And he was unsurprised to be intercepted at the door by Dethor, who must have stationed himself right at the exit. He'd sensed the old Weaponsmaster lurking somewhere about, but he figured that Dethor would wait until he was free before greeting him.
"By your Sunlord, boy, it is good to see you," was all the old man said, but Alberich felt something inside him warm at the welcome. He seized Alberich's shoulders in both hands, and stared into his eyes, while the last few mourners filed out of the chapel door behind them. "I wish I could tell you just how good it is."
"I think that I may know, for as good it is to see you," he replied quietly, and sighed. "A thousand things, I wish to tell you—"
"And all of them can wait. A good cleanup for you, and then your own bed," Dethor told him firmly. "That's why I came here to get you. Falling on your nose won't honor Sendar or help his daughter, and besides, she's got all of the Collegium and every Herald that could get here to keep an eye on her tonight."
He felt compelled to protest weakly. "But—duties I have—"
"Which are in Talamir's hands, at least as far as Selenay is concerned. Do him good." Dethor gave him a little push to send him on the path down toward the salle. "As for your duties as Weaponsmaster, the Court and Collegia are in a week of official mourning. No Council meetings unless there's an emergency, no Court functions, no classes, no lessons. The only thing on anyone's plate is planning the coronation, and that is for the Seneschal and Bardic Collegium, not us. Not even Selenay, actually; all she has to do is go through what they plan out for her. For you lot, this is a week of rest."
"Ah." He absorbed that with relief—when something that Dethor had said at the beginning of the explanation struck him as odd. "Dethor—Weaponsmaster's Second, I am, not Weaponsmaster—"
"Not as of today, you're not," Dethor said smugly. "With the Dean's approval, I just retired, and you are Weaponsmaster."
"Ah—" he said. It was all he could say. He felt completely stunned and utterly blindsided. This, he had not expected!
"Glad you agree," said Dethor with satisfaction. "Which is just as well, since it's too late for you to back out. Come along. It's a shower bath for you, and then bed. Worry about whatever it is you're going to worry about tomorrow."
:You might as well surrender now,: Kantor said sleepily. :He still outranks you. Retired Weaponsmaster outranks the current Weaponsmaster.:
And in fact, there was a sweet relief in doing just that, surrendering and letting someone else give the orders. He had never thought he would be comfortable in doing that—but he had never trusted anyone the way he now trusted these friends—these brothers—his fellow Heralds. As they trusted turn; had trusted him with the safety and life of their Queen, and their own.
As they had trusted him to go home to Karse—and come out again.
"In your hands, I put myself," he said, and gave in gracefully to the inevitable.
«»
"I find it somewhat ironic," Selenay said, a good two weeks and a bit later, as Alberich stood beside her, on her left. "That one of the first things I do is ask you to keep to your shadow-Grays, and yet circumstances keep forcing you into Whites."
They stood outside the doors of the Great Hall, and from the other side came a hum of voices and a sense of expectation. On her right was Talamir, in that same set of Formal Whites Alberich recalled from the first moment he'd actually seen the Queen's Own. Now he wore a set of Whites every bit as elaborate as Talamir's, and very uncomfortable he felt in them, too. It wasn't as if they were ill-fitting; quite the contrary, they fit him better than any clothing he'd ever worn. They should. It had taken two cobblers, three tailors, and five fittings to ensure that they did, and the wonder was, it had all been done in just under a fortnight. No, it was that same reaction he'd had to Talamir's Whites; this was a set of clothing for a highborn courtier, not a common man like him.
:I believe at the time you were thinking, "a foppish highborn courtier," or something of the sort,: Kantor observed.
:So I was. I still think so. And the moment all this is over, I am changing out of these ridiculous garments as quickly as humanly possible:
He refrained from tugging at his high collar. It wasn't tight; he only felt as if it should be. "Only for one day, it is," he replied. "Tomorrow, Alberich the Grim I shall again be." He did not add how much it would take to induce him back into the cursed Whites.
"Is that what the Trainees call you?" Talamir asked with interest. Talamir's health had improved vastly, and continued to do so, but there was still something that was other-worldly about him—more so at some times than others—as if only part of him was still here, among the living. And it wasn't as if he was absentminded, or that his mind wandered; actually, he was, if anything, sharper than ever. He noticed everything but said very little. Perhaps that was part of it; he stood aside from life, an observer rather than a participant. The things that irritated and annoyed other people, Talamir did not even comment upon; Alberich wondered if there was even anything he was afraid of anymore.
There were times when he seemed so distant and remote that he didn't quite seem human....
Fortunately, today he was very much in the moment, and the most like his old self that he'd been since before the last battle.
"Oh, that they call me, other things among," Alberich replied. "And 'Great Stone-Face,' or 'Herald Stone-Heart.'" He permitted himself a sardonic little smile. "They take me, perhaps, for granite."
Talamir and Selenay both blinked at him. "Was that a joke I just heard?" Talamir asked, in utter disbelief. "A pun?"
"Not possible," he replied blandly. "No sense of humor have I. All know this."
It was too late for any retort, for the trumpets sounded just beyond the double doors of the Great Hall. The doors themselves were opened from inside, and Selenay stepped forward, followed closely by her two escorting Heralds.
The Great Hall was crowded as full as it could be with every highborn and notable who had been able to get here in time for the funeral and subsequent coronation. All six of Selenay's little Tedrel pages, decked out in the dark blue of the Royal livery, preceded her as she paced up the narrow path between the two halves of the audience, in time to the music. Each of them had a basket of fragrant herbs, which they scattered in her path with meticulous care. Initial rehearsals had them either dumping handfuls and running out halfway up to the dais, or being so stingy with each leaf that they still had full baskets when they got there, so they were taking immense care to do it right this time. The looks of fierce concentration on their little faces were quite endearing.
All of the doors and windows were flung open to the summer day outside the Hall, so at least it wasn't as close in here as it could have been. But the crowd glittered like the contents of an overturned jewel chest, garbed in so many colors that, after a fortnight of the stark blacks and whites of mourning, it hurt Alberich's eyes to look at them. The sunshine pouring in the windows glanced off gold and jewels, and the crowd glittered with every tiny movement.