Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (21 page)

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

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.:

“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 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 bottomfish 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.

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?