Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (36 page)

The Palace Guardswoman shrugged. “It'll take me a bit to get adjusted, but I'll manage.”

Well, that sorted itself out painlessly. “Make it so,” he told them. “And once satisfied I am that your business you know, those watches you will take at Selenay's side.”

“Whether or not we're still in Haven?” Herald Ylsa asked, looking surprised.

“Whether or not. Used to your presence, I wish her to be. Invisible, I wish
you
to be.”

Nods, no objections. “What do you want us to do that we haven't done before?” asked Lotte.

He proceeded to show them.

They were used to fighting back-to-back, but
not
when in charge of someone incapacitated, or someone who needed to be kept in cover. They needed to learn how to find safe exit routes, at least two, the moment they entered a room or a situation. They had to practice defensive, rather than offensive, fighting. And later, he would teach them quick rescue techniques, how to dash in and grab the Heir if someone had snatched her, while she was still within reach. Even if that someone had a knife to her throat. The time to get her away was
not
after she was in enemy territory. He hoped that at least one of each pair was a good shot; one of the best ways to rescue someone who was kidnapped was to shoot her in the leg. Someone who had to be carried became doubly hard to take.

But he thought he would save
that
lesson for a time when Selenay wasn't with them.

By midmorning, Selenay had joined them. She was not at all happy about having bodyguards
all
the time, but she was reasonable about it. The same could not be said for her father, according to the terse report he got from Kantor.

But
Alberich
didn't have to deal with her father. That was Talamir's problem, not his.

He was just pleased that his six women were quick studies, a little quicker than he'd hoped, actually. The three from the City Guard were especially adept in defensive strategies, perhaps because of their riot training. Students, crowds of layabouts and troublemakers, and drunks in fair season sometimes turned into mobs, and the City Guards and constables were trained to deal with a mob in every manifestation, whether cheerful and manic or surly and destructive.

The two Heralds had their own set of valuable skills, especially suited to their day watch, in no small part because they were used to letting their eyes skim over a crowd, looking for someone or something that was subtly
wrong.
The two Heralds would have their Companions to help, of course—and the Companions made another good reason to have them on day watch. No one assassin, not even a group of three to six, could get past two Heralds and
three
Companions. And the possibility of getting a group of strangers past sentries and guards and other sharp-eyed sorts by day was vanishingly small.

By night—well, it was possible, but it would have to be very well coordinated, and the number of approaches to get at Selenay would be limited. So once Selenay joined them, Alberich concentrated on escapes—how to get
her
to where her Companion could reach her, for once she was mounted, she was probably safe. Safer, anyway. Her Companion could get her out of reach of
anything
that anyone could use at night, for distance weapons would be severely limited by limited visibility. Night watch did have a different problem, for Selenay would be asleep part of the time. The three City Guards solved that problem for him, though, because they were perfectly used to manhandling semiconscious bodies. Even if Selenay was somehow drugged and couldn't be awakened, with a little luck, they'd be able to get her out of harm's way.

“We won't eat or drink anything we haven't brought with us,” they told him, before he even asked. “And we won't eat
or
drink at the same time. That way even if someone's somehow managed to get to our grub,
one
of us will be able to see that something's wrong.”

He was quite satisfied with their progress when he dismissed them at the end of the first day. The bones were there of a good set of three pairs of bodyguards and a first-class set of battle guards. Even Selenay was impressed, and had worked as hard as they did, in a role that did
not
come naturally to her—that of hiding behind others and allowing someone else to take care of her.

Lotte was the last to leave, and she helped him to clean up the salle before she did. As the door closed behind her, he sat down on a bench in the salle, suddenly feeling exhausted. It had been a long, long day.

The salle was silent, except for the sounds he made himself. The last blue light of dusk came in through the clerestory windows up above and reflected off the mirrors behind him. He unbuckled the straps of his armor with fingers that ached from holding tightly to sword and dagger, and winced at the occasional bruise.

Training the battlefield guards—ah, that would be another question. He'd thought long and hard about it, and had decided to go with a mix of half Heralds, and half Guardsmen, and had given the list to Talamir last night.

He would head up the group around Selenay, and Talamir would be the commander of Sendar's group. The
most
experienced fighters he chose for Sendar's guards, because on the battlefield, the Tedrels that came after Sendar would be going in for the kill. The ones after Selenay would be handicapped as they would be trying to capture, not kill, so they would hold back somewhat. His people would have no such compunction against
them.

And he rather expected that Selenay, once she saw fighting, would be eager to stay
out
of it. Not that he doubted her courage. . . .

But she was a young and sensitive person, and battlefields were horrors.
He
was sickened by them, and he was hardened to the death and carnage. Once she got her first taste of real fighting, she should be perfectly willing to stay at the rear of the battle lines with the commanders.

Alberich was not as sanguine about keeping Sendar out of the thick of the fighting.

But then, again, that was
not
his job. It was Talamir's, and if the King's Own couldn't manage it, no one could. Certainly not Alberich, the foreigner, for to some, perhaps unconsciously even to the King, that was an issue. No matter how people felt about him consciously, somewhere down deep inside, the moment he opened his mouth—

:Perhaps if you worked on your grammar,:
Kantor suggested.

:Indeed. In my infinite leisure time,:
he retorted as he pulled off the armor he'd worn to protect himself. He had been the “assassin” for all of this practice, and as such, had worked harder than all of them combined. He was in good condition, as good as he'd ever been, but—ah, it had been a hard day, as well as a long one.

At least he'd been too busy to think, too busy to worry.

Today he had neglected all of the Trainees, leaving poor Dethor and a couple of the older Trainees to conduct lessons themselves. Tomorrow he would have to do the same.

And the day after, and the day after that—

He sagged down on the bench, suddenly, with an overpowering sense of guilt. He was
supposed
to be Dethor's Second, to take the burden of all of this off of the old man.
:Ah, Kantor, what am I going to do?:
he asked plaintively.
:I can't be in two places at once—:

:And if you were not here, who would be teaching the Trainees? And who would have seen to it that Selenay had bodyguards? And who would be drilling the King and Heir's battlefield escorts?:
Kantor replied. Someone else, of course. Dethor, and someone else. Someone who wouldn't have Alberich's experience.

Someone else—if he could figure out
who
that someone else might have been, maybe he could recruit him (her?) to train the Trainees.

:This last lot of Trainees won't see fighting,:
he said, after a moment.
:We've put everyone who is even remotely ready into Whites by now, but there're still the ones that are a year away from becoming full Heralds. There must be a dozen of them, and I've personally taught
all
of them from the time they came in as Trainees; I can put
them
to teaching the younglings, while Dethor supervises.:

:Good answer,:
Kantor approved.

:And I can see to it that Dethor stays here, no matter how much he wants to go South with the full army,:
he decided, clenching his jaw.
:He'll fight me on it, but if the King orders him to stay, then no matter what happens to me, there will still be a Weaponsmaster at the Collegium.:

:He won't like that, but it's a sensible course of action.:
Kantor sighed.
:Mind, all he has to do is try
one
night in a tent to know that he'd only be a handicap and a liability. One night spent in something other than a warm bed would leave him a cripple.:

By that, Alberich knew that Kantor and the other Companions were already plotting ways to get Dethor to make the experiment. Quietly, of course. Without anyone else knowing, of course. There was no point in embarrassing the old man.

:Good answer,:
Alberich replied, and levered his own stiff, sore body up off the bench. A hot soak, something to eat, and then—
:Do you think I'd be allowed to sit in on any strategy sessions?:
he asked. Perhaps he wasn't a great general, but there was only one way to get that expertise, and that was to watch an expert in the craft of war.

:Just slip in and stay in the background, and we'll see to it that no one notices you,:
Kantor replied.

Well! That was interesting.

And he'd better take advantage of it.

He limped toward the door to his shared quarters. It was going to be a long night.

The first of many, he suspected.

:The first of many,:
Kantor agreed.
:But it won't be alone, Chosen. Never alone.:

Talamir clenched his jaw and told himself that it wasn't wise to contemplate strangling his King.

He sat, rather stiffly, in the armchair that Sendar had nodded him toward. He knew that chair of old. It was seductively comfortable, and it was supposed to make him relax. He wasn't going to allow it to.

And he wasn't going to strangle his King. “Sendar,” he said instead, “I am fully aware that you are an accomplished King and leader,
and
under most circumstances you are perfectly able to defend yourself, but may I be bold and point out to you that you can neither remain awake from now until this war is over, nor can you do everything that you refuse to delegate, even though there are plenty of your humble servants who are perishing for something constructive to do.
Therefore
you can resign yourself to the fact that you
will
have to sleep, now and again and
will
require bodyguards while you do so, and you
will
have to learn how to delegate.” He took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable reaction.

The King growled under his breath; something inaudible, but it sounded unflattering.

“Furthermore,” Talamir persisted, “if you intend to persuade your daughter to put up with
her
bodyguards, you are going to have to set her a good example.”

“That,” Sendar said, clearly and distinctly, “is blackmail.”

“The blackest,” Talamir agreed. “It's also the truth.”

He neglected to tell the King that he had pointed out the converse to his Heir. If each of them thought that the good example she (or he) was setting was the reason for the
other
behaving in a sensible fashion, it would make everyone's job much easier.

Although Sendar looked sullenly at him (recalling to Talamir's mind the rebellious adolescent that he'd been as a Trainee), he nodded. “All right. I'll accept the bodyguards. But I want to train with them,” he said stubbornly.

“I don't think you're going to have a choice in the matter. I believe Alberich was going to insist on it.” Talamir had the satisfaction of seeing surprise on the King's face. “He's a very thorough fellow, is Alberich. He realized immediately that having a bodyguard doesn't do you a great deal of good if someone attacks you, and you don't know what to do but they
do.
The wrong move could put you in as much danger as if you didn't have them at all.”

“Selenay—” Sendar began, and was interrupted by his daughter walking into the room.

“Selenay
has
been training with her bodyguards,” she said, flinging herself down into a chair with a groan and a wince. Talamir noticed that her hair was wet. She must have just come from the bathing room. “Six of them! And the so-gentle Alberich promises that it's going to get harder from here. I have, in the course of the afternoon, been thrown to the ground, thrown
onto
Caryo's back, hauled about like a sack of wheat, and taught how to dive for all manner of cover. Not to mention done just a trifle of fighting practice myself. I'm quite looking forward to facing the Tedrels; they can't be worse than this.”