Last Herald Mage: Magic's Pawn Part 18

This boy had more Gifts than any five full Heralds - and all of them had come into full activity in less than a day.

To her horror she could See that all the channels were as raw and sensitive as so many open wounds. The channels had not been "opened," they'd been blasted open. It was a wonder the boy wasn't mad with the pain alone.

Savil came up out of Vanyel's mind with a rush like a startled fish jumping out of a stream, and looked from the boy to the Healer and back in a state of surprise that closely resembled shock.

"Great good G.o.ds," she said, "What the h.e.l.l happened to do that?"

Andrel shook his head. "Your guess would be better than mine. I never cared much where our powers came from, I was just concerned with learning to use them effectively. But do you see what I'm up against with this boy?"

"I think so," Savil replied, groping for the bedpost and sitting down carefully on the foot of the bed. "Let me add this up. You've got backlash trauma from when the Gate-energy got pulled from him, and more trauma from when we sent it back into him; you've got the problems inherent when you wake Gifts late or early. You've got the problems with them being at full power from the moment they woke. Worst of all, you've got channels that were burned open or torn open instead of opening of themselves."

"That, and more mundane emotional trauma and physical shock. I hope to the Havens that he doesn't come down with pneumonia on top of it all. I already fought off one fever, one his own body produced when it couldn't handle the energy-overload." Andrel touched the back of his hand to the boy's waxen cheek, checking his temperature. "So far, so good, but it's a real possibility. And I'm fighting off the effects of exposure, too. Savil, the child is a mess."

"Lover, you have a talent for understatement." Savil contemplated Vanyel's pinched, grief-twisted face.

Even in sleep he doesn't lose his pain.

"Now I see why Yfandes was so reluctant to let him out of her care. Until she gets him firmly bonded to her, he's going to have to be in physical contact with her for her to protect him. But what can we do? I can't fit her in here, I can't put him in the stables, not with the weather being what it is."

"Try, and I'll call you up on charges," Andrel replied, and Savil could tell that he was not joking. "Do that in this chill, and you'll kill him. It's going to be touchy enough with him tucked up in a warm bed."

"Well, how in h.e.l.l do I protect him from his own powers?"

"Put your own shields on him, and hope nothing gets through."

"I can't keep them up forever," Savil reminded him acidly. "I'm fairly well f.a.gged out myself. A couple of hours is about all I can manage at this point.''

"Then go order -two graves, dammit!" the Healer snarled in sudden frustration. "Because you're going to lose this one, too, if you don't do everything right with him!"

Savil pulled back, taken very much aback by the sudden explosion of temper. "I," she faltered, then as his words penetrated, and she thought of what was lying in the Grove Temple at this moment, lost her own precarious hold on calm.

She got up, stumbling a little; turned away from him and leaned against the doorframe, her shoulders shaking with her'silent weeping.

"Savil - "

Strong but trembling hands on her shoulders turned her back to face the room, and pulled her into an embrace against a bony chest covered in soft, green wool. "Savil, I'm sorry," Andrel murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have said that. You're exhausted, I'm exhausted, and neither of us are up to facing the problem this boy represents. Is there anyone you can turn him over to, for a day, at least? Long enough for you to get some rest and a chance to think?''

A white square of linen appeared just when she needed it. She mopped at her eyes with the handkerchief he offered, and blew her nose. "Under any other circ.u.mstances I'd just let any of the others spell me - but I don't know, Andy. A lot of them still think he's responsible for all this. Even if they shield - with Gifts like his, what's he going to pick up? You of all people should know how leaky we all are to a new, raw Gift, even when we aren't stressed."

Andrel sighed. "Dearheart, I don't think you have a real choice. You'll just have to hope that if surface thoughts leak past, he won't be able to understand them yet. If you don't get some rest, you're going to collapse, and even a novice Healer would be able to tell you that." She bowed her head, feeling the weight of all her years and all her sorrows falling on her back. "All right," she said, acting against her better judgment, but unable to see any other option open to her. "See if you can round up Tantras for me, will you? At least he didn't know poor *Lendel all that well."

Vanyel woke from a dream in which Tylendel was alive again, and had teased him gently about how much he had been grieving. For a confused moment after waking, he wasn't certain which had been the dream, and which the reality.

Then he opened his eyes, and found that he was in his own bed, and his own room, now illuminated by carefully shaded candle-lanterns. And there was something odd about the room.

