The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy Page 42

  “Have you any notion how many Herald-Mages we’ve lost in the last four years?” she asked, her high-cheekboned face without any readable expression.

  “Two dozen?” he hazarded.

  Now she looked uneasy. Not much, but enough that he could tell. “Slightly more than half the total we had when you and I came back from k’Treva. We can’t replace them fast enough. The Mage-Gift was never that common in the first place, and with a rate of attrition like that—” She grimaced. “I haven’t told you about this before, because there was nothing you could do about it, but after the deaths of the last year, you should know the facts. You become more important with each loss, Van. You were the only one available to send to replace those five casualties on the Karsite Border. You were the only one who could replace all five of them, all by yourself. That’s why we couldn’t relieve you, lad, or even send you one other Herald-Mage to give you a breather. We simply didn’t have anyone to send. Speaking of which—” She raised one eyebrow as she gave him such a penetrating look that Vanyel felt as if she was seeing past his clothes to count his ribs and mark each of his scars. “—you look like hell.”

  “Can’t anyone greet me without saying that?” he complained. “You, Tran, Jays—Can’t you tell me I’m looking seasoned? Or poetic? Or something?”

  “Horseturds; you don’t look ‘seasoned,’ you look like hell. You’re too damned thin, your eyes are sunken, and if my Othersenses aren’t fooling me, you’ve got no reserves—you’re on your last dregs of energy.”

  Vanyel sighed, and folded himself up at her feet, resting his back against the front of her chair and his head against her knee. That was “home,” and always would be—as Savil was more his mother than his birth-mother ever could be. “It’s nothing,” he replied. “At least nothing a little sleep won’t cure. Come on, you know how you feel at the end of a tour of duty. You’re still your old tactful self, Savil.”

  “Tact never was one of my strong traits, lad,” she replied, and he felt her hand touch, and then begin stroking his hair. He closed his eyes and relaxed; muscles began to unknot that must have been tensed up for the past year. For the first time in months there was no one depending on him, looking to him for safety. It was nice to feel sheltered and protected, instead of being the shelter and protection. There are times when I’d give anything to be a child again, and this is perilous close to one of them.

  “I am mortally tired, Savil,” he admitted, finally. “I need this leave. It won’t take long to rest up—but I do need the rest. You know, I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to be a Herald-Mage, I wanted to be a Bard. I sure as Havens didn’t ask to be ‘Vanyel Dragonsbreath,’ or whatever it is they’re calling me.”

  “Demonsbane.”

  The increasingly shrill tone of his own voice finally penetrated his fog. “Savil, I—am I whining?”

  She chuckled throatily. “You’re whining, son.”

  “Hellfire,” he said. “I swear, every time I lose a little sleep, I turn fifteen. A bratty fifteen, at that. I’m amazed you put up with me.”

  “Darling boy,” she said, her hand somehow stroking his headache away, “you’ve earned a little whine. You’re thinned out in more ways than one.” She sighed. “That’s the one thing I regret most about the past few years—you never do or say anything anymore without thinking about it. That’s good for Herald-Mage Vanyel, but I’m not entirely certain about Vanyel Ashkevron.” There was a long silence behind him, then—“There’s no joy in you anymore, ke’chara. No joy at all. And that bothers me more than the circled eyes and thin cheeks.”

  “We’ve all endured too much the last five years to be able to afford to do things without thinking. As for joy—is there joy anywhere, anymore? We’ve all lost so much—so many friends gone—”

  Another long silence. “I don’t know.”

  He cleared his throat, and changed the subject. “I didn’t feel a third here. You aren’t teaching?”

  “Can’t; don’t have the stamina anymore. Not and be Guardian, too.”

  He’d half expected that. And he half expected what quarter. “So they made you Guardian? In whose place?”

