Alberich couldn't tell if the man's brusque manner was his ordinary demeanor, or due to discovering where Alberich had come from. It could be both...and maybe, now that he knew Alberich was from Karse, he might be having second thoughts; maybe that wasn't just an ordinary pain-killing potion.

On the other hand, the man was leaving him with the potion and giving him the option of drinking it, or not. Unlikely that it was poison---why waste all that time and effort in healing him just to poison him? If the situations were reversed, a "guest" of the Sunpriests would likely not be treated at all, much less given a comfortable room and pain-killing drugs. "The potion will wear off about dinner-time if you chose to drink it," the Healer continued. "It's about time for you to start feeding yourself again instead of having someone ladle broth into you."

Evidently they were ready to see the last of him. Well, the feeling was mutual. Alberich was more than ready to do without Healers altogether. Already he'd had more attention for his injuries now than he'd ever had for every other injury combined in his life.

Then the man left, closing the door behind him, leaving Alberich alone in his tiny cell of a room.

Not that his quarters in the barracks---when he'd actually been in them, which was rare---were any larger. But the two rooms could not have been more different.

The outer wall of this room held a large window with actual glass panes in it; the wall directly opposite held the door. The other two walls were blank, and the room was tiled in a pale grey-green. A restful color, if a trifle dull. Tiles on a wall, though; that was something odd.

For furnishings, well, there were the bed he was on, a little three-legged table, and a stool to match. Not much need for a clothes-chest in a sickroom, he supposed. He was, he discovered, wearing only smallclothes beneath his blankets and sheet. And they weren't even his smallclothes. Everything about him that was Karsite was gone.

On the other hand, perhaps that was just as well. The less to mark him as the enemy, the better.

From where he was lying in bed, all he could see was a single white cloud, a mere wisp of a thing, drifting from one side to the other. Not a very inspiring view, in fact, there was nothing much in this place to occupy the mind.

Suddenly, he wanted to actually look out that window. He wanted to see more than just sky and clouds. He felt stifled; this was the longest period of time that he had spent without seeing the outside world since---well, he couldn't remember. Even when he'd been a cadet, he'd been outside, riding, exercising, training. Even when he'd been hurt before, he'd been in his own quarters, able---indeed, expected---to get about and take up light duties.

His hands were still bandaged, but lightly, and they didn't hurt so much anymore. He could use them---carefully. Well, the sooner he got out of bed, the sooner he'd finish healing. Gingerly, he slid his legs out from under the covers and put his feet on the cold tiled floor, sitting straight up on the edge of the bed. There was a painful twinge in his chest; an ungentle reminder of broken ribs.

Nothing wrong with my legs, anyway. There were some pink patches---healing burns---but at least no one had broken any foot or leg bones when they'd beaten him. A good thing, too---if his leg had been broken, he'd never have been able to get onto Kantor's back, now, would he?

He'd been hurt in the line of duty often enough to know to pause after every movement to see how badly he felt. There was no point in undoing the work of healing by passing out and falling on the floor because he tried to leap out of bed like a healthy person. So he hesitated for a moment with his feet chilling on the tiles, testing for a sign of weakness, waiting for his vision to blur or fade out. But other than those twinges, he was fine. So far, so good.

Now the true test; standing up. If that didn't make him pass out, nothing would....

It didn't. Now to get to the window.

Moments later---moments that had felt like far longer, as half-healed bits of him protested his movement vehemently with every step---he stood at the window, sweating, shaking, but looking out.

What he saw was not what he had expected.

He supposed he would look out on an enclosed courtyard, certainly something with high walls around it. Surely they would not have put him inside anything less secure. Instead, he saw gardens, wonderful gardens, and they were extensive enough that he couldn't see the walls that must certainly be there. These were no common pleasure-parks or bits of waste ground for just anyone to stroll about on.

Directly beneath his window was a graveled path, bordered on either side with a low, herbacious hedge. To either side of that were trees in ornamental clumps, with planted beds of foliage arranged around and among them.

The gardens themselves must have been very old, for the trees looked ancient, the grass as smooth and even as plush, the bushes and flowering plants as if they had been there since the beginning of time. There were stone benches and individual seats placed to best enjoy sun or shade, and lanterns hung from wrought metal stands beside the benches. Nowhere were there fences to keep people away from the plantings, or even confine them to the paths, except for that little hedge, and it wasn't even knee- high. Once or twice, Alberich had seen gardens like this behind the homes of the wealthy, but never this extensive.

