Magic's price Read online

  The thing grabbed on to where it was and resisted his pull; he simply tapped deeper into the node, ignored the pain, the rivers of fire that ran along his channels, and pulled harder. He ripped it loose as it shrieked in desperation; Yfandes supported him as he hauled it in. She cushioned him from the effects of a reaction-headache, something she'd never done before, enabling him to fling the creature down right on the spot where it had killed Savil, and pin it to the floor with raw node-power.

  Stefen gave a strangled croak when it appeared, but wisely remained where he was. Wise - or perhaps frozen with fear; Van Felt the panic coming from him in waves, but had no time to worry about the Bard just now. While the beast squirmed and screamed both mentally and vocally, he stripped the protections from its crude thoughts and ripped away every detail he could concerning its master.

  North, the direction it had fled in the first place; the direction no one expected for an enemy. North, and an impression of the vast wilderness that could only be the Forest of Wendwinter and the Ice Wall mountains beyond. But of the master himself, nothing; only darkness. After ruthless probing that left the bird's mind a broken, bleeding rag, Vanyel decided that this was all the construct had ever seen of its master.

  He contemplated the writhing creature at his feet with his mouth set in a grim line. He had left it a ruin, with nothing remaining to tell it how to get home, or even how to defend itself. It could no longer work the borrowed magics it had been given, and it might not even remember how to fly. If he let it go, it would slowly starve itself to death, and its master would never know what had become of it, or even whether or not it had been successful in its task.

  Even Yfandes' lust for revenge seemed satisfied now; at any rate, she was silent, and her anger no longer seethed at the back of his mind. But his need for vengeance was not filled. He gathered all the node-power he could handle, poured in channels that burned as hotly as his own need for revenge. He made certain that there was still a line open between the bird and its creator. It was too bad that the line was such a thin one - one that he could not follow to its source. He was going to have to find the perpetrator the hard way. But the line was enough to punish the master through. . . .

  And he smashed the thing with one hammer-blow of pure, wild power.

  The construct screamed its agony, and as it died in the cold flames of magic, the energy backlashed up the line Van had left open to its creator.

  The scream ended; the thing glowed with the power Van poured into it - then incandesced until it was too bright to look at. And still he fed the fire, until the last of it was eaten away, and there was nothing left but a few wisps of white, feathery ash.

  He turned toward Stefen, knowing that at any moment he would feel the effects of what he had just done. Yfandes couldn't protect him from the reaction-headache of overexertion of Mind-magic much longer; it was incredible enough that she'd done it in the first place. And his channels were pure agony that would take several hours of self-Healing to repair.

  The Bard stared at him, his eyes wide and frightened, his face pale as skimmed milk. “W-what did y-you do th-that for?” he whispered, looking at Vanyel as if he expected the Herald to lash out at him next.

  “I sent a message,” Vanyel said quietly. “One that can't be mistaken for anything but what it is. A challenge, and a warning. Whoever did this, whoever murdered Savil, is going to pay for it with his own life. Because this wasn't a personal vendetta; this bastard is the same one that's responsible for Kilchas' death, and Lissandra's and probably made the attempt on me as well. So it's a threat to Valdemar, and as such, I am going to eliminate the source of the threat.”

  The reaction-headache hit then; he brought one hand slowly to his head and swayed a little. Stef was instantly at his side, supporting him.

  He recalled the hurt in Stefen's eyes when he'd cut him off earlier, and grimaced. “Stef,” he said, awkwardly, “I'm sorry. I loved Savil, she was - she was - ” He couldn't continue; tears interrupted him.

  “She was the most remarkable and sweetest old bitch the gods ever created,” Stef replied angrily, with tears in his own eyes. “There's never going to be anyone to match her. Whoever did this to her - I want his hide, too. Not as much as you do, but I want it too, and I'll do anything I can to help you get it.” He held Vanyel, half supporting him, half embracing him. “It's all right, I understand.”

  Vanyel shook his aching head. “I just hope you can keep understanding, Stef,” he said through the pain, “because this isn't finished yet. It isn't even close.”

