Exile's Valor

protect their heads, articulated plate along their necks, and leg-guards. Alberich didn’t want any of them injured either—

He was on home-goal guard this session, which gave him more opportunity to watch the rest as they skirmished. And they had made amazing progress in the past few moons.

I should have expected it, I suppose, looking back on how all those young Trainees drove themselves before the last Tedrel War. He felt a warmth toward them that was almost paternal; challenge them, and they rose to the challenge. Let them but think that there was a challenge in the offing, and they rose to it. And they’d go through fire to meet it.

Most of the noise was coming from sticks connecting with the Companions’ armor, since they weren’t wearing any padding over it, and he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t order the armor off. When the day came that they began riding guardian on Selenay, there was no way to disguise what was essentially horse-armor, so the Companions would have to do without. If it was making the Companions dependent, possibly careless—

:It’s not; they just aren’t ready yet to have us dodging underneath them. Not with all that extra weight.:

Kantor’s assurance was all he needed; he stopped worrying about it. This was only the third session under armor, and they still weren’t used to it. Fortunately, the custom-made and fitted armor he had ordered up for them was going to be lighter than this stuff. Not as strong or protective, but it should easily be good enough against the kinds of light court-blades that the Prince and his friends sported, if Alberich’s worst fears came true.

And if the Prince and his friends elected to attempt to hire professionals rather than doing the dirty work themselves, Alberich would hear about it. There was no job involving dirty work in Haven that at least one of his personae didn’t hear about, either via the rumor vine, or directly.

If the Prince decides to hire out his evil work, wouldn’t it be a great irony if he approached me directly?

Just as he thought that, the melee surged toward his goal; he judged his moment, and as soon as they drew near enough to be a threat to the goal, Kantor charged the rider nearest him. The Companion’s powerful muscles surged under him. Kantor’s unusual weight and size—quite as large as any war-horse—was next to impossible for another Companion to stand up to. The best they could do was to try and turn aside at the last moment so that he slid along a flank—or to dodge out of the way.

But there was nowhere for this Companion to dodge to, and no room to turn. Kantor hit him hard, and the shock of the meeting jarred both his body and Alberich’s. They bounced back; Kantor anticipated the shock and caught himself without a slip. The other Companion’s hooves scrabbled desperately in the snow as he tried to stay upright; the rider dropped his stick, grabbed the hold on the pommel, and hung on grimly.

And Kantor charged again, while Alberich swung at the rider.

It was a short charge, more of a push, but the other Companion’s hind feet slid right out from under him, at the same time that Alberich’s stick connected with the rider’s helm with a solid clang that vibrated up the stick and into Alberich’s arm.

Down they both went, the Companion sliding over sideways with a squeal of pain, the rider just—falling. Not jumping free, not even trying. And Alberich knew as soon as they started to fall that they were both hurt.

Blessed Sun lord. . . .

So did Shanda, who was refereeing; she gave a blast to her whistle as the two hit the slushy ground, and the scrum instantly stopped.

What have we done?

The rider groaned, and tried to rise as Alberich leaped off Kantor’s back and ran for him. The Companion got to his feet, with a lurch and a scramble, whining under his breath with pain, but when he stood, it was on only three legs.

:Not broken,: Kantor relayed instantly, :but it’s a bad sprain.:

Alberich unfastened Harrow’s helm strap and lifted the helmet from Harrow’s head. “Look at me,” he commanded, and it didn’t take a genius to see from the unequal size of the boy’s pupils that he’d been concussed. And it didn’t take a genius to see why either; the padding had come loose and slid down the back of the helm to bunch up against the neck protector.

Shanda was on the case already; she and her Companion were dragging up the two-horse stretcher they kept at the side of the field. Alberich didn’t have to give them a single order.

They worked as if they had rehearsed for this disaster; half of them lifted Harrow straight up off the ground without moving his back or neck, and placed him on the stretcher. Within a moment, they were heading toward Healer’s Collegium with Harrow held securely by the straps around the stretcher.