Magic's Pawn v(lhm-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  Or, third possibility, she found either Vanyel or his presumably fat purse too attractive to let go without a fight.

  "I c'd turn yer bed down fer ye, m'lord," she persisted, snaking an arm around the door to glide her hand along Vanyel's buttock and leg. He was only wearing a shirt and hose, and felt the unsubtle caress with a star-tlement akin to panic.

  "No, please!" he yelped in shock; the high-pitched, strangled shout startled her enough so that she pulled back her arm. He slammed the door in her face and locked it.

  He waited with his ear pressed up against the crack in the door; waited for an explosion of some kind. Nothing happened; he heard her muttering to herself for a moment, sounding very puzzled, then finally heard her retreating footsteps and the sound of the outer door opening and closing again.

  He staggered back to the bed, and sat down on it, heavily. Finally he reached for the lute, detuned it, and put it back in its traveling case.

  Then he reached for the bottle and gulped the wine as fast as he could pour it down his throat.

  Oh, lord - oh, gods. A fool. After everything this morning, after I start to feel like I'm getting a grip on things, and I go and act like a fool. Like a kid. Like a baby who’d never seen a whore before.

  He burned with humiliation as he imagined the girl telling his guards what had just passed between them. And drank faster.

  He did remember to unlock his door and blow out the candle before he passed out. If Sun and Shadow out there decided to take it into their heads to check on him, he didn't want them breaking the door down. That would be even more humiliating than having them follow him to the privy, or laughing at him with the girl.

  I've never been this drunk before, he thought muzzily, as he sank back onto the bed. I bet I have a head in the morning....

  He snorted then, a sound with no amusement in it. At least if I'm hung over, it'll make Trusty and Faithful happy. If they can't report to Father that I tried to escape, at least they can tell him I made a drunken sot of myself at the first opportunity. Maybe I should have let the girl in after all. It wouldn’t be the first time I've bedded something I didn’t much care for. And it would have given them one more story to tell. Oh, gods, what's wrong with me? Mekeal would have had her tumbled before she blinked twice! What is wrong with me?

  He rolled over, and it felt a lot like his head kept on rolling after he'd stopped moving.

  Then again - I don't think so. Not even for that. The wine's bad enough here. I hate to think where the girls came from ... or where they 've been.

  But why can't I react the way everyone else seems to? Why am I so different?

  His head hurt, but not unbearably. His stomach was not particularly happy with him, but he wasn't ready to retch his guts up. In short, he was hung over - though less than he'd expected. In an odd sort of way, he was feeling even more detached than before. Perhaps his intoxication had purged something out of him last night; some forlorn hope, some last grasping at a life no one would ever let him have.

  He pulled on his riding leathers and groomed himself as impeccably as he could manage without a mirror, leaving only the tunic off, since he intended to soak his aching head in cold water before he mounted Star - in the horse trough if he had to. He walked out into the morning light pouring in through the outer room, surveying the pathetic wrecks that had been his alert and vigilant guardians only the night before with what he hoped was cool, distant impassiveness.

  And he spared a half a moment to hope that the girl hadn’t told them -

  His guards were in far worse case than he was, having evidently made a spectacular night of it. Quite a night, judging by their bleary eyes, surly, yet satiated expressions, and the rumpled condition of the bedding. And Vanyel was not such an innocent as to be unable to recognize certain - aromas - when he detected them in the air before Garth opened the window. He was just as pleased to have been so drunk as to be insensible when they had been entertaining their temporary feminine acquaintances. Could be the chambermaid had found what she'd sought in the company of Garth and Erek after being rebuffed by Vanyel.

  They weren't giving him the kind of sly looks he'd have expected if the girl had revealed his panicked reaction.

  Well - maybe she was too busy. Thank you, gods.

  He managed to deal with his hangover in a fairly successful fashion. Willowbark tea came for his asking, hot from the kitchen; on the way to the privy, with the faithful Garth in queasy attendance, he managed to divert long enough to soak his head under the stable pump until his temples stopped pounding. The water was very cold, and he saw Garth wincing when he first stuck his head beneath it.

  That dealt with the head; the stomach was easier. He drank nothing but the tea and ate nothing but bread, very mild cheese, and fruit.

  He was perfectly ready to ride out at that point. His guards were not so fortunate. Or, perhaps, so wise, since their remedies seemed to consist of vile concoctions of raw eggs and the heavy imbibing of the ale that had caused their problem the night before.

  As a result, their departure was delayed until mid-morning - not that this disturbed Vanyel a great deal. They'd be outside the bounds of the forest before dark; at least according to what the innkeeper told Garth. That was all Vanyel cared about.

  Garth and Erek were still looking a bit greenish as they mounted their cobs. And neither seemed much inclined toward talk. That suited Vanyel quite well; it would enable him to concentrate on putting just a bit more distance between himself and the world. And it would allow him to do some undisturbed thinking.

  The forest did not seem quite so unfriendly on the eastern side of the inn - perhaps because it was hunted more frequently on this side. The underbrush certainly wasn't as thick. The boughs of the trees overhead weren't, either, and Vanyel got a bit of nasty satisfaction at seeing Garth and Erek wincing out of the way of sunbeams that were much more frequent on this side of the woods.

  But it was hotter than yesterday, and Vanyel finally stripped off his leather tunic and bundled it behind him.

  Seeing no lurking shadows beneath the trees, he felt a bit easier about turning his attention inward to think about just what, exactly, he was heading toward.

  I can guess at what Father's told the old bat. That's easy enough. The question is what she's likely to do about it.

  He tried to dig everything he could remember out of the dim recesses of memory - not just about his aunt in particular, but about Heralds in general.

  He'II tell her I 'm to be weapons-schooled, that's for certain. But how - that's up to her. And now that I think of it - damn if it wasn’t a Herald that wrote that book that got me in such trouble! I may, I just might actually be better off in that area! Huh - now that I think about it, I can't see any way I'd be worse off.

  A bird called overhead, and Vanyel almost felt a bit hopeful. No matter who I get schooled under, he can't possibly be worse than Jervis - because whoever he is, he won't have a grudge against me. The absolute worst I can get is a Jervis-type without a grudge. That might just be survivable, if I keep myself in the background, if I manage to convince him that I'm deadly stupid and clumsy. Stupid and clumsy are not possible to train away, and even Jervis knew that.

  Another bird answered, reminding him that there was, however, the matter of music.

  He's bound to have issued orders that I'm not to be allowed anywhere near the Bards except right under Savil 's eye - and if she's like Father, she has no ear at all. Which means she'lI never go to entertainments unless she has no choice. He sighed. Oh, well, there's worse.I won't be any worse off than I was at home, where I saw a real, trained Bard once in my entire lifetime. At least they'll be around. Maybe if I can get my fingering back and play where one is likely to overhear me -

  He sternly squelched that last. Best not think about it. I can't afford hope anymore.

  Star fidgeted; she wanted her usual early-morning run. He reined her in, calmed her down, and went back to his own thoughts. One thing for sure, Father is lik
ely to have told Savil all kinds of things about how rotten I am. So she'll be likely looking for wrong moves on my part - and I'll bet she 'II have her proteges and friends watching me, too. It's going to be hell. Hell, with no sanctuary, and no Liss.

  He studied Star's ears as he thought, watching her flick them back with alert interest when she heard him sigh.

  Well, everyone else is going to hate me, but you still love me. He patted Star's neck, and she pranced a little.

  To the lowest hells with all of them. I do not need them, I don't need anybody, not even Liss. I'll do all right on my own.

  But there was one puzzle, one he was reminded of later, when they passed one of the remote farms, and Vanyel saw the farmer out in the field, talking with someone on horseback who was likely his overlord. Huh - he thought, I can't figure how in Havens Father expects Savil to train me in governance. . . ,

  Then he felt a cold chill.

  Unless he doesn’t really expect me to ever come home again. Gods - he could try to work something out in the way of sending me off to a temple. He could do that - and it bloody wouldn’t matter if Father Leren could find him a priest he could bribe into accepting an unwilling acolyte. It would work - it would work. Especially if it was a cloistered order. And with me out of the way in Savil's hands, he has all the time he needs to find a compliant priest. He doesn’t even have to tell Savil; just issue the order to send me back home again when it's all arranged. Then spirit me off and announce to anyone who asks that I discovered I had a vocation. And I would spend the rest of my life in a little stone cave somewhere -

  He swallowed hard, and tried to find reasons to dismiss the notion as a paranoid fantasy, but all he could discover were more reasons why it was a logical move on Lord Withen's part.

  He tried to banish the fear, telling himself that it was no good worrying about what might only be a fantasy until it actually happened. But the thought wouldn't go away. It kept coming back, not only that day, but every day thereafter. It wasn't quite an obsession - but it wasn't far off.

  It was quite enough to keep him wrapped in silent, apprehensive thought for every day of the remainder of the journey, and to keep him sleepless for long hours every night. And not even dreams of his isolate snow-plain helped to keep it from his thoughts.

  Four

  “All right, Tylendel, that was passable, but it wasn't imparticularly smooth," Herald-Mage Savil admonished her protege, tucking her feet under the bottom rung of her wooden stool, and absently smoothing down the front of her white tunic. "Remember, the power is supposed to flow; from you to the shield and back again. Smoothly, not in spurts. You tell me why."

  Tylendel, a tall, strikingly attractive, dark blond Herald-trainee of about sixteen, frowned with concentration as he considered Savil's question. She watched the power-barrier he had built about himself with her Mage-Sight, and Saw the pale violet half-dome waver as he turned his attention to her question and lost a bit of control over the shield. She could feel the room pulsing as he allowed the shield to pulse in time with his heartbeat. If he let this go on, it would collapse.

  "Tylendel, you're losing it," she warned. He nodded, looked up and grimaced, but did not reply; his actions were reply enough. The energy comprising the half-dome covering him stopped rippling, firmed, and the color deepened.

  "Have you an answer to my question yet?"

  "I think so," he answered. "If it doesn't flow smoothly, I'll have times when it's weak, and whatever I'm doing with it will be open to interruption when it

  weakens?''

  "Right," Savil replied with a brisk nod. "Only don't think in terms of 'interruption,' lad. Think in terms of 'attack.' Like now."

  She flung a levinbolt at his barrier without giving him any more warning than that, and had the satisfaction, not only of Seeing it deflected harmlessly upward to be absorbed by the Work Room shields, but Seeing that he shifted his defenses to meet it with no chance to prepare at all.

  "Now that was good, my lad," she approved, and Tylendel's brown eyes warmed in response to the compliment. "So - "

  Someone knocked on the door of the Work Room, and Savil bit off what she was going to tell him with a muffled curse of annoyance. "Now what?" she muttered, shoving back her tall stool and edging around Tylendei's mage-barrier to answer the door.

  The Work Room was a permanently shielded, circular chamber within the Palace complex that the Herald-Mages used when training their proteges in the Mage-aspects of their Gifts. The shielding on this room was incredibly ancient and powerful. It was so powerful that the shielding actually muffled physical sound; you couldn't even hear the Death Bell toll inside this room. One of the duties of every Herald-Mage in the Circle was to augment the protections here whenever they had the time and energy to spare. This shielding had to be strong; strong enough to contain magical "accidents" that would reduce the sparse furniture within the room to splinters. Those "accidents" were the reason why the walls were stone, the furniture limited to a couple of cheap stools and an equally cheap table, and why every Herald-Mage put full personal shields on himself and his pupil immediately on entering the door of this room.

  Those accidents were also the reason why anyone who disturbed the practice sessions going on in the Work Room had better have a damned good reason for doing so.

  Savil yanked the door open, and glared at the fair-haired, blue-uniformed Palace Guard who stood there, at rigid and proper attention. "Well?" she said, letting a bit of ice creep into her voice.

  "Your pardon, Herald-Mage," he replied, his expression as stiff as his spine, "But you left orders to be notified as soon as your nephew arrived." He handed her a folded and sealed letter. "His escort wished you to have this."

  She took it and stuffed it in a pocket of her breeches without looking at it. "Oh, bloody hell," she muttered. "So I did."

  She sighed, and became a bit more civil. "Thank you, Guard. Send him and whatever damned escort he brought with him to my quarters; I'll get with them as soon as I can."

  The Guard saluted and turned sharply on his heel; Savil shut the door before he finished his pivot, and turned back to her pupil.

  "All right, lad, how long have we been at this?"

  Tylendel draped an arm over his curly head and grinned. "Long enough for my stomach to start growling. I'm sorry, Savil, but I'm hungry. That's probably why my concentration's going."

  She shook her finger at him. "Tchah, younglings and their stomachs! And just what do you plan to do if you get hungry in the middle of an arcane duel? Hmm?''

  "Eat," he replied impishly. She threw up her hands in mock despair.

  "All right, off with you - ah, ah," she warmed, wagging her finger at him as he made ready to dispel the barrier the quick and dirty way; by pulling the energies into the ground. "Properly, my lad - "

  He bowed to her in the finest courtly manner. She snorted. "Get on with it, lad, if you're in such a hurry to stuff your face."

  She Watched him carefully as he took down the barrier - properly - did so with quite a meticulous attention to little details, like releasing the barrier-energy back into the same flow he'd taken it from. She nodded approvingly when he stepped across the place where the border had been and presented himself to have the shields she'd put on him taken off.

  "You're getting better, Tylendel," she said, touching the middle of his forehead with her index finger, and absorbing the shield back into herself. Her skin tingled for a moment as she neutralized the overflow. "You're coming along much faster than I guessed you would. Another year - no, less, I think - and you'll be ready to try your hand at a Border stint with me. And not much longer than that, and I'll shove you into Whites."

  "It's my teacher," he replied impishly, seizing her hand and kissing it, his long hair falling over her wrist and tickling it. "How can I help but succeed in such attractive surroundings?''

  She snatched her hand back, and cuffed his ear lightly. "Get on with you! Even if I wasn’t old enough to be your grandmother, we both
know I'm the wrong sex for you to find me attractive!"

  He ducked the blow, grinning, and pulled the door open for her. "Oh, Savil, don't you know that the real truth is that I'd lost my heart to my teacher, knew I had no hope, and couldn't accept a lesser woman than - "

  "Out!" she sputtered, laughing so hard she nearly choked. "Liar! Before I do you damage!"

  He ran off down the wood-paneled hallway, his own laughter echoing behind him.

  She closed the Work Room door behind her and leaned against the wall, still laughing, holding her aching side. The imp. More charm than any five younglings, and all the mischief of a young cat! I haven't laughed like this in years - not the way I have since I acquired Tylendel as a protege. That boy is such a treasure - if I can just wean him out of that stupid feud his family is involved in, he'll make a fine Herald-Mage. If I don't kill him first!