Exile's Valor

“Great rider?” Rotherven said, his brow furrowed with puzzlement. “But—”

“Never mind, I understand him,” Alberich interrupted. He looked down at the boy with some bemusement. So that was why the boy looked vaguely familiar; he was Karsite, or at least, half Karsite. Most of the hill-folk shepherds were mongrels by Sunpriest standards anyway. “So,” he said—in Karsite, “we have another of the Sun’s children come to be a White Rider, eh?” This one must not have been too damaged by his experiences, or he wouldn’t have been Chosen so very young. “There are others here, not as White Riders, but as Selenay’s pages. You won’t be alone.”

“Oh.” Relief suffused the boy’s features. “I did not know that, Great Rider—”

Alberich looked up at Rotherven. “Selenay has perhaps five or six Tedrel orphans; in her service as pages they are. See that this lad meeting them is, please. Perhaps a playfellow he will find among them.”

Then he looked back down at the boy and continued the conversation in Karsite. “Also, there is Priest Gerichen, a true man of the Sunlord. You may go with the others to the Temple of the Sunlord if you wish—though they do not call it that here, but rather, the Temple of the Lord of Light. And if you do not wish to do so, you need not. You are free to serve who you wish, here.”

“I still serve the Sunlord, Great Rider,” the boy said quietly. “The Sunlord of the Prophecy.”

“Then you will find His House yonder in Haven, and Gerichen at His altar,” Alberich replied, suppressing a smile at the child’s solemn demeanor. It was quaint and charming, but a little sad also. Those children had been forced to grow up far too quickly. “I have it on the best authority that He approves of the White Riders and all they stand for, and that there is nothing in the pledges that a White Rider must make that run counter to His will. Quite the opposite, in fact. In serving as a White Rider, you will also serve Him. You will be a hope and an example to our people, and repay some of the debt to those who saved and succored us, as I try to do.”

The child’s face took on a look of fierce pride and determination. “I will not fail you, Great Rider!” he said, in tones that made it a vow. “I will not fail the Prophecy!”

Rotherven’s expression of bemusement, as he looked from Alberich to the boy and back again, made Alberich very glad that he had a great deal of practice in keeping his own face under control, or he might have laughed aloud.

“It is a great responsibility,” Alberich replied, as gravely as if the child was three times his actual age. “And a signal honor.”

“I do know that, Great Rider,” the child said, nodding. “Cheric has told me so. And it is—all I could ever wish to be.”

“Excuse me, Herald Alberich, but I was supposed to tell you that young Theodren here is one of the orphans,” Rotherven said, then laughed self-consciously, “but obviously you already know that.”

“I do, but I thank you,” Alberich replied, and turned back to the boy. “So. I am glad to see you, Theodren. You will be learning weapons at my hands—as any other Trainee. And you must call me Herald Alberich, not Great Rider. I am no greater than any of the other Heralds—the White Riders. We are all brothers and sisters.”

“Yes, Herald Alberich.” The boy gave an odd little salute that he must have learned from the Tedrels. “I was afraid, when my friend Rotherven said I was to be given over to weapons lessons. Now I am not.” He smiled. “I was afraid the training would be like—the bad place.”

“It will be hard, but not like that other place, I promise you,” Alberich said, and turned back again to Rotherven. “He will be in the beginner’s class, of course—just following luncheon, that would be.”

“Yes, sir.” The Trainee’s expression told Alberich everything he needed to know; evidently Theodren had been properly terrified when he’d been told he was to learn weapons’ work, and Rotherven’s solution had been to bring him directly to Alberich so that he could see his teacher for himself. Or, perhaps, the suggestion had come from Rotherven’s Companion, who had been no mere colt when Rotherven was Chosen. “Thank you for talking to him; I think he’ll settle now, and I was a bit worried about him—”

Alberich nodded. “You have done exactly what was needed, bringing him here. My thanks.” And to Theodren, “This young man is also my pupil, and he will be as a brother to you as well as a Brother Rider. You may give him your trust. He will also see that you meet the others brought out of the camp that are now in Selenay’s service, and perhaps you may find a friend or two among them, as well.”

The child’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Thank you, Herald Alberich.”

Then Theodren looked up at Rotherven, and said, in Valdemaran that was much better than Alberich’s, “Thank you for bringing me to the salle, Rotherven. Herald Alberich is the chief of those who came to save us, and I am honored to be taught by him.”

It was so formal, and so charming, that Rotherven couldn’t help but smile. It was a kind smile, and Alberich knew at that moment that the older boy had been a good choice to watch over Theodren. “Well, good. And now you’ve met all your teachers, so let’s get some dinner. You’ll be back here after luncheon tomorrow.”

Alberich escorted them to the door of the salle, then watched the two of them off up the path back to the