Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor

by Mercedes Lackey

  “In what way ?” one of the others asked, abruptly cutting into his narrative.

  It was the King’s Own, Talamir, not in one of his more elaborate uniforms, but in a set of Whites like everyone else’s. No wonder Alberich hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. Talamir here, and waiting to hear what I know . . . it may be rumor, but they are taking the rumor seriously.

  “Once, they had honor and purpose, and things they would not do. Now,” He shrugged. “Nothing there is, they will not do, should the reward be high. Anything for loot. War they bring against the unarmed, as well as fighting true battles. I have heard—dreadful things.” He had to pause, shaking his head. “With no wives, only women held by the strongest, no families, their ranks then grew but slowly, and difficult, it was, to replace those who fell. So now anyone they take into their ranks, who presents himself—thief, murderer, it matters not, has he a strong arm. And thus, cruelty upon cruelty piles.”

  Dethor and Talamir exchanged a worried look.

  But Alberich wasn’t quite finished. “The greatest change is this. No more seeking the home, they look only for a home. Should any offer a new land in reward, it is said—it is said that there is nothing they would not do.” He gnawed his lower lip, thinking about the cold-blooded killers that Aksel had described, and what they would willingly do for anyone who was so foolish as to offer them a new homeland. His blood ran cold at the very idea. “But this, hearsay only is,” he amended. “None I know has seen them, spoken to them, fought against them nor with them. Should any in Valdemar seek them to hire, warned they should be. It is said, moreover, that no sworn word do they truly hold by but their own, to their own, and they can and have turned against those who hired them.”

  “Someone had better find a way to get that message across to your own people,” Dethor replied grimly. “Because word has reached us that they’re thinking about hiring the Tedrel Companies. And not just one of ’em. All of ’em.”

  Now Alberich went icy cold all over with sudden dread, and was glad he was sitting down. Hiring one or two of the Tedrel Companies, he could just barely see. Aksel was not high enough in the ranks for his warnings to be heeded overmuch on that score. But all of them? There was only one reward that would tempt all of them together. “Madness,” he said flatly. “Surely not—” Surely not even the maddest and most fanatical of priests would hazard all to cast their lot with the Tedrels! That would be insane. As Aksel had described them, having the Tedrels in one’s midst was like playing host to a large pack of wild dogs. So long as they were full-bellied and content, the worst that would happen was that there would be a little damage to small towns here and there, if the scum that now filled out the ranks of the Tedrels grew bored. Perhaps rape, a bit of looting, possibly a few houses burned.

  The “worst” that would happen if they are satisfied . . . rape. Looting. Oh, my poor people. . . . His stomach turned over. He thought about his border villages, and his throat and chest tightened, his gut roiling.

  No worse, perhaps, than the bandits were already doing on the Borders.

  But to face it from bandits, and then receive worse from those beasts—who in turn were hired by the Priests supposed to protect them!

  That would be bad enough, But if the paychests were not as full as promised, or stopped altogether—the pack would turn. . . .

  And fire and the sword would reign, at least until the paychests came again.

  His chest felt too tight; his heart ached at the mere thought.

  If this were true, the only way to hire the whole nation was to promise a homeland. Would Karse offer Menmellith?

  Possibly. Menmellith was no great prize, but would Karse then want the Tedrels as neighbors?

  So it would be Valdemar. The priests hate Valdemar enough to allow anything so long as Valdemar is left gutted, Kingless, and without the Heralds. . . .

  Karse as a new homeland probably would not tempt them; it was too hard a land. They wanted something like that dream that their land had become for them, a place fat and rich, soft and sweet. But they would take out their spleen on Karse if it promised them such a homeland and failed to deliver it into their hands.

  “That’s what we’ve heard,” Dethor said, shrugging. “Anything more you can tell us?”

  Alberich shook his head; what more could he say? Dread was a sickening lump in his belly. “This rumor—I hope it false proves.”

