Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online

the temple here. We don’t call it the Temple of Vkandis, of course; we refer to it as the Temple of the Lord of Light—but those who attend know it, and us, for what we are.”
    â€œPowers?” Alberich said, feeling very stupid all of a sudden, as his anger and resentment drained away, leaving nothing behind. “Inconvenient?”
    Father Henrick looked as if he had gotten a mouthful of green mead. “Those abilities that you have been taught are witch-powers, and signs of the contamination of demons, are nothing more than—than inborn powers that a child has no more control over than he does over whether or not he will be a great musician, or a great cook, or a great swords-man.”
    â€œHe doesn’t?” Alberich asked, dumbly.
    â€œOf course not,” the priest snapped. “And when these powers are something that the Voices find useful, if the child is young enough to be trained, it is whisked into the temple rather than being burned! It is only those whose powers are of no use to the Son of the Sun, or who are too old to be molded into a pleasing shape, that are sent to the Flames!”
    Alberich was glad that he was propped up by pillows, else he would have been reeling. The priest looked as if he had plenty more to say, but his assistant placed a cautionary hand on his arm. “Father, enough,” the younger man said in Valdemaran. “This poor fellow looks as if you had just stunned him with a club.”
    In truth, that is exactly what Alberich felt like. “I—” he faltered. “I—had no notion.”
    â€œYou are not a stupid man, Captain,” the old priest said roughly. “And you have a mind young enough to be flexible, if you will it. Try opening it.”
    He flushed at the rebuke, and felt horribly uncomfortable. This priest reminded him all too clearly of the old priest of his home, a crusty old man who had the respect of everyone in the village, and whose speech was as blunt as his common sense was good. So well was he regarded, despite a short temper and curmudgeonly demeanor, that when a Voice wished to have him replaced by a younger man, the entire village rose up in protest, and the scheme was abandoned.
    â€œBut—” he began, in an attempt to explain himself that he knew before he started would be futile.
    â€œBut, indeed. You have been given a great gift, Alberich of Karse, a gift that can serve you and our people, an opportunity that will lead—well, I cannot tell where it will lead.” The old man glared at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. “There is a reason for all of this, I am sure of it, as sure as I am that it is men, and not the Sunlord, who have made Karse and Valdemar enemies. You say that you want to help our people? Our people are led by frauds and charlatans! Half, if not more, of the Voices are false, and every high-ranking priest is corrupt! And now this happens, a soldier of Karse is Chosen to be a Herald of Valdemar, and I doubt not it is by the will of the Sunlord himself. Does that not seem like the Hand of the Sunlord Himself to you?”
    Alberich was covered in confusion. “I cannot tell—”
    â€œWell, then trust that I can,” the old man snapped. “This is a gift, an opportunity beyond price. If you piss it away, I shall be most angry with you. And rest assured that when the time comes and you stand before Vkandis’ Throne, He will ask you why you threw away the gift He placed in your hands. For the God’s sake, man, can’t you see your sacred duty when it stares you in the face?”
    Faced with that stern face of authority—of legitimate authority—what could he do or say? He tried to wrench his gaze away from the priest’s eyes so that he could think—and found that he couldn’t. “But I was given no choice— ” he tried to protest.
    The priest snorted. “Don’t be daft,” he retorted. “You