Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (22 page)

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?

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?”

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 looking 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?

Taver shook his head and mane, and whickered a laugh.
:Oh, come now, Alberich, I am not so much as all that—a servant only, nothing more.:

A servant! “As much a servant as—as the Firecat of legend!” he whispered, hardly daring to speak. “As the Guardian of the Gates of Paradise!”

:Exactly so. No more than that.:
Taver bent to touch a soft—and very, very material nose—to Alberich's ear.
:Come, stand—put your hand to Kantor's neck, and look into his eyes as you did mine. And this time, open your heart to him, as you have not yet done. Give up your walls, Alberich of Karse. Take them down, and let him inside.:

He could fight the command of one of Vkandis' Priests—he could no more stand against the same command as given by Taver than he could have fought a whirlwind. He did as he was told.

He looked deeply into those sapphire eyes, and opened his heart. And Kantor stepped gracefully into it, and filled it, and until that moment, he had no notion how empty it had been, nor how lonely he had been.

And as all of the knowledge and understanding and revelations that had come to him in the past few moments settled into place like doves coming to rest on their proper perches for the night, he knew, truly and completely, that there
was
Something above them all, call it Vkandis Sunlord or any other name. He could no more understand that Something than a flea could understand a man—but it
was
there. He would continue to have other doubts, other fears, but that one was gone.

And there was something else, much nearer and homelier, that would also be with him as a
certainty
as rock-solid as the earth beneath him and undoubted as the sky above. No matter what happened, in the next moment, or moon, or year, or lifetime—he and Kantor would never be alone or lonely again.

“Chosen—” he whispered, and buried his face in Kantor's mane.

:Chosen,:
Kantor replied, with all the love that great heart could hold.

And it was—oh, yes—it was more, so much more, than enough.

A
LBERICH heard a sound that once would have prompted curiosity, and now only brought a dull, aching despair. Wagons were coming up the road to the Palace Gates, enough of them that the rumbling noise was audible even from the practice ground outside the salle. He knew what that meant. These days, there were no more fetes and celebrations at the Court that needed fancy foods, wines, and decorations. The burdens these wagons bore were grimmer by far. More grievously wounded folk, soldiers and civilians alike, coming from the battlefields to the south, where the forces of Karse grappled with those of Valdemar. People too badly hurt for their own Healers to tend, who had been sent here, in hopes that the masters at Healer's Collegium could make them whole—or, at least, mend as much as could be mended.

All the fault of the Tedrels . . . the Tedrels, who had been set against Valdemar after all. It had been no rumor that Karse was hiring them, and once the lands lost to the Menmellith Province of Rethwellan were retaken, to be used as the Tedrel base, it had been Valdemar's turn to face them, face Karsite troops and Karsite Sunpriests backing the most ruthless mercenaries this world had ever seen.

All of Valdemar—except himself—was of a single heart and mind in this situation. Everything must be done to defeat Karse. And had the enemy been anyone other than Karse, no doubt he would be feeling the same.