“I — ” Skif began, but a tap on the door interrupted him.
“Come!” called Elcarth, and the door was opened by Herald Alberich. Who was, of course, the very last person that Skif wanted to see at this moment, when Elcarth had him feeling so unbalanced and unsettled.
Alberich looked at him for a moment, but not with the gaze of a hawk with prey in sight, but with a more measuring, even stare. “Come, I have, to take our new one off, Elcarth,” he said simply. “Companion's Field, I think. Cooler it will be there.”
“Well, I'm satisfied with him, so he's all yours,” Elcarth replied, making Skif wince a little. But Alberich smiled, ever so slightly.
“Your Cymry is anxious to see the work of the Healer,” he said to Skif. “And it is that I have evaluation of my own to make. Please — come.”
He reached out and beckoned with one hand, and Skif got reluctantly to his feet.
Unlike Teren, Alberich did not seem inclined to lead Skif anywhere. Instead, he paced gravely beside Skif, hands clasped behind his back, indicating direction with a jerk of his chin. They left the Herald's Wing by the same door through which they'd first entered the Collegium; Skif recognized the spot immediately. There were plenty of trees here, and Skif was glad of the shade. And glad of the light color of the Trainee uniform. He hated to think what it would have been like if the outfit had been black.
“To the riverbank, I think,” Alberich said, with one of those chin jerks. “You are puzzled by my accent.”
“Well — aye,” Skif admitted. “Never heard naught like it.”
“Nor will you. It is from Karse that I am. A Captain I was, in the service of Vkandis Sunlord.” With a glance at Skif's startled face, Alberich then turned his face up toward the cloudless sky. “We have something in common, I think. Or will have. The thief and the traitor — neither to be trusted. Outside the Heraldic Circle, that is.”
Skif swallowed hard. A Karsite. A Karsite offlcer. From the army of Valdemar's most implacable enemy.
“But — why — ”
“That is what I — we, for Kantor suggested this — wish to be telling you,” Alberich said gravely as they approached the riverbank. His face cleared, then, as they rounded a section of topiary bushes and the river appeared, dazzling in the sun. “Ah, there they are!”
Two Companions waited for them, and Skif knew Cymry from the other immediately, though how, he couldn't have said. He rushed to greet her, and as he touched her, he felt enveloped in that same wonderful feeling that had been creeping in all afternoon, past doubts, past fears, past every obstacle. He pulled her head down to his chest and ran his hands along her cheeks, while she breathed into his tunic and made little contented sounds. He could have stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon…
But Alberich cleared his throat politely after a time, and Skif pulled away from her with great reluctance. “A grotto there is, in the riverbank. Cool as a cellar in this heat, and our Companions will enjoy it as well.”
Cymry seemed to know exactly where they were going, so Skif let her lead him. Skif kept one hand on her neck and followed along. She led him down a steeply-sloped, grassy bank to the edge of the river itself, and there, partly out of sight from the lawn above, was a kind of ornamental cave carved into the bank, just as Alberich had said. It was just about tall enough to stand up inside, and held three curved, stone benches at the back. Nicely paved, ceilinged, and walled with flagstone, it was wonderfully cool in there, and the two Companions took up positions just inside, switching their tails idly, as Alberich and Skif took seats on built-in benches at the back.
This wasn't so bad. Without the Herald looming over him, without actually having to look him in the eyes, Skif felt more comfortable. And in the dim coolness, the Herald seemed a bit more relaxed. Alberich cleared his throat again, as soon as they settled. “So. It is you who have been telling tales for the most of today. Let someone else, for a candlemark.”
“Suits,” Skif said shortly, and leaned back into the curved stone bench.
“Karse,” Alberich began, meditatively. “I left my land, and to an extent, my God. They call me traitor there. Think you — it is odd, that I love them both, still?”
“I dunno,” Skif replied honestly. “Dunno much 'bout Gods, an' — truth t'tell, I never thought overmuch 'bout anythin' like a whole country. Mostly didn' think 'bout much past m'own streets.”
Alberich nodded a little, his gaze fixed on the river flowing outside the grotto. “No reason there was, why you should.”
Skif shrugged. “ Ol’ Bazie, he didn' think much of Karse, an' I reckon he thought pretty well of Valdemar, when it comes down t'cases. Least — ” Skif thought hard for a moment, back to those memories that he hadn't wanted to think about at all for a very long time now. “Huh. When he lost 'is legs, 'twasn't Karse as saw 'im Healed, nor the Tedrels. 'Twas Valdemar. An' he 'ad some good things t'say 'bout Heralds.”