  “Lancir’s. Shavri can’t; she tried, and she can’t. The four Guardians have to be Herald-Mages. We’d hoped Healing-Gift was close enough, but she didn’t pass the last trial. I think she’s relieved. It’s a pity; the Guardian of the East has always been King’s Own, but—”

  “In that case, the present I brought you may be handy.” He shifted so that he could get at his pocket, and pulled out the crystal. He closed his hand around it, feeling all the smooth planes and angles pressing into his palm. “Don’t you need a Prime Focus stone of your own to set in the Web? I thought you didn’t have a good Prime to use for anything but personal stuff.”

  “You do, and I put a stone there, but it was a Secondary Focus, an amethyst, and not what I’d have—”

  He raised the hand holding the crystal above his head, parting his fingers so she could see it, but not opening his eyes or moving his head.

  “Sunsinger’s Glory!” she breathed. “Where did you find that?”

  “Gifted me,” he said, as the weight left his hand. “People keep giving me things, Savil. An opal or amber I could have used—still—you can use it, so do.”

  “I shall.” Her hand began to stroke his hair again, and he heard the little click as she set the stone down on the table beside her. “That will make my job a bit easier.” She chuckled richly. “I thought I was so lucky when it turned out my resonances worked best with rosequartz—not like Deedre who was stuck with topaz, or Justen, with ruby. Nice, cheap stone, I thought. Won’t have to go bankrupt trying to get a good one. Little did I know how hard it was to find a good, unflawed, large crystal!”

  “Little did you know you were going to turn out a Guardian,” he replied drowsily.

  “Hmm, true.” Her mind touched softly on his. :Vanyel, ke’chara, you are not well. There’s more silver in this lovely black hair.:

  He couldn’t lie mind-to-mind, not to her, so he temporized. :The silver’s from working with the nodes; you should know that. As for the rest—I’m just weary, teacher-love. Just weary. Too many hours fighting too many battles, and all of it too much alone.:

  :Heart-wounded?: Her Mind-voice was etched and frosted with concern.

  :No, heart-whole. Just lonely. Only that. You know. I haven’t time these days to go courting a friend. Not on battle-lines. And I won’t ask for more than friendship—gods, how could I ask anyone to make an emotional commitment to somebody who’s out trying daily to get himself killed? I’m better off alone.:

  The hand on his hair trembled a little, and rested.

  :I know,: she replied, finally. :There are times when I wish with all my heart I could take some of that from you.:

  :Now, now, don’t encourage me in my self-pity. Honestly, you and ’Fandes—: “If wishes were fishes, we’d walk on the sea, teacher-love,” he said aloud. “I’d rather you could keep Father and Mother off when I’m home.”

  “So you’re finally making that major visit they’ve been plaguing you for?” She took the unspoken cue and switched to less-intimate vocal speech.

  “Randale sent me word just as I was leaving the Border. Several weeks leave of absence at least. And I must say, that while I’m looking forward to the rest, I’m not at all sanguine about this little sojourn in the bosom of my loving family.”

  “Out of experience I’m forced to tell you: even if they behave themselves, you’re all too likely to find yourself the court of appeal for every family feud that’s been brewing for the last ten years,” she said, and laughed. “And no one will like your judgments and everyone will accuse you of favoritism.”

  He opened his eyes and moved his head around, propping his chin against the seat cushion. “And Mother will haul every eligible female for leagues about in on ‘visits,
’ and Father will go cross-eyed trying to see if I’m attempting to seduce any of the young men on the estate. And dear Father Leren will thunder sermons about fornication and perversity every holy day, and glare. Jervis will snipe at me, try to get me angry, and glare. And Mother’s maid Melenna will chase me all over the property. And on and on.” He made mournful eyes at her. “If I hadn’t promised, I’d be greatly tempted to take my chances with Randale finding another emergency and stay here.”

  “I thought Lissa was stationed right near Forst Reach. She always used to be able to protect you.” Savil gave him a half smile. “She was a very good little protector when you were a child.”

  “I don’t think she’s going to feel she can leave her assigned post,” he said. “It seems that Border is heating up.”

  “Just what we need. Another Situation.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You could have dealt with this earlier, I suppose.”

