Exile's Honor

Dethor abruptly came back to himself. 'I believe that will work,' he said, as if Alberich had been privy to whatever thoughts were going on in his mind. 'You're going out in the city tonight?'

'No other choice, have I,' Alberich replied with a shrug. 'Much result, I do not expect, but sow silver I must, a harvest of villainy to reap.'

In this, at least, he was able to aid Valdemar with a clear conscience. In disguise, one of half a dozen personae he had concocted and established, he prowled the less-savory quarters of Haven, looking for trouble. 'Trouble' came in various guises, but money usually lured it out of hiding. The money wasn't bribes—Alberich was more subtle than that. Sometimes he posed as someone looking for a particular sort of creature to hire, sometimes as a bully-boy looking for work himself. Sometimes he bought information, and sometimes sold it. In all cases, there was nothing to connect the less-than-honest characters he portrayed in the seedy drinking houses and alleyways with Herald Alberich, the Weaponsmaster's Second. There was some benefit in having a scarred and scowling countenance that looked the very acme of villainy. If there wasn't a woman born who'd give him a second look, no one looked askance at him in a low-class bar either.

And fortunately, there were enough foreigners in Haven that his accent caused only a little comment, and no one recognized it as Karsite. Most accepted his story that he came from Ruvan, Brendan, or Jkatha. All three were so far away he might just as well have told the inquisitive that he was from the moon. Virtually anything he claimed would be believed. The only people who might know better would be true Guild Mercenaries, and so far he'd never seen one of those in Haven. They weren't needed here; Valdemar fielded its own standing army of full-time soldiers, called the Guard, and always had. Even Guild Mercenaries didn't bother to go where there was no need of them.

'Well, you be careful out there tonight,' Dethor said, putting down his empty tankard. Alberich automatically refilled it for him from the pitcher on the table between them and raised an eyebrow. Dethor wasn't known for having the Gift of ForeSight, but one never knew. 'A reason for the warning, you have?' he asked carefully.

But Dethor only shook his head. 'Not really. It's just that it's been quiet, and it's usually quiet just before there's a lot of trouble.'

'And trouble then comes in threes,' Alberich agreed gloomily. 'And a full moon there is tonight. I shall walk carefully.'

'Full moon.' Dethor groaned. 'You're going to get into a brawl tonight, aren't you?'

Alberich felt his muscles tighten with automatic anticipation. He suppressed his reaction as much as he could. Dethor was very good at reading body language.

'Probably.' Alberich shrugged with an indifference he didn't entirely feel. A bar fight would at least give him something on which to take out his frustration. He always slept better after being able to pound some villain's face into the floor. The wretches that tried to pick on him were at least as bad as he pretended to be. The only reason they were at the tavern instead of jail was that they hadn't been caught at anything lately, and they well deserved whatever punishment Vkandis decreed they meet at the hands of His transplanted worshiper.

:Oh, very nice reasoning,: Kantor said, with more than a touch of sarcasm.

'Try not to give the Healers any more work, will you?' Dethor requested with resignation. 'They had a few words for me the last time you needed patching up, and since I couldn't tell them why you'd gotten cut up, they assumed I'd been working you and Kimel with live steel and you'd gotten the worst of it. So, of course, it was my fault.'

'That, I can promise,' Alberich replied, gathering up all the supper dishes and placing them in the empty basket. 'For that the wretches whose bones I break, seeking a Healer would not be, ever. Too fearful would they be, that in seeking Healing, it would be justice they found.' With a salute to Dethor, he left the rest unsaid, and headed for the door. He couldn't help it; there were frustrations in him that were crying out for release. He wouldn't look for a fight, but if one came to him—

He sensed Kantor's sigh.

He left the basket just outside the door to their quarters for a servant to collect, and went out into the flooding light of the full moon to saddle Kantor. His Companion was waiting for him at the special stable only the Companions used.

Just inside the door was the tack room, but Kantor's gear was all stowed on racks near his stall, just as it was for every Companion who resided primarily at the Collegium. On a warm summer night like this one, all the half-doors on the stalls were open to the night air, and with all of the moonlight pouring in, the lanterns weren't needed at all.

They were quite alone in the stable, which suited Alberich's mood perfectly. :You've told Taver and Talamir we're going out tonight?: he asked Kantor, throwing only the plainest and most basic of saddle pads and blankets over Kantor's back.

:Of course.: Kantor looked back over his shoulder as Alberich tightened the girth. :We're going out the private entrance?:

:Of course.: Alberich swung up into the saddle, and they made their way across the Field. Kantor's hooves made no sound at all on the soft grass; they moved across the silver expanse like a pair of spirits gliding over the surface of a silent sea.