Exile's Honor

:Taver might have made a suggestion, but Talamir is not completely certain how good an idea it is,: Kantor put it.

Well, that was clear enough.

Talamir cleared his throat awkwardly. 'You saw the Lord Marshal's man—you know that there are such things as—agents. Well, we Heralds have them as well—and we need another.'

He nodded warily, but might have prevaricated, except that in that unguarded instant, Kantor simply edged into his mind and showed him what it was that Dethor and Talamir wanted him to do.

'Agent' was too small a word to encompass the task.

In fact, Alberich was more uniquely suited to the job than even Dethor had been, because of his foreign origin. There were places where Dethor would always stand out— because Dethor was nobly-born for all that he pretended he was common. What you'd been born and bred to was difficult to hide, especially when you were under stress. But Alberich was as common as clay, and used to moving in the lowest of circles.

Under stress, he slipped into that world as easily as a bottom-fish slipping into the muddy river bottom.

Mostly, Dethor had collected information—in the Court and out of it, from the servants' common room in the Palace, to the vilest alleys near Exile's Gate, to the scented rooms where courtiers fenced with words.

Mostly—But a time or two, Dethor had done more than collect intelligence and pass it on to Talamir. A so- called 'agent' who was also a Herald had an extraordinary degree of freedom to act as he saw fit, and once, Dethor had used his knowledge of traps to cause a single fatal 'accident.'

And he had agonized over that murder, for murder it was, and never mind that the man had been the hidden heart of a vile trade and no one had been or would be able to bring him to justice. Dethor had murdered and knew it, and still agonized over it.

:As you would. As you would act, if there was no other way, and you would be decisive about it.:

Yes, he would, on both counts. But although he would regret murder, for he hated killing, he would not allow such a thing to ride him with guilt afterward. He felt his pulse throbbing in the hollow of his throat, and his collar felt too tight. Yes, he would. Some things had to be done—and was it better to stain innocent hands with blood, or add one more stain to the sleeve of one already steeped in it?

The King could have 'agents' like the Lord Marshal had, men who would take their orders and carry them out, and leave the question of whether the orders were morally justified to someone else. The King did not want that. He wanted a Herald; he wanted someone who did not simply take orders. He wanted someone who would think—weigh—and act. And agonize over it afterwards perhaps... because there would be that necessary question when it was all over.

But it had to be a particular kind of Herald, and such folk did not emerge from among the children—children with their shining certainty of right and wrong—that came with their Companions to fill the rooms of the Collegium every year. He would not besmirch those pure hearts, would not twist them into something that they were not.

It took a Herald like Dethor, like Alberich, who was Chosen as an adult, full-grown, who knew about moral ambiguities and difficult choices. Like Dethor—who had himself been one of the Lord Marshal's agents, before he was Chosen. Like Dethor's master, the Weaponsmaster before him, who had grown up a child of poverty, seen the evils of the world very young, wiser than his years, though his parents had sheltered him from what they could.

No such man (or woman, though perhaps it would have been harder for a woman) had come to Dethor and Talamir until now, and they were not altogether certain that Alberich was the right material for this task. But he was what they had... and they were in terrible need of some man for the job. Talamir was altogether too recognizable and too desperately needed to have the time for such covert walkings, and as for Dethor, who could barely hobble to the Collegium for a Council meeting or a meal now and again—well.

All this poured into his mind as the other two sat quietly, waiting for him to assimilate it all. Did they know what Kantor was showing him?

:Of course they know. It is our way. I can show you in moments, what would take them days to explain.:

Ah. Expedience... so the Companions knew it, too. Somehow that made him feel more akin to Kantor, not less.

He took a deep breath, and regarded both of them with somber eyes.

'It is much of me, that you ask,' he said slowly. 'It is surprised, I am. When I have here been—how long?'