His room was on the second floor of this building, so he had an elevated view; a uniquely advantageous one for determining what his surroundings were like. There must have been a door directly below his window, for the path led up to it, and people were entering and leaving from directly below where he stood. Young people, he saw with a start. They wore tunics and trews, or long robes, in a paler color of green than the Healer he had seen. Some of them couldn't be older than ten!

:Those are Healer-Trainees,: said Kantor, tentatively. :Where we are---it's Healer's Collegium, where young Healers are taught, as well as being a House of Healing. You're on the grounds of a complex that includes Herald's Collegium, where the Heralds are trained, Healer's Collegium, and Bardic Collegium. And the Palace, of course. That's why all the gardens, of course; the pleasure-gardens for the Palace, the herb-gardens for the Healers, and kitchen-gardens, of course. They're open to everyone within the walls.:

The Palace! They allowed him, a Karsite, to be within the same walls that enclosed the Palace? Granted, he was hurt, but still---if he was an assassin, he wouldn't let a little thing like that stop him! And most of the time he was unwatched, unguarded---how could they possibly trust him?

:You're with me,: Kantor replied simply.

The simple, bald statement took him utterly by surprise. He was "with" Kantor---and these people considered that to be enough to trust him within reach of the rulers of their land.

He recalled the attitude of the Healer and revised that. Some of them considered that to be enough.

Or maybe he is just like that with all of his patients.

He looked out on the gardens for a little, before answering. :So these people train Healers in one central place?:

:Mostly. Sometimes they apprentice with an older Healer, or are trained at one of the Temples of Healing, especially if they are uneasy about leaving their homes, but that's rare. We prefer that our Healers come here to learn so that we know that they've gotten a standard education---and any special training that their Gifts and talents might warrant.: Kantor paused. :Would you rather that I not speak to you this way?:

He thought about it for a moment; it seemed to him that this sharing of thoughts should have seemed like a violation, yet it didn't. He couldn't account for that very foreign feeling---unless, perhaps, he'd gotten used to it while he was semi-conscious, so now it just didn't raise the instinctive alarm in him that it ordinarily would have. And he could not deny how useful it was to be able to silently speak and ask questions about this place and these people. :No---I would rather you helped me. I said that I would give all of you a trial; I don't know that I can manage that without you. But---where are you:

:Right here.: He would not have believed that anything as big as a horse could have hidden itself virtually in plain sight---but there was just a little movement, and Kantor stepped into view through a screen of bushes. He was followed by two more of the white Companions, then another two. They all stood just below his window, to one side of the path, looking up at him with eyes so vivid a blue that even from here they struck him with their intensity. :We're all five of us waiting for our Chosen to heal in there,: he said, with wry humor. :Heralds have a habit of winding up in the hands of Healers.:

These people permitted horses in their formal gardens? He could just imagine the mess that would have caused in the garden of the Son of the Sun....

:We aren't exactly horses,: Kantor reminded him. :And here, at the Collegia, people know they can trust us not to step on or eat the roses---or in this case, rosemary. Everyone here knows exactly what we are, and we can pretty much go where we wish and do what we want. Even into the Palace, if we need to.:

Alberich looked down on them with reluctant interest. Now, with four more of these "Companions" to compare Kantor with, it was very clear that Kantor was distinct among his kind. It hadn't been obvious how powerful he was when Alberich had only been comparing him with ordinary horses---

:There was some illusion on my part as well,: Kantor admitted sheepishly. :I hid my eye-color, for one thing.:

---but the other four were---well, like graceful acrobats or dancers. Kantor was far more muscular, his head perhaps a bit blockier, his neck arched and strong, his hindquarters and chest definitely deeper and with fantastically developed muscles. :I am a warrior, Companion to a warrior. My friends need speed and endurance more than they need strength; I need strength and sheer power as well as stamina. No matter where your duties take you, I will always be able to fight at your side and guard your back.: Kantor seemed very proud of that, and for the first time, Alberich felt himself warm to the creature, just a little. They had that much in common, at least.

A warrior, Companion to a warrior....

