That was an easy question to answer, for it was the sum of all of his turmoil. :Because no one born and raised in Valdemar could ever be so careful of the lives of the children of Karse as I. No one but I would care enough to take the extra effort to be sure no harm came to them.:

Alberich was no Empath, but the sudden flood of triumph that welled up from Kantor was a thing so tangible that it felt like the beams of the rising sun, reaching upward into the heavens at dawn. It so surprised him that he felt stunned, too shocked for words.

But Kantor had words enough for him.

:Then, Chosen, Alberich, Herald of Valdemar and Captain of Karse—make more of you! Make them out of the Heralds that Talamir brings to you! Give them not only the things that Talamir wants, but the memories, good and ill, that have made you what you are! Do that—and they will be as tender of Karsite lives as you, and you could ask for no better stewards in your absence.:

He lay blinking for a long moment as the sense of that penetrated. Then he closed his eyes and considered the advice from every possible angle.

And he could find no flaw in it. What better thing could he do for his people than this? How could it violate his oath to create more protectors of his people? Kantor was right. Kantor was right!

Relief flooded into him with such force that he felt dizzy with it, and he clutched the sides of the narrow bed as it seemed to move beneath him. And when the feeling of release ebbed a little, he felt his face wet with unexpected tears—

Oh, my people—oh, my beloved people—I can send you protectors to take my place at last, at long last!

He rubbed the tears away with his sleeve, swiftly controlled himself, and realized that the murmur of voices in the other room had not stilled. Dethor and Talamir, Sunlord bless them, were still deep in their plans, searching for answers—

:—trying to find a way to persuade you without pressuring you—: Kantor pointed out.

Yes. They would be. They had been as careful of his honor as he was. More, perhaps, because they did not understand the reasons behind what he did, they only honored his conviction that he needed to do them.

He got out of bed; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d rejoined a discussion while in a nightshirt and sleeping trews. He made his way to the doorway of the sitting room, and stood there a moment, silent, seeing again the strain, the care, the burden of duty weighing both of them down.

At least this time he’d be able to lift some of that, not add to it.

He cleared his throat, and they looked up, startled.