone. Under Ozorne, before I came to Carthak, I haven’t had many years of practice in trusting others.” Lindhall paused and regarded Numair. “It’s a bit frightening, isn’t it? Putting your trust in another person.”
“Yes,” Numair said.
“Why do it, then?”
“It won’t always feel like that,” Numair said, recalling back to the early days in Tortall, after he’d first come to court, how closed off he was, unwilling to rely on anyone. How over time, people showed him, through great and small actions that they could be counted on. Until he regained the sense that most people could be counted on, the sense he’d lost after Ozorne.
“I do trust you, Arram.”
“I’m glad for that.”
“A wood grouse.”
“What?”
“A bird that doesn’t migrate, that stays in Scanra all winter. She should take the form of a male one if possible though, they usually travel in pairs but isn’t too unusual to see a male alone.”
“Excellent, that will be very helpful,” Numair said, filing it away to tell Daine later. “Look, it’s been awhile since I’ve eaten, and by the looks of you, it’s been awhile for you too, what do you say we go see if the kitchen will take pity on us?”
“Lead the way,” Lindhall said with a smile.