Exile's Honor

job next time you go there.:

The bitterness eased a little; Alberich recognized that vague glimpse. It was someone he'd been watching for some time now, a legitimate businessman who somehow seemed to have more goods in his warehouse than he'd actually purchased.... Now—now he might find out just where those goods came from.

'Good,' he said aloud. :That is why we come there, isn't it?:

:Not entirely,: Kantor retorted. :At least, you don't.:

Alberich started to reply, and thought better of it. Kantor was infinitely better at warring with words than he was. He let his silence speak for him, letting Kantor come to his own conclusions.

Eventually, the ears flattened, and out of the silence came—

:I apologize.:

:And you are also right,: Alberich acknowledged. :I do seek out fighting more often than necessary. I could go about the same business without getting involved in altercations at all. But it is what I need, right here, right now.:

Kantor sighed, but his head nodded. :So be it. If you need it, then we will continue to seek it, and I will say no more about it, except to ask you to take care.:

Alberich closed his eyes for a moment. :Perhaps, someday, we will no longer need to go hunting trouble for trouble's own sake.:

It was all he could offer. But Kantor seemed to find it enough.

9

DETHOR had invited Talamir to his quarters tonight, in a way that had been less 'invitation' and more 'demand.' Talamir was fairly certain that he wanted to discuss the current situation with his Second. Alberich, the probable subject of those discussions (now officially a full Herald, though he kept stubbornly to those peculiar gray leathers of his) was gone when Talamir arrived.

Dethor interpreted his curious look correctly; not a surprise, considering how well he and Talamir knew each other.

There was a small fire in the fireplace, although the weather was not yet so cool in the evenings that a fire was necessary. But the Weaponsmaster seemed to crave both the extra warmth and the emotional comfort of a fire more and more often of late.

Come to that, they all craved extra comfort. The Wars seemed both too far away, and too near. A feeling of dreadful tension underlaid everything, no matter how trivial, a frantic feeling as if whatever was being done had to be done, or enjoyed, or dealt with now, for there was no telling what the next day, or even the next candlemark, might bring. Small comforts took on enormous importance, yet one indulged in them in a spirit of guilt, quite as if throwing on another log was somehow going to deprive the Guard on the Border of heat and light.

Dethor had lit only two lanterns, one behind each of the two hearthside chairs; the fire provided the rest of the light in the room tonight.

The Weaponsmaster's Second was nowhere to be seen. 'He's out. In town,' Dethor said, as Talamir looked inquiringly at the third seat that Alberich usually used. 'He won't be back for a while. I believe he's got something on the boil tonight.'

'He's doing good work down there,' Talamir observed as dispassionately as he could, and settled himself into the padded chair opposite Dethor's. It was difficult to be dispassionate about Dethor's bland statement. Every time Alberich had 'something on the boil,' there was usually a great deal of violence involved before it was over. Alberich was directly involved in that violence at least half of the time; if Talamir hadn't been aware of just how much he despised unnecessary force, he'd have suspected that the man was seeking out opportunities to thrash someone.

But—perhaps he is, and he's simply making sure that the opportunity calls for necessary violence. That wouldn't be too difficult in the neighborhoods Alberich had to prowl.

'I wondered how much you'd kept track of,' Dethor said. 'What with everything else you've got going on.'

'All of it, I think,' Talamir admitted. 'And he's as good as you ever were in the covert work, and better, far better, than I. We are, perhaps, too much the gentlemen. He fits in down there better than we ever could, no matter how much we deluded ourselves about our acting abilities.'