hey all!

Wow, it's been awhile. I've been really debating the inclusion of this next tale and tried to rework it to satisfaction, but since it's been, well, awhile, I just said, screw it, I'm going to go with it. So if anyone is disappointed with the direction of this story as a whole from before, now, and in the future...I sincerely apologize.

Kerchen blew into the air, watching the white puff of his breath disappear into the night. Karse had a considerably more temperate climate, and the novelty of Valdemar's winter still hadn't worn off. Midwinter was just beginning, and he wondered what to do with this thing called leisure time. It was a strange concept, but he had a few weeks to ponder it. He headed back, debating whether he should visit Grandma Magdee instead.

No, it's too late. Alys certainly talks a lot-it shouldn't have taken that long. Luckily, it had taken long enough that Alvira had turned in for the night already. While he loved her very much, he would really prefer not to ride anymore today. She would have made me go around Companion's Field from noon til dark if it weren't for Alys. I should thank Alys for that. But why did Alvira want to run so fanatically? Not only did she need to run all the time, she needed to run with him. Was it because she was a fairly old Companion who had never had a rider before? Kerchen found this unlikely given her independent disposition, but also had to admit guessing a person's hobbies was not his area of expertise.

He heard a sound behind him, a strange, shifting sound a bit more self-conscious than an average passerby. As he reached the gardens, Kerchen took a roundabout path through them, and heard the peculiar footsteps continue to shuffle behind him the whole way. Kerchen suppressed a smile at the loud crunching of the snow behind him-someone was tailing him and not doing a good job of it at all. It must be Dieder. How bored must he be to try to surprise me in this weather? For all that the snow was charming, it was simply too cold for these antics. Kerchen turned around to call him out-

-and that was all he remembered.

The shock of the icy cold water jolted him back to consciousness. He gasped, completely disoriented, waiting for everything to refocus. What is this? Where am I? He tried to move, but his arms and legs were bound to his chair. He had just opened his eyes when another bucket of water crashed into his face. The temperature took his breath away, and he bit back a gasp.

"Look he's awake!" A feminine voice simpered, dangling the "a" like bait in the air, and a chorus of laughter bubbled up. Incredulous, he looked up towards the sounds. The owner of the voice, an elegant girl wrapped in an elaborate fur coat, looked down at him from behind her white, fur trimmed fan. For all that she looked like a doll, her expression repulsed him.

"Are you thirsty, brat?" Someone else asked, with fake sympathy dripping from his smooth voice. "Here, drink up!" He threw another bucket of water onto Kerchen, who involuntarily shuddered. As the room burst into laughter, Kerchen glared up at the crowd from behind his soaking hair as his situation became clear.

Those Blues from that table. He recognized them now-Rahlen Poitregas, Shendelle Fairtheld, Verenth Thirnend-all the people surrounding him were the highborn that had noticed him on the first day. By this time, he had treated them as fixtures of the Collegia-often present but irrelevant. They had always talked of nothing of import-though now he suspected that was because they had been conscious of his presence. Rahlen and Shendelle-he met them in the market as well. He had no doubt that they had spearheaded this debacle.

"Are you clean? Let me see your face," Rahlen exclaimed with delight, and yanked his head up by his hair. Kerchen willed himself not to make a sound, not to give him the satisfaction of hearing it, though a grunt escaped his teeth as Rahlen jerked his head to the side, tearing out a sizable clump of hair. "That'll teach you," he sneered, spitting on his face. "Where these silly Grays get the idea that their kind can disrespect us-well, I simply don't know."

Disrespect you? I gave you a shove, and so you sneak up behind me, knock me out, tie me to a chair and taunt me, and I'm disrespecting you? Kerchen was furious and hardly knew what to be most furious about-the spit that dripped from his face, his torn hair on the floor, the cold water that made every inch of him shudder, the rope binding that cut into his wrists, or the fact that he was being subjected to this because people like Rahlen had no decency. The laughter continued, and despite the small size of the wooden shed they were in, it seemed to echo and reverberate in his head endlessly. The more he thought about it and the more he listened to those spiteful voices, the more he wanted to burst with rage, to shout and scream and slam his chair against a wall and break it. He knew, however, that that would be pointless, and the anger that burned inside him chilled as he fingered the knife in his sleeve.