At the moment, he felt rather less than half of that. There was a growing feeling in his gut, as if he should be trembling, as if, in a moment, he would. He knew that feeling; it meant he was coming to the end of his reserves. In fact, it was becoming rather urgent to sit down. He was not going to be able to stand at all, soon. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, considering all that had been done to him and how recently, but it did seem as if his reserves of strength were not what they should have been.

Then it dawned on him, why it was that he should feel weaker than expected---it had been a Healer, a real Healer, in the room with him. Presumably, the others who had cared for him were Healers as well. He hadn't just been physicked and doctored, he'd been Healed, as he would have been under the skilled ministrations of a Healer-Priest in a Temple.

And that shocked him. They had actually gone so far as to have him Healed, not just wait for him to get better on his own, as had always happened in the past, except for one single time when he had been badly hurt in training---a pure accident, when a bolt of lightning hit the training field, killed three horses outright, and sent the rest into a blind panic, and he'd been thrown and trampled.

So no wonder he felt shaky, and weak in the knees; Healing took of your own strength and resources, speeding up what normally took days and weeks into hours and days. He probably even weighed a great deal less than he had when they'd brought him here! Small wonder the Healer wanted him to start feeding himself; there was no way that he could get enough nourishment to sustain Healing on broth.

:You should go back to bed,: Kantor admonished.

:I believe that I will. And take that pain-potion the Healer left for me while I'm at it.: He knew that part of the drill well enough; it wasn't the first time he'd been hurt, though it was the first time it had been at the hands of his own people.

And that---

Well, just at the moment, he would rather go back to bed and to the oblivion promised by the pain-potion than think about it.

#

Herald Talamir finished his informal report on the Karsite, and waited to see what his King would make of it.

"So. Our newest Trainee is not at all pleased about being Chosen, eh?" King Sendar asked---or rather, stated.

This was no formal audience, it wasn't even witnessed by another Herald, unless one counted the presence of Sendar's Heir, his daughter Selenay, who was halfway through her training as a Herald. They were all in Sendar's study, in the Royal Suite in the Palace---the private study, not the one where those who were not intimate with the Royal Family would see the King privately. This room had been the Queen's solar until Sendar appropriated it for himself; it faced south, and looked out into the Queen's Garden, a courtyard that had no other entrance than the one in this room.

Roses still bloomed out there, beyond the glass, late though it was in the season, and it was home to other flowers and plants that needed tender sheltering from the worst of winter's wrath. It made a tranquil retreat for a harried monarch who wanted some peace---although there really was no way that Sendar could escape altogether from the troubles of the realm. Talamir shook his head. "No, Sire, he's not," the King's Own replied regretfully. "I must confess, I'm at a loss as to how to proceed with him. This was hardly the response I expected."

He knew Sendar better than anyone else on earth---probably better even than the late Queen had---but Sendar surprised him with his dry chuckle. "I'm not," the King said. "Truth to tell, I'm glad to hear it. I'm not certain I'd trust someone who would abandon everything he's believed in until now just because a talking horse tells him that he's been chosen to join the enemy."

"Oh," Talamir replied, blinking. "But---his own people nearly killed him in their Fires---I thought---"

"His own people had a perfectly good reason to burn him in their Fires, by their lights," Sendar pointed out, raising his eyebrow. "And sooner or later, he'll think of that for himself---assuming he hasn't already. Fine, perhaps Kantor has managed to insinuate enough into his head while he's been Healing to make him a bit more receptive to us, but a thinking man doesn't just suddenly go over to the enemy without reasoning things through for himself. And it will eventually occur to him that just because Kantor is Mindspeaking to him, it doesn't necessarily follow that Kantor is telling him the truth. I would bet on that."

Talamir sensed Taver's surge of indignation at any such notion---and more remotely, sensed Sendar's Lorenil's amusement at both of them. Well, Lorenil always had possessed a strong sense of irony, not to mention a sense of humor that was positively sardonic. Rather like young Kantor in that regard.

"We're going to have to win this young fellow to us, old friend," Sendar said, as if he was completely comfortable with the notion. "We'll have to be completely honest with him, or he'll figure out we've been shading the truth for his benefit---but we'll also have to show him why we're trustworthy and his own people aren't. He'll have to come to the conclusion that we're telling him the truth and that he has a real and compelling reason to give us his loyalty all by himself. Anything heavy-handed, and we'll lose him."

