Exile's Honor v(-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "I grew up on this—" Myste said, gesturing with her fork to her plate. "We had a loft in the back yard. I find I miss the taste at the Collegium."

  "Hmm. It is good," he agreed. "Not common fare where I come from."

  "Well, here—in the city especially—you make up your pies with whatever you have to eat for supper in the morning, and drop them off at your neighborhood bake shop as you go off to work and pick them up when you return, along with your bread. Most people with small apartments or single rooms don't have a bake oven; in fact, especially in the city, most people only have the hearth fire to stew over and not a proper kitchen at all." Myste didn't seem to want a response; she went back to her dinner, and he followed her example.

  "It is much the same in Karse," he offered, "Save that there is no bake shop, or rather, the baking place is often the inn. And we steam food as often as stew it." He well remembered the smell of the baking rabbit pies in the kitchen of the inn where his mother worked. They'd come out, and woe betide anyone who touched them, each with a particular mark for the family that had left them, and a star cut into the crust of the inn pies. He'd never gotten a quarter pie like this, hot from the oven. He and his mother had been on the bottom of the hierarchy of servants, and were treated accordingly. First were the customers, of course, then the innkeeper, his wife, and children. Then came the cook and the chief stableman, who got whatever intact portions the innkeeper's family left. Then the cook's helpers, the serving girls, the potboys who served the drink. Then the grooms in the stables and the chambermaids. Then, at last, Alberich, his mother, and the wretched little scullery maid and turnspit boy. Which meant that what he got was broken crust, gravy, bits of vegetable. Or anything that was burned, overbaked, or somehow ill-made—too much salt, he recalled that pie only too well. But they got enough to eat, that was the point; once his mother got that job at the inn, scrubbing the floors, they never went hungry. There was always day-old bread and dripping, the fat and juices that came off the roasts and were collected in a drippings pan underneath. There was always oat porridge, plain though that might be, and pease porridge, the latter being such a staple of the common fare and so often called for that there was always a pot of it in the corner of the hearth. Pease porridge was the cheapest foodstuff available at his inn, and they sold a lot of it; when the pot was about half empty, the cook would start a new lot, so that when the first pot was gone the second was ready to serve. All of the inn's servants could help themselves to a bowl of it at any time, even the scullery maid and the boy that sat in the chimney corner and turned the spit in all weathers. The innkeeper was thrifty, but generous with the food, not like some Alberich encountered over the years, who starved their help as well as working them to exhaustion.

  "Ah." Myste stacked her emptied plates to the side with a sigh of satisfaction; Alberich pushed his beside them. "I don't mean you to begin nattering at me at this moment, Alberich. I just meant that when you feel like it, I'd be glad of your addition to the Chronicles. And I don't mind being a listener if all you want to do is talk. Think out loud, maybe. Or just talk to hear Karsite."

  He smiled slightly. "Knowing your unending curiosity, I thank you for your patience."

  "My curiosity has as much as it needs on a regular basis right now," Myste replied. "You know, before Elcarth took me on, I was never satisfied. I wanted to know, not so much what was going on, but why. That was the thing that drove me mad, sometimes. Why had this or that law been made, why were your people such persistent enemies, why—Well, there are always more questions than answers. Now I'm able to find out my whys, more often than not, and more to the point, I'm entitled and encouraged to do so." She smiled, and her lenses glittered. "Maybe that's why I was Chosen; I can't think of any other reason."

  He laughed. "Is that why you were always such a thorn in my side, as a Trainee? That you could not be told to do a thing without wanting the reason for it?"

  She shrugged. "I don't take orders well unless I know why the order is being given. And I'll be the first to admit to you that I'm very lucky and have been unusually favored in that way. Most people can't afford to indulge that particular luxury; they either follow their orders without question, or—well, there are unpleasant consequences for wanting answers." She rubbed her thumb absently against the little "clerk's callus" on the side of the second finger of her right hand, a callus created by hours of pressure from a pen.

  He nodded, wondering suspiciously if she was hinting at his past.

  "The more I'm in the courts, the more I realize that," she continued. "As a clerk, well, I knew why I was doing what I was doing. It was obvious. Pointless, perhaps, but obvious." She glanced up at him, sideways. "You know, you have to be a clerk, I think, before you realize just what a pother people make over nothing. And the sheer amount of ill-will that people seem to think must go down on paper, or die. Dear gods!"

  "What, letters?" he asked.

  "No. People mostly write their own vitriol in letters. We're a literate people, Alberich; that's mandated by the Crown. Just as Karsite children are required to go to the temple for religious instruction, ours are required to get instruction in reading, writing, and figuring. No, I meant legal documents, that's mostly what a clerk handles. At least, my sort of clerk. There are others who do things about money, but I've never had that kind of head for figures. I saw a lot of wills." She sighed. "A lot of wills. And depositions. And the documents involved in lawsuits. Well, since you've been acting as bodyguard to young Selenay, you've seen what happens when something gets as far as the courts!"

  He nodded again. "But it is important to them."

