“Tell me,” Alberich urged mildly, and Skif did. It was surprising, when he came to think about it, how much good Bazie had said about Valdemar and its Heralds, especially considering that he'd fought against both.
Alberich sighed. “I love my land and my God,” he said, when Skif was through. “But — both have been — are being — ill served. And that is neither the fault of the land, nor the God.”
He told his story concisely, using as few words as possible, but Skif got a vivid impression of what the younger Alberich must have been like. And when he described being trapped in a building that was deliberately set afire to execute him, Skif found himself transposing that horror to what Bazie and the boys must have felt.
But there had been no Companion leaping through the flames to save them. There had been no happy ending for Bazie.
“It was the King's Own and another Herald who came at Kantor's call,” Alberich said meditatively. “Which was, for my sake, a good thing. Few would question Talamir's word, fewer dared to do so aloud. So I was Healed, and I learned — yes,” he said, after he glanced at Skif. “Oh, smile you may, that into Grays I went, and back to schooling at that age! A sight, I surely was!” He shook his head.
“Why?” Skif asked. “Why didn' you just tell 'em t' make you a Herald straight off?”
“And knowing nothing of Heralds or Valdemar? Stubborn I am often, stupid, never. Much I had to unlearn. More did others have to learn of me. Selenay, after Talamir, was my friend and advocate — after them, others. More than enough work there was here, to keep me at the Collegium, replacing the aged Weaponsmaster. More than enough reason to stay, that others have me beneath their eye, and so feel control over me in their hands.” He smiled sardonically. “Did they know what I learn for the Queen here, it is that they would send me out to the farthest Border ere I could take breath thrice.”
Since Skif had seen him at work, he snickered. Alberich bestowed a surprisingly mild glance on him.
“Now, your turn, it is, for answering questions,” he said, and Skif steeled himself. “But first of all, because I would know — why choose to be a thief?”
An odd question, and as unexpected as one of Alberich's rare smiles. Skif shrugged. “ 'Twas that — or slave for m'nuncle Londer. Wasn't much else goin' — an' Bazie was all right.”
His heart contracted at that. All right! What a niggardly thing to say about a man who had been friend, teacher, and in no small part, savior! Yet — if he said more, he put his heart within reach of this Herald, this Alberich, who had already said in so many words that he would use anything to safeguard Valdemar, the Queen, and the Heralds…
And that's bad, how? whispered that new side of him.
Shut up! replied the old.
Skif became aware that a moment of silence had lengthened into something that Alberich might use to put a question. He filled it, quickly. “Bazie was pretty good t'us, actually.” He paused. “You gonna Truth Spell me again?”
Alberich shook his head. “What I did was done in need and haste. Much there is I would learn of you, but most of it will wait. And what I would know, I think you will tell freely for the sake of your friends.”
So now, for a second time, Alberich asked questions about Jass and Jass' master, this time helping Skif to pry out the least and littlest morsel of information in his memory. This time, though, the questions came thoughtfully, as slow as the heat-heavy air drifting above the riverbank and cloaking it in shimmer, each question considered and answered with the same care. Alberich was right about this much. In this case, Alberich's goals and Skif's were one, and the two voices inside him were at peace with one another.
The light had turned golden as they spoke, and the heat shimmer faded. There had been a long time since the last question, and Skif slowly became aware that lunch was wearing thin. As his stomach growled, Alberich glanced over at him again, with a half-smile.
“You know your way about, I think,” the Weaponsmaster said. “Tomorrow we will meet, and you will begin your training with me, and with others.”
Then, with no other word of farewell, Alberich rose and stalked out, his Companion falling in at his side like a well-trained drill partner.
* * * * * * * * * *
“You've been mighty quiet,” Skif said to Cymry in the silence.
It hadn't, and the revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water.
