Exile's Honor v(-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "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 Talamir 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—"

  "Ideal?" Alberich suggested. "An idealist, I never was."

  :Liar,: Kantor objected mildly. :Who was it, agonizing over the fate of the border villages just now? Who is it that values honor above everything else?:

  :Hush: He flexed his shoulder muscles; they felt tense. Something was coming; he was just beginning to make out the shape of it, and he wasn't certain he was going to like it. "You have a thought."

  "More than one. Actually, I have—we have—a job that needs doing. It's something I used to do, before I got too crippled up," Dethor said, with just a hint of... regret? Bitterness, that he was no longer what he had been? "I don't know that you'd have the stomach for it—but I've got to tell you, Alberich, for all your skill you're the last person I'd have looked to for this, except for one thing. Taver trusts you. He thinks you can do this, so Talamir says."

  "Taver said to ask you," Talamir added, and sighed, his brow furrowed with concern and uncertainty.

  :Taver might have made a suggestion, but Talamir is not completely certain how good an idea it is,: Kantor put it.

  Well, that was clear enough.

  Talamir cleared his throat awkwardly. "You saw the Lord Marshal's man—you know that there are such things as—agents. Well, we Heralds have them as well—and we need another."

  He nodded warily, but might have prevaricated, except that in that unguarded instant, Kantor simply edged into his mind and showed him what it was that Dethor and Talamir wanted him to do.

  "Agent" was too small a word to encompass the task.

  In fact, Alberich was more uniquely suited to the job than even Dethor had been, because of his foreign origin. There were places where Dethor would always stand out—because Dethor was nobly-born for all that he pretended he was common. What you'd been born and bred to was difficult to hide, especially when you were under stress. But Alberich was as common as clay, and used to moving in the lowest of circles.

  Under stress, he slipped into that world as easily as a bottom-fish slipping into the muddy river bottom.

  Mostly, Dethor had collected information—in the Court and out of it, from the servants' common room in the Palace, to the vilest alleys near Exile's Gate, to the scented rooms where courtiers fenced with words.

  Mostly—But a time or two, Dethor had done more than collect intelligence and pass it on to Talamir. A so-called "agent" who was also a Herald had an extraordinary degree of freedom to act as he saw fit, and once, Dethor had used his knowledge of traps to cause a single fatal "accident."

  And he had agonized over that murder, for murder it was, and never mind that the man had been the hidden heart of a vile trade and no one had been or would be able to bring him to justice. Dethor had murdered and knew it, and still agonized over it.

  :As you would. As you would act, if there was no other way, and you would be decisive about it.:

  Yes, he would, on both counts. But although he would regret murder, for he hated killing, he would not allow such a thing to
ride him with guilt afterward. He felt his pulse throbbing in the hollow of his throat, and his collar felt too tight. Yes, he would. Some things had to be done—and was it better to stain innocent hands with blood, or add one more stain to the sleeve of one already steeped in it?

  The King could have "agents" like the Lord Marshal had, men who would take their orders and carry them out, and leave the question of whether the orders were morally justified to someone else. The King did not want that. He wanted a Herald; he wanted someone who did not simply take orders. He wanted someone who would think—weigh—and act. And agonize over it afterwards perhaps... because there would be that necessary question when it was all over.

  But it had to be a particular kind of Herald, and such folk did not emerge from among the children—children with their shining certainty of right and wrong—that came with their Companions to fill the rooms of the Collegium every year. He would not besmirch those pure hearts, would not twist them into something that they were not.

  It took a Herald like Dethor, like Alberich, who was Chosen as an adult, full-grown, who knew about moral ambiguities and difficult choices. Like Dethor—who had himself been one of the Lord Marshal's agents, before he was Chosen. Like Dethor's master, the Weaponsmaster before him, who had grown up a child of poverty, seen the evils of the world very young, wiser than his years, though his parents had sheltered him from what they could.

  No such man (or woman, though perhaps it would have been harder for a woman) had come to Dethor and Talamir until now, and they were not altogether certain that Alberich was the right material for this task. But he was what they had... and they were in terrible need of some man for the job. Talamir was altogether too recognizable and too desperately needed to have the time for such covert walkings, and as for Dethor, who could barely hobble to the Collegium for a Council meeting or a meal now and again—well.

  All this poured into his mind as the other two sat quietly, waiting for him to assimilate it all. Did they know what Kantor was showing him?

  :Of course they know. It is our way. I can show you in moments, what would take them days to explain.:

  Ah. Expedience... so the Companions knew it, too. Somehow that made him feel more akin to Kantor, not less.

  He took a deep breath, and regarded both of them with somber eyes.

  "It is much of me, that you ask," he said slowly. "It is surprised, I am. When I have here been—how long?"

  "Conscious or unconscious?" Dethor retorted and shrugged. "You've been a real part of things for maybe a fortnight. And I would never in a hundred thousand years think to trust you with this—except for Taver."

  :Why Taver?: he asked Kantor silently. :Why, if Companions are as fallible as any other?:

  :Because Taver can make mistakes, but never that kind of mistake. Never, ever, a mistake in judging a person's character, his heart, and soul,: came the reply—and then he got the sensation that Kantor was conferring with someone else.