The nostalgic feeling of this cool mindset, which he had honed during his days as an agent, was almost strange, like an old glove that he had cast aside. He hadn't needed it since he had become a Trainee. Nevertheless, he was grateful for it, as otherwise he would have tried to do something stupid like thrashing about and letting his anger control him. No, an agent of Goroch's would die of shame before he so petulantly gave up a golden opportunity to seize the situation.

He surveyed the room. This was the usual clique, not just the ones who were at the market. Jedeth Levalen was missing, though of Rahlen's close cohorts, he was the only one who attended weapons class. Virenth had shown up occasionally but had quickly switched to a private tutor. Did they think they could take me on without Jedeth? Jedeth had sparred with him, so he would have known Kerchen was stronger than any assembled. Then again, they had only planned to wage war while he was tied to a chair. That fact only made him more resolute to teach them a lesson.

The knife he pulled from his sleeve was his favorite, a gift from his old mentor. Father Goroch's knife was a fine work that rarely dulled. The ropes were already giving way-with only a bit of patience, he could surely deal these fools their just deserts.

"What, you're not going to say anything?" Rahlen poked him a couple of times, relishing the latter's inability to retaliate. "If you don't want us to throw you into the river, you better start apologizing for what you did now." Laughing, he shoved Kerchen's head abruptly and toyed with his face, flicking his nose, pinching his cheek, aware of the humiliation he was inflicting.

They're overconfident. They're full of themselves. That was the weakness of greedy men, consuming more than they could swallow. The former assassin repeated these things to himself over and over, a concentrated effort to stay calm as he endured the jeers and taunts that he never had to experience before. At the Academy, everyone had been equal before the Weaponsmaster Berthold. Though aged and whitehaired, Berthold was strong enough to enforce total discipline in his domain, no matter the background of the student. They could get unruly, but there were always lines that weren't crossed. That discipline and humility was entirely absent in the nobles, who seemed to think themselves their own lords.

Why? Why was it that they thought they could do this and go unpunished? The answer hit him like a bolt, not unlike the sting of pain in his cheek.

Because they're untouchable in Valdemar's system. Everything started to make sense-Dieder's reaction at the market, why the highborns would get away with things that would not have been tolerated in any other Circle in the Collegia, the way the Grays would run to wealthier Trainees in case of trouble with the highborn Blues-suddenly a lot of things that he hadn't quite understood were locking into place. Nobility makes you untouchable. Money is power itself.

"What is it, you cur? You really want to taste the bottom of the riverbed?"

Even the Heralds have to work within that framework. Why? Because the Collegium is funded by taxes, as Rahlen said?

"What? Look at this! This little whelp's face was all prettied up!"

"What, is that powder-on a boy? Eww, how gross. Even for a commoner, I wouldn't expect such a disgusting habit."

That must be it, but the exchange has already been made in Valdemar's safety. There's no need for them to cater to these brats-there's no need for me to cater to them.

"Hah! It looks like our favorite Gray was a slave in his previous life. Just because he's wearing some white smock, the whipping boy now thinks he's some kind of hero."

They've gone unpunished too long. The knife is as sharp as when it was forged-the ropes are giving way. I can do it. Just a little more.

"Isn't that right, little boy?" Rahlen laughed, yanking his head up by his hair again. This time, however, he was ready. Very deliberately, the Trainee eyed everyone in the room-Shendelle in the corner, Rahlen on Virenth's right, and two more not too behind Rahlen- and spat squarely on Rahlen's face. Silence descended into the shack, the terrified kind of silence that happens when someone receives their first grave injury. Virenth was the first to retaliate.

"You filthy dog!" he shouted, kicking Kerchen as hard as he could, and raised his boot to kick him again after he fell to the ground. Kerchen gave a grunt as his arm made a sickening crack under the chair, surprised that he had hit the ground with such force to break his arm-well, bones would heal anyway. The impact of the chair hitting the ground was enough force to help Kerchen cut through the last of the rope, and he jumped up, barely avoiding Virenth's boot. He'd lost his arm, but his other hand was enough to handle brats like these.

His superficial calmness burned away into rage, and he watched their widening eyes with a grim satisfaction. Let them know what dog they decided to wake tonight. As Rahlen and his coterie stared at the now standing boy incredulously, Kerchen took the opportunity to punch Virenth in the gut, finishing with a kick after the boy doubled over from the first hit. As he'd suspected, Virenth was not even near Jedeth's level, barely able to react before his face hit the ground. Passing the knife into his good hand, he scanned them, almost smelling the fear and uncertainty that had washed over the highborns and felt a hint of annoyance. How dare they look like victims? Did they not see what they had done? His right arm dangled by his side, doing nothing but hurting. His body was soaking wet, no longer shuddering only by virtue of his fury. He had been tossed around like a ragdoll, eaten more dirt than any hog, torn in some ways more than he had been when he had fought Alberich nearly to death. More than humiliating, it had been unjust.