  "Some people have too much leisure, if that's what's important to them," she said sourly. "Wrangling over dead granny's best bedcover, as if the fate of the Kingdom depended on it, when all the while down there in the South—"

  She couldn't finish; she just sat there, shaking her head.

  He thought back about all of the things he had observed while Selenay sat, either in judgment as the principal judge or as an assistant when she was still a Trainee. "I do not understand it either," he said, then added, with a touch of humor, "but then, I never had so many possessions that things took on a great importance to me."

  She burst out laughing at that. "Whereas I have too many, thieving magpie that I am! So I suppose I should understand them! Then again, most of my possessions are books, so I still don't understand why people would get into such a state over a few pence or a set of silver." She looked ever-so-slightly superior.

  "And if it was dead granny's library that was in dispute?" he asked shrewdly, to puncture that superiority.

  She saw it—and bravely took the blow. "There you have me. Dead in the black." She laughed. "Oh, look. The rain's starting to slacken up!"

  He glanced out the window. She was right; the downpour had turned into something lighter, and the lightning had moved off into the far distance. "It could be just a lull," he warned, as she made as if to get up.

  "Could be, but I'll take my chances. I need to get back up the hill; I'm tutoring a couple of Trainees." She did get up then, and he found himself wishing she would stay.

  He stifled an impulse to catch hold of her hand to prevent her leaving, but she seemed to sense something, and turned back toward him.

  "I meant that, about nattering at me, Alberich," she said. "You know, I don't put personal things in the Chronicles. Not unless they're reasons for something happening, and it would have to be a pretty important something. And Alberich?"

  "Yes?" Something had passed—was passing—between them. Something he didn't recognize and didn't understand. She stared at him; he sensed her eyes behind those lenses, oddly intent.

  "You might try talking to Geri as well. After all, that's what he's there for, isn't it?" She had an oddly wry smile on her face. "Well, all things considered, that's part of his job, I'd think—to be talked at."

  And with that remarkable statement, she was gone.

  He sat there for some tim
e, in the half-dark, wondering why this conversation seemed to have—well—a feeling of importance about it.

  :Perhaps because it's another Herald?: Kantor asked.

  He hadn't ever gotten such an odd feeling from anyone else, not even Talamir. :No, it's not just that. She's not an Empath, is she?:

  :Not so far as I know,: his Companion replied thoughtfully. :But she does have one rather odd little Gift. She doesn't have to cast the Truth Spell to know if someone is telling the truth, so long as she's in close proximity to them. It's why she's in the city courts, in fact.:

  Interesting. Perhaps that was why she seemed to be able to get the people to tell her so much. Perhaps that was why she was so focused on needing to know the why of things. If you always knew that something was true or false, maybe your focus shifted from finding out the truth, to finding out the reasons behind it.

  If you knew that something was true, maybe that impelled you to talk to others, as well as listen to them.

  :Am I needed up the hill?: he asked. Kantor would know; the Companions always seemed to be more-or-less in contact with one another.

  Kantor's reply was immediate. :No. And I've no objection to staying here in this nice, dry stable if you have something you need to do. Shall I tell them you're going to be down here a while?:

  :Please do.: Myste might not be the right person to talk to about some of the things that were troubling him, but she was right about one thing. Gerichen was, and if he couldn't take counsel with one of Vkandis' own, who could he speak with? :Tell them —:

  He hesitated. :If anyone wants to know, tell them I'm going to visit a friend.:

  «»

  The Temple of the Lord of Light in Haven was a small one, situated between a saddlery and a chandler. Alberich thought the chandler a particularly appropriate neighbor, all things considered. Candles—next to the Temple of the Light? He wondered if the chandler knew.

  He'd gone back to the secret room and donned the garb of one of his more-respectable personae, in no small part because that persona was possessed of a raincape, an article of clothing that Herald Alberich had forgotten to bring with him this evening. Besides, it wouldn't hurt for Lysander Fleet to be seen here. It was one more layer in the persona.

  The duties of a Sunpriest began at sunrise and ended at sunset, but Geri would be accessible for another couple of marks—

  Candlemarks, he reminded himself. He had to start thinking in Valdemaran terms, or he would never get the hang of this confounded illogical tongue....

  The Temple itself, though modest in size, did not skimp on illumination. In fact, it showed itself to be a most hospitable neighbor; at the gates of the forecourt, directly under the two large oil torches, were benches that were, in nearly every kind of weather but rain or snow, occupied by one or more of the neighbors taking advantage of the "free" lighting to read by. The forecourt was illuminated by six more torches, and there were benches beneath them as well, although normally only a member of the temple congregation was likely to venture in there to read. Or socialize; Henrick encouraged people to feel as if the temple was an extension of their household, and there were plenty who lived tightly packed into a couple of rooms with their entire family who were happy to use the space in good weather. The forecourt was a good place for meeting friends, taking very small children to play, or just to get away from the rest of one's family.