After a long moment, he finally figured out what it was. The feeling of "Tylendel," the sense of his being there even when he wasn't physically present, was missing.

That told him. He swallowed a moan of despair, and closed his eyes against the resurgence of tears - and just in time, for the door opened softly and closed again, and he felt a new presence in the room with him.

He froze for a moment, then sighed, as if in sleep, and turned onto his side, hiding his face away from the light.

He was hearing things - like someone talking to himself, only - only, inside his head, the way Yfandes' voice had been inside his head. It hurt to listen, but he couldn't stop the words from coming in. And from the feel of that mind-voice, he knew who it was that was sitting by his bedside, too; it was one of the Heralds that had been with Savil, the one called Jaysen.

And Jaysen did not in the least care for Vanyel.

: - G.o.ds - : Vanyel heard, a little garbled by the pain that came with the words. : - trade this arrogant little toad for Tylendel. d.a.m.n poor bargain.: Vanyel could feel brooding eyes on him, and the words in his head came clearer, more focused. :No matter what Savil said, I'll never believe he didn't have something to do with the boy's death. If they'd been all that close, Tylendel would have listened to him, and even if *Lendel was crazed on revenge, this one wasn't. *Lendel may have loved him, but he could never have cared for the lad in the same way, or he'd have stopped him. *Lendel was just one more little addition to his stable of admirers. If he'd left *Lendel alone, if he hadn't played on his - weaknesses - : Vanyel cringed beneath the pitiless words, and the vision of himself that came with them; arrogant, self-centered, self-serving. Using Tylendel, not caring for him. And worse; worse than that, feeding him what he craved, like feeding a perpetual drunk the liquor he shouldn't have.

Without thinking about it, he reached beyond his room; it was a little like straining his ears to hear a conversation in the distance, and the pain that came with the effort felt like muscles pulling against a broken bone, but he found he could catch other s.n.a.t.c.hes of - it must be thoughts - that touched on him.

They could have been echoes of Jaysen's thoughts.

He pulled his awareness back, as a child pulls its singed hand from the fire that has burned it. There were only two creatures in all the world that he could be certain cared for him despite what he was; Tylendel and Yfandes. Neither were to be trusted to know the truth about him. The second was besotted by whatever magic had made her Choose him; the first was - The first was dead. And it was his fault. Jaysen was right; if he'd really cared for *Lendel, he'd have stopped him. It wouldn't even have been hard; if he hadn't agreed to get those books, if he hadn't agreed to help with that spell, Tylendel would be alive at this moment. And if he hadn't seduced *Lendel with his own needs, none of this ever would have happened.

Bad on top of worst; now he was a burden on the Heralds, who hated him, but felt honor-bound to take him in Tylendel's place. And he could never replace Tylendel, not ever; even he knew that. He had none of Tylendel's virtues, and all of his vices and more.

He listened to the mind-voice of the one beside him with all his strength, ignoring the pain it cost, hoping beyond hope that the Herald would somehow give him the chance to get away - get away and do something to make this right. If the Herald would just - go away for a moment, or - or better yet, fall asleep - Jaysen was tired; though he'd done less magic than Savil, and had more time to rest, he was still very weary. He'd set himself up in the room's really comfortable chair; the one Tylendel had sometimes fallen asleep in. Vanyel could feel Jaysen's mind drifting over into slumber, and held his breath, hoping he'd drift all the way.

Because he'd gleaned something else from those minds out there - Because the Death Bell had rung for him, despite what he'd done, Tylendel was being accounted a full Herald and tomorrow would be buried with all the honors.

Tomorrow. But tonight - he was in the Temple in the Grove. And if he could get that far, Vanyel was going to try to right the wrongs he had done to all of them, atoning with the only thing he had left to give.

Jaysen's thoughts slipped into the vague mumbles of sleep, and in the next moment a gentle snore from the chair beside the bed told Vanyel that he was completely gone.

Vanyel turned over, deliberately making noise.

Jaysen continued to snore, undisturbed.

Vanyel sat up, slowly, taking stock of himself and his surroundings.

About a candlemark later, he was dressed; even if he had not needed to move slowly for fear of waking the Herald, he would have had to for weakness. He had even needed to hold onto the furniture at first, because his legs were so unsteady. Even now his legs trembled with every step he took, but at least he was moving a bit more surely.

He stole soundlessly across the floor and unlatched the door, opened it just enough to squeeze himself through, and shut it again. It was dark out here, a still, cloudless night. He wouldn't be seen, but it was a long way to the Grove.

He steeled himself and stepped shakily onto the graveled path that ran from his door through the moonlit garden.

But someone had been waiting for him.

Yfandes glided out of the darkness to his side almost before he had made five steps along that path.

:No - : she said, sternly, barring his way. :You are ill; you should be in bed.: For a moment he was ready to collapse right where he stood.

- G.o.ds, she's going to stop me - Then he saw a way to get Yfandes to help him - without her knowing she was doing so.

-.Please - : He directed everything he could on part of the truth. He couldn't lie mind-to-mind, he knew that, but he didn't have to reveal everything unless Yfandes should ask a direct question about it. And besides that, the link to her was fading in and out (and it hurt, like everything else) and he would bet she wouldn't want to force anything. -.Pleased, Yfandes, I have to - : he faltered.: - to say - good-bye.: She bowed her head almost to the earth as he let his grief pour out over her. -.Very well,: he heard, the mind-voice heavy with reluctance. .I will help you. But you must rest, after.: :I will,: he promised, meaning it, though not in the way she had intended.

She went to her knees so that he could mount; he, once the best rider at Forst Reach, could not drag himself onto her back without that help. His arms and legs trembled with weakness as he clung to her back, and if it had not been that she could have balanced a toddler there and not let it fall, he would have lost his seat within the first few moments.

He concentrated on his weariness, on how physically miserable he was feeling, and spent not so much as an eyeblink on his real intentions. He closed his eyes, both to concentrate, and because seeing the ground move by so fast in the moonlight was making him nauseated and disoriented again.

He had had no notion of how fast the Companions could travel at a so-called walk. She was stepping carefully up to the porch of the Grove Temple long before he had expected her to get there; the clear ringing of her hooves on the marble surprised him into opening his eyes.

:We are here,: she said, and knelt for him to dismount.

The marble of the Temple porch glistened wetly in the moonlight, and he could see candlelight shining under the door. He slid from Yfandes' back, and "listened" with this new, mental ear for other minds within the Temple.

None.

He shivered in the cold wind; he'd dressed carefully, in the black silk tunic and breeches Tylendel had thought he looked best in, and once off Yfandes' warm, broad back the wind cut right through his clothing.

:Not for long,: she admonished, as he clung to the doorframe and negotiated unlatching the door into the Temple itself.

:No, Yfandes,: he said, sincerely. :Not for long.: He got the door open and closed again - then, as quietly as he could, locked it.

There was no clamor from the opposite side, so he a.s.sumed she had not heard the bolt shoot home. He turned, bracing himself for what he was about to do, and faced the altar.

The Temple itself was tiny; hardly bigger than the common room of their suite. It had been built all of white marble, within and without. The walls took up the candlelight, and reflected it until they fairly glowed. There were only two benches in it, and the altar. Behind the altar were stands thick with candles; behind the candles, the wall had been carved into a delicate bas-relief; swirling clouds, the moon, stars and the sun - and in the clouds, suggestions of male and female faces, whose expressions changed with the flickering of the candles.

Before the altar stood the bier.

Vanyel's legs trembled with every step; he made his way unsteadily to that white-draped platform, and looked down on the occupant.

They'd dressed Tylendel in full Whites; his eyes were closed, and there was no trace of his grief or his madness in that handsome, peaceful face. His hands were folded across his waist, those graceful, strong hands that had held so much of comfort for his beloved. He looked almost exactly as he had so many mornings when Vanyel had awakened first. His long, golden curls were spread against the white of the pallet, a few of them tumbled a little untidily over his right temple; long, dark-gold lashes lay against his cheeks. Only the pose was wrong. Tylendel had never, in all the time Vanyel had known him, slept in anything other than a sprawl.

Vanyel reached out, hesitantly, to touch that smooth cheek - almost believing, even now, that he had only to touch him to awaken him.

But the cheek was cold, as cold as the marble of the altar, and the eyes did not flutter open at his touch. This was no child's tale, where the sleeping one would wake again at the magic touch of the one who loved him.

"Please, *Lendel, forgive me," he whispered to the quiet face, and took the knife from the white sheath on Tylendel's belt. "I - I'm going to try to - pay for all of what I did to you."