  Sixteen

  Vanyel had convened the entire Council as soon as he was able to speak coherently. The entire Council, including Randale, which meant that they met in his bedroom with Shavri in attendance.

  Four stone walls surrounded them; like the Work Room, the Royal Bedchamber was an interior room, entirely windowless. Hard on Randi, who seldom got to see the sun anymore - but mandated by security. Assassins can't climb in the window if there aren't any windows.

  The room was warm, but not stifling. For the sake of appearances, Randi had been moved from his bed to a couch, one as soft and comfortable as his bed, but with a padded back so that he could sit up with full support. The rest of the Councillors brought in chairs from the outer rooms of the suite, and arranged them around the couch with no regard for rank.

  Most of them took in Vanyel's pronouncement - framed as a request-with a stunned silence.

  All but the King.

  “Absolutely not,” Randale said, actually sitting up in alarm. His voice sounded stronger than it had in months. Shavri paled a little and clutched the side of the couch. “We can't possibly spare you.”

  “You can't afford not to let me go, Randale,” Vanyel replied tightly, keeping a rein on his temper. “Whoever this is, whatever his motive, he's been targeting Heralds, and that makes him an enemy of Valdemar. And if he can pick Herald-Mages off from outside the Border, he can pick off anyone, including you, any time he chooses.”

  He'd hoped that personal threat would give the King pause, but Randale didn't hesitate a second. “That's not a factor. What is a factor is that you are the last Herald-Mage. Who's going to train the youngsters with the Mage-Gift?

  Who would even know what the Mage-Gift looks like? And who is going to counter attacks by mage-craft on the Border if you aren't here?”

  “To answer the last question first,” Van replied, “Heralds. 'Ordinary' Heralds. They're not only capable of it, I've managed to convince them that they can, which was no mean feat.”

  “He has trained several Heralds in just that already,” Joshel said reluctantly. “And we've learned from our operatives that there aren't any mages on the Karsite side any more; at least, none with any power. After declaring magic anathema, they won't have anyone to train mages either -”

  “As for the youngsters-” Van continued, grimly, “In case you hadn't noticed, no one has had any trainees with Mage-Gift for the past two years. It was never that common to begin with, and it seems to be appearing entirely in potential now.”

  “Only in potential?” Shavri said, looking shocked, her glance going from Vanyel to Joshel and back again. “But - why? What's happened?”

  Van shrugged, and rubbed his thumb nervously along the arm of his chair. “I don't know - but consider this - so far as I can tell, this enemy has picked Herald-Mages as his targets. What if he's been making his job easier by killing the children with the Mage-Gift before they can be Chosen? It wouldn't be that hard. All you'd have to do is wait for the Gift to manifest and send something to cause an 'accident.' No one would ever guess that the deaths were connected in any way.”

  “That makes it all the more imperative that you stay -” Shavri began, her face settling into a stubborn scowl.

  “That makes it all the more imperative that I go,” Vanyel countered, pounding the arm of his chair with his fist. “What am I supposed to do, tap into the nodes and sit around scanning the entire countryside, waiting for some spel
l or creature to target an unknown child somewhere? I don't even know if that's what's happening - and if it is, how do I stop it?” His throat tightened with grief and guilt, but he forced himself to continue. “The thing that got Savil spirited itself into the Palace, in Haven, and killed an experienced Herald-Mage under our very noses! Dear gods, she called to me for help, and I'm just down the hall from her and I was still too late to save her! How in the seven hells am I supposed to catch this enemy again when I not only don't know where and when he'll strike, but who? I have to carry the fight to him; it's the only way to neutralize him. And if we don't - he has to have a larger plan, he can't be doing this for the fun of it. Do we wait for him to be ready to make his move, or do we take him before he's ready? Which is better tactics?”

  “I can't argue tactics with you, Vanyel,” Shavri said resentfully, as Randale collapsed back against his cushions, “But I can't see what good it's going to do you, us, or Valdemar to go haring off into the unknown after some nebulous enemy who may just be -”

  Vanyel was about to interrupt her, when Yfandes stopped him. :Hold your temper, Van,: she said firmly. :We're behind you. And we're going to take care of this.:

  We? he thought in surprise. But before he could ask her what she meant, the face of every Herald in the room went blank, and Shavri stopped in midsentence.