Sendar leaned back in his chair---a modest affair of simple design and unornamented wood and leather, chosen for comfort rather than ostentation, and bestowed a penetrating look on the King's Own Herald. He and Talamir had known each other and been friends for a very, very long time.

In fact, their friendship dated from the hour that Talamir came back to the Collegium from the field, Chosen by Taver on the death of his predecessor---a premature death, brought on by too much stress, too much work, and a brainstorm. Talamir had been upset by the change in his fortunes, uncertain in his office, and disoriented by the new bond with Taver, which was so strong, and so life-altering that it had become blindingly apparent that his previous Companion Dresalan had been nothing more than a sort of "place-holder."

Sendar, on the other hand, had been a very young King, but not at all uncertain in his office. Young, he might have been, but he'd been schooled in his duties since he could toddle. He'd been a handsome young man then, blond and tall and strong, with chiseled features worthy of a god, and an idealistic nature tempered with that finely-honed sense of irony. He was handsome still, though there was as much grey in his hair as gold, and age and care had continued to wield a cruel hand against those features, chiseling lines of worry that gave him a rather stern look. Kingly, but there was no doubt that people found him intimidating on occasion. His own sardonic sense of humor didn't help on those occasions; he rather enjoyed being intimidating now and again.

"He promised that he would give us a trial," Talamir told the King, knowing how Sendar would react. Sendar liked audaciousness; he'd loved it in his Queen, who had boldly proposed to him rather than the other way around, who had met every challenge, even the illness that killed her, with spirit and determination.

Sendar laughed as Talamir had expected, a dry little chuckle.

His daughter, Princess Selenay, who had been staring rather fixedly at nothing at all as she listened, made a face. "I don't see what's so funny," she objected.

Selenay might one day grow into the dry wit her father possessed, but at the moment, she was in a stage where she took everything quite seriously and earnestly. Talamir found that uniquely endearing, as did her father.

"Not funny, my dear---ironic," Sendar told her. "A Karsite, of all things, giving us a chance to prove our good intentions. If you'll recall your history, you'll know why that seems ironic."

Selenay hesitated, toying with the end of her single braid, then evidently decided to be as forthright as her father. "He must be a man of honor, or Kantor wouldn't have Chosen him---so why should that be ironic? Can't Karsites have men of honor, too? It seems to me he has every right to require us to prove ourselves."

"Perhaps because the Karsite leaders have broken every pact they ever made---and have even made war on their own people?" Sendar suggested mildly.

She flushed as Talamir gave her an opaque look, but persisted. "Why should that mean he shouldn't demand we prove ourselves, though? The Karsites---well, how much do we know about them? Next to nothing; maybe in their minds they had honorable reasons to break their pacts. I mean, I should think that this man would have more reason to be suspicious---"

Sendar shook his head.

:Chosen, don't just dismiss her because she's young,: Taver cautioned. Clearly this had gone from a discussion of one man to a more abstract problem.

"Well, I still don't see why, just because there are a few bad people in charge of things in Karse, we should assume that nearly everyone that comes from there is bad," she said stubbornly. "Well, look, one of them has just been Chosen! I don't see why there shouldn't be as many men of honor there as here."

"The problem with that assumption is that once a man of honor sees what his leaders are doing is wrong, shouldn't it be incumbent on him to do something about it?" Talamir asked the princess, who made a little grimace of impatience. "With the sorts of things that the Sunpriests have been doing, even the most devout worshiper of Vkandis is going to run out of excuses for their excesses."

"What if he can't?" she asked. "Do something about it, I mean."

"If nothing else, he should leave," Sendar pointed out. "By giving his support to a bad leader, he reinforces the position of that leader. People see that he is good, and since he continues to act in support of the leader, however inadvertently, they assume there is must be very compelling reasons for the leader to act as he is, and they continue to bear the intolerable." Talamir nodded. Selenay looked uncertain, but not entirely convinced.

She'll learn, he decided. Experience, that was what she needed. "The point is that it's rather ironic, that this Karsite, who has already had his own leaders turn against him and try to execute him for the use of a Gift that has been the saving of their own people, should then expect us to prove ourselves to him. Not that we blame him at all, we just find it ironic." "I can see that," the girl replied with a frown. "But I can also see why he has even more reason to want us to prove ourselves."