  “Our sources are good,” was all that Talamir would say. The third man, who was not in Whites and did not identify himself, only grunted. He looked about as friendly as Mirilin—which was to say, not at all. There was no doubt in Alberich’s mind that the third man did not trust him.

  And why should he, if even some (if not most) of the Heralds were ambivalent about Alberich?

  :But we aren’t,: Kantor said with some force.

  The warmth that followed that pronouncement made the cold nausea lift a little, and eased some of the churning of his gut. It certainly made him feel less as if he was standing alone, facing a suspicious mob.

  :I know. Thank you.: Knowing that the Companions now accepted him helped a little, but—

  He knew what he wanted to say—that he had given up everything, everything, when he was brought here. That he had thrown his lot in with Valdemar, given his word, and that word was not given lightly. Couldn’t they see that? This unknown man, who watched him from under furrowed brows, didn’t he realize that?

  And he wanted to say that—if his own people had sunk so low as to hire the Tedrels to do their dirty work, then surely even the Sunlord would abandon them. . . .

  But he said none of this, for it would not matter if he did. Instead, he sat stone-faced and silent, and waited for the others to say something.

  Even if it was only to “suggest” that he leave.

  Finally Dethor hissed a little between his teeth. “I don’t s’ppose,” he said carefully, “that you’d know anybody likely to—well—be helpful? Inside Karse, that is? We’d like to know more about these rumors from someone with good, hard facts.”

  That . . . was a little better. Even if it sniffed around the edges of that promise they’d made him, the promise never to ask him to work against his own people.

  But if those who are supposed to lead my people have already betrayed them? How can knowing if that betrayal is true or false be acting against the people?

  “Depend it does,” Alberich replied, just as carefully, “on what it is, by helpful, you mean.”

  “Information,” Talamir said. “Nothing more. And nothing that would hurt Karse. Only what will protect us without hurting your people.”

  Alberich turned Talamir’s words over and over in his mind, as the other three watched him. Because he did know someone who might—just might—be willing to be “helpful.” Of all the people that Alberich knew, Aksel Tarselein was the most likely to be enraged and offended if this tale of hiring the Tedrels was true, and was, because of his own contacts, the most likely to know if it was truth or rumor spread to discomfit the enemies of Karse.

  For Aksel Tarselein, trainer of cadets, had already been a deeply troubled man when Alberich knew him. Someone—another young, highborn officer—had once described him, with a sneer, as “one of the old school,” as if being a man of honor and integrity, whose word was seldom given and always kept, was somehow unfashionable and old-fashioned. And the shifts to which the Son of the Sun had fallen by the time Alberich had been commissioned had left Aksel profoundly disturbed. He was glad, he had confessed to the younger Alberich when the two of them had shared a farewell flask on the night of Alberich’s commission, that he was no longer in a position where he found himself forced to obey orders which went against his conscience. “And it is a harder world today,” he had said sadly, staring at the last few drops in the bottom of his flagon. “You may discover that you have to stop thinking—or stop obeying. I hope that the Sunlord will guide you, young one.”

  He had said no more on the subject, but Alberich knew whic
h path he had taken, though not without qualms, and not without remorse.

  I stopped thinking, at least until Kantor came to me. . . .

  Just as he knew that Aksel had not stopped thinking. That was not Aksel’s way. But as long as Aksel remained a Weaponsmaster to cadets, he would never be given an order that forced him to disobey either. Aksel held fast to his own honor only by making sure he was in a place where he would not have to sacrifice it.

  Which of them had been given the easier path? Was it better to obey and not think, or think and try to ignore and be glad you, personally, didn’t have to disobey ?

  “Possible, it is,” he said, very slowly, “that there is a man. But possible it is not, directly to approach him. Friends he keeps, in the Mercenary Guild. There it is you must go. Speak with you he may, deny you he may.” Alberich shrugged. “I cannot say; his own decision, he must make.”

  “Fair enough. And we’ve got enough friendly contacts with the Guild to ferret out whoever knows him,” Dethor said, nodding agreement. “His name?”

  “Aksel Tarselein. Weaponsmaster to the Sunsguard Cadets.” Once again, Dethor and Talamir exchanged a look, this time a startled one.

