Last Herald Mage: Magic's Pawn Part 13

"Lean on me, lad," she said, coming up beside him, and pulling his arm over her shoulder. "I've been called an old stick before this, I might as well act like one."

"Aunt - thank the G.o.ds - " he gasped. "I thought we'd never get out of sight." He stumbled and nearly fell, all of his weight suddenly landing on Savil, making her stagger. "Please, I've got to rest a minute. G.o.ds above, this hurts.''

"How bad is it?" she asked, as he shivered beside her in the cold rain.

"Don't know." He managed a wan grin. "Hurts more than a thorn in the toe, less than when I broke my arm. That tell you anything?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "Come on, the sooner I get you inside, the happier I'll be.

And I hope my protege has the sense to think and not come running out to help.''

The lights of Savil's windows were in sight - and her heart sank for a moment when she did see someone running toward them through the rain. Then she saw a second silhouette beside the first, and realized that it was not Tylendel who was coming to help them in, but Mardic and Donni.

The youngsters took over the task of supporting Vanyel. That left Savil free to go on ahead of them; for which she was truly grateful. She was chilled right down to the bone, and those bones were starting to ache rather persistently.

She stepped in through Vanyel's outer door; almost as soon as she'd stepped across the threshold she found herself enveloped in a warm blanket and practically carried into the common room. It was Tylendel, of course; he stayed with her just long enough to settle her in her favorite chair and put a mug of mulled wine in her hand, then he was gone.

He was back again in a moment, Vanyel's arm around his shoulder, the latter hopping awkwardly beside him.

There was already a blanket waiting on the couch; Tylendel got Vanyel bundled into it and pressed another mug of the wine into his hands.

Mardic and Donni piled in right behind them; giggling, shaking the rain out of their hair, and heading straight for the kettle of wine on the hearth. Vanyel was more interested in his lover's black eye and swollen lip than the wine.

"G.o.ds - *Lendel, I did not mean that - " he mourned, reaching out hesitantly to touch the edge of the bruise. "Oh Lord and Lady, why do I have to be so clumsy?"

"Oh, you just fight like a girl," Tylendel teased. "All flying knees and elbows. It was my own stupid fault for getting my face in the way. It's your ankle I'm worried about." He started unlacing Vanyel's boot, fighting the wet laces and swearing under his breath when they wouldn't cooperate.

"I'm all - ouch!"

Tylendel froze. "Did I - "

"No," Vanyel said around clenched teeth. "Just get that d.a.m.ned boot off before you have to cut it off.''

But Tylendel dithered over the task until Mardic pushed him out of the way and took over, getting the boot off with an abrupt yank that blanched Vanyel to the color of pure beeswax. He clutched Tylendel's hand while Mardic examined the ankle, p.r.o.nounced it "probably not broken," and bound it up.

"Havens, teacher," Mardic laughed, rescuing his cup from Donni and returning to sit at her feet across from Savil, "Were we as moonstruck as that? G.o.ds, I feel like I'm being smothered in syrup!"

He nodded at the two on the couch, each a.s.suring the other that his own hurts were less than nothing and fussing over the other's injuries.

"For at least the first five or six months," Savil replied dryly, after sipping her wine. "Just as moonstruck, and just as cloying. And even more sentimental." She raised her voice a bit. "You two might thank me."

"Certainly, Savil," Tylendel replied, craning his head around. "If you'd tell us what we're thanking you for."

"G.o.ds. Vanyel, don't you ever listen?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt," he said, looking confused, his hair still trailing over one eye. "My foot hurt so much I wasn't paying any attention; it wasn't a real lecture, after all."

She cast her eyes up to the ceiling. "Give me strength. I just confined you completely to the suite for as long as I care to enforce my decision, you little ninny. I just got you away from the girl-gaggle and gave you orders to stay here indefinitely. Except for lessons, you'll be here waking and sleeping. That includes taking meals here."

"You did?" he said, dazed. "I am? You mean I can stay here?"

"With *Lendel, and not arouse any suspicions," she interrupted. "That's exactly what I mean. Fact of the matter is, your d.a.m.nfool father will probably be pleased to hear that you were - "

She broke off, seeing that she no longer had the attention of either of them. Across from her she heard Mardic snicker.

She favored the lifebonded with a sardonic glance. "Don't feel too smug," she told them. "Or I'll start trotting out tales about you two."

