“Would you have us undo what we have done?” Talamir persisted.

Alberich snorted. “And how? Return, I cannot. Notorious, I am, doubtless. If ever a time for remedy was, it now long past is.”

Talamir sighed. “We tell our youngsters that Companion’s Choice is irrevocable, and for life, but that is not—altogether—true. The bond can be broken between you, if you both want it broken badly enough. It will leave you—damaged. But it can be broken.”

That held him silent for a moment. There was a bond between them? And if breaking it would leave him damaged, what would it do to Kantor? He thought about the pain in Kantor’s mental words when the Companion apologized, and winced away from the very idea. No matter what had happened to him, he could not be responsible for creating more pain. “This moots nothing,” he replied, stalling. “Nowhere to go now, have I.”

Talamir nodded. “Well, in light of that—would you consider giving us—giving life here—a trial period? Surely no choice can properly be made without all the information you need. Once you know us as we are, I believe you will choose to remain in Valdemar, to choose the Heralds.”

He opened his mouth, and closed it again, because, logically and unemotionally speaking, he honestly could not think of a good reason why he shouldn’t do as the Herald asked.

:I wish you would,: said the wistful voice in his mind.

“In the Sunlord, I still believe—” he began, bringing up the only remaining stumbling block that occurred to him.

“That is not an issue.” Talamir waved that objection aside. “It never was. But perhaps you would rather hear that from a true Priest of the Sunlord?”

He blinked. “A Voice of Vkandis? Here?”

“Not a Voice, Alberich—but I should let him speak for himself.” Talamir murmured something to the Healer, who nodded and went to the door of this room. He passed out of it, and another, much older man stepped inside, accompanied by a second about Alberich’s age.

Talamir rose, and offered his seat to the older man, who took it. “This is Alberich, Father Henrick,” he said. “Alberich, this is Father Henrick, and Acolyte Gerichen, his assistant.”

Alberich eyed them both with caution. Neither wore the red robes of a Voice, nor the black of an ordinary priest. Instead, the older man sported a similarly cut gown of fine, cream-colored wool, and the younger, a plainer robe of unbleached linen. Both had the familiar disk of the Sunlord on a chain that hung down over the breast of their robes, however.

“You serve Vkandis Sunlord?” he asked, rather doubtfully.