His hands shook, but his determination remained firm.

Quickly, before he could lose his courage, he bent and kissed the cold lips - hoping that this, too, would be forgiven, and caught in a grief too deep for tears. Then he knelt on the icy white marble of the floor beside the bier, and braced the hilt of the dagger between his knees, clasping his hands with the dagger between his wrists, resting them on either side of the blade-edge.

" *Lendel, there's nothing without you. Forgive me - if you can," he whispered again, both to Tylendel and the brooding Faces behind the altar.

And before he could begin to be afraid, he pulled both wrists up along the knife-edges, slashing them simultaneously.

The dagger was as sharp as he had hoped - sharper than he had expected. He cut both wrists almost to the bone; gasped as pain shot up his arms, and the knife fell clattering to the marble, released when his legs jerked involuntarily.

He sagged with sudden dizziness, and fell forward over his bent knees; his head bowed over his hands, his arms lying limp on the marble floor. Blood began to spread on the white marble; pooled before him under his slashed wrists. He stared at it in morbid fascination. Red on white. Like blood on the snowIt was only at that moment that Yfandes seemed to realize what it was he was doing. She screamed, and began kicking at the door. But it was far too late; his eyes were no longer focusing properly anymore, and his wrists didn't even hurt. But he was feeling so cold, so very cold. :I'm sorry,: he thought muzzily at the frantic Companion, beginning to black out, and feeling himself falling over sideways. : Yfandes, I'm sorrya you'll find someonea better than me. Worthy of you.: "Gone?" Savil's voice broke. "What the h.e.l.l do you mean, gone?"

"Savil, I swear to you, the boy was asleep. I dozed off for a breath or two, and when I woke up he was gone," Jaysen answered, one hand clutched at the side of his head on a fistful of hair, his expression frantic and guilt-ridden. "I thought maybe he'd gone to the privy or something, but I can't find him anywhere."

Savil swung her legs out of the bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to think. Where would Vanyel have gone, and in the name of the G.o.ds, why?

But in a heartbeat she had her answer - the frightened, frantic scream of a Companion rang across the river, and her Kellan's voice shrilled into her head.

:Savil - the boy - : and an image of where he was and what he had done.

From the stricken look on Jaysen's face, his own Felar had given him the same information.

"G.o.ds!" Savil s.n.a.t.c.hed her cloak from the chair beside her bed and ran out in her bare feet, through the common room, and headed for the door of Vanyel's room, Jaysen breathing down her neck.

She hit the garden door at a dead run, and it was a d.a.m.ned good thing that it wasn't locked, because if it had been, she'd have broken it off the hinges. The cold of the night slapped her in the face like an impious hand; that stopped her for a moment, but only a moment. In the next instant Felar and Kellan pounded up at a gallop. Felar skidded around in a tight pivot, presenting his hindquarters to his Chosen, who leapfrogged up into his seat with an acrobatic skill that would have had Savil muttering about "show-offs" had the situation been less precarious. Instead, she waited for Kellan to come to a dead halt, and clambered onto her back anyhow, her bedgown rucked up around her legs. Kellan launched herself into a full, frantic gallop as Savil clung on as best she could.

Now Savil was a breath behind Jaysen, as the young Seneschal's Herald led the way across the nearest bridge and up the Field to the Temple of the Grove. Nor were they the only two summoned by the frantic screaming, mind and voice, of Yfandes. Heralds and trainees were boiling out of the Palace like aroused fire ants, rendezvousing with their Companions, and heading across the river at breakneck speed.

But Jaysen and Savil were the first two on the scene; it was their dubious privilege to see Yfandes trying to batter down the solid bronze door of the Temple single-handedly, and not budging it by so much as a thumbs'-breadth. Her hooves were screeching across the metal, leaving showers of sparks in their wake, and her anguished screams were far too like a human's for comfort.

Jaysen vaulted off Felar's back and hit the ground at a run, ducking fearlessly under Yfandes' flying hooves to make a trial of the door himself.

"It's locked from the inside," he shouted unnecessarily, as Savil slid from Kellan's back to limp to his side. He put his shoulder against the door, and rammed it, with no more luck than Yfandes had had.

"Vanyel!" Savil put her mouth up against the crack between door and frame, and shouted through it. "Van, lad, let us in!"

She put her ear to the crack and listened, but heard nothing. :Kellan - : :Yfandes says he's still alive, but unconscious and weakening,: came the grim reply, as Yfandes danced in place, her sapphire eyes gone nearly black with anguish.

"Somebody get me a mage-light on that d.a.m.ned tower!''

It was Mardic; he had his hands on Donni's shoulders and was staring up at the tower. Donni was holding a crossbow with a bulky missile c.o.c.ked and ready.

Savil responded first, running far enough back from the door that she could see the top of the Belltower. It was glowing faintly, but obviously too faintly for Donni to make out a target. Savil raised her hands, and sent up such a burst of power that the entire top of the tower flowered with light.

While Mardic closed his eyes and scowled in concentration, Donni raised the crossbow, squinted carefully along it, and fired.

The oddly-shaped arrow flew strangely, and slowly, trailing something light colored behind it - and in a moment, Savil realized why and what it was. Donni had been a bright little apprentice-thief when she'd been Chosen; this was a grapnel-arrow, meant to carry a light, but strong line through an open window and catch on the sill. Mardic had a very weak, but usable Fetching-Gift; he had invoked it to help the arrow carry something heavier than a light line. A climbing-rope.

It lobbed through the loop of the Bell-house, clanging ominously off the Death Bell itself. Savil felt a chill, and made a warding-gesture, nor was she the only one. She could see most of the others shivering at the least, and Yfandes moaned like a dying thing at the sound of the Bell.

Donni, normally mobile face gone blank, was paying no attention to anything other than her arrow and line; all her concentration was on the task in her hand. She drew the rope to her with agonizing slowness; Savil fought down the urge to shout at her to hurry. Finally Donni's careful pulling met resistance; she tugged, then pulled harder, then yanked on the rope with all her might.

Then, before Savil had time to blink, she was swarming up it like a squirrel.

One or two of the trainees gave a ragged cheer; Donni ignored them. She reached the opening and squeezed through, and Savil saw to her surprise that Mardic was following her. She'd been so intent on Donni's progress that she'd missed seeing him altogether until he got into the glow of the mage-light.

Savil sprinted back for the door - the crowd there parted to let her through - and waited, trembling with impatience, with the rest.

:Hang on, Savil,: she heard Mardic's mind-voice, in Broadsend-mode. :He's alive; thank the G.o.ds he didn't know the right way to slit his wrists. Donni's got the blood stopped, but we II need a Healer, fast. *Fandes warped the door pounding on it; it's going to take a bit of work to get it open. : A tall figure in Healer's Greens pushed through to Savil's side as Mardic began pounding on the door, forcing the bolt back thumb-length by thumb-length; Andrel opened his arms and wrapped Savil inside the warmth of his fur-lined cloak with him.

Finally the door creaked open; Andrel deserted her, leaving her suddenly in sole possession of the heavy cloak. She followed inside, hard on his heels.

Donni knelt in front of the bier; there was a frighteningly wide scarlet stain on the marble of the floor, and her hands looked as if she had dipped them in vermilion dye. She was holding Vanyel's wrists; the boy was sprawled on the floor beside her at the foot of the bier, his face as transparently white as the marble under his head, and sickly unconscious. Andrel was just beginning to kneel in the pool of blood on the other side of the boy, heedless of his robes, and as Savil limped across the floor toward them, followed by the rest of the would-be rescuers, he reached out and set his hands firmly over Donni's bloodstained ones.

His face was fixed in a mask of absolute concentration, and Savil could feel the power beginning to flow from him. But he'd been hard-pressed today, and had little time to rest. And she knew that his few reserves were not going to be enough - She ran the last few steps and placed her hands on his shoulders as he began to falter, sending energy coursing down into his center. And in a moment, she felt herself joined by Jaysen - then Mardic - then Donni. The four of them meshed in a union that was as nearly perfect as any magic she'd ever witnessed, and sent Andrel all he needed and more, in a steady, steadfast, stream.

Finally the Healer sighed, and lifted his hands away from Donni's; the other three disengaged with something that was a little like reluctance. It wasn't often that even Heralds experienced the peace that came with a perfect Healing-meld; it was nearly a mystical experience, and as close to the peace of the Havens as Savil ever wanted to get until she was Called.

Donni lifted her hands away from Vanyel's wrists, and Savil could see that the skin, veins, and tendons beneath were whole again. For a moment the wrists were marred by angry red scars, then gradually those scars faded to thin white lines.