  Should he add something from himself, so that Aksel knew who had revealed him?

  :Do you think your name would make Aksel change his mind?: Kantor asked.

  :It might. . . . : The now-familiar sickness rose in him again.

  :And would you want it to?: Kantor continued, :Or would you rather—:

  :I would rather there was no pressure on my old teacher but that of his own thoughts,: Alberich said firmly. Kantor let the matter drop. And to his immense relief, Dethor made no request for some token from Alberich. Nor did the third man—who felt, perhaps, that a message from one already branded as a traitor would do his cause with Aksel no good.

  “Aksel Tarselein.” Dethor and the third man exchanged a look, and the third man grunted. “That’s one name more than we had before. Especially if he decides to talk.”

  “Yes.” Alberich didn’t elaborate; Dethor didn’t pressure him to. The third man got up to leave.

  Dethor poured a tankard full of beer and pushed it across the table to Alberich, as the third man turned at the door, gave Talamir and Dethor a little nod, and walked out. Alberich picked up the tankard and drained half of it in one gulp.

  He felt a great need of it, at that moment, and it did a little, a very little, to settle his unsettled stomach and nerves.

  :It is only a rumor,: Kantor said suddenly. :That is all. No matter that this spy of Sendar’s has convinced everyone that it is more than that. He has no proof. He has only heard stories and a name, for no one he has spoken to has seen the Tedrels or their Captains, or even an agent that may be said to come from them.:

  Relief made Alberich’s hands a little steadier as he put down the tankard. :If anyone will know the truth of the rumor, it will be Aksel,: he replied. :And if it is true, I believe that Aksel will speak.:

  :And in any case, it is out of your hands.:

  “Well, no matter what, Talamir, it’s out of our hands,” Dethor sighed, echoing Kantor’s words. “This is a thing for those with talents you and I don’t have. Nor Alberich either.”

  Alberich regarded him broodingly. “I could. But a pledge you made to me—”

  “And we’ll keep it,” Talamir said with finality. “Though I will admit to you freely, that this is one reason why the Lord Marshal’s man was here. He wanted us to pressure you into crossing the Border again, to spy for Valdemar.”

  Wordlessly, Alberich shook his head.

  Dethor snorted. “Aye, we told him as much, then asked him to his face if he’d really trust you if you agreed. And he had to admit that he wouldn’t, so what’s the point? We know you’re sound as a good apple, but to the likes of him, a man that turns may well turn again. Gods help us, though, I sometimes wonder what we’re to do with you.”

  Alberich eased his dry mouth with another swallow. “What you have done. There is, what else to do, to bring trust where there is none?”

  “Not much. Doubters can’t accuse you of much, here with my eye on you, and keeping you apart from the rest means that nobody’s going to try and make trouble for you. What d’ye think of young Selenay?” An abrupt change of subject, but Alberich answered it quickly enough.

  “Steady, thoughtful, careful, and untried.” He saw the questions in Dethor and Talamir’s eyes, and tried to answer them. “No opposition, has she met. No loss, no pain. No great joys either, no love. With the single eye, she sees now—clearly, in black and white, as young things do. Until she has more wisdom, well, who knows how she will see then? When great events come upon her—then will you see, of what she is made. Not until. But the makings of a king, she has. And she thinks, which, with more than most young things, is not the case.”

  “Told you so,” Dethor said in an aside to Talamir. The King’s Own just shrugged. Dethor turned back to Alberich. “She came up with this bodyguard notion on her own, but I think it’s no bad idea, having you instead of one of the Guard, especially when she’s with Mirilin. Lad in a Guard uniform puts people on edge; fellow in Whites makes ’em wonder if the Heralds have some reason to haul in more than one for a simple Herald’s Court. But a fellow in Grays? Nah, that makes ’em relax. We want someone with her to keep her back covered, without making people nervous that he’s there. People don’t necessarily expect a fellow in Grays to be much of a fighter, and they don’t think of him as a fancier sort of constable. They take you, I’ll be bound, for another Trainee on Internship, maybe another highborn.”