  Talamir and Dethor watched him closely, weighing his least expression, just as Kantor added, :Come outside, if you trust me. There is something more you need to have that Taver wishes to share with you. And not just for making this decision.:

  There were so many overtones to that deceptively simple statement that it was Alberich's turn to start with surprise. There was more than a hint that this was something as important as anything that anyone had ever told him in all of his life—something life-shatteringly important. And a subtle shading that this was something Taver had never shared with any other Herald.

  Not even Talamir. Not even Talamir.

  Suddenly, he had to know what this thing was. "Rude, I do not wish to be," he said abruptly. "But think on this—with no eyes on me—I must, for a little." He stood up even as he said this, and the other two Heralds watched him measuringly, but with a leavening of understanding.

  "You don't have to give us an answer right away," Talamir said, as if making up his own mind about it. "But if you would consider it—"

  "Tedrels—and now this—" Alberich shook his head. "I must think alone. But consider it, with all seriousness, I will. And—I will answer you soon." He did not define "soon."

  The other two remained in their seats as he stalked off, head swirling dizzily with a dozen contradictory thoughts.

  He wanted to go back to Karse. The very notion of the Tedrels being near there made his skin crawl. He wanted to hide here, and never hear of Karse again. He didn't want this new job that Talamir and Dethor had suggested, and yet, if he didn't take it, the tasks would be done, but by men who left their thinking and their morality in the hands of others, and merely followed orders... and never cared what the repercussions would be, never wondered if they had done the right thing, never thought at all. The bare idea was repugnant.

  And he wanted to see just what this secret that the Companion Taver held could be. And how could it possibly, possibly, have any relevance to him?

  Taver was waiting outside, just out of sight of the windows of Dethor's sitting room, with Kantor beside him. The sun was setting, and the air lay thick and sweet and still among the trees around the salle—but there was a hint of the bitterness of dying leaves in the sweetness, and the poignant suggestion of autumn coming soon, soon.

  :Thank you for coming,: Taver said gravely, directly into Alberich's mind, startling him. Taver's mind-voice was distinctive; rich and deep, with a little breath of echo to it. There was a certainty and a stillness to it, as if Taver was a great tree, with his head in the clouds and his roots reaching down to the bedrock. And powerful, without ever making Alberich feel the power as anything other than potential.

  "You are welcome," Alberich replied awkwardly, pulse hammering in his throat, feeling as if he was the one being granted the favor. This was strange. This was very strange. Perhaps the strangest thing that had happened to him since he had arrived here. That odd thing that they called his Gift fluttered in the back of his soul with something that was not—quite—warning.

  :I think—I hope—that what I have to show you will make many things clearer for you,: Taver said, with infinite gentleness. :Please, come and place one hand upon my neck and look into my eyes.:

  Puzzled, Alberich did as he was told. He touched the electric softness of Taver's neck—looked into living blue—

  And paradise engulfed him, as the heavens opened up and spilled out glory.

  «»

  And when he came to himself again, he was lying on the grass, staring at the hooves of the two Companions—silver hooves, why didn't I notice that before?—with a mind so full it felt as if it couldn't possibly fit in the narrow confines of his head.

  Mortal men should not look into heaven. If they do, they should not be surprised when all they can remember is that they were there, for one brief, radiant moment. He certainly was not.

  But that moment had given him something he had needed, and had not known he needed, until the need was not there anymore.

  He sat up slowly and felt the back of his skull gingerly. But the lump he expected to encounter, and the headache he anticipated, were not there.

  :I took your body, and caused you to lie down, rather than fall down, Alberich,: Taver said, as Kantor whuffed at his ear. :I knew what would happen, and it was no thought of mine that you take hurt from it.:

  Alberich stared at the Companion—who was more, so much more than he appeared that it made him dizzy even to nibble at the edges of the thought. "You've never done this to Talamir?"

  :Talamir never required it. He is of Valdemar, blood and bone. You—were floundering, drowning, without a foundation. I think you were not even aware of it, except that you sought for it desperately, without knowing what you sought for. Have I given you what you needed?:

  He had been looking, and yes, desperately—Taver was right. He thought that he'd been thinking, but he'd really been cluttering up his head with the minutiae of his new life here so that he didn't have to think about anything deeper. But if it came to that, he'd been looki
ng for that foundation all his life. He'd tried to make his honor into a place to stand, but honor needed something to be based in.

  :Ah.: There was contentment in that thought. :Good.:

  Good? Oh, this was so much more than good. He had been drowning, with no land in sight. Yet, suddenly, Taver had put firm ground beneath his feet. Uncertainty that had been with him for so long it had become an uneasy part of him had been dispelled, popped like a bubble, exploded like the inflated bladder that it was. The monster in the closet was gone. And something so much better had taken its place....

  Taver nodded his graceful head. :Alberich, will you trust me again?:

  Alberich blinked at such nonsense. Trust him? Trust him? Trust to so pure a spirit—a being so near to the divine that he could scarcely believe there was no glow of holiness about him? Trust a being that he should, by all rights, be worshiping?