  He snorted. “Not likely. That whole monstrous mess of tangled emotions and misconception is why I never have spent more than a day at home if I can help it. If it isn’t Mother flinging women at me, it’s Father watching me out of the corner of his eye.” He throttled down savagely on the wave of bitterness that crawled up his throat, but some of it emerged despite his good intentions. “Gods, Savil, I am so damned tired of the whole dance. I really need to take a couple of weeks to rest, and where else can I go? You know I daren’t stay here; if I do, Randale will recruit me. He won’t want to, he won’t mean to, but something will come up, and he’ll have to—and I won’t be able to say no. If I went to Liss—assuming she has someplace to put me!—she’d end up doing the same thing. I’m a tool, and neither of them dares let a tool stand idle, even when it might break.”

  “Easy, lad,” Savil cautioned, her face clouded and troubled.

  He grimaced. “Did it again. Sorry. I won’t break. I’m not sure I can break. The fact is, I still look all right, and I really don’t want Randi to guess how drained out I am. If he knows, he’ll feel guilty, and there’s nothing he can do. He has to do what he does to me. So—” Vanyel shrugged. “The strain doesn’t show; it won’t take long to put right. I’m as much to blame for the overload as Randi. I could say ‘no’—but I never have the heart to.”

  “Maybe you should choose somewhere to go besides Forst Reach. Or only stay there for a day or two, then go off visiting friends, or by yourself.”

  “I don’t want to go off somewhere alone, I’ll just brood. And I haven’t anyone to go to; k’Treva is too far away. You, at least, have had Andy for longer than I’ve known you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m whining again. I can’t seem to help it, which might be a symptom of how on edge I am. That is the only thing that really worries me; I’m hair-triggered and dangerous, and I need some peace to get balanced again. All I can hope is that Mother and Father decide that I look as bad as you and Jays think, and leave me alone for a bit. Long enough to get some reserves back, anyway.”

  It was the closest he’d come to admitting that he wasn’t really certain how much—or how little—reserves he still had, and he quelled the rest of what he almost said.

  “You don’t look good; even they should see that, ke’chara.” She toyed with a bit of his hair, and worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “You know, I haven’t been back in—ye gods, not since I checked you all for Mage-Gift! My Familial Visitation is more than overdue.”

  “But—you’re a Guardian—” Hope rose in him. If only Savil would be there, he’d have one kindred soul in the lions’ den! He had no doubt she was more than up to the trip; he could feel her strength even as he leaned on it.

  “Won’t take me but a day to set my focus in the Web and then I can Guard from Forst Reach as easily as from here. It’s only a matter of Sensing threat and sending the alert, you know. It’s not as if I actually had to fight anything. And it’s only because I need to keep that little corner of my mind tuned to the Web waking and sleeping that I don’t have a protege—ten years ago I could have done what Jays is doing; Guard and teach three.” She nodded. “This is no bad notion. Provided you don’t mind having me there—”

  “Mind?” He seized her hand and kissed it.

  “Then expect me in about—oh, two weeks after you arrive. It’ll take Kellan a little longer to make the trip than you youngsters.”

  “Savil, if you only knew how grateful I am—”

  “Pish. I’m selfish, is what I am.” A smile started to twitch at the corners of her mouth. “We can guard each other’s backs this way. I’m counting on you to save me from Withen as much as you are counting on me to save you.”

  He rose and kissed her forehead. “I don’t care what you say, it’s the most generous, unselfish thing anyone’s done for me in a year. And you just may save this visit from becoming the legend of how Herald Vanyel went berserk and left his entire family tied to trees with rags stuffed in their mouths! About what time is it? I’m all turned round about from being so far south.”

  She checked the angle of the sun coming in her window. “I’d guess just after Court.”

  “Good; I have to catch Randale and Shavri and say good-bye. He promised if I didn’t come when he was being ‘official’ he wouldn’t find something for me to do.”

  “Then off with you, ke’chara, and I’ll see you at Forst Reach—and thank you for thinking of me,” she finished, touching the stone on the table beside her.

