Exile's Honor v(-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  "We won't eat or drink anything we haven't brought with us," they told him, before he even asked. "And we won't eat or drink at the same time. That way even if someone's somehow managed to get to our grub, one of us will be able to see that something's wrong."

  He was quite satisfied with their progress when he dismissed them at the end of the first day. The bones were there of a good set of three pairs of bodyguards and a first-class set of battle guards. Even Selenay was impressed, and had worked as hard as they did, in a role that did not come naturally to her—that of hiding behind others and allowing someone else to take care of her.

  Lotte was the last to leave, and she helped him to clean up the salle before she did. As the door closed behind her, he sat down on a bench in the salle, suddenly feeling exhausted. It had been a long, long day.

  The salle was silent, except for the sounds he made himself. The last blue light of dusk came in through the clerestory windows up above and reflected off the mirrors behind him. He unbuckled the straps of his armor with fingers that ached from holding tightly to sword and dagger, and winced at the occasional bruise.

  Training the battlefield guards—ah, that would be another question. He'd thought long and hard about it, and had decided to go with a mix of half Heralds, and half Guardsmen, and had given the list to Talamir last night.

  He would head up the group around Selenay, and Talamir would be the commander of Sendar's group. The most experienced fighters he chose for Sendar's guards, because on the battlefield, the Tedrels that came after Sendar would be going in for the kill. The ones after Selenay would be handicapped as they would be trying to capture, not kill, so they would hold back somewhat. His people would have no such compunction against them.

  And he rather expected that Selenay, once she saw fighting, would be eager to stay out of it. Not that he doubted her courage....

  But she was a young and sensitive person, and battlefields were horrors. He was sickened by them, and he was hardened to the death and carnage. Once she got her first taste of real fighting, she should be perfectly willing to stay at the rear of the battle lines with the commanders.

  Alberich was not as sanguine about keeping Sendar out of the thick of the fighting.

  But then, again, that was not his job. It was Talamir's, and if the King's Own couldn't manage it, no one could. Certainly not Alberich, the foreigner, for to some, perhaps unconsciously even to the King, that was an issue. No matter how people felt about him consciously, somewhere down deep inside, the moment he opened his mouth—

  :Perhaps if you worked on your grammar,: Kantor suggested.

  :Indeed. In my infinite leisure time,: he retorted as he pulled off the armor he'd worn to protect himself. He had been the "assassin" for all of this practice, and as such, had worked harder than all of them combined. He was in good condition, as good as he'd ever been, but—ah, it had been a hard day, as well as a long one.

  At least he'd been too busy to think, too busy to worry.

  Today he had neglected all of the Trainees, leaving poor Dethor and a couple of the older Trainees to conduct lessons themselves. Tomorrow he would have to do the same.

  And the day after, and the day after that—

  He sagged down on the bench, suddenly, with an overpowering sense of guilt. He was supposed to be Dethor's Second, to take the burden of all of this off of the old man. :Ah, Kantor, what am I going to do?: he asked plaintively. :I can't be in two places at once—:

  :And if you were not here, who would be teaching the Trainees? And who would have seen to it that Selenay had bodyguards? And who would be drilling the King and Heir's battlefield escorts?: Kantor replied. Someone else, of course. Dethor, and someone else. Someone who wouldn't have Alberich's experience.

  Someone else—if he could figure out who that someone else might have been, maybe he could recruit him (her?) to train the Trainees.

  :This last lot of Trainees won't see fighting,: he said, after a moment. :We've put everyone who is even remotely ready into Whites by now, but there're still the ones that are a year away from becoming full Heralds. There must be a dozen of them, and I've personally taught all of them from the time they came in as Trainees; I can put them to teaching the younglings, while Dethor supervises.:

  :Good answer,: Kantor approved.

  :And I can see to it that Dethor stays here, no matter how much he wants to go South with the full army,: he decided, clenching his jaw.: He'll fight me on it, but if the King orders him to stay, then no matter what happens to me, there will still be a Weaponsmaster at the Collegium.:

  :He won't like that, but it's a sensible course of action:. Kantor sighed. Mind, all he has to do is try one night in a tent to know that he'd only be a handicap and a liability. One night spent in something other than a warm bed would leave him a cripple.:

  By that, Alberich knew that Kantor and the other Companions were already plotting ways to get Dethor to make the experiment. Quietly, of course. Without anyone else knowing, of course. There was no point in embarrassing the old man.

  :Or hurting his feelings.:

  :Good answer,: Alberich replied, and levered his own stiff, sore body up off the bench. A hot soak, something to eat, and then— :Do you think I'd be allowed to sit in on any strategy sessions?: he asked. Perhaps he wasn't a great general, but there was only one way to get that expertise, and that was to watch an expert in the craft of war.

  :Just slip in and stay in the background, and we'll see to it that no one notices you,: Kantor replied.

  Well! That was interesting.

  And he'd better take advantage of it.

  He limped toward the door to his shared quarters. It was going to be a long night.

  The first of many, he suspected.

  :The first of many,: Kantor agreed. :But it won't be alone, Chosen. Never alone.:

  «»

  Talamir clenched his jaw and told himself that it wasn't wise to contemplate strangling his King.

  He sat, rather stiffly, in the armchair that Sendar had nodded him toward. He knew that chair of old. It was seductively comfortable, and it was supposed to make him relax. He wasn't going to allow it to.