"What do you propose we do with this fellow?" Sendar asked, changing the subject. "There are bound to be objections to his presence once more people discover where he's from."

"I don't see any point in even trying to keep that a secret," Talamir replied, shaking his head. "It'll be out no matter what we do. It's a pretty problem, and one that isn't easily going to be solved. We can hardly expect people to set aside old grievances."

"It's one I wish we didn't have." Sendar looked as if he was getting a headache. "I suppose all these things happen for a reason, but I would be happy enough for this to be occurring in someone else's reign."

:Everyone always says that,; Taver observed.

Taver should know. :I suppose they do.:

"So, so, so. You and I have enough on our plate, I would say, without complicating our lives with this most-difficult of Trainees." Sendar pursed his lips. "Who can we delegate to bring the young fellow over to our side and make him admit to himself that his own leaders didn't deserve his loyalty?"

"Gerichen," Talamir said, instantly. "That young Sunpriest. He's---" he groped for words. "He's transparent. Eventually, I suppose he'll learn to mask what he's thinking, but for now his openness will work for us."

"All very well, but what about within the Collegium?" Sendar persisted. "We need a Herald---"

"Jadus, I think. He's taking a turn at instructor this term. And Elcarth. Both of them are so utterly different from anyone Alberich will have encountered before---" He thought for a moment longer. "I'll have to keep an eye on things, though---the instructors can hardly be expected to act as nursemaids to him. I'd like to assign another Trainee to him, but there just aren't any that are adult at the moment. I can't have anyone younger acting as his guide, he'll resent it---"

Sendar nodded---but Selenay spoke up.

"Make him my bodyguard?" she suggested.

They both turned to stare at her.

"Well," she said, defensively, "If you make him my bodyguard, I can help him to settle in. He won't be offended, and in fact, he'll probably be flattered---after all, it isn't as if a mere Captain would ever be made the personal guard to anyone important in Karse! Making him my guard will show that we trust him, and I think that could be very important in making him trust us. Don't you think?"

"Actually," Sendar said, slowly. "Yes. I do."

"And while he's at it, he can teach me Karsite. Someone ought to know how to speak it."

:Brilliant,: Taver enthused. :Absolutely brilliant!:

"Even if the rest of the Council will have apoplexy?" Talamir asked, dubiously.

Selenay raised her chin. "Yes. And I think you ought to tell them that this was my idea. They might as well get used to the notion that I can think for myself. I'm too old to be chucked under the chin and called 'little one' and told not to bother my pretty head about things."

Which is going to come as a shock to no few of them. Talamir kept his sighs strictly mental. Evidently the gods had decided that he was going to have to make do with fewer candlemarks of rest from now on---because he certainly was not going to leave all of this to the sole attention of Heralds Elcarth and Jadus, worthy though they might be.

"So be it." Sendar gave his blessing and dismissal all in one, despite Talamir's misgivings. Admittedly, though, the misgivings were all concerned with other peoples' reactions to Alberich, and not having anything to do with Alberich's trustworthiness. Kantor was convinced; so was Taver. That was all that Talamir needed. "Talamir, I'd like you to organize Elcarth and Jadus---let them recruit Priest Gerichen, not you."

"Oh, that shouldn't be difficult," Talamir admitted. "I suspect that Gerichen's superior already has something like that in mind, since he brought the fellow along this afternoon on his official pastoral visit."

"Then once he's on his feet and ready to be integrated into the Collegium, Selenay, I'd like you to see to the bodyguard business," Sendar continued. His daughter nodded, her eyes bright.

"Easily done," she replied confidently. She looked like a cat that had just made off with an entire jug full of cream and a brace of trout to boot. Very pleased with herself.

:She should be,: Taver put in.

Perhaps---but she still seemed very young to him. Too young to be so closely involved with this potentially-dangerous situation. He could readily foresee Council members suspecting that Alberich was subverting the young Heir....

:Yes, but that's supposed to be what she is going to do to him,: replied Taver. :Really, Chosen, if you think that a healthy young man is going to be indifferent to an intelligent and attractive young lady, and isn't going to be influenced by her, you're very much mistaken.:

:You have a point. And I'm sure the thought has crossed her father's mind as well,: he admitted.

