“Enough!” he said, silencing them all. “There is nothing more we can do until we know more. The boy and Alberich have told us all they know. Herald Ryvial and our picked Guardsmen-Investigators are on their way to Vatean’s home even now, and if there is anything to be found there, rest assured, they will find it. Every known associate of Vatean will be under observation before sunrise, long before word of his death leaks out—”

“Uncle Londer,” Skif interrupted wearily. Now that the excitement was wearing off, he was beginning to feel every bruise, and was just a little sick.

“And the man Londer Galko will also be observed,” Talamir continued smoothly. “Because he clearly knew a great deal about the child stealing, although he is not connected with Vatean in any way.”

Now he looked at Skif, and put a hand on Skif’s shoulder that felt not at all patronizing. Comradely, yes, patronizing, no. “Trainee Skif is weary to dropping, Herald Alberich is in pain, and we are fresh and have constructive work ahead of us. I suggest we send them back to their beds while we get about it, brothers.”

There was a murmured chorus of assent as the Healer put the last of the stitches into Alberich’s scalp wound, and the Heralds magically melted away, leaving Skif and Alberich alone in a calm center in the midst of the bustle.

“You won’t travel in a stretcher as you should,” the Healer said wearily, as if he had made and lost this same argument far too many times to bother again. “So the best I can do is order you back to the Collegium and to rest.”

“Teach from a stool I will, tomorrow at least,” Alberich told him.

The Healer sighed, and packed up his satchel. “I suppose that’s the most I can get out of you,” he said, and looked at Kantor. “Do what you can with him, won’t you?”

The Companion tossed his head in an emphatic nod, and Skif added, “Jeri an’ Herald Ylsa can run th’ sword work for a week—an’ Coroc an’ Kris can do archery.” Kantor nodded even more emphatically.

Alberich glared at him sourly, made as if to shrug, thought better of it, and sighed. “A conspiracy, it is,” he grumbled.

“Damn right,” Skif said boldly. And when Alberich got to his feet and made as if to mount, Kantor stamped his foot, and laid himself down so that Alberich could get into the saddle without mounting. When his Herald was in place, Kantor rose, and shook his head vigorously.

“You make me an old woman,” Alberich complained, as Skif got stiffly into Cymry’s saddle and the two of them headed up the street away from the scene of the activity, riding side by side.