Karal sat at the desk for a long time after the hour of class had ended, thoughts and expression troubled. Even if he hadn't had Altra's sight, he would never have missed the powerful presence Alaric exuded. It was the same soul Karal had known and loved years before, simply put into a new shape. The encounter had left him deeply shaken, frightened and joyful at the same time. He'd managed to conceal his shock when Alaric had been in the room and to teach the class without incident; but now that he was alone, he felt too weak to stand and too deliriously happy to leave the room.

::Karal, you're treading dangerous ground,:: Altra warned, jumping up beside him. ::You understand that you can't ever tell him that you've known him before? That is not the way of things!::

::Yes, I understand that,:: the priest answered, reaching out to the Firecat to stroke the soft fur and soothe him. ::I'm no fool, Altra. I know I can't cross that boundary. But surely I may rejoice that he has returned to me? Is there any harm in that?::

::There can be, if you are not careful. You have proven yourself to be intelligent and discreet already...but can you trust yourself, when your emotions are running so high? Even the wisest men and women cannot always control themselves when their hearts are brimming over.::

::Altra, I'll restrain myself! Don't worry about that. Only....only I am so glad to have him back, even if he does not remember me...::

::I think he does remember you, though...at least a little...::

Karal started in his seat. ::What?::

::He was watching you the whole time today. He had a very odd expression.::

::Maybe he was watching you. I think you frightened him when you came in.::

::No—he was studying your face. Intently, I might add.::

The priest leaned back uneasily in his seat. ::Well, so what I am supposed to do if he does recognize me?:: he asked. ::I can't ask him to leave the class or anything and give him some flimsy lie as an explanation! Altra--:: He leaned forward, and laid a hand on the Firecat's neck. ::I'll guard myself. Don't worry.::

Altra flicked his tail, and gave a sort of mental sigh. ::Mind that you don't,:: he replied at last. ::It's not just you I'm worried about—young Alaric could get hurt, too, if he doesn't fully understand his history with you. So just...be careful.::

::I will. But if I already seem familiar to him, who is to say he won't figure it out for himself? Florian's death is recorded in the history books for that year...and there are plenty of people around Haven who remember how close we were.::

::He won't know what to look for specifically—and he may forget about the matter entirely as he comes to know you as a teacher. My advice would be to befriend him as he is now. Get to know him as Alaric, not Florian.::

Karal sighed, and stroked the Firecat's neck. ::You're right of course,:: he said at length. ::Yes, I'll do as you say. It will be very hard to not think of him as Florian, but I will work at it. Thank you, Altra.::

His friend purred softly under Karal's hand. ::You're welcome.::

-----

Alaric smiled as Corsen affectionately lipped his fingertips, still incredulous that he had been Chosen—he, the smallest and most troublesome of the four Damarene boys, the ne'er-do-well, the one who would never amount to a clump of dirt! Now he was here in Haven, called to a high destiny as one Valdemar's elite Heralds—it was hardly to be believed. He stoked Corsen's long, graceful nose—no, the splendid white-pelted creature was no illusion. The Companion stamped her silver, ringing hoof, as if to emphasize the point. Alaric laughed, and impulsively threw his arms around her neck.

"No, you're very real!" he said. "I was stupid to doubt it." He combed his fingers through her mane, remembering the morning she had come for him. The expressions on his fathers' and brothers' faces had been priceless. Alaric did not miss them—there had been ten children in the Damarene family, with little love to go around. The village he had lived in near the Rethwellen border had been quaint and picturesque in its way, but had reeked with the stagnant air of a place which offered no opportunities. The farmers and townsfolk were comfortable in their unchanging routines, and reviled those who sought after more, accusing them of "getting above their raisings."

"Well, I'm out of their hair now," Alaric muttered to Corsen. "They've seen the back of me forever, for I'm to be a Herald--"

He choked off his words as he heard footsteps and two voices coming near, a man and a woman.

"An'desha, I can't in good faith ask that of Karal, not after what happened the last time."

"What other choice is there? He's the only Channel we know of—who else could we ask?"

Alaric ducked behind the wall of Corsen's stall as the Shin'a'in shaman An'desha and Captain Kerowyn came into view—something told him that this conversation was not meant for his ears, but the mention of Karal intrigued him. What was a Channel, and what did the term have to do with the man Alaric had met earlier?

"There must be one among the Tayledras who would be willing to help," Kerowyn said, a scowl crossing her face. "Karal can't be the only one in the world."

"No, certainly not—but the problem's in Karse, and who better to ask than our own Karsite Ambassador, who just happens to be a Channel? Think of it--"

Kerowyn whirled around. "It's too much to ask of him!" she said fiercely. "You were there the last time he channeled that much magic; you know what it cost him; and you of all people ought to understand why he shouldn't have to go through that again!"

Alaric held his breath during the long, tense silence that followed, afraid of discovery. He knew Karal had somehow been involved in neutralizing the magical storms that he torn up the country years ago—but what loss did they speak of? What had happened to the priest at that time?

"I think you're doing him a great disservice, Kero," An'desha said after a moment, lowering his voice. "Karal is the last person who would ever begrudge us his skills in a time of need, no matter what he's been through."

The Captain's resolve seemed to weaken at this, for she turned away and stroked the neck of her own Companion, Sayvil—there was a troubled expression upon her face. "I know what you're saying," she said quietly, after a moment, "but I can't help but worry about it. The weapons in the Dhorisha plains already stole his sight—what will this one do?"

"I don't know, Kero" An'desha answered. "I don't think any mage living could tell you—there's no guarantee that it's safe. But men and women don't become great by doing only safe and easy things."

"Well, hasn't Karal already accomplished enough great things? He's--" The Captain stopped mid-sentence and sighed. "Ask him. Ask Karal himself. It's really not for me to say what he can and can't face. Only he knows his limits."

An'desha nodded respectfully. "I will ask him myself," he said. "Please, have faith in him, Kero—I do."