  There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of non-Heralds stirring restlessly in their seats. The candles placed in sconces all around the room flickered only when someone moved, creating a momentary current in the air. Someone coughed uncomfortably.

  :'Fandes?: Vanyel Sent. :What's going on?: :You have to go, Van,: she replied firmly. :This mage is too much of a threat. We - the Companions, I mean - have been talking it over since you decided to go after him, and we think you're right. So we're backing you. And if the others won't listen to their own Companions, they'll hear from all of us.: The overtones to her mind-voice sounded both smug and a little ominous. :We'll just see how long any of them can hold out against that.:

  Joshel shook his head at that point. “All right,” he said aloud, breaking the silence so suddenly that the non-Heralds started. He gave Vanyel a long-suffering look. “I don't know how you managed this,” he told the dumbfounded Herald-Mage, mixed admiration and annoyance in his expression, “I've never heard of all the Companions uniting to back a Herald against King and Council before. I hope you're right, Vanyel Ashkevron - and I hope this isn't going to be too much for even you to handle.”

  One by one the others gave in, Shavri the last, possibly because Shavri's bond with her Companion was the weakest.

  But finally even she acquiesced, though not happily. “I hope you're satisfied, Herald Vanyel,” she said, on the verge of tears. “I thought you were our friend -”

  The others of the Council looked uneasy, embarrassed, or both, at this display of “womanly vapors.” Vanyel, who knew it was more than that, dared not waver from his resolve. He knew why she was trying emotional blackmail; she was afraid for Randale and Jisa, but there was too much riding on this for him to allow her to manipulate his feelings for her, Randi, and their daughter.

  “I am, Shavri. But Valdemar comes first, you know that as well as I do,” he replied coolly, bringing home to her the same lesson he'd given Randale years ago.

  “Then how dare you ride off and leave Valdemar unprotected?” she cried passionately, making her hands into fists.

  “Because I am protecting Valdemar,” he said, just as passionately. “This mage, whoever he is, doesn't dare leave me alive, not after the way I destroyed his creature. While he concentrates on me, he'll be ignoring Valdemar and anyone in Valdemar. You should all be perfectly safe while he brings all his resources to bear on me.”

  “And what if he k-k-kills you?” Shavri said miserably. “What will protect us then?”

  “Shavri,” he said, leaning toward her and catching and holding her gaze, “If I die, I'll either take him with me, or leave him so crippled he'll be no threat. So help me, I will protect Valdemar with my last breath, and if there is a way to protect her after my death, I'll find it!”

  He stared into her eyes for a long moment, during which no one seemed to breathe. Then he sat back, breaking the spell himself. “But I don't intend to die,” he said, with a grim smile. “I intend to find this bastard, and make him pay for what he did to Savil and the others. And if I have your permission to do so -?”

  Randale nodded wearily. “There doesn't seem to be much choice in the matter,” the King said. “For what it's worth, you have the permission of Crown and Council.”

  Vanyel stood, and bowed with deliberate grace to all of them. “I'm sorry if you feel that your decision has been forced,” he said, “But I can't feel sorry that you came to it. Valdemar is more important than any one man, however powerful he seems to be. Thank you; I'll be leaving in the morning. Treven is ready to take full responsibilities as Randale's proxy and the Heir, Joshel knows how to contact my operatives in Karse, and Tantras can take over everything else I've been doing, just as he's done in the past.” He looked around at the various faces of the Councillors, his father included. “I'm not indispensable, you know,” he finished quietly. “No one is. You're all the most capable people I know, and if there's safety for anyone in this realm, it's in your hands, not mine, ultimately. Zhai'helleva, my friends.”

  And with that, he turned and left the room before anyone else could break down-including himself.

  Stefen slipped inside Vanyel's door and shut it behind him, quietly. Van was beside the bed, neatly folding clothing and stowing it away in his travel-packs. While he did not look up from his packing, Stefen knew that Vanyel was well aware he'd come in.