  They weren't uncomfortable benches either; of wood rather than stone (though wooden benches would have been more in keeping with Karsite custom anyway) and constructed with a subtle curve that welcomed a sitter. They glistened wetly in the rain, like great, sleek river beasts looming under the torches that had been extinguished by the first of the downpour. With the torches out, the only illumination came from two lamps on either side of the door of the temple itself. That wasn't a lot, and Alberich cursed the invisible bumps and cobbles that made for unsteady and slightly slippery footing.

  He pulled open the wooden door and slipped quietly inside, trying not to disturb anyone who might be there. But the place was empty, holding nothing more but the Presence Flame on the altar, and the sharp scent of the oils used to polish the wooden interior. The aroma sent a shiver and a pang of homesickness over him. All Temples of Vkandis had this scent, since (except for the Great Temple in Throne City), all Temples of Vkandis were made of wood. Polishing some of that wood had been one of his tasks as a child....

  Not that his old priest had any notion of taking him in as a novice. It was only too clear from the very beginning that Alberich had no vocation, and at any rate, he would not have lasted five marks in the cutthroat game of politics that most Sunpriests played.

  But the scent brought back memories of his childhood, pleasant ones, in fact, which would have surprised people had they known it.

  Well—not his four agents. Thanks to his memories, they now knew what a Sunpriest should be like. A little stern, perhaps, but not unforgiving; a truly upright person.

  Geri came in after Alberich let the door fall closed again, and it did so with a hollow thud. The priest—for Gerichen was a full Sunpriest now, just as Alberich was a full Herald—peered toward the shadows enshrouding the door, and made out at least the basic form enshrouded by a rain-cape. "What can I do for you, my s—" Geri began, as Alberich threw back the hood of his cape and stepped forward so that Geri could see who it was.

  "Don't call me your son, Geri," he admonished in Karsite, "You're nowhere near old enough to be my father."

  "Keep coming at me out of the dark like that, and my hair will soon be white enough to pass for your father," Geri replied. "Of all people, you were the last I would have expected to see tonight."

  "A mutual friend suggested that I don't come visit nearly enough." Alberich felt himself relaxing in the familiar surroundings that said safe haven to his younger self, no matter what had happened to him later at the hands of Sunpriests.

  "Ah?" Geri raised an eyebrow, and then a hand. "Well, in that case, since this is a social call, shall we take this to my quarters?"

  "Lead on." Alberich came up the aisle toward the altar. The sanctuary, the entire temple in fact, was a harmonious construction of carved and shaped wood, from the vaulted roof to the parquetry floor. The bench pews were finished with finials carved in the shape of a torch flame, and the Sun-In-Glory was inlaid in very subtle parquetry behind the altar. The several woods used to create it were of shades so near in color that you had to look for the pattern, and know what you were looking for, in order to see it. More patterns, geometric this time, were inlaid in the backs of the bench pews, in the floor, in the altar itself—and these were anything but subtle. Every color of wood possible had been used here, and Alberich reckoned that the artisan in question was either now a very wealthy man, or else was a devoted member of the congregation doing it for the glory of the One God, for it was quality work, and wouldn't have come cheaply.

  Geri led him in past the altar and the door behind the altar itself. This was a kind of robing room, with vestments hung up all over the walls. A door in the opposite wall led to the priests' quarters.

  "Here," Geri said, motioning him into a tiny kitchen. "It's warmer in here than anyplace else. Have a seat; Henrick's asleep, but don't worry about waking him. He could sleep through a war and a tempest combined. Do you want anything to drink? Beer? Tea?"

  "Tea, please," Alberich replied, and watched with interest as Geri moved efficiently about the tiny kitchen, heating water in the pot over the hearth and getting mugs for both of them. "I don't know why I haven't come here before, instead of making you come up the hill."

  He said that, because the kitchen smelled right. Those were Karsite spices he could taste faintly in the air, and a uniquely Karsite black tea that was steeping in that kettle. There were sausages hanging up in the corner of the hearth—both for further smoking and because the smoke kept insects away—sausages Alberich would bet tasted like the ones from the inn where he'd grown up.

  "So what is on your mind?" G
eri asked.

  "A great many things," Alberich replied, now fully relaxed, with Geri's good tea on his tongue. "Tell something, though. What do you think about Myste?"

  "I like her, but she's deceptive. I don't mean that she lies, I mean that her appearance is deceiving. She looks and sounds harmless, but she's a hunter," Geri said instantly. "She won't let anything stand in her way once she's on a scent. Though I'm not sure what quarry she's stalking. Probably a lot of things, one of them being answers."

  "Ah, but to what questions?" Alberich replied.

  "She's stalking those, too. Why do you ask?" Geri responded curiously.

  "I'm not sure. Now that I'm not having to browbeat her into training properly, and she's a full Herald and Elcarth's Second, we're peers, so we're no longer in conflict with one another; she intrigues me, I suppose. It must be that instinct, one hunter recognizing another. She's the one who sent me here tonight, in fact." He took a sip of tea and savored the flavor. It was the right flavor, the one from his childhood although the flavor from his childhood was a diluted version of this. "I'm hunting answers myself."