He sensed Taver's amusement. :There you have it. If you take that line with the Council, it will be clear that Sendar believes Selenay can handle the responsibility.:

:True....: That would be all to the good.

:And if you point out it was her idea, it gives her more validity in her own right.:

:Also true.: He was glad that Sendar was seeing to it that Selenay was brought along as the Heir-in-fact as well as the Heir-in-name, but it meant a lot of work. Still, better a lot of work now than trying to bring her up to the job later, in a crisis. Because kings, even the kings of Valdemar, were mortal, and no matter what the circumstances, King Sendar's death would precipitate a crisis.

"Now, is there any sign of a repercussion down there along the Karse Border from this incident?" Sendar asked, and Talamir gladly turned the subject to the simpler one of espionage reports and troop-movements. Well, relatively simpler. "At the moment, the best guess is that the incident has been completely suppressed," Talamir replied. "There are no reports, not even rumors, from what our informants can tell us. We don't even really know which little village Kantor won him out of, they're keeping it so quiet. We think it's Sunsdale, because that's the only one that recently beat off bandits, but there's no word of anyone escaping the Fires from there."

"It must be an acute embarrassment to them," Sendar speculated. "Good. Let's hope it stays that way. I would just as soon that they didn't have any more excuses to prod at us down there."

"You have a talent for understatement, Majesty," Talamir replied, rubbing his brow with one knuckle, absently. "'Prod' is not precisely how I would put it. But the mission you sent me on in the first place is a complete success; Joyeaus has got a Border-watch based on the old fire-watch towers everywhere along the Border except on Holderkin lands---and there's enough overlap that nothing larger than a bandit-troupe is going to slip past, even there." "Then the damned stiff-necked Holderkin can fight off their own bandits," Sendar growled, "And may they wallow in their pride until they choke on it!" Her father's outburst caught Selenay by surprise, and she directed a look of shock at Talamir. Talamir just raised his eyebrows in a silent signal that promised I'll tell you later. She nodded very slightly.

"Joyeaus promised that she can have word to Haven of real troop-movements within half a day at the worst," he continued. "It isn't just on our side of the border that those old watchtowers exist---we can see theirs, and they can see ours, and there has been unofficial cooperation among the foresters for generations about alerting each other to forest-fires." Sendar snorted. "Fire doesn't stop at the Border no matter how many guards you post."

Talamir nodded. "The point is, of course, that we can see their watchtowers, and now ours will be manned in or out of fire- season. And we've got one more safeguard in place. If one of our informants has a message too urgent to be sent by hand and he can get to one of the fire-towers, he'll light a fire-beacon or flash a mirror---on their side. Not a big one, or for long, but it will be a signal. That will warn the local highborn that something is coming, and from what direction, which means we'll have even earlier warning, if not the specifics."

"Remind me to find some appropriate way to thank my idiot South-Border highborn for having the sense to cooperate with each other for a change," Sendar growled, though to Talamir's ears, the "growl" sounded pleased and relieved.

"Remind me" actually meant "Talamir, go figure it out for me," of course. This time, however, it was a request that had been anticipated from the moment that Joyeaus had gotten all of the heads of the ennobled families to sit down at the same table and begin ironing out their differences. That young woman had the most remarkable talent for diplomatic maneuvering and soothing ruffled feathers that Talamir had ever seen. A touch of Empathy helped, of course, but mostly it was a knack for saying exactly the right thing at the right time, and being exquisitely sensitive to interpersonal nuances. She'd been utterly wasted on riding circuits....

"I'll see to it, Majesty," Talamir murmured, glad that there was at least one small task that would be relatively easy to discharge.

Unlike the untimely arrival of that unlikeliest of Trainees....

"Now, what about that tannery that Lord Wordercan wants to put in?" Sendar continued. "He's been nagging at me for the last week---I know it's something he wants, but I'm not sure the market can absorb that much more leather---" Talamir bent his mind to the business of the Kingdom, allowing himself to put the matter of Trainee Alberich aside for the moment---untimely, unlikely, and oh so inconvenient as he was....

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

—Reprinted from Exile's Honor by Mercedes Lackey by permission of DAW, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 2002 by Mercedes Lackey. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.