"Yes, Savil," Mardic replied, not in the least repentant. "Whatever you say. Would you care for honey in that wine?"

Savil spared a glance back toward the couch. Tylendel was rebandaging Vanyel's ankle, treating it as if it were as fragile as an insect's wing. She made a face.

"I think not," she replied. "We've got enough sweetness around here for one night.''

Tylendel looked up, and stuck his tongue out at her, while Vanyel blushed.

Savil chuckled and sat back in her chair, well content with her world. At least for the moment, she thought, taking another sip of spiced wine, which is all any Herald can reasonably hope for. I'll worry about tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.

Seven.

Tylendel sprawled in his favorite chair, and watched Vanyel restringing his lute, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Candlelight reflected in a honey-colored curve along the round belly of the instrument.

Is it time? he wondered. He plays for the girls, but they don't matter. He doesn't care if he plays well or badly for them. Will he play for someone he loves, someone who does matter? Can he? Has he recovered enough?

Only one way to find out, though.

* *Ashke,'' he said quietly, extending his little Gift of Empathy as far as it would go. Van lifted his head from his work; he looked rather comical with the old strings dangling from his mouth like the feelers on a catfish.

"Mph?" he replied.

"When you get Woodlark in tune, would you play for me?"

Vanyel froze. Tylendel Felt the startlement - and the ache. And reacted to them.

"Please? I'd like it."

Vanyel took the strings out of his mouth, and Tylendel could sense his withdrawal. "Why?" he asked, bitterly, his eyes shining wetly. "There's dozens better than I am right here at Bardic. Why listen to a half-crippled amateur? **

Tylendel restrained his natural reaction - which was to go to him, hold him, ease his hurt that way. That would ease it all right, but it wouldn't cure it. "Because you aren't half-crippled anymore," he replied. "Because you aren't an amateur. You're good; the Bards all say so."

"But not good enough to be one of them." Vanyel turned away, but not before Tylendel saw tears in his eyes. And Felt the anguish.

"That's not true," he insisted gently. "Look, Van, it's not that you aren't good enough. It's that you just don't have the Gift. Can a blind man paint?"

Vanyel just shook his head, and Tylendel could sense his further withdrawal. "It's not the same thing," he said, tightly. "The blind man can't see a painting. But there's nothing wrong with my ears."

Tylendel searched for something that might reach this wounded corner of his beloved, and finally found it.

"Ashke, why do you think there are minstrels trained at Bardic? Why do you think that people welcome minstrels when there are Bards about?" He'd asked that same question of Breda, who had all three Bardic Talents: the Gift, the Skill, and the Creativity. Her answer had been enlightening.

Vanyel shook his head, still tightly bound up inside himself. "Because there aren't enough Bards to go around, just like there aren't enough Heralds or Healers."

"Wrong," Tylendel said firmly, "and I have this from Breda. There are times when the Gift gets in the way of the music. **

"What?" Vanyel's head whipped around in startlement, and Tylendel saw the shine of tears on his cheek. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just what I said." Now was the time to rise and go to Vanyel's side, and Tylendel did just that. "Listen to me; just what is the Bardic Gift, hmm? It's the ability to make others feel the things you want them to through music. But when a Bard does that, you can't keep your mind on the music, can you? You never really hear how beautiful it is; you're too busy with what the Bard is doing. You never really hear it for itself, and when you remember it, you don't remember the music, you remember the emotions. There's another reason; when the Bard performs, you put nothing of yourself into the listening. But when a minstrel performs, or a Bard without the Gift, you get out of the music exactly what you put into thelistening." He chuckled, and reached for Vanyel's limp hands. "Breda said that in some ways it's a little like making love with a paid courtesan or with your lover.

Your lover may not be as expert, but the experience is a lot more genuine."

"Breda said that?" Vanyel faltered.

"In her cups, yes." He didn't add it had been here, in Savil's quarters, the evening she'd tested and failed Vanyel. Breda had a very soft heart beneath that bony chest; she'd not enjoyed destroying Vanyel's hopes, even indirectly. "They do say that there's truth in the bottom of every wine bottle." He paused, and raised one eyebrow at his lover. "She also said that if you weren't your father's heir, they'd snap you up so fast you'd leave your boots behind."

