: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 semiconscious, 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,
