This wasn’t so bad. Without the Herald looming over him, without actually having to look him in the eyes, Skif felt more comfortable. And in the dim coolness, the Herald seemed a bit more relaxed. Alberich cleared his throat again, as soon as they settled. “So. It is you who have been telling tales for the most of today. Let someone else, for a candlemark.”

“Suits,” Skif said shortly, and leaned back into the curved stone bench.

“Karse,” Alberich began, meditatively. “I left my land, and to an extent, my God. They call me traitor there. Think you—it is odd, that I love them both, still?”

“I dunno,” Skif replied honestly. “Dunno much ‘bout gods, an’—truth t’tell, I never thought overmuch ’bout anythin’ like a whole country. Mostly didn’ think ’bout much past m’own streets.”

Alberich nodded a little, his gaze fixed on the river flowing outside the grotto. “No reason there was, why you should.”

Skif shrugged. “ Ol’ Bazie, he didn’ think much of Karse, an’ I reckon he thought pretty well of Valdemar, when it comes down t’cases. Least—” Skif thought hard for a moment, back to those memories that he hadn’t wanted to think about at all for a very long time now. “Huh. When he lost ‘is legs, ’twasn’t Karse as saw ‘im Healed, nor the Tedrels. ’Twas Valdemar. An’ he ‘ad some good things t’say ’bout Heralds.”

“Tell me,” Alberich urged mildly, and Skif did. It was surprising, when he came to think about it, how much good Bazie had said about Valdemar and its Heralds, especially considering that he’d fought against both.

Alberich sighed. “I love my land and my God,” he said, when Skif was through. “But—both have been—are being—ill served. And that is neither the fault of the land, nor the God.”

He told his story concisely, using as few words as possible, but Skif got a vivid impression of what the younger Alberich must have been like. And when he described being trapped in a building that was deliberately set afire to execute him, Skif found himself transposing that horror to what Bazie and the boys must have felt.

But there had been no Companion leaping through the flames to save them. There had been no happy ending for Bazie.

“It was the King’s Own and another Herald who came at Kantor’s call,” Alberich said meditatively. “Which was, for my sake, a good thing. Few would question Talamir’s word, fewer dared to do so aloud. So I was Healed, and I learned—yes,” he said, after he glanced at Skif. “Oh, smile you may, that into Grays I went, and back to schooling at that age! A sight, I surely was!” He shook his head.

“Why?” Skif asked. “Why didn’ you just tell ’em t’ make you a Herald straight off?”