  Alberich smiled slowly, seeing what Dethor was getting at. Talamir only looked strained. “But once the Council finds out, there will be difficulties,” the King’s Own said reluctantly, then shook his head. “Yes, and I admit, it is my responsibility to smooth them out. Well, the easiest way will be by simply not saying anything for now, I suppose. I’ll have a word with Mirilin—”

  :We already have, via Estan, and he won’t be mentioning Alberich’s presence as the Heir’s bodyguard to anyone, not even to other Heralds,: Kantor said promptly, and by the sudden, startled look on Talamir’s face, Taver must have said the same thing at the same moment. Dethor laughed aloud; the word must have reached him, as well.

  Talamir coughed. “Well. Apparently you have far more friends here than I had thought, Alberich. So unless someone from the Council actually sees you at Selenay’s back, and realizes who you are, apparently we’ll keep that much from their attention for a while.” His face grew distant again for a moment, and he added, “Long enough that perhaps by the time the Council realizes just who Selenay’s bodyguard is, there will be far fewer doubts about you.”

  “Occurred to you, had it, that we being managed are?” Alberich asked him, in a moment of stark frankness. “By them?”

  They knew who he meant—the Companions. He half expected Kantor to be annoyed by the statement, but he sensed instead a dry amusement.

  He got a look of startlement, then one of understanding, from both the Heralds. “Oh, always, at least to an extent,” Talamir replied, with the same utter honesty. “And in some cases, that’s all to the good.” His voice took on a different coloring then, a hint of wry tartness. “But let me tell you a bit of home truth, Alberich of Karse—something that I do not tell the children, because they are children and need managing—it is your right and privilege to tell your beloved Companion just where he can shove anything he tells you or asks of you if it goes completely against your better judgment.” He raised an eyebrow. “As even my Taver has found, to his occasional shock and dismay.”

  Dethor whooped with laughter, and applauded. “By the gods, Talamir, good for you! And well said!”

  Now Alberich expected Kantor to be completely offended, but instead, he “heard” an ironic chuckle in his mind. :Tell the King’s Own that it is our right and privilege to do the same with our Chosen, you know.:

  Alberich started to repeat the remark, but T
alamir held up his hand. “Never mind. Taver has said the same as your Kantor, I expect. My point is that we are adults, and although the Companions have certain abilities and information that we, their Heralds, may not—well, the reverse is true as well. You’ve got a mind of your own, and experience that your Companion doesn’t have, and, I presume, sound judgment. Don’t be afraid to use them, and if you feel strongly about something, be prepared to insist you be heard. The Companions don’t know everything. As Taver pointed out to a few of them the other night, they aren’t infallible. They can make mistakes, and advice can go both ways. Herald and Companion are meant to be partners, not superior and servant.”

  “In the beginning for most Trainees, exactly ’cause they are younglings, that isn’t always the case,” Dethor put in. “Sometimes Chosen and Companion are the same age and learn together, but sometimes one’s full grown while the other’s still a child, or just a little older. But in your case, you’re both adults, and you start out with a partnership from the beginning.”

  Talamir nodded emphatically. “We each give, and we each take, and what we do should be the result of cooperation, not dictation. Don’t forget that.”

  “I shall not,” Alberich replied, “But for the moment, Kantor it is, who knows this land and people. Not I.”

  “True enough.” Talamir hefted his tankard and looked at Dethor, who poured him (and, without his asking, Alberich as well) another round. The beer foamed up, leaving a pleasantly bitter aroma in the air.

  Dethor and Talamir exchanged another pregnant glance. Alberich’s neck prickled. Something was still in the air. Talamir was not here only because of the rumors coming out of Karse.

  “Alberich, I’m here for more than one reason. I think that you already have some inkling of this, so I am going to put it in plain language,” Talamir continued, rubbing his thumb along the side of the tankard. “As a fighting commander, I suspect that you have, more than once, had to do what was expedient, rather than what was—”