  “Because you think of me, love.” He kissed her cheek, then her forehead again, and left her suite.

  • • •

  He stopped first at his room to change back into a set of Tran’s Whites and put on the soft, low boots Heralds wore indoors; not as comfortable as going barefoot, but they beat the riding boots hands down. And if he didn’t change, he might not be let into the King’s quarters—every time he came back, it seemed fewer folk knew his face.

  That accomplished, and now every inch his usual neat self, he headed down to the oldest part of the Palace, the extensive set of rooms shared by King Randale; his lifebonded and King’s Own, Shavri; and their daughter.

  He had scarcely crossed the threshold of the sparsely furnished audience chamber—his unfamiliar face giving a moment’s apprehension to the two Guards posted at the door—when a six-year-old, curly-headed, miniature whirlwind burst through the farther door and flung herself across the audience chamber at him, evidently blithely certain he would catch her before she fell.

  Which he did, and swung her around, up and over his head while she squealed with excitement and delight. “Uncle Van!” she crowed at the top of her lungs. “UncleVanUncleVanUncleVan!”

  He started to put her down, but she demanded a hug and a kiss with the same infectious charm her “father” Randale could display whenever he chose. Vanyel hoisted her into a comfortable carrying position and complied without an argument, thinking as he did so that it was a good thing that she was still so tiny.

  “Now how did you know I was coming?” he asked her, as her bright brown eyes looked solemnly down into his.

  “Felt you,” she said, giving him another hug. “Felt you in my head, all blue-glowy and swirly.”

  He nearly dropped her in shock. That was surely the most vivid—and accurate—description of his aura he’d ever heard out of anyone but another high-ranking Herald-Mage.

  “Or a Healer,” said Shavri, coming up beside him as he gaped at the child, and Jisa giggled at the face he was making. “Healers see you that way, too, Van. And no, I wasn’t eavesdropping on your thoughts—they were plain enough from that poleaxed look on your face.” There was strain and fear under Shavri’s light tone, as if she walked a narrow bridge above a bottomless chasm. “Besides, you aren’t the only one she’s ‘felt in her head’ during the last three months. Let’s start this greeting over; hello, Van, have you a hug for me?”

  “Always.” He was already bracing himsel
f for trouble; with that look on her face there was something seriously wrong. And that meant he’d have to be the strong one.

  He included Shavri in his arms, while Jisa flung her arms around both their necks and cuddled. “Jisa sweet, can I put you down long enough for presents?”

  “Presents?” Jisa was no different from any other six-year-old when that word came up. She squirmed a little, and he set her down, then extracted the little Companion-figure from his pouch and handed it to her. She shrieked with delight, and ran outside to show it to the two Guards. Shavri watched her go, her gypsy-dark eyes darker with unconcealed love—and something else. Something secret and profoundly unhappy. His first reaction was to want to hold her, protect her, make that unhappiness go away.

  Randi’s lifebonded—

  “That’s quite a little impling you’re raising, Shavri,” he said, instead. “Incredibly unspoiled, given that I’d lay odds she’s the pet of the Circle.”

  “You say that every time you see her, beast,” she replied, flashing an uncertain smile, startlingly bright in her sober, dark face.

  “Well, it’s true.” Vanyel Looked quickly around, ascertained that they were going to be alone for a few moments, and asked quickly, “How is he?”

  The smile vanished, and the fear and unhappiness were plain for anyone who knew her to read. :Oh, gods—Van, he’s sick, I can’t make it go away, and I think he’s dying. And I don’t know why.:

  :What?: He gathered his scant resources to support her—and to hide the fact that her fear was making him tremble inside.

  “He’s well enough,” she said lightly, but Mindspoke him with a vastly different tone. :There’s something wrong; it isn’t affecting him much at the moment other than steady weakness and a dizzy spell now and again—but—it keeps getting worse with each spell. And—oh, Van—I’m so afraid—:

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. :Easy, flowerlet—: “Then it sounds like there’s no problem with my taking this leave.” :How long has this been going on?: