If it was bad for him, it must be worse for Alberich. He was facing enormous pressure from those who didn’t know about the covert work and saw only that he spent little time in the company of the other Heralds and less doing anything that might help the war effort. There was even more social pressure from those who had no idea that the Council had effectively shackled Alberich to Haven. There was a feeling from some that he had somehow betrayed the land that had taken him in, the brotherhood into which he had been admitted.

But what could they do to change that? Nothing. Everything he was doing, other than his position as Dethor’s Second, was covert, and had to remain so.

Especially the work with the Lord Marshal’s agents—though for all the candlemarks he spent with them, there was little enough to show in the way of success.

But then, the agents were only men—clever men, facile men, but just ordinary men. They couldn’t be him for a day, or a week, or somehow pluck the deep memories that made him Karsite out of his head and plant them so solidly in their own minds that they became Karsite themselves.

Which brought him back to the problem all over again. If only they could make all those agents into little Alberichs… if only they could link those agents into Alberich’s head, so that every time they did something wrong, he would catch them and correct them.

And a blinding revelation hit him.

“Good gods—” Talamir exclaimed, staring unseeingly at his reflection in the window. “I do believe I have the solution.”

“To which problem?” Dethor asked skeptically.

“To the problem of how we can get effective agents into Karse,” Talamir replied, holding his half-peeled apple tightly. “And to the problem of Alberich contributing to the war. You know how MindHealers are able to get into someone’s head and do things with their memories? Extract ones we need from someone who’s unconscious, and all that?”

Once again, he found it unnecessary to explain to his friend where he was going. “MindHealer. You think they’d be willing to get into our Karsite’s head and get his memories out, then plant them in someone else’s head?” Dethor looked interested, but skeptical. “They’re damn near as touchy about what’s moral and what’s not as he is about his honor.”

“If he agrees, I can ask,” Talamir replied. “I lose nothing by asking, and if I already have his consent, what can they object to?”

“And will those memories be real?” Dethor continued. “I mean, you know how faulty even trained memory can be. Memory isn’t reliable—especially not childhood memory.”