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

by Mercedes Lackey

  Talamir would have been standing the same guard behind Sendar’s seat, except that he had his own seat on the Council; in this case, his place had been taken by Herald Jadus. Jadus managed to look as if he was no more than an interested bystander, and his guileless expression reinforced that impression. If one didn’t know better—and only a few people did—one might well assume that was the case.

  Jadus was something of a surprise to Alberich. He would have expected the Bard-turned-Herald to be one of the lot remaining behind at the Collegium, not skilled enough in warfare to be of any use in the coming fight. He would never have guessed that Jadus was as grimly determined to strike his own blow against the enemies of Valdemar as any Guardsman, nor suspected that Jadus was a deadly swords-man. His skill with a blade was not something that had come to light until recently, as he had been out on circuit all this time. Dethor had remembered it since he had trained Jadus himself; he was the one who had recommended Jadus as one of Sendar’s bodyguards.

  There was an interesting twist to his talent with a blade; Jadus fought with a light rapier rather than the commoner broadsword, but such a weapon was much more useful in a situation of close combat. Useful, too, within four walls, or any other crowded situation. Dethor had called Jadus in to work with Alberich, and both of them had immediately suggested that Talamir assign Jadus as one of the King’s six personal guards. The more Heralds they had in those positions, the better. Sendar was more likely to listen to a Herald than a Guardsman. Not that the King was “likely” to listen to anyone if their advice went against something he felt strongly about, but a Herald was more likely than anyone else to get him to stop and think before he acted.

  But Jadus was not the only surprise; another of Sendar’s bodyguards was a Healer. In fact, it was the same MindHealer, Crathach, who had mediated the transfer of all of those memories from Alberich to the four spies.

  Crathach was also a wicked bladesman, although he favored a two-handed style with knives instead of longer weapons, and his skill was such that he had been able to teach Alberich a trick or two. He came to Alberich himself to demonstrate his skills, and volunteer his services at something besides Healing. “You don’t want a Healer angry at you,” he’d said, when Alberich questioned him on whether he could bring himself to kill with those knives. “A Healer knows how you’re put together, and what will hurt the most. I’ve been working with the severely wounded ever since all this started—” his eyes had glinted, “—and this Healer is very, very angry at the Tedrels.”

  Alberich often wondered just what had made Crathach, a Healer, into someone who could say that and look Alberich straight in the eyes while doing so. But he of all people understood a wish to keep one’s past private, and unless Crathach volunteered the information, he was not going to ask. He probably hadn’t expected to be made one of the King’s personal bodyguards, but he adapted immediately. And Alberich was not at all unhappy about having someone who was also a Healer serving as a bodyguard. Especially a MindHealer, who had ways of dealing with a King who was reluctant to rest when he needed to.

  It was a convenient assignment, to have the Healer taking the latest of the two night watches, along with one of Sendar’s former squires, knighted just after Alberich had come to the Collegium. The lad had then been sent by his father on some mission or other, and hadn’t come back to Haven until a few moons ago. Alberich had anticipated a certain amount of trouble from that one, but all he’d gotten was respect. Evidently the young buck had gotten some of the arrogance knocked out of him. . . .

  Just as well; any arrogance the young bucks of Valdemar still had was about to get knocked out of all of them, and for some of them, the experience would be fatal. The less arrogance, the better the chance at surviving until all this was over.

  What Sendar and Talamir and the Lord Marshal were doing at this meeting was to give the rest of the Council a thorough briefing on absolutely everything that they had all learned—from spies, FarSeers, ForeSeers, and anyone else whose word they thought was trustworthy.

  The Tedrels were in the process of establishing their final base for attack just across the Border in Karse, and the size of it made Alberich grow cold all over. So far they had done nothing but prepare; it was not yet a campaign, much less a war, and that did not bode well either. This was to be an invasion, and as such, the preparations were being taken with all of the care that decades of detailed planning could insure.

  They had been working toward this moment for—well, years, decades, at least. Alberich had known better than to hope that their focus had diminished over the years. Their shock troops might be a combination of the dregs of the mercenary trade, criminals who sought sanctuary in their ranks, and whatever young men they could recruit with promises of adventure, excitement, and easy money, but the core was the Tedrel nation, whose longing for a new homeland had only strengthened, the longer that they went without a home.

  If anything, the increase had been exponential with the land of Valdemar in their sight. The bitterness of those thrown out of their homeland by their enemies had been distilled by the years. Now it was as much of a weapon as the swords, spears, and arrows in the hands of the army.

  And they had done something very clever this final season; Karse was used to their strategy of making a base from which they could strike into Valdemar, and didn’t think twice about it when, once again, the Tedrel commanders had set about establishing yet another. But this time, with the Karsites lulled into complacency, they had built up their own troops and established a base that could be used equally well to strike at Valdemar or Karse, then made it clear to their erstwhile allies that they did not particularly care if further aid was delivered voluntarily or wrested from the Sunpriests by force. The Sunpriests must have been shocked to discover the monster they themselves had created, sitting on their doorstep, not to be budged, reasoned with, or countered, demanding that it be fed, and fed royally.