  And he wasn't going to strangle his King. "Sendar," he said instead, "I am fully aware that you are an accomplished King and leader, and under most circumstances you are perfectly able to defend yourself, but may I be bold and point out to you that you can neither remain awake from now until this war is over, nor can you do everything that you refuse to delegate, even though there are plenty of your humble servants who are perishing for something constructive to do. Therefore you can resign yourself to the fact that you will have to sleep, now and again and will require bodyguards while you do so, and you will have to learn how to delegate." He took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable reaction.

  The King growled under his breath; something inaudible, but it sounded unflattering.

  "Furthermore," Talamir persisted, "if you intend to persuade your daughter to put up with her bodyguards, you are going to have to set her a good example."

  "That," Sendar said, clearly and distinctly, "is blackmail."

  "The blackest," Talamir agreed. "It's also the truth."

  He neglected to tell the King that he had pointed out the converse to his Heir. If each of them thought that the good example she (or he) was setting was the reason for the other behaving in a sensible fashion, it would make everyone's job much easier.

  Although Sendar looked sullenly at him (recalling to Talamir's mind the rebellious adolescent that he'd been as a Trainee), he nodded. "All right. I'll accept the bodyguards. But I want to train with them," he said stubbornly.

  "I don't think you're going to have a choice in the matter. I believe Alberich was going to insist on it." Talamir had the satisfaction of seeing surprise on the King's face. "He's a very thorough fellow, is Alberich. He realized immediately that having a bodyguard doesn't do you a great deal of good if someone attacks you, and you don't know what to do but they do.
The wrong move could put you in as much danger as if you didn't have them at all."

  "Selenay—" Sendar began, and was interrupted by his daughter walking into the room.

  "Selenay has been training with her bodyguards," she said, flinging herself down into a chair with a groan and a wince. Talamir noticed that her hair was wet. She must have just come from the bathing room. "Six of them! And the so-gentle Alberich promises that it's going to get harder from here. I have, in the course of the afternoon, been thrown to the ground, thrown onto Caryo's back, hauled about like a sack of wheat, and taught how to dive for all manner of cover. Not to mention done just a trifle of fighting practice myself. I'm quite looking forward to facing the Tedrels; they can't be worse than this."

  Talamir decided not to disabuse her of that notion. He just caught Sendar's eye and nodded. Sendar grimaced.

  "Well, I'll be doing the same tomorrow," the King said, to Talamir's pleasure. "Though how I'm to squeeze more hours into the day, I do not know."

  "I've already told you, and done so repeatedly. By putting the Council meetings and any other business that is not directly concerned with the war into the hands of your Seneschal," Talamir told him, with a little heat, because he had been advising this very move for months now. "That is what he is there for. You can't be two places at once, and if we don't win this thing, there won't be a Valdemar for you to reign over! Your Seneschal is competent, unflappable, and far better at obfuscation than you are. If it's something he can't do, he is supremely good at stalling things until you have the leisure to deal with it, and what is more, he knows to a nicety what he can and cannot do. Delegate, Sendar! How many times do I have to repeat that?"

  Sendar shook his head. "I don't—" he began, then shrugged. "I will. But—"

  "And don't tell me that you don't like it," Talamir snapped, deciding to show his King and friend the edge of his anger. After all, Sendar wasn't the only person in the Kingdom who was doing things he didn't "like."

  "I won't," Sendar replied, in a way that told Talamir that this was exactly what he had been going to say. "What else do you want me to put on my plate?"

  "A speech. You're going to have to tell the people—of Haven, at least—what's coming. And I've never been the speechmaker that you are." That was certainly something that needed doing that only Sendar could handle. "I can't write it, and I certainly can't deliver it."

  "A speech." Sendar sighed. "Yes, that will have to be me. Selenay, I advise you that when you take the throne, find someone else to write the speeches for you."

  "I think not," she replied, so somberly that both Talamir and her father shot a look at her. "Speeches aren't just something that we deliver, as if we were mere actors. They have to come from our hearts, father, and there has to be truth in them. If they don't resonate from inside us, and they don't have truth behind them, how can we ever expect people to believe in us and what we say?"

  They both focused on her at once. It wasn't so much with astonishment as—unanticipated pleasure. She sounded like an adult. She was an adult. And she sounded like someone who had learned all the right lessons from her father.

  She returned their looks gravely. "Platitudes might satisfy for a short time, father—but soon or late, the people will realize they are being fed form without substance. What I tell them must be the truth, and I must believe it, and I must hold to it. That is what you have taught me. I have learned far more from you than that, but that is one of the important things you have taught me by your example."

  He nodded, and so did Talamir. :She knows. We've done our job, haven't we?: he asked Taver.

  :We have. She may not yet have all the skills, but she has the spirit and the heart. Skill will come with time.:

  Now—if they could just be certain of having the time....

  13

  ALBERICH stood behind Selenay's chair in an attitude that was a hair less than rigid attention. That slight degree of relaxation, he had noticed, tended to make peoples' eyes slide right over him. He had taught Selenay's Six (as they were calling themselves) that same trick; it was very useful to be ignored, especially for a bodyguard. The fact that he was in Whites rather than his own distinctive gray leathers was helpful there; people didn't notice that it was the infamous Alberich there because they didn't expect to see him in Whites.

  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 swordsman. 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.