Even if it was only to "suggest" that he leave.
Finally Dethor hissed a little between his teeth. "I don't s'ppose," he said carefully, "that you'd know anybody likely to—well—be helpful? Inside Karse, that is? We'd like to know more about these rumors from someone with good, hard facts."
That... was a little better. Even if it sniffed around the edges of that promise they'd made him, the promise never to ask him to work against his own people.
But if those who are supposed to lead my people have already betrayed them? How can knowing if that betrayal is true or false be acting against the people?
"Depend it does," Alberich replied, just as carefully, "on what it is, by helpful, you mean."
"Information," Talamir said. "Nothing more. And nothing that would hurt Karse. Only what will protect us without hurting your people."
Alberich turned Talamir's words over and over in his mind, as the other three watched him. Because he did know someone who might—just might—be willing to be "helpful." Of all the people that Alberich knew, Aksel Tarselein was the most likely to be enraged and offended if this tale of hiring the Tedrels was true, and was, because of his own contacts, the most likely to know if it was truth or rumor spread to discomfit the enemies of Karse.
For Aksel Tarselein, trainer of cadets, had already been a deeply troubled man when Alberich knew him. Someone—another young, highborn officer—had once described him, with a sneer, as "one of the old school," as if being a man of honor and integrity, whose word was seldom given and always kept, was somehow unfashionable and old-fashioned. And the shifts to which the Son of the Sun had fallen by the time Alberich had been commissioned had left Aksel profoundly disturbed. He was glad, he had confessed to the younger Alberich when the two of them had shared a farewell flask on the night of Alberich's commission, that he was no longer in a position where he found himself forced to obey orders which went against his conscience. "And it is a harder world today," he had said sadly, staring at the last few drops in the bottom of his flagon. "You may discover that you have to stop thinking—or stop obeying. I hope that the Sunlord will guide you, young one."
He had said no more on the subject, but Alberich knew which path he had taken, though not without qualms, and not without remorse.
I stopped thinking, at least until Kantor came to me....
Just as he knew that Aksel had not stopped thinking. That was not Aksel's way. But as long as Aksel remained a Weaponsmaster to cadets, he would never be given an order that forced him to disobey either. Aksel held fast to his own honor only by making sure he was in a place where he would not have to sacrifice it.
Which of them had been given the easier path? Was it better to obey and not think, or think and try to ignore and be glad you, personally, didn't have to disobey?
"Possible, it is," he said, very slowly, "that there is a man. But possible it is not, directly to approach him. Friends he keeps, in the Mercenary Guild. There it is you must go. Speak with you he may, deny you he may." Alberich shrugged. "I cannot say; his own decision, he must make."
"Fair enough. And we've got enough friendly contacts with the Guild to ferret out whoever knows him," Dethor said, nodding agreement. "His name?"
"Aksel Tarselein. Weaponsmaster to the Sunsguard Cadets." Once again, Dethor and Talamir exchanged a look, this time a startled one.
Should he add something from himself, so that Aksel knew who had revealed him?
:Do you think your name would make Aksel change his mind?: Kantor asked.
:It might....: The now-familiar sickness rose in him again.
:And would you want it to?: Kantor continued, :Or would you rather —:
:I would rather there was no pressure on my old teacher but that of his own thoughts,: Alberich said firmly. Kantor let the matter drop. And to his immense relief, Dethor made no request for some token from Alberich. Nor did the third man—who felt, perhaps, that a message from one already branded as a traitor would do his cause with Aksel no good.
"Aksel Tarselein." Dethor and the third man exchanged a look, and the third man grunted. "That's one name more than we had before. Especially if he decides to talk."
"Yes." Alberich didn't elaborate; Dethor didn't pressure him to. The third man got up to leave.
Dethor poured a tankard full of beer and pushed it across the table to Alberich, as the third man turned at the door, gave Talamir and Dethor a little nod, and walked out. Alberich picked up the tankard and drained half of it in one gulp.
He felt a great need of it, at that moment, and it did a little, a very little, to settle his unsettled stomach and nerves.
:It is only a rumor,: Kantor said suddenly. :That is all. No matter that this spy of Sendar's has convinced everyone that it is more than that. He has no proof. He has only heard stories and a name, for no one he has spoken to has seen the Tedrels or their Captains, or even an agent that may be said to come from them.:
Relief made Alberich's hands a little steadier as he put down the tankard. :If anyone will know the truth of the rumor, it will be Aksel,: he replied. :And if it is true, I believe that Aksel will speak.:
:And in any case, it is out of your hands.:
"Well, no matter what, Talamir, it's out of our hands," Dethor sighed, echoing Kantor's words. "This is a thing for those with talents you and I don't have. Nor Alberich either."
Alberich regarded him broodingly. "I could. But a pledge you made to me—"
"And we'll keep it," Talamir said with finality. "Though I will admit to you freely, that this is one reason why the Lord Marshal's man was here. He wanted us to pressure you into crossing the Border again, to spy for Valdemar."
Wordlessly, Alberich shook his head.
Dethor snorted. "Aye, we told him as much, then asked him to his face if he'd really trust you if you agreed. And he had to admit that he wouldn't, so what's the point? We know you're sound as a good apple, but to the likes of him, a man that turns may well turn again. Gods help us, though, I sometimes wonder what we're to do with you."
Alberich eased his dry mouth with another swallow. "What you have done. There is, what else to do, to bring trust where there is none?"
"Not much. Doubters can't accuse you of much, here with my eye on you, and keeping you apart from the rest means that nobody's going to try and make trouble for you. What d'ye think of young Selenay?" An abrupt change of subject, but Alberich answered it quickly enough.
"Steady, thoughtful, careful, and untried." He saw the questions in Dethor and Talamir's eyes, and tried to answer them. "No opposition, has she met. No loss, no pain. No great joys either, no love. With the single eye, she sees now—clearly, in black and white, as young things do. Until she has more wisdom, well, who knows how she will see then? When great events come upon her—then will you see, of what she is made. Not until. But the makings of a king, she has. And she thinks, which, with more than most young things, is not the case."