"Much," Alberich replied immediately, without even thinking about it very long. "Look you—my duty—to what it was? My God, and my people." He decided that he would leave his duty to Vkandis between himself and the God. "My people to protect. Not to the Fires to feed them. Not to bandits to leave them."
"And if them priests had told you to attack us, you'd have done it?" Dethor persisted.
Alberich could only shrug. "Then? You, Demon-Riders, lovers of demons, with witch-powers and witch-ways? Yes. A threat, I saw you."
"Hmph. Honest, at least. Now?" Dethor asked.
"Now—there, I am not. Here, I am." He shrugged. What was the point in asking such a question? Already he was an entirely different person from Captain Alberich of the Suns-guard. Tomorrow he might be a different person from today.
Dethor sighed, with some exaggeration. "All I'm asking is, are you going to knife me in my sleep because I killed a baker's dozen of your folk and a couple of your Priests a while back?"
Alberich gave Dethor the same answer he had given Alberich. "You, a soldier are. And your duty? To your King, and your people. This, I understand."
And if he asked me about questioning orders, I would suspect he thought about his before he obeyed them....
"Farmers, killed you?" he persisted. "Craftsmen?" He hunted for the word. Kantor helped.
:Civilians.:
"Civilians?"
"Never," Dethor replied, with such matter-of-factness that Alberich couldn't doubt him. "Unless you count the priests."
Alberich dismissed the Sunpriests out of hand. "Then, no quarrel have I with you."
"Reckon you're ready to help me beat some skill into a pack of puppies that never saw blood?" Dethor asked, the wrinkles around his eyes relaxing, and a hint of ease creeping into his voice.
Some of whom may grow up to slay more Karsites.... "A question," he asked, and picked his words with care. "The answer, on your honor, swear. Do you of Valdemar—do you make war, and unleash demons, my people upon?"
"No!" Dethor said with such force that Alberich started back in his chair, his hand reaching automatically for a knife that wasn't there.
"No," the Weaponsmaster repeated, without the heat. "I swear to you, on my honor, on my gods, on my life, we do nothing of the sort. We'll defend ourselves—and there's bandits along the Border that prey on both sides of it, as I assume you know well enough—but never once in my time have we even pursued an invading army past the Border once we reached it. You already know that what you call 'White Demons' are nothing but our Companions. If there are demons Preying on your people by night—" and a knowing glance told Alberich that this man knew that there were, "—then I say, look to your own priests. We don't have anything or anyone that calls up the likes of demons, and even if we did, we'd not set them on ordinary folk who just have the misfortune to live in the wrong place."
Dethor's suggestion that Alberich look to the Sunpriests for those who let demons prowl the night was not unexpected—and it was true. This was a thought that had already passed through Alberich's mind, more than once. He nodded.
And he thought of those fresh-faced youngsters at the archery field, how unless someone taught them all of the thousands of ways in which they could die and how to counter their opponents and save themselves—then they would die. For no more crime than serving their people, as he had. This man would not have taken him, a foreigner, to apprentice as his replacement, if he'd had any other choice. He could turn Dethor down, and have all those needless deaths on his own conscience. Or he could accept the position—
—and accept that he was going to stay.
:You are needed here,: Kantor said simply. :Perhaps only a handful of people even among the Heralds know this—but you are needed here. Whatever else comes, whether your God had a hand in bringing you here, whether or not He has further plans for you here, there is that. No one else can do what you can; Dethor has looked a long, long time for his replacement, and you are his last, best choice.:
"Then—yes," he replied, answering both Dethor and Kantor. "Yes. Learn I will, and teach."
"Then here's my hand on it." Dethor held out his sword-callused palm, and Alberich clasped it. A powerful and strong hand, that one had been; it was strong still, under the swollen joints and past the pain.
"Now, let me show you your quarters." Dethor got up out of his chair; Alberich forbore to offer him a hand. There would be a time for that later. Right now, Dethor could manage, and as long as he could manage alone, he would want to. Alberich rose, and followed in the old man's footsteps.
The quarters behind the salle turned out to be a series of interconnected rooms, with no space wasted on halls. This was a sitting room, primarily; the sun came in here on winter afternoons, which probably made it a good place for Dethor to sit and bask his bones. At the rear, it led into the "showering room" which had a cistern on the roof that fed both it and a privy on the other side of the room—which was where that second door led. On the other side of that was Dethor's bedroom, then a second room, which looked mostly unused, but which did have a bed and a wooden chest in it. Then storage grooms and an office, which led, in turn, back into the salle. If one followed a path around, it would be in the shape of a "u" with the two points of the letter representing the two doors into the salle.
A pile of clothing and gear lay on the bed in the second room, which Alberich assumed was going to be his. Jadus worked quickly, it seemed. The arrangement suited him, actually. And comforted him. There would be no one sleeping between him and a direct line out of here. Oh, there were windows to climb out of, but that was awkward and had the potential to be very noisy.
"This has always been laid out with the idea that the Weaponsmaster shares quarters with his Second," Dethor told him, then grinned evilly. "The Second's closer to the salle, so if there's a crisis in the middle of the night—?"
"The Second, the one who answers, is," Alberich said with mock resignation. "Master."
"Exactly. Just got one question for you. I have 'em bring my meals over from the Collegium—there's a fireplace in the sitting room where things can be kept hot. Wastes my time to be hauling myself over there and back, three times a day. But you—you might be wanting to be around people more."
It's too painful for him to be dragging himself back and forth. Alberich found it very easy to read between those lines. But—he's lonely. No, I won't desert him, not even for meals. "If you, my master and teacher will be here—then going there of what use is?" he asked logically. "A waste of my time. Asking questions, having advice, I could be. Besides, soldiers are we. Understand each other, we do."
Was it his imagination, or did Dethor actually soften a bit? "You'll find that boy Kimel is another of our sort," he said. "Head of His Majesty's Personal Guard, that boy, and hard on himself. Always after someone to make him better and keener, but he just hasn't what's needed to be Weaponsmaster. Trained him myself, though."