"You will be punished for your crimes," Kerchen said, his voice coming out in a strange, low growl. He walked towards Rahlen, who similarly stepped back. "I am sure you are prepared for that." He ran towards the now cowardly noble, who fought back only in the manner of a cornered animal. The former assassin easily stepped out of the way of Rahlen's messy jabs, and sliced across the rich brocade of his coat from shoulder to shoulder. He only drew a shallow cut across Rahlen's chest, partially due to the thickness of the fabrics, but also because he didn't mean to kill his target then. Shendelle tried to make for the door, but Kerchen instinctively threw his knife as he caught her movement, the weapon pinning her large coat to the wooden wall. As she tried in vain to pull the knife out with her weak hands, Kerchen pulled Rahlen by the remains of his collar and, letting go, backhanded him as hard as he could, leaving a satisfying welt across his target's face. Rahlen was still conscious, so he grabbed his collar again, going for another blow-

:Stop it!: Alvira screamed, louder than anything he had ever heard, leaving him in a daze as his ears rang, even though the shout had been in Mindspeech. Rahlen took the opportunity to attack Kerchen, but the latter's reflexes kicked in, allowing his attacker only the slightest tap on his body.

:Alvira? Wha-:

:Don't you dare! How could you hurt them-:

:People who commit crimes are punished, and if you try to tell me that's wrong-:

:Think!: The voice that he heard wasn't the usual jaunty tones of his Companion, but a shrill, fearful Mindvoice. :If word of what you've done gets out, imagine the trouble it would cause the king, the Heraldic Circle! The nobles would retaliate against us, our reputation destroyed-:

:How could it be destroyed if they-:

:You don't understand how it works here, Kerchen! You don't understand anything about Valdemar!: The words sent a cold chill through his body, but he didn't have time to reflect as Alvira's white frame burst into the shack, her hooves trampling over what now remained of the door. He wasn't sure what her reasoning was, but for now he simply had to trust that she was right and hide the incident. His hand lingered on Rahlen's collar, indicating to the noble that the peasant could do whatever he chose.

"I'll let you go." Kerchen shoved Rahlen away as Alvira pulled out Goroch's knife from Shendelle's overcoat with her teeth. "But breathe a word of this to anyone, then do not think I will hesitate to kill you. And I will find out. Understand?" Rahlen's only reply was his scramble to follow Shendelle and the rest of his companions out what used to be the door, but Kerchen was certain that Rahlen took his words to heart.

:I cannot believe you!: Alvira faced Kerchen, reared as though she would strike or flee at any moment.

:He's not going to say anything, I'm sure of it-:

:That's not the problem! You threatened to kill him! You would have!:

"They were going to throw me into the river, they tossed me around-"

:They were just saying that! And what they did hardly warrants murdering them-:

"How can you be so sure? They've already gone this far-"

:It doesn't matter! We don't just kill people left and right in Valdemar!: Kerchen started to defend his reasons for attacking them, but the thought of another implication sent a strange wave of fear through him.

:Do you think we do that in Karse?: he asked, meaning to use his real voice but found it caught in his throat. Alvira took only a small step back, but that was all the answer he needed.

:I don't know what happens there,: she replied, her voice teeming with fear and regret. :I don't even know you, whom I Chose. Despite how you came here, I didn't think you were a killer.:

A killer. This line, one that he had never expected to hear from Alvira, made him stagger, as though it had been a physical blow.

"I-I am not, I-" Kerchen gasped, suddenly unable to find words or organize his thoughts. If he weren't shocked stiff, his knees certainly would have given way.

:Other Companions were worried about you, because they think I didn't have a Calling. I'm beginning to think that-perhaps I didn't.: Alvira backed out slowly, her hooves stepping backwards with the gait of one retreating from an enemy. :Perhaps I made a mistake in Choosing you.: More than even the revelations in her words, her posture frightened him. Kerchen found himself frozen, forgetting how to run to her to stop her from leaving. :I refused to listen to them. I trusted you, I believed in you.:

:Al-Alvira-: Oh Sunlord, Alvira-

:No, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to see you.: And she left, leaving only a hole in his heart in her wake.