Alberich had a real flair for working clandestinely, something he’d probably never explored back in Karse. Talamir wondered how Alberich felt about this new skill; it didn’t seem to match the persona of a simple military man.

As if Alberich would ever be a simple anything.

“It was never that vile because there were never that many opportunities,” Talamir pointed out. “And what are we to do? Demand some sort of certification of virtue from everyone who passes the gates? Haul them away and question them under Truth Spell as to their motives? I think not. The best we can do is what Alberich’s doing, and thank the gods we have him.”

The fire flared, revealing Dethor’s troubled expression.

“You know the man’s in a real mental state,” Dethor said, leveling a long and accusatory look at his old friend. Talamir shifted uncomfortably, but his conscience forced him to meet Dethor’s eyes. “I have the feeling that he’s overworking, just so he can sleep at night. I have the feeling that he’s looking for trouble just so he can work out his frustration on a legitimate object. The problem is, when you start looking for trouble, it starts looking for you.”

Talamir sighed, deliberately looking down at the plate of fruit on the table between their chairs. Slowly and methodically, he picked up an apple and began to peel it. “I know,” he admitted. “I wish there was something that I could do about it. But even if we hadn’t promised we would never ask him to do anything against Karse—”

“—the Council won’t allow him out of Haven.” Dethor snorted, and Talamir looked up from his apple with reluctance. The creases and wrinkles of Dethor’s face turned his frown into something demonic, and the firelight only amplified the effect. “Dammit, Talamir. Can’t you do anything about this? I know he wants to do something about the Wars, and I see his face every time he watches another batch of youngsters going south. It’s tearing him up!”

“What? Vouch for him? I have, a hundred times and more,” Talamir replied, nettled that Dethor would even think he’d been doing less than he could for Alberich. “Then there’s the little matter of what he calls his honor.”

“Which he’s damned touchy about,” Dethor growled.

“Exactly so,” Talamir agreed. “So what are we going to do? Truth here—I’d give both legs for a dozen Alberichs, all willing to go spying back there among his own people. Damned insular Karsites! Strangers stand out among ’em like a chirra in a herd of sheep. Accents, mannerisms, what they know without even knowing that they know it—” He threw up his hands in frustration. “—you just can’t teach those sorts of things!”