Exile's Honor

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 in Valdemar—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 had been Chosen by Taver as King's Own Herald on the death of his predecessor—a premature death, brought on by too much stress, too much work, and a brainstorm. Talamir had been so young, uncertain in his office, and disoriented by the bond with Taver, which was so strong, and so life-altering.

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 gray 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