Exile's Honor

:Yes, I do see that.: It made him feel a little sick, but Kantor was right; they were Trainees, they would be Heralds, and he would do them no favors at all by going easy with them.

In fact, he might well kill them. Or worse. There was always the probability of an 'or worse.' It was a simple fact that the probability was higher for a female.

:Or both,: Kantor added grimly. :They can't be as strong as the boys; you'll have to give them skill to make up for that. If anything, the girls will need your skills more than the boys.:

'Well, Trainees, I have a little surprise for you,' Dethor said cheerfully. He gestured at Alberich, who lingered near the door. 'This is my new Second—and from now on, he'll be putting you through your paces, while I watch.'

Alberich had no difficulty in keeping his face expressionless. This was no different than facing a line of new recruits. Even the ages weren't that dissimilar; he guessed these youngsters to be between sixteen and eighteen years of age. He'd had recruits that young, although, since he'd been in the mounted troops, they'd all come from some background where they'd been riding since they could walk. And, mostly, the cavalry came from recruits rather than conscripts. He supposed Trainees probably fell under the same banner as recruits; surely he was the only Trainee who had ever felt as if he'd been conscripted against his will.

:Not exactly the only one, but very nearly,; Kantor said.

In their turn, they eyed him without any shame. Mostly with curiosity, although two of the boys had challenge in their eyes. Well, they'd soon see what he was made of. They were the two oldest, he guessed. Definitely the two tallest. One very dark, muscular, and blocky, the other half a head taller, with brown hair and knowing eyes. Of the other four, the girls were a pretty creature, blue-eyed, with a smooth cap of brown hair cut no longer than her earlobes, and a smaller, lighter girl with blue eyes, a generous mouth, and blond hair done in a knot on the top of her head. The boys were both brown-haired, one of medium height and one short, both with grave faces.

But it was the first two that held Alberich's attention.

:Just as you thought, those are two of your problem children. Mind, all you need to do is disillusion them. They've got good hearts, they're just, well —:

:Arrogant in some ways, because they're ignorant and don't know it,: he supplied.

:Exactly. I can tell you that they are currently the despair of their Companions. Nothing Trevor and Mik can say shakes them out of their conviction that they are never going to find themselves in trouble that they can't come out of, covered in glory.:

At least he wouldn't have the problem with these boys that he often had with recruits—bad attitude, bad breeding, either spoiled by indulgent parents and thinking that everything should be given to them, or beaten as youngsters, figuring it was every man for himself. Too many of the Sunsguard troops were like that; hardened, with no morals to speak of.

:Why, Chosen—I believe you are beginning to like your decision to stay with us!: Kantor said with gentle mockery.

Alberich ignored him.

'I Alberich am,' he said gravely, and waited for Dethor to give him his direction. Dethor, after all, was the Weaponsmaster here; it was Dethor who should set the lessons, and Alberich who should carry them out.

He didn't notice any reaction to his name, which was nothing like a Valdemaran name, or at least, so he supposed.

'It is the new Weapons Second I am,' he continued, meeting their eyes, each in turn. 'Chosen by Master Dethor. Himself. Who now, direct us will.'

Dethor quickly divided the group into pairs and set them working with each other. Interestingly, he paired the girls, not with each other, but with two of the brown-haired boys. The last two—the boys Alberich had marked as being a possible source of trouble—Dethor motioned to join Alberich.

'Sword and shield, and make them work, Alberich,' he said shortly. 'These lads are ahead of the rest by a bit; treat them as trained, because they are. They can go two-on-one against you.'

The boys exchanged a look; the darker, more muscular one with a touch of smug glee, the other, (the one who was taller, less blocky, and brown-haired) with a look of dawning misgiving, which was replaced by anticipation when he saw the expression on his friend's face. His friend was wildly optimistic about their chances, and he had come to trust his friend's judgment.

Alberich knew that look of old. Overconfidence, poor young fools, because they were large dogs in a pack of small dogs, and had never been shown any better. They thought that they were the kings of the world, and