That made him feel easier. Later, perhaps, he could ask Myste, if he thought he’d need her. She wasn’t much good at anything physical, and he wasn’t sure just how well she could conceal her feelings. He really didn’t want to involve her if he didn’t have to.
No matter how good a notion Kantor thought it was. Companions weren’t always right.
4
“Bloody hell!” Herald Keren said, in sheer admiration. She shook her head. “All this time? You’ve been running around in Hell’s own neighborhood all this time? By yourself? Bloody hell!” Keren had held Alberich in high esteem for his skill, but he sensed that this had not been anything she would have pictured him doing. “So where’s your wheelbarrow, then?”
“Pardon?” he said, puzzled, as Ylsa choked. But neither of them explained, so he decided it was one of those colloquialisms he wouldn’t understand even if he knew what she’d meant, and dismissed it from his mind.
Keren was probably Alberich’s age, though with someone from Lake Evendim it was hard to tell. They were all lean, tall, and had the sort of face that appears not to change a great deal between the ages of twenty and sixty. She had been a Herald for several years by the time Alberich came to Haven, and people swore she’d looked pretty much the same as she did now on the day she arrived. She was an oddity among the female Heralds, as she wore her brown hair cropped close to her head, but then, the only “hairstyle” she was interested in was how to braid up a Companion’s mane and tail for parade.
“Since Dethor his Second made me, prowling the streets I have been,” Alberich confirmed. Keren grinned at him, with a glint in her eye that made her partner Ylsa sigh and cast a glance up toward heaven.
Ylsa was cut of similar cloth to Keren, though her hair was an ash-blonde and her jaw square rather than Evendim-narrow. Apparently they had been together from the time they were yearmates as Trainees. Ylsa tended to be the one who exercised more caution than Keren did; hardly surprising, really, since Myste claimed the Lake Evendim fishers were all descended from pirates. “And just how often have you been doing this?” she asked.
“Of late, perhaps every two or three nights. But during the worst of it, nightly, could I manage it.”
“Bloody hell! When did you sleep?” Keren demanded.
“Infrequently, apparently,” Ylsa muttered.
He had known he would have to let Ylsa in on the secret of his double life the moment he’d decided to recruit Keren; he had learned as a commander that the only way to ensure perfect cooperation from his men—or now, his women—was to make certain their partners knew what was toward. And although by the strictest Karsite creed, what was between Ylsa and Keren was—not to be thought of—Alberich had been a leader of men for far too long not to know that things that were not to be thought of were commoner than the Sunpriests admitted.
Back when he’d been a Captain of the Sunsguard, two of his men had had just such an “understanding” between them, though the rest of the troop had not known, and Alberich doubted that even the two in question ever realized he had discovered their association. They had been very good at keeping it all to themselves, but Alberich had been better at reading subtle body language than they were at concealing it from him. Never once had it affected their performance; never once had they allowed it to affect their behavior in the troops. After careful soul searching on Alberich’s part, he had finally decided that what did not affect the troops did not matter, and ignored it.
Several more of the men had clandestine marriages with women in one or another of the villages—ordinary fighters were not permitted to marry, at all, under any circumstances, only officers. Needless to say, those “understandings,” too, had been kept very quiet. Strange, that whoring was tolerated, if preached against, but an honest marriage was absolutely forbidden . . . on the grounds that it was a distraction to the soldier.
This had all conflicted with what the Sunpriests decreed, and as their leader, his responsibility was to report every irregularity to the Sunpriests. Except that if he did that, he’d earn the hatred of half of them, and see the other half cashiered before six months was over. Eventually he had come to a decision on his own about what the men did or did not do. If some behavioral trait of one of his people did not affect performance and honor adversely, it mattered not at all. If it affected performance and honor positively, it mattered a very great deal.
So when confronted by similar “irregularities” as a Herald, he followed the same course, and that seemed to be the right way to go. It certainly fell right into line with the credo that “there is no one right way.”
So far as he could judge, Keren and Ylsa were good partners. Keren gave Ylsa a boost to thinking imaginatively. Ylsa steadied Keren down, something that hellion badly needed. If they had lovers’ quarrels, they kept it to themselves, or at least, never involved anyone but a counselor. And although Keren was permanently stationed at the Collegium—there hadn’t been a better riding instructor in the past fifty years, so it was said—and Ylsa was a Special Messenger, which took her out of Haven all the time, neither of them complained about being separated far too often. If they’d been Sunsguard, he’d have called them fine soldiers, and written them up for commendations. As it was, since there was no such thing as officers in the Heraldic Circle and thus absolutely nothing he could say or do that would get them any advance in rank, he merely considered it a pity that there weren’t more Heralds like them.
“And you want me to help you out?” Keren continued, still with that glint in her eyes.
“From time to time. Not often. But there are some things women tell not to men. And some places men are welcome not.” He shrugged. “That there is the greatness of threat to Valdemar that there was once, I think not. That there is the threat still existing, however, I do think. I know not why there was that man paying for grumblings against the Queen, for instance, and this troubles me. Valdemar was not impoverished in the Wars as it could have been—”
“Thanks to you,” Ylsa pointed out. “If you hadn’t gone after those children, and got the lion’s share of the Tedrel loot in the process, we would have been.”
He waved that aside. “Still, seasoned fighters were lost; Valdemar hires not from the Mercenary Guild, so weakened will Valdemar be for some time. A weakened land is a land that others may seek—to exploit.”
“Hmm.” Ylsa sat back in her chair, and stroked her chin speculatively. “That could be . . . though we’ve friends on the east and south.”
“There is the north,” Keren pointed out. “Northern barbarians are always a danger, and the gods only know what Iftel might do—just because it’s been quiet for centuries doesn’t mean it won’t suddenly roar up and turn into a menace. And there’s always the west. Pirates on Evendim. Bandit bands large enough to qualify as armies. Weird stuff out of the Pelagirs. Gods only know what comes farther into the west than the Pelagirs.”
“Even so.” Alberich nodded. “The Northern Border and the Western are—”
“Fluid,” Ylsa supplied him. “And what’s more, Selenay inherited a Kingdom where war has allowed other problems to be ignored. And I suspect you know that at first hand.” She raised an eyebrow at him; Special Messengers saw a lot, and were chosen as much for their ability to keep their mouths shut as their riding prowess.