"She did?" He could Feel Vanyel uncoiling from around that lump of hurt.

"She did." He picked up the lute and put it back in Vanyel's hands. "And since my personal preference is not for courtesans, however expert - will you play for me?"

"Just - " Vanyel swallowed, and finally met his eyes. The hurt was still there, but already fading, " - just let me get her in tune."

To Vanyel Ashkevron from Lord Withen Ashkevron: greetings. I have received good reports of you from Herald Savil, except for the instance of your quarrel with her protege. While I cannot condone your actions, I can understand that it may be irritating to share the same roof with the young man. You must keep your temper and not provoke him further, as it is obvious that he cannot be relied upon to keep his. I am also given to understand that you have abandoned your pretensions as a musician and relegated such nonsense to its proper place; an amusing hobby, no more. I am pleased with this development; it seems to me this is evidence of maturity and acceptance of your proper place in life, and I have sent a small token of my approval. Inscribed by Father Leren Benevy, By my hand and seal, Lord Withen Ashkevron.

To Lord Withen Ashkevron from Vanyel Ashkevron: greetings. I have received your letter and your token, for which my thanks. I am endeavoring to follow all of Herald Savil's instructions to the best of my ability. I have found her to be a wise and knowledgeable mentor, and hope to better please her in the future. By my hand, Vanyel Ashkevron.

Dearest Son: I Pray with all my Heart that this finds you Well, and that you were not Hurt by that Brutal Boy. I Feared that something of this Nature would Occur from the Instant your Father Told me of this Foolish Scheme and have had Dark and Fell Dreams from the moment you Departed. Savil is plainly Not To Be Relied Upon to keep her Creatures in Order. I pray you, do not Provoke the Barbarian further; lam endeavoring to Persuade your Father to fetch you Home again, but thus far it is All In were not enough, I have been visited with a Further Grief. My maid Melenna has been rendered With Child - and by your Brother Mekeal! So she Claims, and so Mekeal Admits. Your Father is No Help; he seems to Think it is All Very Amusing. Indeed, I am at my Wit's End and I know not What To Do! But even in my Extremity, I have not forgotten my Beloved Child, nor that your Birthday is this very day. I enclose a Small Token - All that I could Manage, and not Nearly your Desert. I Beg you that if you are in Need that you will Tell Me at Once. I shall Manage something More from your Father, Hard-Hearted as he is. Your Loving Mother, Lady Treesa Ileana Brendywhin-Ashkevron.

"Purple ink?" Tylendel said incredulously, looking over Vanyel *s shoulder. "Am I really seeing purple ink? And pink paper?"

"Costs a fortune, and it's all she'll use," Vanyel answered absently, pondering how to reply without setting his mother off again. The pink page lay on the blotter of the desk, its very existence a maternal accusation that he hadn't written since he arrived here. Beside it were two piles of silver coins - absolutely equal in value.

One reward for beating up a pervert, one consolation for getting beaten up by a pervert. He sighed. G.o.ds, there are times I wish I was an orphan.

"May I?" Tylendel asked.

Vanyel shrugged. "Go ahead. You'll encounter her eventually, I'm sure. You ought to know what she's like."

Tylendel worked his way through the ornamented and scrolled calligraphy, and gave it back to Vanyel with a grimace that said more than words could have.

"You think this is bad - you should see the letters she writes to friends, or worse, people she thinks have slighted her. Three, four, and five pages, purple ink and tear-blotches, and everything capitalized." He sighed again. "And appalling grammar. When she gets really hysterical, she goes into formal mode and she cannot seem to keep her *thees' and *thous' straight."

He contemplated the letter for a moment. "What's really awful, she talks like that, too."

Tylende laughed, threw himself down on the bed, and got back to the book he'd been reading.

Dear Mother: I really am all right. Please don't worry about me - worry about yourself. If you don't take care of yourself, if you let your fine sensibilities get the better of you, you'II make yourself ill. Savil is quite kind, and the problems I had with Tylendel have been taken care of. Every rumor that comes out of this Court is an exaggeration at best and an outright lie at worst, so pay no attention to what your friends are telling you. I am sorry to hear about Melenna; this must be a terrible burden for you. Your present was very kind, and very much appreciated, and for in excess of my needs. I love you, and I think about you often. Be well, Vanyel.