  Stef bit his lip, unable to think of how to start, what to say. Vanyel continued to ignore his presence, perhaps hoping that Stef would become discouraged and leave. The silence lengthened, as Stefen's palms grew sweaty and his throat tighter and tighter. Finally he blurted out the first words that came into his head.

  “You're not leaving without me.” He tried to make it sound defiant, but it came out plaintive. He pressed his back against the wood of the door as if he could physically bar Vanyel's way and waited for Van's response.

  “Stef,” Van said without turning around, “I can't take you with me, you know that.” He sounded as distant and cold as if he were on the moon.

  “Why not?” Stefen asked, around the lump in his throat. He was well aware that his words were very similar to what might be coming out of a petulant adolescent, and too anxious to care. “You're not going into Rethwellan this time. There's no one to care if we're lovers! What's the difference if I'm with you or not?”

  Finally Vanyel turned around; his face was set in a stony mask, and his eyes were inward-focused, as if he was trying not to see Stef, only his shadow. “The difference is that you're not a Herald, you're not combat-trained, you can't even defend yourself from one man with a sword. You're a liability, Stef. I told you when we first -”

  “How am I any safer here?” he interrupted, desperately, playing shamelessly on the guilt he knew Vanyel felt over Savil's death. “Savil wasn't safe! If someone wants to use me against you, all they have to do is wait until you're gone, and take me. Anybody who can do what's been done so far could make one of those Gate-things, grab me while everybody's asleep, and be gone before I could yell for help! You said yourself I couldn't protect myself from one man with a sword - how am I going to protect myself against something like that?”

  He balled his hands into fists, to keep from gouging the wood of the door with his nails. The room was much too hot, and it was very hard to breathe. Vanyel seemed to waver for a moment, the mask cracking - then his lips tightened. The fire flared up, making his face look even harsher and more masklike.

  “I don't have time for this, Stef. I have a job to do, and you're only going to get in the way.” The words were deliberately hurtful, and if Stef hadn't felt a trace of contrary emotions through the bond
that tied them together, he might have fled at that moment.

  He's so driven - but I can crack that shell. I have to. Just enough so that he'll let me come with him . . . but it's a mistake to bring up Savil again. That's what's driving him.

  “I'm coming with you,” he said stubbornly, moving away from the door and toward Vanyel. “If you won't take me with you, I'll follow you. If you set somebody to watch me, I'll get away somehow. If you won't let me stay with you, I'll ride an hour behind you.” He stopped for a moment, then made the last two steps in a rush, taking Vanyel in his arms before the Herald could evade the embrace. Vanyel held himself away, as stiffly as the night they'd first met, but Stef hid his face in Vanyel's jerkin anyway. “I don't care what you do,” he said into Vanyel's shoulder, his cheek pressed tightly against the smooth leather. “I love you, and I'm following you. I don't care what happens to me, as long as I can be with you.”

  “What about Randale?” Vanyel asked in a strange, hollow voice.

  “I'm not in love with Randale,” Stef replied, a little defensively. “I'm not a Herald, you said that yourself, and I don't see that I owe him anything. There're a dozen Healers that can pain-block now; three of them can do it while Randale's awake and talking. I'm just a convenience; he doesn't need me any more, and with Treven taking over full Heir's duties, he won't even have to do anything he doesn't feel up to.”

  “Shavri would probably dispute that,” Vanyel said dryly, but his rigid posture was softening.

  “She did,” Stefen told him, encouraged by that tiny sign. “And I told her she could force me to stay, but she couldn't force me to play. She looked like she wanted to throw something at me, but she didn't. She just told me what she thought of me. It started with 'traitor' and went downhill from there.”

  “I imagine it did,” Vanyel replied with a little cough.

  “She told me she'd have me demoted, that she'd have me banned from the Bardic Circle,” Stef continued, feeling that Vanyel was relaxing further. “I told her I didn't care. And I don't.” He released Vanyel a little, and looked up into the Herald's face, lifting his chin defiantly. “It doesn't matter to me. If I wanted a high position and all the rest of that, I could have gone with that gem-merchant. I used to want that kind of thing, but I don't anymore.”