  That much, Alberich and the others knew from the spies. And although he could not know this for certain, he was fairly sure that the Karsite treasury had been emptied, literally and completely, into the Tedrel coffers until even the rapacious maw of their army was sated. Shocked and dismayed, utterly undone and perhaps in a panic when they realized the position they had put themselves in, their first thought would be of self-defense. The coffers could be refilled, but if the Tedrels came in force to take what they wanted, they probably wouldn’t stop with taking the gold and silver in the treasury—they would go on to help themselves to the personal treasures of the high-ranking priests . . . at the very least.

  Supplies, the lifeblood of an army, were pouring in. And the means to transport those supplies, just as important, were not lacking either. If there was a cart or a beast in all of Karse that was not in the hands of the Tedrels, it was not for lack of money or effort. Trade had slowed to a crawl as carters, draymen, and teamsters flocked to make a small army of their own in the ranks of the Tedrels. Merchants couldn’t find anyone to carry their goods; farmers were having to transport their own foodstuffs to market. The silver lure held out to recruit these notoriously independent souls was augmented by the guarantee that they would be sacrosanct, that no one could or would force them into the ranks of the soldiery. They would not fight; they would be guarded by fighters. The supply lines would roll, fat and heavy with everything the Tedrels needed. This time they would not plunder the countryside because they had to; they would not need to worry about living off the land.

  Although Sunsguard soldiers did not go into the ranks of the Tedrel forces, there had been movement toward the Border, and now they had formed a line of defense on either side of the Tedrel base, ensuring that the Tedrels could not be flanked, at least on the Karsite side of the Border.

  Brilliant. It was all brilliant. He couldn’t fault their strategy.

  Or their patience. They had waited all this time for their golden opportunity, and they were clearly not going to ruin that opportunity by forgetting that patience n
ow. The Tedrels would move when the Tedrels were ready; not before, and not a candlemark later.

  Talamir and the Lord Marshal were revealing all of this to the Council now. It was new to most of them, but only because they hadn’t been paying attention. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned, over and over again, that the Tedrels were going to keep coming at Valdemar until it fell, or they were destroyed and dispersed.

  Alberich couldn’t fathom it. It was as if the moment that the Tedrels retreated in the fall, the members of the Council forgot they existed and would be back in the spring. True, there were plenty of pressing concerns, but none, to his way of thinking, as the inevitability of the Tedrels making that final push. Perhaps, in the back of their minds, they hoped that eventually the Tedrels would give up and go away. After all, they had never yet won so much as a thumbnail’s worth of Valdemaran land. But if that were so, then all of the things that all of the spies and ForeSeeing Heralds and historians had been telling them had just gone right past them without being believed.

  If they’d been paying as much attention as they should have been to all of the reports that Talamir had given them over the last few moons, they would know most of this. On the other hand, the fact that it was all coming as a horrible surprise was going to work in Sendar’s favor. The Council could—and would, as Talamir and Sendar worked together like a pair of clever shepherd dogs—be stampeded into granting Sendar whatever he wanted.

  One of those things was Alberich—no longer kept back in the shadows, ostensibly no more than a closely watched underling. Sendar wanted Alberich in the thick of things, at his or Selenay’s side, seeing and hearing everything that was most important, most secret. This greater danger would make the members of the Council forget where Alberich came from and remember only the uniform, the quiet work on the seamy underside of Haven, the invaluable help in placing agents in Karse. And presumably, there would be no further objection to Alberich’s presence wherever Sendar wanted him.

  Granting him authority—well, that was another question altogether. Alberich didn’t really need or want overt authority; he had all he could handle covertly.

  But he would get, by virtue of being Selenay’s most visible bodyguard, complete access to every strategy session. No one would think twice about it. If he really saw something important, and knew there was something that needed to be said, it would be said through Selenay, or Talamir, or even Sendar himself.

  Ah, the advantage of being a Mindspeaking Herald. . . .

  :I think that the position of being behind the Powers that Be suits you better, anyway,: Kantor observed.

  :Why? So that no one has to look at my face?: he asked sardonically.

  Kantor pretended to be shocked. :Why, Chosen—was that a joke I just heard?:

  :As you know, I have no sense of humor,: Alberich responded. :Now, hush, I want to see just how hysterical the Council members get when Sendar talks about the leaks of what should have been Council information. And how much of it is feigned.:

  Because he had some suspicions that there were a few—a very few, no more than two or three—members of the Council who were not as tight-lipped as they should have been. He didn’t suspect any of them of sending information to the enemy themselves, but rather, that they gossiped about Council doings to others. They probably thought that their friends and cronies were trustworthy enough—if they actually thought at all, which was doubtful. These highborn Valdemarans seemed to take it as read that none of their friends, or their friends’ friends, could possibly be untrustworthy, and never mind heaps of evidence to the contrary. . . .

  And never mind all of the political infighting that went on between factions.

  That was probably where leaks were happening, and not an overt traitor. Of course, all of this chattering made them feel very important and in the know, and their friends would be feeding them information back so that in their turn, they could impress the rest of the Council members with their knowledge and insight. They thought it was harmless, and in any other situation than the one they all found themselves in now, it would have been. But now, such loose-lipped behavior was nothing like harmless. Even without the Tedrels on the Border, there were other hazards, outside and inside of Valdemar, that could (and probably did) use this information to the detriment of poor, ordinary folk.

  So Alberich was paying very close attention to the reactions of the Councilors, and he wasn’t at all happy with what he saw.

  Lord Gartheser. He was oh! so very concerned, shocked, dismayed, and he was acting, Alberich was certain of it. Gartheser headed up a faction that had been particularly nasty about Alberich’s presence among the Heralds, but Alberich wouldn’t have held a grudge if they hadn’t been so underhanded about their opposition. Still, he’d have given Gartheser the benefit of the doubt—

  Not with that bit of overacting. Gartheser was up to something. Gartheser knew more than he should. And where had he gotten that information?

  :Hmm. Unfortunately, Sendar’s old playfellow Orthallen is in Gartheser’s coterie. . . . : That was Kantor, who actually knew far more about these people than Alberich did, which was saying a great deal. The Companions had their own information tree, which was as flourishing as any gossip vine in the Court, and was far more accurate.

  Alberich suppressed a grimace. That wasn’t good. Lord Orthallen, a few years older than Sendar, had been kind to Sendar when the King was a lonely child in the Court, before he’d been Chosen. Now, Alberich was fairly well certain that the only reason the adolescent Orthallen had been kind to and protective of the grubby little child Sendar had once been was because he’d had an eye to the main chance, even then. But you couldn’t persuade Sendar of that, and as a consequence, as a child, he had made Orthallen into his hero, and as an adult, his close friend and compatriot. Orthallen had extraordinary access to the Royals for someone who wasn’t a Herald. In fact, it was virtually a certain thing that Orthallen was going to get the Council seat soon to be vacated by Lord Tholinar.

  Alberich liked Orthallen even less than Gartheser. Lord Gartheser was just pigheaded and prejudiced and interfering. He wanted things his way, he didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t highborn, and he wasn’t entirely certain even of those jumped-up commoner Heralds. But although he despised Alberich, he didn’t mean any harm. And though he probably had friends who were not at all trustworthy, there was no way yet to prove that to him. To give him the benefit of the doubt, Alberich was fairly certain that if anyone could bring Gartheser proof of his friends’ iniquity, there was no doubt that he would drop them without hesitation.

  Orthallen, on the other hand. . . .

  Well, Alberich had no real evidence against the man, other than the evidence of his feelings. Or perhaps, his Gift. Either way, there was something about Orthallen that put his back up, like a cat scenting a snake. He had no evidence against the man, and nothing other than his instincts to go on, but—

  :But I agree with you. There is something altogether ruthless about my Lord Orthallen. As if he doesn’t care who or what is ruined so long as he comes out with what he wants.:

  Now that was an interesting observation, coming from a Companion. Was this purely Kantor’s feeling, or did he have some other source of information? :What if you hooved fellows conspire to keep Orthallen safely occupied with something else? Do you think you could organize that?:

  :I can try, but I’m not a miracle worker. The most difficult part is that no one seems to see anything wrong with Orthallen but me and thee.: Kantor sounded discouraged, as well he should. :My fellow Companions don’t like him either, but that could be only because he doesn’t really like our Chosen.:

  :Then thee and me will have to do what we can.: Among a thousand other things. . . .

  He pulled his attention back to the Council meeting, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the Council members, after their initial shock, were actually pulling things together. Surprised? No—astonished. He truly hadn’t thought they would bury their difference
s and get straight down to working together, burying feuds and sparring and jockeying for power so quickly—

  But they were! The horseshoe-shaped table buzzed with half a dozen overlapping conversations, as the Councilors dropped their political differences and settled down to the task at hand. Sendar somehow kept track of it all; Selenay just kept track of who was in need of a page, of writing materials, or just another pitcher of drink. As the time candles burned down, Selenay sent more pages for food and drink, while the Council organized and coordinated the resources of their territories, Guilds, crafts, and associations. They were tallying up what could be brought down South immediately, what could be collected in a fortnight or a moon, what could be spared, and how much could be done and still leave just enough left to keep everyone from starving to death over winter, and no more. Because now, finally, they all realized that even if the entire kingdom was left impoverished, that ruthless stripping of resources still had to be done in the face of the enormous threat that the Tedrels posed. Finally, finally, they understood. And at least now that they understood, they were prepared to act, and act swiftly, with no argument. The shock over, they were showing their mettle. Even Lord Gartheser.

  “Better hungry and cold than dead and cold,” said Lady Donrevy grimly. That seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings.

  Not before time, but at least it was in time. Alberich settled his face into a mask of indifference. It was time for him to observe, and nothing more. As the candlemarks passed, the daylight faded, and pages brought and took away laden and empty platters and pitchers, he watched and listened.