Dear Vanyel; What in Havens is going on? Are you all right? If it's unbearable, for the G.o.ds' sake let me know and I'll lead the Seven Corey Swordmaids to your rescue - they're dying to play avenging angels, although given their figures, it's more like avenging angles. All my love, Lissa.

Vanyel laughed aloud, and pa.s.sed the note to Tylendel.

Tylendel grinned broadly and handed it back to him. "Now this one I like. What's my chances of meeting her?"

"Pretty good," Vanyel replied, stretching. "Once the secret's out about us, Father will disinherit me, Mother will have vapors, and Lissa will show up, sword in hand, to defend me from Father's wrath. She's gotten a lot s.p.u.n.kier since she went over to the Coreys to foster. Lord Trevor has just about promised her a commission in the Guard."

"Which he can give her, since he's in charge of recruitment for the Guard," Tylendel said thoughtfully. "Is that your last letter?''

"One more after this - "

Dearest Lissa; Don't worry, it's all right. I'm fine, and I'm happier than I've been in my life here. Savil is on my side against Father, and some of what you *ve been hearing is to keep him happy. Trust me, it really is all right. I love you, and I miss you, Van.

To Vanyel Ashkevron from Evan Leshara; greetings. I believe we have mutual interests and I would be honored and pleased if we could meet to discuss them. I am at your disposal any evening. By my hand and seal, Evan Leshara.

" *Lendel - " Vanyel said slowly, sorely puzzled by this last note, which had been delivered to the suite by a page that very afternoon. "Who is Evan Leshara?"

Tylendel paced the confines of the bedroom, as restless as a caged wolf. Savil thought both of them were in here; he hadn't told her that Vanyel had slipped his leash to go see what Evan Leshara wanted. He glanced over at the time-candle; it hadn't burned down any since the last time he'd looked at it.

I shouldn't have let him go. If Leshara figures out the fight was all a ruse - Up and back, up and back. It was d.a.m.ned hot for an autumn night, or was it being on edge that was making him sweat? His scalp p.r.i.c.kled, and he felt a headache beginning just under his right eye. Shadows cast by the light of the time-candle danced and flickered, shrank and grew.

- if he figures out the game we're playing, he'll be able to use blackmail on Van against me, and me against Staven. Oh. G.o.ds, I shouldn't have let him go. I should have told him to ignore Leshara's invitation. I should have. I - The creak of the garden door broke into his worries, and his tensions evaporated when Vanyel slipped in from the darkness and latched the door behind himself.

"Ashke?" Tylendel began, then hesitated, seeing the troubled expression in Vanyel's eyes.

"He's a d.a.m.ned persuasive man, this Leshara," Vanyel said softly, sitting himself in the chair in front of the cold fireplace.

"That's why he's here," Tylendel replied grimly. "It's the Leshara countermove to my being here. Since they can't buy into the Heralds, they've sent the one of their kin with the sweetest tongue to get the ear of the Queen, if he can."

"He says he's got it. He said a lot of things. *Lendel, there was an awful lot of what he said that made sense."

"Of course there was!" Tylendel interrupted. "I'll be willing to bet that half of what he told you was the absolute truth even by my standards. It's the way he said it, the context, and what he was prompting you to infer from what he told you that counts! You ought to know yourself from what you've been writing home that the best possible lie is to tell only the truth - just not all of it!"

"But *Lendel," Vanyel still looked uncertain. " *Lendel, he says his people have been willing to settle for months now, a settlement the Queen approves, and yours refuse to go along with it - "

"He didn't tell you what that *plan' was, did he?"

Vanyel shook his head.

"To marry my thirty-year-old maiden-cousin who's never been outside of a cloister to a fifty-year-old lecher, take Staven out of being Lord Holder and put her in," he said savagely, "which effectively means putting him in, since there's no way she'd ever be able to stand up to him. She'd dry up and blow away the first time he spoke harshly to her. That's the Leshara notion of an equitable settlement." He glared at Vanyel, angry and a little hurt that Vanyel would even consider taking Evan Leshara's word as the whole truth. "He's using the fact that Staven's only seventeen as a way to imply that he's incompetent, too young to make any kind of rational decisions. And a lot of the powers at Court, being old goats themselves, are buying into the idea. After all, seventeen's only old enough to be told you have to go fight and die for something - it's not old enough to have any say in the matter!"